#dean and cas are alive and thriving

[ananke-xiii]

A dream, mine:

spn s13 but with cas alive and jack's a baby, dean and mary are in the AU and lucifer is still on earth. Somehow sam and cas manage to save jack and themselves from lucifer but now they're on the run and they are both questioning their life choices. Sam's like super pissed because he's been baby trapped by cas of all people and he's now stuck with an unhinged angel and a baby that's half his nemesis, a nemesis with which he shares the most unfortunate, most fucked up, saddest "profound bond" of all time. Cas is pissed too because he was handed the shortest (technically the tallest but shhh) straw by fate and ended up with the wrong brother, what's worst, he's now forced, once again, to re-evaluate all his millennia-long prejudices against all kinds of abominations since he's stuck sharing a car with two of the finest examples ever produced. Jack is just a baby which means he cries a lot, wants to eat, does his things etc and the crying alone is enough to send cas and sam crazy. Cas resents sam because he thinks he's using the angel with the excuse that he doesn't sleep so he can look after the baby. Sam resents cas because he went doing his hot girl shit instead of following his plan. Things reach a boiling point when they're in a gas 'n sip, sam deep in "newborn lore" on his smartphone, trying to understand what a newborn can eat out of gas station food, and cas's exasperated because "we can just wear a white coat, go to a hospital and steal breast milk". Sam snaps and he's like "what IS wrong with you, dude?" and cas is so done so he's like "tell me, sam, what IS wrong with me, sam?". Sam's not dean and he's not above recounting all the times cas has fucked them over, fucked him over, he literally uses his fingers to start counting everything that's just wrong with cas and he sure as hell starts by telling him how thick an actual angel of the lord, "the fucking angel of fucking thursday has no feel" (sam's words not mine), can be to save a person from hell without realizing that the soul's not there when he basically did the same thing for dean so "uh cas, explain this to the hand, CAS-TI-EL"! And cas finds out that, after all, he's not that bad at this feeling and being almost human shit cause he suddenly feels very in touch with his feminine side and he's ready to remind sam how thick can he be to think that god was speaking to him telling him to open the cage, like "what sam, just because amara was speaking to dean, you thought god would have spoken to you, to you, SA-MU-EL?" They're one step close to a catfight, neither of them is shy enough to prevent it, they both can and will grab each other by their hair and grip tight to raise themselves from this domestic hell. But they're in a gas 'n sip, whisper-yelling about angels, hell, souls and god and people begin eyeing them, the clerk reaches for the phone. They stop and realize that, in their current state, they're both two male presenting beings somewhere in their forties or in their vicinity with a screaming baby in cas' arms and one call away from child protection services . Things are not good.

Meanwhile, dean is with mary, fake bobby and fake charlie having the time of his life in the fake purgatory copy that is the AU releasing all his decade-long repressed sexual energy toward a certain angel by killing angels with bullets made out of angel blades and knifing the occasional monster of the week that goes bump in the night. Things are good.

[silver-stake-through-the-heart]

15x20 being a replay of 5x22 with one brother dead, one brother alive and Cas is Heaven… an ending written by Chuck.

Also all of TFW going back to the character mold Chuck did for them:

– Dean dying young as a hunter (he wanted, dreamed, to get out)

– Sam leaving hunting (he was thriving as a witch hunter of letters)

– Cas being a soldier in Heaven (didn't he love Earth, mankind and his human family?)

[lazarrusrising]

Chuck is such a Dean misunderstander, sending Lilith in as a college aged girl to seduce him when that hasn't worked on him for a long while now? Thinking any part of Dean would actually be able to bring himself to kill Sam? (He killed actual Death before he did that to Sam). Ignoring Cas's relationship with him in general as if his entire world doesn't stop and start depending on Cas being alive or not. He wants Dean to be crafted in the ideal image he has of himself so bad and it's embarrassing. Where other people (women) are just things for him to play with. Where his sibling (Sam/Amara) is someone to be in constant opposition of. Where he thrives on independence and loneliness because no one else could ever possibly understand him (as if family isn't the core part of who Dean is in the first place). But that's so fundamentally not Dean, who values human life to the point of resigning himself to hunting forever if it meant saving even one more person. Who loves Sam and loves his family and thrives on sharing his time with those people because being alone is literally his worst fear. Chuck doesn't understand Dean and that's why Dean never fulfils his plans the way he wants him to.

[artinventor]

dean should have retiredddd, what happened to all the things he wanted to do, and he literally said that he’d want a vacation with his new family when there’s nothing left to worry about. And if not fully retire then they could’ve at least had him own a bar that served as a lowkey hunter meetup like ellen had. That was literally his dream 😭 but there were so many instances where he thrived at any normal job they took to fit in and he actually seemed happy in them too! he was also such a good mechanic he literally built Baby basically from scratch several times. There were so many things they could’ve done with dean, that he SAID he wanted to do!! he wanted a vacation on the beach!! but they killed him instead like how is that supposed to be satisfying in any way?? he literally JUST learned his worth after cas died and he finally got freedom in his life after having a whole breakdown over it in season 15 and they kill him.

and I’m sorry but sam literally loved hunting, he encouraged people to keep at it and he was proud of it being his family’s legacy (just look at how he reacts to mary saying she’s going back to hunting!) which was such a good development from the beginning of the series where he kept rejecting and running away from his family’s legacy. And at sooo many chances he said he couldn’t see himself stopping and living a normal life and he literally cannot help going back to it SO MANY TIMES. BRO LITERALLT WENT INSANE AND DESTROYED A COMPUTER IN THAT OFFICE JOB EPISODE AFTER ONLY LIKE A WEEK OF DOING IT AND U WANNA TELL ME HE CAN JUST LIVE NORMALLY?? ESPECIALLY AFTER LOSING LITERALLY EVERYONE???? The main storyline they gave him in the later seasons was him being a leader of some sort to hunters and having a base for it at the bunker, not a super present subplot that had much bearing to the overall narrative but it was the one thing he had, why didn’t they build up on that??? It’s like so many of Sam’s main goals, like being a leader and keeping his brother alive, always end up failing so he’s just a failure who gave up at the end???? And am I supposed to care about this random family he suddenly has??? They brought back Eileen to not even use her for that?????? Like ohhhh he named his son deannnnn! I don’t give a fuck the real dean deserved to be here. I’m so pissed off about this ending man

[hikarry]

There should be more Good Omens x Supernatural crossovers

Fanart, fanfics, idc

Just

Castiel and Aziraphale's relationship would be fucking bomb! Hell, even Sam and Aziraphale's! They could be fucking nerds together

And don't get me stared on Crowley and Dean's dynamic! I just know they would absolutely annoy the fuck out of each other but become fast friends that just, ya know, thrive over fucking roasting each other but they would geek out over the other's car and music together. Just 🤌🏻 Crowley taking the shit out of Dean for him not only being American, but from bloody Texas of all places and Dean making a fake atupid British accent to annoy the shit out of Crowley because

Dean: "Look at me. Im a stupid demon that of all places in the world chose to become a fucking honorary Brit. How I love myself my stupid little tea at noon and pretend like I'm better than everybody else"

Crowley; "Listen here, you bloody Yankee, first off, tea is not my thing. Good whiskey, me. And I'm not bloody British! I'm a demon!"

Dean: "You sure act like one, posh bastard"

Crowley; "Posh? It's called having bloody manners! You fucking Americans must have lost them when you killed all the bloody natives and then came up with a stupid arse of a holiday to pretend you are the good guys"

Dean: "Says the Brit. Just the guys that enslaved half of the world and killed the other half."

Crowley: "I am not fucking British!"

Aziraphale: "He's right, Dean, dear. Technically we are not British. We don't have any nationality. We can speak every language and are nationless. Besides, we weren't involved with Britain's colonization. Actually, I believe Crowley spent most of his time in Iceland back in that century."

Crowley: "Oh yeah. We can speak every language but French, eh?"

Aziraphale: "We don't talk about that."

Castiel: "What's the problem with French?"

Crowley: "The problem is Aziraphale is absolute shit at it. It almost got him discorporated back in the French Revolution. Heavens, he can barely order a crepe when we go to Paris."

Castiel: "Why? It's in our nature to speak every language"

Aziraphale: "Oh for the love of all that's holy....I just decided to learn it the hard way, yes? Thought it might be fun."

Crowley: "Yeah. Just like the magic lessons you took. Which you are also shit at, by the way."

Sam: "Can't you like, do real magic?"

Crowley: "Precisely. But angel over here decided human magic was fun."

Aziraphale: "And I am correct! It's not my fault you are a cinic!"

Crowley: "You mean realistic. Every time I've seen you try to perform magic it's an absolute disaster. Embarrassing even."

Aziraphale: "Ah yes? What about my photo trick back in the 40s? Saved us, did it not?"

Crowley: "You did good there, yes. But, fucking Heavens angel-"

Dean: "Okay whatever. Let the fucking Brits have their little fight. We have work to do. Sammy, did you manage to locate the demon?"

Sam: "Actually, Aziraphale did."

Aziraphale: "It was quite easy, really. Crowley and I have dealt with them before"

Crowley: "You mean I saved your arse from them before"

Dean: "Oh for fucks sake, just let's go. Sammy, Cas, cmon."

Aziraphale: "Are you sure you don't want us to go? We could help."

Dean: "No. You both stay. Make up and makeout or whatever it is you do in your free time. We don't need you in the way"

Crowley: "Aziraphale, let's go. We gonna try and find some decent restaurant in this bloody city. Let them screw themselves. They will come begging for help before you know it"

Dean: "We've been dealing with demons for years, you pretentious fuck. We dunnot need your fucking help."

Crowley: "We've been alive for all the existence of humanity and have saved the world twice now."

Dean: "Big thing. We do that every other week. Open your mouth when you fight fucking God and then we will talk."

Sam: "Okay, okay, enough. You two go and do whatever it is that you want to do. We will reach out if we need help."

Aziraphale: "Jolly good. Come on, my dear. I've seen an amazing sushi restaurant down the street that looks decent enough."

[splishsplashsploshing]

There's No Such thing as Sin, Let it All Come Right In

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63502696

Hi! This is my first Spn fic so far. The premise is that post-season 15 Sam reawakens his powers and team free will cope with this as the family they are. Castiel is alive, Jack is Sam, Cas and Dean's son and Destiel is thriving alongside Auntie Rowena.

I hope you enjoy!

[blessyourhondahurley]

Suptober day 2 - Great Eggs-pectations

A fluffy little epilogue to last year's Fowl Play series, in which Dean and Cas take a big scary exciting step together as husbands and farmers.

Suptober prompt: Pumpkin Patch

(Read on AO3)

“Son of a bitch,” Dean hisses, careful to keep his voice too soft to reach the ears of his son, who's happily engrossed in killing some video game demons in the next room. He sighs and tosses his pen across the kitchen table. The terrifyingly official form laid out in front of him is pristine, untouched.

“Do you really think we can pull this off, babe?” he asks his husband for the fifth time in an hour. “We've been gettin' by alright just doing the farmer's market every week, and the pumpkin patch and the hay rides and stuff here every fall. What if we go all in on opening up this store and it flops?”

Even though he would be well within his rights at this point to roll his eyes or snap at Dean to just fill out the damn form already, Cas simply takes his hand and gives him a soft smile. “I never said it would be easy, darling,” he murmurs. “There are no guarantees for us in this life, of course. But we've gotten nothing but encouraging feedback about our plan from our customers at the market, the loan manager at the bank, our family, friends, loved ones... People are excited for us to open. I'm ready to make the leap. Will you leap with me?”

Dean looks into fathomless blue eyes and feels his world wobble on its axis. It's a familiar sensation, the dizzy wash of love and abject gratitude that he feels whenever he realizes once again that this is his life now: his gorgeous husband, their wonderful son, this thriving farm. It's been over a year since he's touched a gun, and even then he was using it to ping empty soup cans out back with Jack. The last time he bought a bag of rock salt, it was for their old-fashioned hand-cranked ice cream maker.

He's a retired hunter. He's a loving husband. He's a father. He's a farmer. He's alive, and he's here, and he's happy, so fucking happy. It feels dangerous to try for more, greedy. And no matter how hard he works to bury them, those old feelings of being a fraud refuse to lay down and stay dead. Does Dean Winchester deserve to thrive like this? Surely not.

He gulps, feeling the hot sting of tears behind his eyes. Cas stands, then tugs on their still-joined hands to pull him to his feet as well. Then he's being held, snug and warm in his beloved's strong arms. He rests his head on Cas's shoulder and breathes out as his tears begin to flow.

“Don't worry,” comes a whisper in his ear. “I've got you.”

“I know, baby,” he replies hoarsely. “I've got you,too.”

He pulls away just far enough to plant a soggy kiss on his husband's cheek.

“Thank you for putting up with me,” he says. “It's gotta be rotten work.”

“Not to me,” comes the reply with a quirk of those full lips. “Not if it's you.”

Dean huffs a laugh and swipes at his eyes with his free hand. “Okay,” he says firmly. “We're doing it. This is happening. We're gonna open our own little store. We're gonna sell honey and eggs and flowers and preserves, and your knitting and Jack's pipe cleaner spiders with the googly eyes and my hand pies, and it's gonna fucking rock. We're gonna pay back our small business loan and the mortgage on the storefront, and we're gonna put money aside for Jack for if he decides to go to college in a few years. And in the fall we'll have pumpkins and apple cider donuts and horseshoes and hay rides and the corn maze and make-your-own scarecrows. We're doing this.” As he speaks, he feels his own words buoying him up, filling him with a surge of confident energy. He sees this energy reflected back to him in his husband's gaze.

“Yes, love, we are,” comes the certain reply. The expression on Cas's beautiful face is resolute. He looks every inch the avenging angel he once was. Dean can never resist teasing him a little bit when he gets his serious face on like that.

“It's gonna be take a lotta elbow grease, though. You know?” Dean says with a grin. “We're gonna have to... work around the cluck.”

Cas does roll his eyes then, and shove him away. Dean goes with the push and pivots back into his seat at the table. Reaching for his pen, he fills out the top line in neat caps: FOWL PLAY FARMS MARKET.

[bloodsalted]

@malumxsubest || a continuation from here! || thanks lovely!

months of digging. months of research. of roadblock hunt after roadblock hunt that kept dragging him away from finding this thing and putting a damn STOP to it dug into his soul. there's one thing he wants out of this. okay. two. information on whatever the fuck he's gotta do to drag cas back from where he is. and for this thing to stop fucking breathing. does it breathe?

whatever. stop existing. no matter what he's gotta do. no matter morally questionable lines he not only has to cross but shatter completely? being this close to (least to where he's been pointed to) gripping something solid. something tangible. that'd take him to cas?

dean winchester was unstoppable. undeterrable on his path.

same one that lead him to propping his heel against the shoddy siding of an equally shoddy, out of date motel. he knows the kind well. spent most of his life growing up and/or staying in one of these throughout the decades he's been alive. no matter where he's put roots down? none of them have lasted longer as his home than the kind with buzzing neon vacancy signs and algae infested still water pools. detached bars and restaurants that haven't passed a health inspection (or had one) in years instead of warm kitchens. mattresses you don't wanna look at rather than down comforters and fancy headboards. single serve coffee out of a dollar store maker.

full circle. from thriving at a home he always wanted. to the one he's unable to escape from. it's fucked up but it's the hand he was dealt and no matter what he'd like? s'the hand his brother and those closest to him were, too. til one of them opted out. took one for the team. or died off. sammy's got his picket fence and dean's here.. cas is gone. you do the math.

it's the only outcome dean would've let sam have. so here we are.

dean can feel what's going on behind the wall he's killing time 'holding up'. flask pulled out of his back pocket, he downs a drink and doesn't blink at the familiar burn of whiskey moving towards his belly. (then a second he goes back for after a brief pause like he's gonna put it back in his back pocket gets the same appreciation--a muted hum that never sees the light of day.)

the hunter can't hear what's going on. what's going down. he's not here to save whoever it is with her. nah. that's not his fight. he's waiting for two voices he can't hear more than muffled noises through the wall to become one. time? he can wait. seeing as how it took months for him to get here? an hour? two? a night? doesn't matter. he'll spend it..

..why?

cause he's got this tightness in his chest. an anticipation coating the back of his tongue with the taste of adrenaline. expectation at an all time high. he's never been this close.. soon as she's alone, she won't be. period.

[expectingtofly]

Take a Load Off

2.5k

fluff, post-canon, human!cas, anxious dean, established dean/cas

(i saw this post by @emptymeg and couldn’t get it out of my head, so here’s a fic :)

also posted on ao3

“What’s in the box?” Dean asked, coming into the library to see Cas setting a large package on the map table with a huff. The table creaked under its weight. “Hey, name that movie.”

Cas cocked his head. “What movie?”

Dean groaned. “Seriously, dude, you’re hopeless. What’s in the box! Brad Pitt?” Cas shrugged and Dean sighed. “Forget it.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Cas said, fetching scissors from a drawer, “This box is for you. I bought you something.”

“Oh?” Dean came to the table, interest even more piqued. “What kind of something?”

Cas gave him a look. “Not what you’re thinking.” He cut through the tape securing the box. “I read that this can relieve stress and help you sleep better.”

“I already know something that can do that.” He added a wink for good measure.

“So,” Cas continued, ignoring him, “I thought you should try it. You haven’t been getting enough sleep lately and I’m worried about your anxiety levels.”

“Wait a moment,” Dean protested. “What do you mean, my ‘anxiety levels’?” Cas opened the box and he leaned over to look at the contents. Folded, silky dark grey fabric. “What is that, a blanket?”

“A weighted blanket,” Cas corrected, heaving it out of the box. “Twenty pounds.”

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He plucked at the fabric. “This is supposed to help?"

“It’s proven by science.” He nodded at a chair by Dean. “Go, sit.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean sat down and Cas draped the blanket over him. “Fuck.” Dean lifted his arms up under the blanket, then dropped them. “This is actually heavy.”

“Do you feel relaxed?”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You don’t look it at all,” Cas deadpanned and Dean kicked at him. Cas pulled a brochure out of the box. “Soft cotton filled with poly pellets,” he read. “Alleviate anxiety and increase serotonin.” He studied Dean, eyes squinted. “You still look tense.”

“Sorry, Cas.” Dean shoved the blanket to the floor with a thump. “Think you got duped.”

“You’re not doing it right,” Cas grumbled, picking it up off the ground. “You have to give it a chance.”

“I just gave it a chance.” Standing, he brushed Cas’ hair off his forehead, gave him his best you love me smile. “Now, do you really wanna help me relax?”

Cas studied him for a long moment, then said, “Okay.” He carefully folded the blanket. “We’re keeping this, though. I still think it’ll work.”

Dean made a face behind his back and started to follow him out of the room, but the phone Sam had recently installed in the library for a hunter hotline started ringing. He groaned and Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Do I have to?” Dean asked him.

“I suppose so,” Cas sighed and set the blanket down on a chair. Turns out the call was from a hunter out near Boise who needed help with a case. Of course, Sam was away visiting Eileen, so he and Cas got stuck spending the next two hours going over the case information, trying to figure out what the monster was. They finally settled on vetala, a whole pack of them, and after instructing the hunter on how to kill them, Dean hung up the phone.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. “Who knows how big the pack is. Could be a whole dozen of the freaks.”

“Well, now she knows how to kill them,” Cas said. “And there’s other hunters in the area who can help.”

“Yeah...” Dean fiddled with his pen, tapping it on the open pages of his dad’s journal.

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked.

Dean realized he was frowning. “Nothing.” Flexing his shoulders, he stretched out his back, stiff from poring over books. “Just, three people are already dead. I better be right that it’s a pack of vetala.”

Reaching over, Cas rubbed his back in small circles and Dean leaned back into his hand. “We did all we could, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t so sure that was true. But, short of driving all night out to Boise, he supposed there wasn’t much else they could do. Still, he didn’t like the idea that he might’ve missed a clue, might’ve misled the hunter. He clicked his pen again and again, going over the case in his mind, worst case scenarios—

“Are you going to sleep now?” Cas asked, and Dean glanced at him.

“No.” Dropping the pen, he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. “Don’t think I can now.”

“Would you say you’re feeling stressed? Anxious, perhaps?” Cas deliberately looked to his right and Dean followed his gaze to the weighted blanket folded on a chair.

“Dude, don’t even start.”

“You should use it,” Cas urged. “There’s no shame in feeling anxious, I often feel the same way too.”

“I’ve dealt with worse before, this is nothing new. Just comes with the job.”

Cas sighed. “You put too much on your shoulders.”

Dean shrugged. “Like I said, comes with the job.” If he wasn’t always on edge, he figured he was doing things wrong. Get too comfortable and bad things happened. Just the way it was.

“Still, you can admit you need a break.”

“Jeez, Cas, I’m wounded.” Dean pressed a hand to his chest. “It’s like you don’t even know me.”

Cas rolled his eyes and stood. “Don’t stay up too late.” He seemed to hesitate, fighting against saying more, and Dean said,

“I’m fine, Cas, really.”

“Okay.” Cas didn’t look too convinced, but he kissed Dean goodnight and headed off to their bedroom.

Dean cleaned up the mess of books and papers on the table, turned off the lamps just to do something with his hands. Normally, this is when he’d grab a drink, try to calm his head, but he’d been trying to cut back lately—blame Cas’ concern for his liver—so instead he decided to head to the Dean Cave. Maybe a few episodes of Dr. Sexy would distract himself enough to sleep.

Leaving the room, his eyes fell on the weighted blanket again. Cas and his ridiculous ideas. If Dean hadn’t been sleeping too well lately, that was just the result of living their kind of life. Nothing to do about it. Ignore the stress or end up drowning in it, that was his motto.

(And a horrible coping method, according to Sam and Cas)

Either way, lying under twenty pounds of “cotton and poly pellets” wasn’t going to help. Though the blanket had been really soft, he’d give it that.

He forgot all about it the following day, though, when Sam found a case a few towns over, and Dean and Cas drove over to meet him there. Disturbed gravesites, people disappearing near the cemetery at night. A ghoul, by all signs. A day of morgue visits and interviewing witnesses, then another two days of sitting parked in the cemetery, waiting for the ghoul to emerge again and feed. Dean was almost happy to see the thing when it crawled out of its grave. Almost.

Killing the damn thing hadn’t been too easy. But after inadvertently destroying a few gravestones, nearly falling into an open grave, and narrowly avoiding losing a few limbs, they finally bashed the ghoul’s brains in thoroughly, and split up from the cemetery. Dean went to speak to the latest victim’s mother while Cas and Sam got rid of the remains.

Returning to the bunker first, Dean showered, blood and ghoul remains washing away down the drain. But even the warm water couldn’t ease the jitteriness sitting high in his chest. The ghoul had been strong, fast, and Dean’s heart had leapt into his throat when it got a hold of Sam. Even Cas had struggled to stop the thing, gunshots only serving to anger the son of a bitch more.

Getting out of the shower, he scrubbed himself dry with his towel, inspected a cut along his arm. Not deep enough for stitches. If Sam had avoided a concussion, they were lucky. The ghoul was dead, at least. Left a dozen ruined graves and a few torn apart teenagers in its wake, but dead.

As he changed into clean clothes, he heard the bunker door open. “All good?” he asked, entering the war room to find Sam and Cas setting down their bags.

“If you mean will the trunk always reek like ghoul, then yes,” Sam said. He grimaced as he took off his boots, muddy footprints already leaving a trail down the bunker stairs. Then he glanced at his phone and smiled, said, “Eileen’s calling.”

“Whipped,” Dean mouthed at him as Sam answered his phone, smiling at the screen and walking off down the hallway. “Well,” he told Cas, ”you look like shit.”

Cas gave him his best, I can smite you even without my grace look. “Charming.” He headed off down the hallway towards their bedroom and Dean followed. “How did Mrs. Landis take the news?”

Dean sucked in a breath. “Uh, 'bout how you'd expect, I guess. Told her a bear had gotten to her son, but it was all taken care of now. Not much else to say.”

The mother had sobbed and thanked him. He’d done a piss poor job of comforting her and left with an all-too-familiar sick feeling in his stomach; they hadn’t done enough, they could never save everyone.

“And you?” Cas asked, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at Dean as he pushed open the door to their bedroom. “Are you alright?”

Dean started to nod, say fine, but he knew Cas would see straight through the lie. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he shrugged, dropping his hands into his lap. “Just shook up. Coulda been a bad one.”

Cas nodded as he pulled off his trenchcoat, the edges bloody and muddy. “We’re all safe. You don’t have to torture yourself thinking about what could’ve happened.”

Dean shut his eyes, took a deep breath. “I know.” Easier said than done.

He heard Cas’s footsteps, then felt Cas’ fingers on his cheek and tilted his head into his palm. Breathed in and out. Cas smelled like blood and guts and sweat, not a particularly pleasant combination, but his hand was warm and his other hand was carding through his hair and, shit, that felt nice.

“Go to sleep,” Cas said quietly. “You need rest.”

Dean nodded and Cas kissed the top of his head. He left to take a shower and Dean scrubbed his hands over his face.

Fuck, this hunt had been a close one. Closer than they’d had in a long time.

Dropping his hands, his eyes settled on the weighted blanket that Cas had left folded on the chair at the desk, a silent plea for him to use it. He rolled his eyes. Anxious, his ass.

He started to pull the covers back on the bed, but the thought of lying down with the hunt running on repeat through his head was less than appealing. Cas’ trenchcoat hung bloody on the wall, and Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking, adrenaline and nerves still rushing through him.

Alright, maybe a little anxious.

With a glance at the door to convince himself Cas would be in the shower for a little while longer, he grabbed the blanket, brought it to their bed.

Getting under the covers, he draped the blanket over himself and lay down, shifting to get comfortable. Once settled, he stared up at the ceiling and waited for the miracle blanket to work its wonders. How much money had Cas spent on this shit? He really had to hide the credit cards.

He shifted again, the mattress creaking, and dropped back with a huff. Not that he didn’t appreciate Cas trying to help, but a twenty-pound blanket wasn’t what he needed. What he needed was a full night of sleep and a blow job and an all-expenses-paid trip to Cancún. His nose was itchy, his knee was bruised, his back was fucked up from getting thrown against a gravestone, Sam had already found another case in Albuquerque, and, fuck, he was just so damn tired.

Shutting his eyes, he forced himself to breathe through the sensation of his chest tightening. He could feel the blanket rise and fall with every deliberate breath, and he counted like Sam had taught him years ago when he’d woken with a panic attack—breathe in for seven seconds, hold for four, let out for eight.

Don’t think about what could’ve happened. We’re all safe. Cas is safe, Sam is safe. I’m safe.

His heartbeat slowly settled. The blanket’s weight was strangely comforting, warm, trapping him under the covers. Forced to stay still, he felt his limbs slowly relax into the mattress, the tenseness in his shoulders dissipating, his back easing and hands curling loosely along the sheets.

Okay. Shit. Maybe there was something to this weighted blanket thing. His mind grew hazier as his thoughts began to wander, and he found himself drifting off to sleep when the bedroom door creaked open and startled his eyes open.

“You’re using it,” Cas whispered excitedly, standing in the doorway. “Are you relaxed?”

“Fuck off,” Dean told him. He would’ve flipped him off, but that would require lifting his hand out from under the blanket and he was too—dammit, Cas was right—relaxed to move.

“I knew it would be perfect,” Cas said, sounding too triumphant. Shutting the door softly, he got into bed next to him—well, tried to. He shoved at the blanket encroaching on his side of the bed. “Dean, move over.”

“Nope.” Dean shut his eyes again. “Reap what you have sown.”

Grumbling, Cas turned off the light and got under the covers with more rustling and movement than necessary. Finally, he settled down. The bunker hummed, the heating running, the pipes in the walls creaking as a shower turned on down the hallway. The blanket heavy on top of him, Dean began to fall asleep again.

“Are you really gonna keep that on all night?” Cas asked, disturbing the quiet.

“Yup.”

Cas huffed and Dean could only keep up the ruse for a few more seconds before lifting the edge of the blanket. “Come on, get under.”

Sliding over, Cas got underneath, and they laid side by side, pressed against each other. Their fingers brushed, and Dean crooked a finger around Cas’ thumb.

“This is nice,” Cas commented, voice quiet. “I’m glad it’s helping.”

“Mhm.” He was starting to think he should’ve bought one of these things a long time ago. He hadn’t realized how strung out he was before until now, all the tension in his body slipping away.

Cas shifted onto his side and Dean blinked open his eyes to look at him. “I guess I was right all along, wasn’t I?”

“Don’t push it.” He caught Cas’ smile in the dark and elbowed him on principle before shifting over to kiss him. Then he tugged at Cas’ arm and turned onto his side, prompting Cas to press close against his back and wrap an arm around him.

He smiled, eyes falling shut at the warm press of the blanket and Cas’ body around his. Now he was relaxed.

tag list:

@becky-srs @xojo @marvelnaturalock @aelysianmuse @prayedtoyou @letsjustdieeveryone @good-things-do-happen-dean @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @theninthdutchessofhell @madronasky @famouspsychicpizzabandit @multifandomdisorder @arcticfox007  @improvedpeanut @castiel-is-a-cat @harmonyhelms @thetrueliesofafangirl @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @theangelwiththewormstache @confusedisaster @welcome-to-crowleys-hellhole @celestialcastiel

let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tag list :)

[drulalovescas]

Retired Dean Winchester owns that place

[ananke-xiii]

From Epic to Tragedy to ... Epic, I guess? Or why Supernatural Season 6 is the most important season of all (pt 1).

Do I have your attention? Yes, good. But just so you know it'll be long and in installments and maybe it makes sense or maybe not.

Yes, I know the title is a tiny bit incendiary but I promise I have a point to make.  

So, my idea: I posit that SPN S1-5 are inherently an epic narrative with a tragic tone while S6, in an unexpected turn of events, heavily shifts the show towards a tragic narrative with an epic tone. S6 creates a great divide within the narrative itself that the show is ultimately unable to resolve. On one hand Sam will “carry on” the epic narrative, on the other Castiel will “swan dive” to his (many) tragic endings. S8-11 arc correctly identifies Dean as the character who's able to mitigate the divide and bring the two narratives together. However, the pervy obsession Chuck has with Deanthe show simply refuses to do so, consequently S12 introduces Jack (as an absent character but we already know from S11 The Mother as an Archetype is now alive and well in the unfridged Mary so the emergence of The Son is something clear from the very ending of the previous season) as the character most likely to resolve the narrative. However, S13-15 arc fails because it wants to do too many things at the same time. The "funny" thing is that, as a result, all characters just seem to be extremely tired of The Journey, The Quest, the obstacles, they all start screaming "Catharsis!" but it's still not given to them (hello Chuck!). By the time Cas makes the deal with The Empty the audience feels the impending tragedy and it's partially given to them, although... The show doesn't mend "The Rupture" between the two narratives, Cas dies as a tragic hero, Sam as an epic hero and Dean and Jack will remain in their limbo (a limbheaven, I guess? lol) but in substantially different positions. I personally think that this is what led to the audience’s conflicted response about the finale: ultimately the scale was tipped off in favor of the tragic narrative but the audience was eventually given the epic narrative ending.  

Premise: this is my very first attempt at writing what in my mind, I hope, will turn out to be an analysis, a meta if you will, about Supernatural. I stand on the shoulders of giants and I myself am a microscopic ant but, you know, there’s room for everyone even for a little ant like me. I want to write down my thoughts and share them with strangers on the internet because 1) if I keep all my ideas trapped inside my head I’ll explode; 2) writing them down helps holding my spiraling mind down; 3) I thrive when people listen to my convoluted thoughts and share their opinions and we all have heated chats and sometimes I end up hating those people because they’re right but also I fall in love with their minds lol.  

Finally, please just remember that I’m also just a girl, sitting in front of a laptop, asking you to not come at me.

Part 1: Or where I posit that SPN s1-5 are inherently an epic narrative with a tragic tone…

Tell me, O Muse, of the man of many devices…

After the Pilot, the first SPN episode starts with two guys playing a videogame. One tells the other that he’s cheating; the other replies that he’s just smart. Interesting. The third guy we see (Guys! Guys! Guys!) is sending a video to his girlfriend and oh, look! He’s reading “The Hero with a Thousand Face” written by Joseph Campbell.

In less than 10 seconds the show is literally telling us everything we need to know: we’re dealing with Young Males, An Adventure, Trials, Obstacles… and with the completion of the journey (just like the videogame: overcome all your obstacle until you win). Basically, the show is an epic narrative. More specifically, it’s an epic narrative like The Odyssey. Well, actually, no. It’s more like The Telemachy. The Telemachy is the first 4 books of the Odyssey where Telemachus leaves Ithaca for the first time to look for his Absent Father. Sounds familiar? By the way, to this day I can’t help but feel deep admiration when I realize that The Odyssey is the story of The Absent Father and it starts off… precisely with his absence! Just like Supernatural, LOL.

Necessary aside: as if this was not already enough S10E5 Fan Fiction gifts us with what I find is the most brilliant meta ever metaed on SPN (and no, I’m not talking about the fan fiction part). In this episode we find out that the MOTW is… *drums roll* CALLIOPE!!! The muse who presides over EPIC POETRY! And she wants to EAT The Author (and, in hindsight the fact that the Real Author is God… I mean, possibly Calliope was THEE monster that they really shouldn’t have killed lol). As if this was not enough… Maggie hits Calliope with… The Odyssey! Robbie Thompson was VIBING when he was writing this episode, I’m telling you!

Okay so now going back to my main point. Supernatural epic has a very distinct tragic tone. The Absent Father does return like Odysseus (end of S1) but he can’t stay (beginning of S2): in order for the Adventure to continue The Father must die (unlike the Odyssey where Father and Son unite to defeat the enemy and Return to The Ordinary World Together). After all, this is not The Odyssey, it’s The Telemachy where The Hero is not The Father but The Son.

So know let’s talk about The Son. The Epic Hero in Supernatural is Sam Winchester. He’s the one marked at birth by the story, aka The Special Kid with Psychic Powers of S2. This is the second half of the “Challenges and temptations” phase of the Hero’s Journey culminating with The Revelation and the subsequent Death&Rebirth. Sam will have to go through this cycle a lot because his own role commands it. He has to face the Abyss and then come out of it otherwise the story can’t progress. Occasionally, he’ll have to step outside the Special World into the Ordinary World (The Normal Life) even though he has not completed all the stages because the story needs to reboot and if The Hero goes back to the Ordinary World having completed all the stages then the story is over. This is why after 15 (FIFTEEN!) season it might feel (or, as I should say, I feel because people here largely disagree) that Sam’s arc is.. well, not exactly something that varies over time. It’s not the character’s fault: he’s just drawn that way (because the show refused to let go of this trite and old Hero’s Journey cycle but this is a topic for another time, hello Chuck, ya basic!). So Sam, The Son. S3 Sam faces the challenges of possibly losing his brother so The Quest is trying to save Dean. Of course, this won’t happen (as previously stated, Sam needs a continuous Quest because he’s an Epic Hero) so we’re back at square one in S4-5 with the demon blood, the 66 sigils and, ultimately, Lucifer and the apocalypse.

Sam is the Epic Hero, special by birth, called back to the Adventure by his brother, quick learner, intelligent and warrior-like, overcomer of obstacles, trials and (maybe to a lesser degree lol) temptations and capable of facing the Abyss. I like the fact that he's definitely not The Perfect Hero because his many flaws make him more compelling and fascinating. Speaking of flaws, there's one thing that Sam lacks. Sure, like all characters on every TV show he has a need, a desire AND a fatal flaw. However, there is a fatal flaw and THE fatal flaw: hamartia.

Hamartia is the tragic flaw, the character's very own trait that brings about his very own downfall. How do we know that Sam lacks this very specific trait? Because he never experiences utter and total ruin brought about by his and his own only hands.

However, there is a certain character, the one and only character that dares to "make it up as [he goes]", that committs a huge mistake, and he errs not because of some events, not because of some circumstances, possibly not even because of God's will: he just makes decisions that trigger cosmic consequences...

I wonder who could it be...

[orpheuscas]

i think there is a lot about gardener cas. and rightfully so. but consider. gardener dean. dean who has spent his whole life feeling like a weapon, feeling like he’s only good for destruction, finally getting to make something grow. dean who loves to work with his hands, who loves to get dirty, finally getting to create something beautiful. and we know he loves nesting, we know he loves cooking for his family, why wouldn’t he love creating a garden? he wants cas to have a place to sit in the sun and watch the bees, he wants fresh vegetables for the people he loves. he wants to sit back on his heels at the end of a long day and wipe the sweat from his brow and look out over rows and rows of beautiful alive growing things and think to himself, i did that.

[purgatoryprayer]

I burned so long so quiet you must have wondered if I loved you back

I did

I did

I do.

[rubyone]

dean is an old man bc he’s grumpy and would tell people to get off his lawn and cas is an old man bc he has the unselfconsciousness of old people who are gonna do whatever they want bc they’ve been alive too long to care and sam is an old man bc he is an old soul. supernatural is about a bunch of old men thriving

[yorkesteins]

i didn’t finish the post-canon fix it i was working on before dean’s birthday like i’d planned bc of who i am as a person but posting this lil family bit i’m obsessed with because it’s his BIRTHDAY and he is ALIVE AND THRIVING as a HUSBAND AND FATHER:

They usually drive down the mountain a bit to Burnsville on the weekends. It ain’t that big, but it’s novelty enough for a five year old, and they’ve got a hardware store with a garden center. When Sam and Eileen come by, they’ll take a longer drive to Boone or Asheville and do the tourist thing (which apparently means buy Jack a goddamn seven dollar milkshake from that yuppie chocolate place, according to certain semi-fallen angels mooching off Dean’s hard earned fraudulent credit cards, but whatever), but Saturdays in Burnsville are family time all the same. 

They always do the hardware store first, because it takes the longest. Dean has already grabbed the new faucet for the kitchen sink, but Cas is taking his sweet time in the garden center, agonizing over the fertilizer. Jack, in some unholy combination of a kindergartener’s boredom and an ongoing adjustment from the loss of adult coordination when he downsized, has already knocked over three ceramic flower pots and two of those weird little six packs of marigolds. The flowers seem okay, and only one of the pots was a little chipped on the rim, so Dean surreptitiously shoves it behind a couple his kid’s flailing limbs haven’t gotten a hold of yet.

“C’mon, kiddo,” he sighs, holding out his hand. The little bit of irritation that’d been building up slides away as Jack’s palm smacks against his own, automatic and trusting. “Let’s go to the bookstore while your dad finishes up.”

Jack bounces on the balls of his Converse clad feet. Dean hadn’t even known they made Converse that small. Jack’s got them in four colors now, because the kid’s got a killer pout and Cas is a pushover.

“New books?” he asks, hopefully. The edges of that killer pout begin to form. Dean crosses his arms, because he ain’t a pushover. 

“We’ll see.”

“Four? I got four last time.”

“Three,” Cas corrects, idly. Dean turns to look at him; Cas’s brow furrows intensely as he inspects a container of Miracle Grow for Fruits and Vegetables. “He got three last time. But he’s already read them all.”

“You’re a pushover,” Dean says, for the umpteenth time in the past month at least. Cas looks up, finally, and smiles placidly. Dean sighs. “Two, Jack. We can get two, and that’s my final offer.”

“Okay, two!” Jack says, head bobbing in agreement. Dean silently resigns himself to the inevitability of leaving with three new books. 

The bookstore is small, and it smells like a small, used bookstore–undertones of old, musty pages and the warmth of an old heater working against the last of the early spring chill. Jack makes a beeline for the middle of the third aisle and immediately plops his little butt down. From what Dean can tell, he’s meticulously debating the merits of every Magic Treehouse book they’ve got in stock. Like father, like son. 

Dean grins a little to himself as he picks idly through the Staff Recommends section up front.