#【 » take this curse and make somethin’ good out of it ⇢ sam winchester. « 】

[shaepschift-a]

@devilsnare liked the thing and asked for something from the sammy! HE SAID NOT TO DO ANYTHING, he'd asked him and asked him, insisted Sam not take any action against the deal : but what did the eldest Winchester expect? Dean's clock was ticking down and he was just supposed to sit there and be okay with it? How could he expect that of him! How did that make any sense!? When the fury had faded Sam immediately began his hunt but every avenue seemed to run dry. There wasn't any lore in the books he was familiar with, and even less in the ones he was unfamiliar with. Perhaps he needed a grander source of information-- and he knew just where to go.

Gargantuan stature makes it's way through the Mystic Grill and Sam chooses a seat near the back corner so he might keep an eye on all points of entry. To say he's on edge would be an understatement-- hell Dean might come busting through those doors demanding to know what he's up to-- or worse, lord only knew what they were up against. "Thanks for coming, Bonnie." Sam greets, smile gracing lips as the witch makes her way into the booth. "I WAS HOPING YOU'D BE ABLE TO HELP ME OUT WITH SOMETHING."

[keiththecat]

Admissible (Part Three)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader (You)

Summary: You've always hunted alone. That is, until Bobby sends you on a hunt near the Winchester brothers. How will things change when they come to help?

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: 18+, series typical violence and monsters, weapons, cursing, groping/ almost sexual assault, self-doubt/ self-esteem issues, character death, injuries, hurt/comfort

Author's Note: Here's part three! Hope you're enjoying so far! Feel free to message me if you have any questions or concerns about anything. Y/N is your name, and feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading and thanks for all the love so far! <3

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters. The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. This work of fan fiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. All rights of the original Supernatural series belong to The CW Network.

Part One

AO3 link here

Despite only getting a few hours of sleep and being awake before the sunrise, you feel lighter and more rested than you have in years. However, knowing that you’ll leave the Winchesters today leaves a surprisingly bitter taste in your mouth. It’ll be fine, you remind yourself. You’ve made it this long by yourself. You can keep in touch, if they want to. Maybe your paths will cross again.

You spend the morning searching news articles across the country, hoping that you can find something to give you a destination and a hunt. No time to be sad about this crush if I’m busy killing things. You hear the Impala leave the motel around 8:30AM, indicating Dean is going to fix your car. A while later, Bobby calls you.

“Hello?” You answer.

“Still with the boys?” He asks.

“Yeah? Why?”

“Gonna need ya to head this way with them when you’re done there,” he says. “Got somethin’ suspicious up this way, you’re the closest group.”

“Oh, we’re a group now, are we, Bobby?” You tease.

“Well am I wrong?” He asks. You grumble in response, hating his ability to see right through you. “‘S what I thought. I’ll send you the info, you can pass it along to them.”

“Alright, Bobby, I’ll let them know. We’ll head out from here as soon as my car is fixed.” You say your goodbyes and hang up, forming a group text message with the brothers.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Y/N 9:55AM: Bobby has a case, asked for the three of us. Said we’re the closest. Wakefield, Nebraska.]

[Dean 9:58AM: Got it. Should be done your car in the next 30]

You set about cleaning your weapons to pass the time, disassembling your pistol to thoroughly clean the inside. Once it is clean and back together, you clean up the salt lines as best you can and pick up your sigil trap mats, rolling them up so they’ll fit back in your bag. You run through a quick inventory in your mind, making sure you have everything packed away. Pistol, knives, sigils, salt, lamb’s blood, holy water, clothes, toiletries, journal, lighter fluid, matches, phone charger… You’re interrupted by your phone.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 10:25AM: Car’s done. On my way back to you guys. Be ready to leave]

Confident that you have all your things, you grab your bags, leave your key on the desk in the motel’s office, and head back toward room 9. Sam comes out of the room, bags in hand, and runs right into you.

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Y/N! Didn’t see you there.”

“All good, Lurch,” you smirk. “Need a hand?”

“‘Lurch’?” He asks, shaking his head with a laugh. “Actually, help would be great. Return our key for me?”

You agree, take the key and return it. When you come back out, Dean has returned and they are loading their bags into the Impala.

“Alright, boys. What’s the plan?” you call out as you get closer.

“We were just talking about that,” Dean answers. “We can drop you at your car and head to Nebraska from there?”

“Or we could all swing by the bunker, leave your car there, and go to Nebraska together?” Sam proposes. “You know, since we’re all going to the same place anyway.”

You think for a moment. More time with them, I guess. Here’s the cliff, time to choose: jump or hide tail and run. “Sure, sounds good.” Might as well embrace it. Maybe I can manage to at least get some friends out of this deal.

Sam’s shy but ecstatic grin in response could light up the darkest of nights, eyes shining. “Awesome.”

Dean glances between the two of you, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, good idea, Sammy. Glad that big head is good for something.” He roughs up Sam’s hair, and Sam makes a face, smacking Dean’s hands away. You laugh at their antics, wondering just what kind of shenanigans you’ve agreed to. 

*

Just over half an hour later, you are following the Impala into a well-hidden tunnel. Damn, this is cool. You find yourself feeling jealous that not only do they have a place to call home, but it’s like something out of a movie. Dean slows the Impala to a stop, pointing his arm out the window to show you where you can park. You pull into the empty spot, looking at all the vehicles they have in appreciation and wondering which of them rides the motorcycles. Probably Dean.

You grab your bags, leave your car keys in the visor, and pat the hood of your car goodbye. Sam is waiting at the trunk of the Impala to take your bags. “You sure this is okay?”

“Yeah, Sam. A longer ride in the Impala? Of course it’s cool.”

Your bags secure in the trunk, you hop into the back seat and Sam back into the passenger seat. Dean pulls out of the garage, heading north.

*

A few hours later finds you and the Winchesters pulling into a diner’s parking lot in Wakefield, Dean explaining, “My brain shuts down when I’m hungry. We eat, then we plan.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “Your brain doesn’t plan even on a full stomach, Dean.”

Dean gives him a dirty look, getting out of the car and heading into the diner. You and Sam follow him in. Dean sits on one side of a booth, Sam sits on the other, and you debate for a moment before waving them to the corner booth instead. The boys comply, coming to the corner booth. Dean sits with his back to the dining area, Sam sits on the opposite side in the corner and you slide in next to Sam. After scanning the room, you notice the boys watching you, Sam with both eyebrows raised in question and Dean with his brows furrowed at you.

You debate for a second, then decide that you should explain your thought process. “Corner. No surprises from behind.”

The boys take a moment to consider before nodding. Three exits: front door, side door, back door through kitchen. Windows on two sides.

“I think talking to the Mullen family is where we should start. Their teenage son died in a swimming pool a few days ago,” Sam states, glancing over the menu.

The waitress comes by, takes your orders. She’s small with short grey hair, probably in her 60s. You all get coffee, Dean gets a burger, you and Sam get salads. She scurries away, promising it’ll only be a moment.

“People die swimming all the time,” Dean reasons, “What makes it our business?”

“He was basically a professional, on track to be the youngest competitor in the next Olympics actually,” Sam answers before you can.

“I vote we get rooms, we can change clothes, and drive to their house. Talk to them, feel them out a little. The sun hasn’t even set yet,” you suggest and the brothers agree.

The waitress brings your drinks and food, your table comfortably silent while you all eat your first meal of the day. 

After your meal is finished and you’ve paid, you pile back into the Impala, find a motel, and grab two rooms. You go into your single, the boys go into their double. You cleanse the room, set up your salt lines and sigil trap mats. You change into your monkey suit, grab your fake FBI badge, load yourself up with your weapons, and step outside. Both Winchesters are leaning against the Impala, Dean’s arms crossed and Sam running his fingers through his hair.

“Ready, slowpokes?” You joke. The boys snort out laughs, getting into the car and you follow. 

As you’re pulling up next to the Mullen household, an ambulance speeds by with lights and siren on. The three of you look at each other. “You two talk to them, I’ll check that out?” Dean asks, gesturing over his shoulder in the direction of the ambulance. You and Sam agree, getting out of the car quickly and Dean speeds off.

“Alright then. You want to take the lead?” Sam asks you.

“You go ahead. You’ve got that likable face.”

He nods, smiling a little. You both walk up to the door, you behind Sam. He knocks on the door, and a short, stout woman in her 40s answers. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am. Agents Nichols and Kelley with the FBI. We were hoping to ask you some questions about Cole,” Sam says, you both flashing your badges before returning them to your pockets.

She opens the door, letting you both in and leading the way. “Sure, sure. Anything to get some answers for my boy. Can I get you both anything?” she asks.

“No, we’re fine, thank you,” Sam answers. You notice the pictures hanging in the hallway on your way by. There are countless pictures hanging, all showing Cole at different ages, gold medals hanging around his neck and a bright smile on his face. Definitely not a lack of skill or knowledge that caused this.

You join them in the living room, you and Sam sitting on the couch and Missus Mullen sitting across from you in a chair. “I’m surprised you all are here, the local police seemed convinced it was an accident. I had to fight for them to do an autopsy,” her voice breaks, tears starting to fall. You grab the box of tissues off the coffee table and offer it to her, she takes one and blows her nose. 

“Sometimes these things get passed to other offices,” Sam explains. “If you don’t mind, what can you tell us about Cole?”

“Well,” she starts, “he was a normal, happy kid. Perfect grades in school. Never got into trouble. He loved swimming. It was his whole life.”

“And he was very proficient at it, wasn’t he?” Sam asks.

“He was. Always first place in competitions. We registered him for the next Olympic trials meet.” she explains, wiping her eyes.

“Was there anything weird the day he died? Or in the days leading up to it?” you ask.

“No, nothing.” she answers. “That’s what I’ve been asking myself too. But nothing was weird. He ate his lunch like he always does, and then he got in the pool and didn’t come back out.”

“He didn’t struggle? Yell for help?” Sam asks.

“Nothing like that, no. It looked like he grabbed his stomach, but then he just sank.”

You and Sam look at each other before you address her again, “Thank you for your time, Missus Mullen. We’ll look into everything and be in touch. So sorry again.” You hand her a business card as you and Sam get up to leave.

“Thank you, Agents,” she says, closing the door once you’re outside.

Both of your phones ding at the same time.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 7:11PM: You guys ready to be picked up? You won’t believe what I found at the hospital]

[Sam 7:11PM: Yeah, come get us]

“Well that was weirdly normal, yet also super weird at the same time,” you say.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Sam says, smiling a little at your wording.

*

You find yourselves back at the motel in no time, all in the Winchesters’ room. You’re sitting with your legs tucked under you on the couch, Sam is sitting in a chair at the table with his laptop open in front of him, and Dean is sitting on his bed with his legs stretched out in front of him and his back against the headboard. 

“What do you mean, ‘gum?’” You ask again.

“I’m telling you,” Dean explains, “it was gum. They rushed the kid into surgery and his stomach was packed totally full of chewed gum.”

“That makes no sense though,” Sam says, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead with his fingers.

“I know it doesn’t but that’s what it was,” Dean shrugs, then snaps his fingers, “Oh! And there was another kid there whose eyes were stuck crossed. His mom was yelling that he was making faces and his eyes just got stuck like that. They’re having a weird day at that hospital.”

“Okay,” you say, “let’s just lay this all out. A kid with his stomach full of gum, a kid with his eyes stuck, a kid drowned after eating his lunch... These are all old wives’ tales, aren’t they?”

Sam lifts his head to look at you, “you’re right. But what is causing them to be true?”

“A witch?” You propose.

“Ughhh, I hate witches,” Dean groans, throwing his head back against the wall.

“Maybe,” Sam agrees. “What if they wanted a specific one to be true but they weren’t specific enough in their spell?”

“Then they suck,” Dean says, pouting like a child at the thought of dealing with a witch.

You laugh a little, “I mean, you’re not wrong, Dean.”

“I know I’m not. I’m always right. And witches always suck.”

“Getting back on track,” Sam interrupts, “how do we find them?”

“What if we look for someone who had good luck recently? Lottery or love?” You wonder out loud.

“Genius,” Sam says, starting to type on this laptop. “I could just kiss your brain.”

You blush and tuck your chin, trying to hide subtly. Dean grins at you, noticing your rosy cheeks. You take a deep breath, willing your face to return to normal color.

“So get this,” Sam says, “there was a marriage announcement in the paper yesterday. Says the man and woman only met two days before getting married, calling it ‘love at first sight.’”

“That fits. I’d call love at first sight an old wives’ tale.” You reason.

“Well, I don't know about that,” Dean argues. “It seems like it can happen for some people.”

You and Sam look at him in shock. You know enough about his love-them-and-leave-them habits from talking with other hunters. “Are you sick?” You ask, getting up to put a hand on Dean’s forehead and check for fever.

He smacks your hand away, “No, I’m not sick. Get off me. I’m just saying, for some people, not me, but it might happen for some.” He pointedly smirks at you.

Your teasing attitude immediately melts away and your face falls, realizing he is hinting at your feelings for his brother. You’re very glad that Sam is behind you and can’t see your reaction. You give Dean the smallest of head shakes, hoping he’ll take pity on you and keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah, sure, Dean,” Sam says behind you, scoffing. “As if you’d suddenly start believing in something like that.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I guess,” Dean agrees, thankfully seeming to drop it. “So do we think the witch is him or her?”

“Well, I’ve got a way to find out,” Sam says, “but we’ll have to separate them.”

Sam, apparently incredibly skilled with spell work, explains that he can cast a spell to locate the witch who cast the original spell, but it will only give him a location. It’s decided that you and Dean will separate the couple to two different areas of town under the guise of them each winning a party, bachelor party for him and bachelorette for her. The biggest con to this plan is that as soon as the witch is revealed to Sam, the witch will be aware that they are being targeted. Sam will call whichever one of you needs to attack and you’ll need to act fast.

Sam gives you a few witch-killing bullets, and you load them into your pistol. You ‘borrow’ a car from the parking lot for the evening. Sam gathers some supplies from the Impala, and has everything set up for the spell within a few minutes. 

“Alright, we all ready?” Dean asks, loading his own witch-killing bullets and placing his pistol in the back of his jeans.

You and Sam respond affirmatively. The boys give each other a pat on the shoulder. With that, you and Dean leave, him in the Impala and you in your ‘borrowed’ sedan. You glance back up at the motel when you’re pulling away to see Sam in the window of the room, giving you a small wave.

*

You and Dean park at the house where Claire and Mick Allen live. You walk up to the door together, and Dean knocks on the door.

After several moments, Mick opens the door. He’s an average looking guy, brown hair, and in his 30s. “Can I help you?”

“Congratulations! You and your wife have won!” You exclaim.

“Won what? What is this, honey?” Claire comes to the door, standing beside her husband. She’s petite, has long blonde hair, and looks to be in her late 30s.

“Well, ma’am, we are part of a company called Eternal Love. We have a team who monitors marriages, and we choose couples monthly who get to go on all-expenses-paid bachelor and bachelorette parties. You lovely people are the winners this month!” You explain, trying to sound excited.

“Oh wow, sweetie,” Mick says to Claire, “This is awesome! We didn’t get the chance to go before the wedding.”

“Aw, how perfect!” Dean says. “Well, we’ll just need you both to pack overnight bags and we can be on our way. Don’t worry about the late hour, we will take care of driving and you can rest on the way.”

“Oh, I don’t know, honey,” Claire says.

“Let’s do it, sweetie. It’s all paid for.” Mick argues.

Claire still seems hesitant, but Mick turns to you and Dean, “We’ll do it. We’ll go pack and be right back.” Mick ushers his wife back into the house and closes the door.

You and Dean wait impatiently. The couple returns after a few minutes, each with a small duffel bag in their hands. You usher Claire to your car, Dean ushers Mick to his. You pull out your phones before getting inside.

[Group Message: Three’s Company]

[Dean 8:59PM: I have Mick. Heading east]

[Y/N 8:59PM: I have Claire. Heading west]

You each get in, pulling away and driving in opposite directions. The only noise in the car is the quiet sounds coming from the radio for several minutes. Then Claire speaks up, “So where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” you answer. “I promise it’ll be worth it. We should get there in about half an hour.”

“Oh. Okay,” she responds, disappointed that you wouldn’t give her more information.

“So how long have you two known each other?” You ask, trying to kill time.

“Not very long,” she admits. “Only a few days, really.”

“Wow, love at first sight, huh?”

“Yeah, it was,” she says.

You focus on appearing relaxed, but you keep your muscles tense, ready to grab your pistol if your phone rings. You’re driving for a few more minutes before Claire gasps and starts crying. “Oh my God, why did I marry him? I don’t even know him!”

You realize that the spell must have broken, meaning Dean got rid of Mick. You start trying to calm Claire down and explain what happened when your phone rings.

“It’s not her,” you answer.

“I think something happened to Dean, he won’t answer.” Sam says quickly.

You turn the car around to speed in the direction Dean drove. “Well he did something because the spell is broken. I’m going to look for him. Where did your spell lead?”

“Industrial Road, east of town.”

“Claire, I need you to lead me to Industrial Road, quickly.” 

She looks at you, still panicked.

“Claire, I promise I will explain everything but I need you to help me. Can you do that? Please?” You beg.

She nods, leading you through town and to Industrial Road. You put Sam on speakerphone and laid your phone on the dash, focusing on looking for any sign of the Impala or Dean.

“There’s a car there!” Claire says, pointing.

You pull off to the side, slamming the car into park and jump out, leaving Claire and your phone behind and telling her to stay in the car. The Impala is on the side of the road at an angle, both front doors thrown open. You pull out your pistol and flashlight, making your way into the trees. You find Mick first, laying face down, blood seeping into his shirt from a shot to the heart. You still check for a heartbeat, finding nothing. You’re continuing deeper into the trees when you hear a rustle behind you, spinning around with your pistol aimed at the noise.

“Woah, woah, Y/N, it’s me!”

“Dean?” Your eyes register him standing in front you, left eye swollen and blood running down the side of his face. On instinct, you rush forward and wrap your arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re okay, I got so scared when Sam called,” you say into his chest. Can’t believe I like these boys this much already.

He pats your back, “yeah, yeah, I’m fine. You good?”

“Oh my God!” you say, realizing you left Sam on the phone in the car. You pull away and run back to the car with Dean following behind. Claire is holding your phone, watching the trees, and she gets out of the car to hand the phone to you when she sees you coming.

“Sam, I found him, he’s okay,” you tell him. “A little beat up but okay.”

You hear a sigh of relief on the other side of the phone. “Good, I’m glad. Take care of things there and come back, okay?”

“Yeah, we will, Sam. See you soon.”

Part Four

[shotgunscn]

tagdrop. 

[crashdevlin]

Swan Song

Author’s Note: This is part Twenty-six of The Best Laid Plans series

Summary: Y/n is living life without marks and without alpha influence...but the End is nigh...sacrifices must be made.

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, mentions of Alpha!Dean x Omega!Lisa

Word count: 3583

Story Warnings:  angst...A/B/O dynamics, canon divergence, mentions of physical violence against the reader, canon major character deaths and resurrections

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, where are we this week, girl? Hawaii, Puerto Rico?" Bobby asked and you smiled, looking around the dirty Canadian dive bar.

"Santo Domingo. Gotta love the Dominican," you lied.

"Where you really?"

You took a drink of your beer and picked at the peeling vinyl of the table top. "Saskatoon. Cursed church bell, drives people to suicide when they hear it."

"Need help?"

"Nah. I've got this. Just need to convince the vicar to let me melt down a bell that's been part of their church since the 1800s. No big deal." You sighed and scratched at your turtleneck. "How are they?"

"Thought you didn't wanna know about them, Y/n."

"Didn't want to be attached to them. Not the same thing."

Bobby sighed. "They took a trip through Heaven a few days ago...got a message from the big man Himself."

"God? They talked to God?" you asked, eyes wide.

"Talked to someone talks to God...and God said they're on their own."

"Sounds like God...handle it yourself but worship me for 'guiding' you." You rolled your eyes. "Sam isn't taking that well, is he?"

"Dean's taking it worse."

"What? Dean doesn't care about God."

"Think it's more that God was the last hope and He ain't playin'. What are we even supposed to do now, right?"

"Right." A hopeless Dean Winchester was a problem. No telling what he might do. “I’m sure everything will work out. If God isn’t worried, then I guess we shouldn’t worry.”

"Well, I hope you're right, Y/n." You nodded. You were hoping the same. "I'll call next time we got something new."

"Okay. Good luck, Bobby."

"You too."

You slid your phone into your pocket and took a drink of your beer. Things would be fine...or they wouldn't. Only time could tell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You didn't answer when the call came in from Dean's number. You didn't answer five minutes later when the call came in from Dean's other number. You pulled off into a gas station when your phone dinged with a voicemail message.

"Shoulda known you wouldn't answer...but I really wanted to hear your voice, Y/n. Guess your outgoing message will have to do." He cleared his throat. "I've been thinking about you since you left. Nothing is ever right when you're gone. I think you need to know that. I know why you left. I know I was never really good at being with you. I didn't give you a reason to stay. I should have. But you...you had to leave. You had to make that hard decision and I love you for that. Nobody wanted you to make that decision, to free us, but it was the right choice and I love that you made it. I love you for calling me out on my bullshit. You always did that for me." He sniffled and you could imagine him wiping at his eyes. "And you always kept tryin', even though I pushed you away all the time. You should have given up on me a long time ago and you didn't. I love you, Y/n. I should have said it a long time ago...but more I should have showed you. I should have showed you."

You wiped at your eyes and bit your bottom lip. "I really hope you got to see the world, but if you're on the home continent…stay away from the Midwest. I don't know how big the fight's gonna get."

"Oh, God. Dean, what are you doing?" you whispered as you clicked out of your voicemail to call him back. He didn't answer. "Damn it, Winchester!" You called his other cell, but still didn't get an answer. So you called John's cell. "Where’s Dean?"

John sighed. "Indiana. He's on the goodbye tour."

You rolled your eyes. Indiana meant Lisa. Of course. "He's going to say 'yes', isn't he? After everything, he's going to give up?"

"We aren't going to let him. Sam, Castiel, and I are on our way to stop him."

"You better. He does not get to give up."

"We won't let him," John promised.

"How?"

"We've got an angel on our side, remember? And Castiel really isn't happy about Dean throwing away his sacrifice. We'll keep him safe."

You let out a sigh of relief and nodded. "Let me know if anything bad-"

"Don't worry. We're gonna take care of him."

"Thank you, John."

"Maybe you should call him, though."

"I tried," you responded. "He didn't answer." You shook your head. "It's fine. Get his head on straight. It'll be okay."

"Right. It'll be okay."

"Bye, John." You hung up and set the phone on the passenger seat. You looked up at the sky through your windshield. "I know you don't care about what your angels are doing, but please don't let Dean say 'yes'. Please. I don't ask for a lot but please give me this."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You should come to Detroit." Bobby's words didn't seem worried. Everything about the tone said it was past time to worry.

"What happened?"

"Sam said 'yes' and-"

"What?!"

"It was supposed to be the end of it, Y/n. He was supposed to get control back from Lucifer and jump into the Cage. It was a good plan. Dean and John even approved it, much as they could, ya know, and it-"

"He really thought he was gonna get control from the Devil? Of course it didn't work!" You ran your hand down your face and dug your fingers into your collarbone through your shirt. "So Lucifer has his perfect vessel...what about Michael? Dean didn’t…"

"No, but John's other son did. Heaven brought Adam back from the dead."

"That was nice of 'em. The dumbass said 'yes' because of course he did. So...the fight is...is happening."

"Yeah." He waited a moment. "Come to Detroit."

You sighed. The End. The end of the fight. The end of trying to stop it. The end of the End. "I'm on my way, Bobby."

There was a dark cloud over the city when you pulled the Firebird in next to the Impala in the alleyway outside their hotel. You could feel the hopelessness in the air as you opened the door Bobby indicated in an earlier text and walked in. Dean's eyes raised to meet yours as Bobby rushed to you and wrapped you in a hug. You dropped your duffel and wrapped the redneck in your arms, happy to see him up out of the wheelchair.

"Since when do you walk again?"

"Oh." He looked down at his body as he stepped back. "Demon deal. Added perk. It's a long story."

"Family tradition, those demon deals. At least you got something good out of it."

"Fer a few days."

You patted his shoulder and smiled. "Comes down to it, all we got is a few days at a time."

Dean stood and stepped toward the doorway. "Hey."

"Hey. I'm sorry...about Sam. I know you were all hoping-"

Dean opened his arms but didn't hug you. He waited for you to step into the embrace, green eyes shining with unshed tears as he waited for you to make your choice. There wasn’t a big choice there. Hold a grudge...or hold the man you love. You stepped into him and wrapped your arms around his chest. His arms closed around you and you felt warmth and anguish in the way he held you. There was pain in his scent, anger and hopelessness, but there was a little niggle of comfort as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

There wasn’t a lot said. It was the first time it really felt like a last night on earth. Even the Angel seemed to recognize that things were done. The fight was over. Everything was about to be over.

“I want you to know,” Dean whispered as the sun started going down.

“I know,” you answered. You knew what he would say. It held different significance on a night like that one.

“No. You don’t. You really don’t know...I’ve apologized for pushin’ you away, Y/n, but I need you to know...I thought I was doing the right thing for you. I love you.”

“Dean. I know. Shhh.”

“You’re everything I ever wanted.”

“Everything you ever wanted Sam to have,” you corrected. “Now, shush.” The silence lasted for a few minutes before Dean left, saying he needed some air.

“We did everything right and it doesn’t even matter in the end,” John said, staring at the ceiling.

“Nah. We didn’t do everything right...and it does matter. What we do is more important than anything.” You sighed and leaned forward, resting your head on your knees. “I should have gone to Thailand.”

“Don’t you want to be here with us in your last moments?” Bobby asked.

“Yeah. But I wish these weren’t the last moments.”

Castiel nodded in agreement, before standing. “We should go down...Dean is-”

“Leaving,” you guessed, rushing down to the alleyway without waiting for the others, approaching as he looked in the trunk of the Impala. “Dean?”

“You goin’ someplace?” Bobby asked. “You’re goin’ to do somethin’ stupid. You got that look.”

“I’m gonna go talk to Sam,” Dean answered, heading for the driver’s door.

“You just don’t give up,” Bobby chastised.

“It’s Sam!”

“If you couldn’t reach him here, you’re certainly not going to be able to on the battlefield,” Castiel tried.

“Well, if we’ve already lost, I guess I got nothing to lose, right?” Dean reasoned.

“Boy, this is a bad idea. I don’t wanna lose both of you,” John said.

Dean shook his head. “Too late.”

“I just want you to understand...the only thing that you’re gonna see out there is Michael killing your brother,” Castiel said.

“Well, then I ain’t gonna let him die alone.”

You watched Dean drive away, knowing that he was on his way to his death. “Fuck. We should follow him, right?”

“No. We need to figure out how to even up the chances a little,” John offered. “Hail Mary brainstorm session. Come on. Let’s do this.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So...we’re all gonna die,” you said, looking around the room. “We are going to this fight...the fight...to pull distraction long enough for Dean to maybe get through to Sam long enough for Sam to sacrifice himself and throw himself and Lucifer into the Cage. We’re going to die.”

Everyone took deep breaths and nodded. “It’s our only shot,” Bobby said. “For the whole planet, Dean is our only shot.”

“And like the boy said...if we’ve already lost, what do we have to lose?” John said.

"Might as well go down doing something potentially beneficial,” you whispered. “Okay...let’s do this.”

Castiel teleported you to Stull Cemetery just in time to hear Dean tell Michael that he needed five minutes with Lucifer. “Hey, assbutt!” Cas called out, holding up his Molotov cocktail of Holy Fire. The bottle exploded as it hit Michael and he went up in flames. The Angel didn’t last long after that. Lucifer didn’t appreciate the Angel from the lower choir ‘dick’ing with Michael. Castiel exploded into blood and chunks of Angel.

Dean demanded Sam’s attention, but only Lucifer could hear. He grabbed Dean, intent to beat him to death, but Bobby shot at the Archangel, which earned him a snapped neck. John launched himself at Lucifer next and he was thrown across the cemetery, hitting a large stone angel statue. Michael reappeared as Lucifer was beating Dean’s face in with Sam’s fists. You grabbed Adam’s jacket, trying to keep Michael from stopping the altercation. Dean was getting through. You could see it in the hesitation on Sam’s face. You couldn’t let Michael stop it.

“You stupid fucking monkey!” Michael growled, wrapping Adam’s hand around your throat. You sputtered and kicked as he clenched his fist around your neck, cutting off your air. The sound your hyoid made when your throat was crushed like a soda can followed you into the darkness.

So did the sound of crickets. But that wasn’t right. There shouldn’t be crickets in Heaven.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, a sky full of stars greeting you before being filled in by the vision of hazel eyes and a smile. “John? Why are you in my Heaven?”

“Not Heaven, kid. We’re alive, Y/n. Castiel brought us back.” He offered you his hand and you sat up, allowing him to pull you to your feet.

“Who brought Cas back?” you asked. “Because didn’t Lucifer blow him to shit?”

“Yeah. Can only assume God brought him back, just like last time he was blown up by an Archangel.”

“Well, that’s...very nice of God considering that he...didn’t want to help.” John nodded, but he seemed distracted as he let his fingers move to encircle your wrist. “What’s wrong?”

“You...smell really good,” he whispered, his cheeks going pink. “I should…” He cleared his throat and stepped back away from you. “Think everything got renewed.”

You reached up and gingerly touched the area where your concave scars were. You were met with plush, plump skin under the fabric of your turtleneck. When you pulled the shirt away from your neck, you were met with completely smooth skin. No marks, no scars. Pristine.

"I'm…"

"Omega again." John licked his lips and stepped further back. “Unmarked, pure omega.”

“I’m...this is insane. I can’t believe he just...made me...a normal omega again.”

John nodded and cleared his throat. “I think it’s a real good thing, don’t you?”

You nodded and smiled. “I think it’s an amazing thing.”

“Why don’t we go ahead and see if we can find Dean.”

You smiled a bit sadly. “I know where Dean is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Watching Dean through the front window of Lisa Braeden’s Cicero home made your heart crack. The pain was immense, a longing taking up residence in your chest as you watched Dean hold her, his nose buried in the crook of her neck. Scenting her...his omega.

“You could knock,” John suggested, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. You were sure he was trying to keep from physically comforting you. As much as you wanted the comfort, you appreciated John trying to keep his distance more. “You know he’d be happy to see you alive.”

You shook your head. “No. He’s dreamed of this, John. He dreams of her.” You clutched at your shirt collar. You'd changed into a v-neck on the way to Indiana, excited to show Dean but you knew now that it didn't matter. "He deserves her...and the kid...and any kids she might give him of his own. He deserves to be happy. Let's just...let's go."

"Are you sure?" John asked as you turned away.

"My car is in Detroit. Let's go."

You stared out the window as John drove. It was a blow but not one you couldn't overcome. Dean wasn't ever going to be yours and it was best for you to recognize that and move forward. You were a brand new omega. No marks, no scars from cutting the old marks out. No Dean. No Sam. John, well, he was being nice now but it was going to be best for you to stay away from him, too. You would do best by yourself just like you had since you cut your marks out. You were better alone.

"Don't leave yet," John said as he pulled the stolen car in beside your Pontiac. "You should get some sleep. Get a room, get some rest. Don't drive on this."

You reached over and set your hand on his cheek. "Underneath it all, you're a good man, John. I really appreciate it when you let that man out for me." You swiped your thumb across his cheekbone and smiled. "I'll get a room...but not here. Detroit is not a good place...it's where we lost Sam. Get some rest yourself, though."

"You've got my number. If you ever need anything, Y/n, I'll be there."

You nodded and smiled tightly. "I'll try not to need anything." You got out of the car and headed for yours. Maybe you'd actually travel the world this time. Maybe you'd just hunt the same as always. But you were going to try to not need a damn thing.

You drove out of Detroit and headed South, not stopping until your eyes began to vibrate with lack of sleep. You pulled over into a rest stop and turned off the car, lying the seat back and curling up on your side, waiting for sleep to take you.

Dean would be happy. That was the important thing. Dean was going to be happy with his normal life and you could be happy saving lives...without an alpha. Without anyone. Just you and the road and a good hunt...until you died.

You dreamed of Dean. You dreamed of taking Lisa's place in the normal life...so that you could be what Dean deserved. But even in your dream, Dean made excuses. "I love you...but I can't mark you." "I love you but I can't be with you." "I love you but…"

You blinked your eyes open a few hours later and gasped to see a figure in your passenger seat. You sat up and stared wide-eyed at Sam. "Am I still asleep?"

"Well, I'm not Dean so I'm guessing you're awake."

You ignored the gut shot about Dean and reached into the back, quickly splashing holy water on him and waiting for the sizzle that never came. You pulled your silver knife next and Sam dutifully offered his hand. "Why do you idiots always go for the most nerve-heavy extremity when getting cut? Take the jacket off and give me your bicep or roll your damn pant leg up, you jerk," you snapped. Sam just smirked as he pulled his jacket and flannel off. You were really expecting him to burn with the silver but he didn’t...and moreover, he smelled like Sam. He was not a ghoul. You laughed as you dropped the knife in the center console. "How in the world did you get out of the Cage? I know how hard it is to get out of Hell, but you went into Lucifer’s Cage."

"Can't tell ya." Sam shook his head. "Just woke up in Stull Cemetery, went to check on Dean, saw you and Dad...decided to follow you."

"Why didn't you say something in Cicero?" you asked, analyzing Sam's face. He seemed off. Why would he follow you instead of talking to you and John? Talking to Dean?

"You were with Dad...and I could smell you from across the street, Y/n...I knew you came back all new and improved. Wanted to see what you would do about that. Turns out...nothing."

"You didn't tell Dean you're back?"

"Neither did you." Sam tilted his head and smirked. "He thinks we're both dead...and that means he's gonna stay in Cicero with Lisa. He's going to live a normal life with a normal woman. He's not going to die on some job before he reaches forty. He deserves that...and that's why neither of us knocked on that door."

"So, you're just gonna dive back into the work headfirst and...forget about Dean?"

"Forget? No. But I'm going to leave him the Hell alone. He left me alone at Stanford for years until Dad disappeared and Jess died. Don't you think he deserves the same treatment?"

You looked away and pulled your seat up straight. "Of course he does. He deserves everything.”

“So, we’re going to let him have it, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

Sam reached out and set his hand on your knee. “And we can have what we deserve.”

You looked down at his hand, disgust filling you. “Remove it, or I will remove it for you.”

“Come on. You don’t really have a reason to deny me. Not with Dean with Lisa.”

You reached down and pulled his hand off of you. “Dean is not the reason I denied you, Sam. Why are we backtracking here? You seemed to understand this before.”

“We had fun before, didn’t we?” Sam asked.

“It doesn’t matter if we had fun...because the fun stopped mattering as soon as you marked me.” The discomfort you were feeling in his presence made you slip your hand under your seat and pick up your pistol. “You were going to rape me, Sam. That kinda ruins any future fun.”

“You would have liked it, Y/n. I wasn’t planning to hurt you too much.”

Having him admit to it so nonchalantly, with a smirk on his lips, filled you with an angry fear. He didn’t even seem to care. It was worse than when he was hopped up on demon blood. You pulled the pistol out and pointed it at Sam’s temple. “Get the fuck out of my car, Winchester.”

He chuckled and put his hands up. “I’ll see you when you get your panties out of that twist, Y/n.” He backed out of the car and turned, a bit of a skip in his step as he walked away. You hit the lock on your doors and turned the engine over. You’d have to do your best to avoid the resurrected Winchester...just like his father...just like his brother. Best to stay alone. Best to get away.

~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie @paryl @wereallbrokenangels @the-american-witch @that-one-gay-girl @tatted-trina6 @sunshineandwings86 @lunarmoon8 @wheezyeds @vicmc624 @couldabeenamermaid @vulgar-library

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part seven Word count: 3100± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father,   Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The  brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington  State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her  demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final  hunt. Part seven summary: Zoë and Dean try to form a plan of action, now that they are stuck in a cabin with hellhounds surrounding them. One wrong move can mean their end. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!   Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of   demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture  and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     “Can I ask you somethin’?”

     Zoë looks up, but can’t see the hunter who prolonged her life from where she’s sitting. She hasn’t moved much, still facing the fire that is raging now, filling the cabin with a comfortable heat. The tremors have stopped, her respiration much calmer now. Her body seems to have recovered from the initial shock of the traumatic attack. With the adrenaline gone, her leg hurts badly, though, the pain having her grit her teeth. She tries her best to block out the loud noises of pots and plates being moved in the cupboards of the small kitchen, increasing both her headache and frustration.      “Shoot,” she replies, her voice much weaker than she would like it to come out of her mouth.      “If you were so dead set on dying,” Dean says while pulling out a drawer, “then why did you stock up enough food and water to survive a fucking apocalypse?”      The huntress scoffs. “Hoping for a miracle, I guess.”      “Does this mean I’m your miracle?”       Dean moves into her peripheral vision with a can of tomato soup, a pot, some cutlery, and a can-opener in hand, setting the items down on the ground next to her for later. He has a boyish smirk on his face, apparently amused with his own remark.      Zoë rolls her eyes. She’s been stuck in this little house on a hillside for a little over an hour now, and this manchild is already getting on her nerves.

     “Let’s see if I can work miracles and get some help, because I have a feeling we’re gonna need it,” Dean slides his hand into the pocket of his leather coat, taking out his phone.      Zoë watches him, noticing a hint of hesitation. “Who you gonna call?” she wonders.      “The nerd.”      “He’s downhill?” she presumes.

     Dean drags his teeth over his bottom lip, but doesn’t answer. Instead, he stares at his Motorola as he looks up Sam’s number. His thumb hovers over the call button, but he doesn’t press it. Judging from the pause, Zoë is able to connect the dots; she knows something happened between the brothers.

     “You two got into a fight, didn’t you?” she assumes, not beating around the bush.      He glances over his phone to meet her gaze, then confirms with a nod. She can distinguish the concern and guilt in his stance; it’s bothering him.      “That bad, huh?” Zoë huffs. “Where is he then?”      “He was heading to Nashville,” Dean tells her.      “Tennessee?” she checks, stunned. “That’s a long way from Waco. Why the hell is he there?”      “It was the weirdest thing,” the older Winchester recalls, still unable to wrap his head around the strange lead that ultimately led them to have the biggest fight since Sam went to Stanford. “Someone called him, didn’t identify herself, and claimed that she knew where Dad was.”

     Zoë frowns, her interest peaked. For one, she is very curious about how this Mystery Lady would have gotten her hands on that kind of information, since John has basically been as invisible as a ghost. She knows, because she has been trying to track him down as well, but of course, that is a detail the huntress is going to keep to herself.

     “How did she get Sam’s number?” she questions, instead.      Dean shrugs. “Beats me, but when it comes to finding Dad, Sam can be quite--”      “- obsessive? Yeah, I've noticed,” Zoë chuckles, remembering the long conversations she had with Sam and the arguments the boys had in her presence.

     The guy who usually is so quick to respond to such a comment, seems distracted now, staring down at his Motorola. “Fuck.”      “No signal?” she presumes.      “Nada,” Dean sighs, thinking of another solution. “We need to reach him, especially if David sends out an S.O.S. signal. Sam needs to realize what he’s dealing with before he charges up here.”

     Realizing the Winchester in her company is right, she ponders. If the younger brother goes into this case without knowing that the hellhounds are off their leash and will attack anyone they come across, he is going to get torn to pieces. Dean and David are lucky, if there even is such a thing. The hunter is as stuck as she is, and the hellhounds might have caught up with the only Cleveland survivor; the kid could be dead for all she knows. 

     She adjusts her leg a little, carefully testing its mobility. The swelling is starting to pull at her skin, so she props her foot up again on the plastic first aid briefcase, watching Dean in the meantime. He has crouched down by the backpack he was carrying and mutters a few curse words under his breath while rummaging through it.

     “What are you looking for?” Zoë wonders.      “The kid packed a satellite phone,” he says, giving up his search, recalling that the zipper of the backpack wasn’t entirely closed when he took it off earlier. “Shit, I must have dropped it outside.”

     Annoyed with the rookie mistake, Dean gets up and walks over to one of the windows. There he listens carefully, but he can’t detect any sign of the hounds. No growl, no nothing; it’s almost too quiet. Ready to pick up any sign of movement, the hunter scans the area outside, but there’s nothing living nor dead to be seen. Then he spots the black device in the snow, just a yard away from the cabin.      “I see it.”

     “So what? It’s not like you can go out there.” Zoë pushes herself up on the edge of the table, careful not to put any pressure on her injured leg. Leaning against the pillar, she follows Dean’s fixed gaze. Without hesitation, the either fearless or oblivious  hunter intends to go out, his hand already reaching for the iron latch.      “Dean! Are you fucking nuts?!” Zoë calls out, dazed. “And you call me suicidal?”      “We need that phone, Zo,” he reminds her, his hand still on the handle.      “Do you have altitude sickness or something?!” The wounded huntress steps forward, her leg almost buckling, but Dean’s fast reflexes prevent her from hitting the floor.      “What are you doing? You shouldn’t even be standing up,” he scolds, steadying her.      “What am I doing?! If you go out there, those motherfuckers will rip you to shreds!” she argues, smacking his hand away.      “Yeah, and if we don’t contact Sam, he will!” he reminds her as he hands the shotgun to his current hunting partner, his green eyes intense. “I haven’t seen them yet. If they are still focused on you, they might not attack me.”      She meets him with the same fire in her eyes, keeping a tight grip on his biceps before he does something stupid. “And what if they do?”      “You’ll back me up,” he says, trusting her. “Okay?”

     Zoë stares at him for a couple of seconds, but then sighs, realizing that he makes a good point. If they are not able to reach his brother before he gets here, he will sign his death warrant the second he sets foot on the mountain. Reluctantly, she lets go of his arm and takes the gun, holding the action release button before she pumps the slide to force the shells into the chambers. “Okay.”

     He nods and turns away from her, glancing at the black and white world outside. Nervously, he takes a breath, collecting himself before he steps into the wolves den; here goes nothing. 

     The latch unlocks and the door opens. Careful not to break the line of goofer dust, Dean steps onto the porch and looks back for a second, sharing one last look with the huntress, then descends down the stairs. 

     It’s eerie how quiet the forest is. At midnight, the trees stopped whispering in the wind and even now he could still hear a penny drop. Even through his boots, the snow feels cold as he walks on it, highly aware of the crunching sound with every footprint the hunter leaves. Dean isn’t anxious often. But right now, being as exposed as he is, it ambushes him. Alert, he bridges the few yards between himself and the phone, trying to be as stealthy as possible. He ducks to pick it up, when he hears it; a deep, low growl.

     “Oh, fuck,” Zoë whimpers, staring past the hunter wide-eyes. 

     Slowly, Dean looks up into a pair of red eyes which light up in the darkness of the woods. It approaches him like a predator sneaking up on his prey, its head hanging low between its shoulders, every motion calculated. While Dean stares straight into the hypnotizing fiery orbs that seem to be portals to the afterworld downstairs, the wind picks up and begins to circle around the cabin. Zoë is shocked when she notices that the goofer dust at her feet is blown off the threshold; there goes their last line of defense. A shiver of both fear and the cold has her trembling as she holds up the shotgun, peering over the double barrel. The beast in the shadow inches closer to Dean, until the moonlight falls on the creature, revealing its true form.

     “Hey - uh, Zo?” Dean asks without moving a muscle. “These hellhounds, do they look like bear-sized monster mutts with hellfire burning in their eyes?”      Zoë inhales sharply, lifting her cheek from the stock of her weapon. Shit. He can see it. He can see the fucking hellhound. Realizing that Dean is a split second away from being torn apart, she swallows apprehensively, steadying her rifle in order to fire. 

     The hunter’s hand hovers over the essential device in the snow as he tries to form a plan of action, but he’s captivated by the bone-chilling creature before him. He has never seen anything animal-like so evil as what is standing before the hunter. It’s an absolute monster, about the size of an Irish wolfhound. It looks like one too, but its dark fur is anything but soft and cuddly. The hair on the back of the creature stands straight up, like splinters of obsidian. The beast growls, fixed on its target, showing its razor-sharp teeth, blood dripping from its mouth. 

     Dean stares back, contemplating his next move. Frozen to the ground, he holds his breath, aware that any sudden movement will trigger Hell’s watchdog to charge him. The hunter sets his jaw, never breaking away from the definition of Death before him, until movement in the black shades surrounding him draws his attention. A second pair of eyes appears, then a third, and a fourth. Within seconds he can count a total of six hounds.

He exhales with a shudder. I am so fucked.

     Who is going to make the first move? Dean knows it has to be him, because if he gives the evil creatures only a fraction of a head’s start, he’s going to end up with a lot of stitches, and that’s only if he’s lucky. Bracing himself and gathering his courage, Dean  takes a breath and counts down. 3… 2… 1… 

     Lightning fast, he snatches the phone from the snow and dashes back for the cabin. As fast as his legs can take him, he sprints to safety, but he can hear the beast that was closest to him lunge itself at its victim.

     “Get down!!!”      It’s Zoë’s high-pitched voice that cuts through the night air. He takes her cue and dives for the ground, rolling on his side. A mistake, because the vision of the hellhound coming towards him with tremendous speed is one that will surely leave him with a nightmare or two if he survives this. 

     Right before the supernatural being is about to release its fury, the creature is shot out of the air and squeals like a pup. Knowing he can’t afford to lose a second, Dean gets on his feet and rushes towards the porch. He registers the comforting sound of a shotgun reloading before another loud bang echoes through the valley. Almost there, Dean.

     But instead of just one hellhound, a whole bunch of them arise from the shadows now. Zoë’s eyes widen; there’s no way she can handle them all. She lowers her rifle and backs out. She doesn’t have a choice, there is no other way. What she’s about to do isn’t like anything she tried before, but it’s their only shot of staying alive. 

     As Dean stumbles in, the shotgun clatters against the floor. He turns around to close the only barrier between them, horrified when he witnesses the first two creatures already within inches of the threshold; they’re not going to keep them out of the cabin. But before the hunter can blink, the door slams closed with unmeasurable speed and power without anyone touching it, cutting off the creatures outside. Barking like mad, they march against the wood like a battering ram, clawing to get inside. 

     Unable to process the unexpected scene that plays out in front of him, Dean snaps his head towards his hunting partner, watching in shock how the woman has her right hand heaved up in front of her, fingers spread out and shaking. Her eyes are firmly closed, respiration fast and frantic. Holy fucking shit, this is her doing, Dean realizes. Whatever energy she’s sending towards the door, works because the dogs can’t get through. 

     “Dean, the goofer dust!” she exclaims over the sound of barking and growling, needing every ounce of her power to keep the barrier closed.      Zoë’s order brings him back, time speeding up again. He grabs the bag and quickly lays out a line on the doorstep. As soon as he has connected one side of the doorframe with the other, the pressure on the door drops as if someone flipped a switch. Out of breath, Zoë lowers her hand and opens her eyes as an almost unbearable headache comes to the huntress. Trying to cast it out, she pinches the bridge of her nose while fresh blood drips down from her nostrils. For a moment, she feels like she is going to pass out, but then the pain begins to fade to a level she can cope with. Whoa, that was intense. 

     She didn’t think she could do it, but she did. Making a whiskey bottle fall off a shelf in Beetle’s Bar is one thing, talking to Sam only using her mind is another, but this was a whole new experience. Of course, she has practiced her telekinesis, but never before has she used it on a supernatural creature. She’s getting better, or worse - depending on how she looks at it. 

     Dean, who can’t believe what he just saw, stares at her, his jaw slightly dropped and eyes wide. When Zoë glances aside, he knows she can see the indignation in his glare, detest even. He always assumed there was more to the huntress they crossed paths with only recently, but never once did he expect this. Who - or what - is standing before him, is anything but human.

     “Christo!” he shouts.      “I’m not a demon,” she assures.      “Then what the hell are you?” he asks, his upper lip twitching with a hint of hatred.       What. He asked her what she is. Not who, but what. Zoë swallows with difficulty as she collects the courage to speak again, hurt by his choice of words.      “I’m human,” she tries to assure him, her voice breaking. “Dean, it’s me.”

     She steps closer, but Dean quickly draws his Colt M1911 from behind his waistband. Alarmed and cautious, she moves both her hands up as a gesture of surrender. “Easy, tiger.”      “Leave her the fuck alone,” Dean sneers, convinced a demon is possessing his hunting partner.      “Would you drop it already?! You just yelled ‘Christo’ at me. Here, I can say it myself! Now if I was a demon, that would be a fucking awesome trick, wouldn’t it?” she fires back.      “Shut up,” Dean mutters, starting to doubt himself, yet unable to take his finger off the trigger.

     “It’s all mighty fine that I’m staring down the barrel, but a bullet won’t kill a demon. It will kill me, though,” she brings to mind, pointing at her chest.      “A human is not supposed to be able to do that kind of freaky shit!” Dean exclaims firmly, still aiming the .45 caliber at her.      “Neither is Sam, but I don’t see you pointing a gun at him!” she returns.

     He swallows apprehensively, brought out of balance by her rapid reply. He hates to admit it, but it’s a valid comparison, one that scares him. Because if he’s able to keep Zoë at gunpoint, what does that say about how abnormal his brother’s abilities are?      “Do you want to soak me in holy water if that makes you feel better? Fine, be my guest,” Zoë offers, waving her hands to the side.

     But Dean already lowers his Colt M1911 and flips the safety on, the engravings in the metal catching the light from the fire as he tucks it behind his waistband again. The hunter looks away, aghast, the mixture of doubt and distress that he’s experiencing throwing him off. Unsettled, he peers outside, but the hellhounds have disappeared. He thought he understood Zoë’s fear for these things, but now that he actually can see them, he’s experiencing that same anxiety. His heart is racing so severely he can feel it beating in his chest, and his breathing does not seem to slow down either. Almost dying is something he has gotten used to over the years, but almost going to Hell is a new one.

     “You okay?” Zoë checks, noticing his weariness.      “Yeah, I’m okay,” he claims, annoyed by the fact that he isn’t.      He starts pacing through the cabin slowly, keeping a sharp eye on the door. But it’s not just the creatures he keeps an eye on, he can’t help but monitor Zoë too. He huffs almost unnoticeable. You fucking idiot, you thought you had her figured. There’s a whole lot more to Zoë Sullivan than she shows, that’s for sure.

     “It’s a good thing we’ll be stuck up here for a while, because it’s about damn time you start talking,” he makes clear, done playing catch-up.      The woman across from him wipes her bloody nose with the back of her hand before she suggests otherwise. “We better make that call first.”

     Dean knows she’s avoiding the subject, but she has a point; he needs to reach out to his brother. He picks up the satellite phone and inserts the country code and Sam’s cell number, but before he presses the green button, he hesitates. He knows Sam. He knows his stubborn pain in the ass little brother; there is no way he is gonna talk to him after their fight. As soon as he will hear Dean’s voice, he will hang up, yet the one person he has been wanting to talk for days, is sitting right across from him.      He hands Zoë the phone. “You call him.”

Thank  you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if  you  do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work  or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part eight here

[thewalkingfanfictions]

Teddy Bears and Memories -- Sam Winchester x Male!Reader

Teddy Bears and Memories — Sam Winchester x Male!reader

Description: (name) and his little sister are partnering with the Winchester brothers on a case. Everything's fine and dandy, they've already killed the creature and are hanging out at the motel for the night, when Maddie ((names) sister) decides to pull a prank on her brother, resulting in aggressive flashbacks, intense PTSD and a moose ready to comfort a crying friend.

⚠Warning⚠: IF YOU GET TRIGGERED EASILY, DO NOT READ THIS. This deals with descriptions of rape, (though I tried to keep it vague) PTSD, flashbacks, and a kinda sorta mental breakdown. Cursing, grammar errors, and also quite a lot of negative and toxic thoughts.

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Pairing: Sam Winchester x sexually abused!male!reader

A/N: this is... kinda awful. Like, it made me cold reading this. Seriously don't read it if you get triggered easily. Also, the first, like, quarter, I wrote in a huge hurry, so ignore how trash it is. And its kinda writen shitily, but whatever.

Words without A/N: 4382

Masterlist

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"You gotta watch this," it was my sister. I would recognize her voice anywhere, even though she was whispering and clearly trying to keep me from hearing her. "He's terrified of them, its hilarious."

I wonder who she's dragging with her this time.

Deciding to let her continue to think she was sneaking up on me, I kept quiet and never moved my eyes from the lore book that I'd been studying for the past half hour. Though the case was over now, I still figured it would be a good idea to learn as much as I could about the Leeds' Devil, that way I'd know how to deal with it if we ever ran into another.

I could hear her creeping up on me, thinking I still didn't know she was there. There was another pair of footsteps with her. One of the brothers, no doubt.

It was quiet for just half a second, and I figured she'd be popping up in just a moment to try and jump scare me or something. You know, typical younger sibling style.

"He's terrified of them, its hilarious."

Wait.

Wait.

There was a quiet, girlish giggle, and I'm sure my eyes grew double their size as I figured out exactly what she was doing.

I flung my head to the side to see if she was going to do the thing I thought she was going to do (and desperately hoped she wasn't going to do), and immediately choked on air.

Tiny, beady eyes set high on soft brown fur. Little, round ears on top of a fluffy head.

No.

Rancid, green breath, so-brown-they're-almost-black eyes, sticky fingers touching places they should never be allowed to touch. Bookshelves full of teddy bears looking down on me with empty eyes and sown-on smiles.

I felt my entire body seize up, and before I could make myself come back down to earth, I was hurling the book in my hands at the furry little demon-bear in my little sisters hands and rolling off of the bed and to the floor. Flight-or-fight reflexes kicking in, I shoved myself back to my feet and fled towards the doorway. Away from the sound of heavy breathing and old-people BO that suddenly overwhelmed me.

And then it was in front of me, too.

Maddie, with that little ball of fluff and nightmare fuel in her hands, had darted ahead of me, between me and the only exit from the hotel room.

No.

Callased, rough hands, man-handeling me and shoving me onto my knees. Cold cuffs digging into my small wrists. Boiling breath ghosting over my too-cold skin. Hundreds of eyes staring at me from the shelves around us, none willing to help.

Fucking no.

Fighting past the urge to break into tears, I swatted the thing away from me, and (maybe a little too harshly) shoved my sister out of the way of the door.

"(Name)?" She called, like she didn't know what she was doing to me.

I locked eyes with someone for half a second, Sam, I think before I was out the door and down the sidewalk, towards my (favorite color) Chevrolet.

I heard Maddie call out for me one more time before the car door slammed closed, and I was taking off parallel to the sunset.

Before I even left the parking lot, I clicked on the radio and turned it up to its max volume. If I couldn't hear myself think, then I couldn't see the little black, beetly-like eyes boring into me as my youth died.

I don't exactly know how long I was driving, but somehow I found myself parked at a view point above the town, and the sky was now completely black, not even a hint of the sunset that had shined what felt like just a moment ago.

There were no lights to pollute the darkness of the sky, and the stars shown more brightly than I'd seen in a very long time. Shutting off the Chevrolet's engine, I pulled myself out of the door, and drug my body atop it's hood to look up at the sky. It's amazing how little I'd payed attention to how gorgeous the stars could be before now.

I settled back into the windshield and exhaled, forcing myself not to think for once. It only felt like moments, but it had to have been at least an hour I had sat there, and my arms were beginning to grow goosebumps from the cold. Wrapping them around me, I continued to study the sky; I didn't want to have to go back to the real world just yet.

Emotions were hard. They're difficult to understand, and even more difficult to explain. But something I had realized, I'm not entirely sure when, was that you can suffer from more than one emotion at a time, and that made life so, so much worse. Because, right now, I felt incredibly heavy. I was mourning the death of an innocence I never had the chance to get to know, and I felt completely devastated. Wrecked to my very core. But, underneath all of that, some stupid, small bubble of something resembling happiness, a feeling that had absolutely no right to be present now, grew just under my ribcage, and weaseled its way passed the smog of memories as the gravel behind me shifted with the wheels of a car, and the purring of the Impala's engine broke the relative quiet of the night.

I doubted it was Dean, he's never been very good at emotions, and it was definitely not my sibling, she knew to leave me alone when I needed quiet. That left Sam, and the thought of seeing the ridiculously tall man made my insides flutter cliché-ly.

I closed my eyes and followed the sound of the drivers side door opening, his feet planting on the pine needle-layden gravel. The soft close of the door, his steps growing, ever, nearer. Soon enough he was right by the drivers side of my car, and I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my face. I knew he had questions, but I just wasn't ready to tell.

"(Name)?" His voice was quiet, gentle. Barely a whisper. Like if he spoke to loudly he might shatter me like glass.

"Hey, you okay?" His steps were now right beside me, I could almost feel the warmth fluttering off of him.

'Not even a little.'

I nodded in response, not really trusting my voice to work without breaking. Finally opening my eyes, I refused to look over at him, instead opting to stare up at Ursa and her cub.

"Your sister," he started. Here we go. "She's worried about you. When you didn't pick up your cell, she was afraid something'd happened to you."

"Something did," I wanted to say. I wanted to scream, rant, and sob. But, of course, "I'm fine" was what passed my lips instead. The words sounded fake, even to my own ears.

I heard him sigh as he leaned closer, settling his hip against the hood of the car and staring down at me. I clenched my eyes closed; this is usually right around the time that someone would start asking questions with answers I didn't want to think about, or comment something snide about my stupid, irrational fear.

That bubble of happiness at his being there shrank.

"What do you want?" I asked, barely loud enough to be heard. I didn't care if I sounded rude.

It was silent for a second, like he was debating his answer, or just didn't have one.

"I," he paused, "I guess I just want to help you," his tone matched mine. "I saw the look in your eyes, (name), I know whatever it is, it's more than just a fear. I want to help you."

I was actually, truly speechless for once. He sounded so sincere, it was more than even my sister had expressed. Not that she'd ever actually shown any concern, she just thought it was funny that her big bro was terrified of teddy bears.

I couldn't tell him, of course, he'd just think me even weaker than he probably already assumed after seeing me have a meltdown over a fucking stuffed carnival toy. I shook my head.

"I'm fine."

"(Name)," he trailed off, his voice somehow even softer than it was before.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to scream it at the top of my lungs just to get it off of my chest. It's a secret I've held since I was barely fourteen. Nobody knew, and I needed it to stay that way, but desperately wanted the pressure to come off of my chest. I don't know how much longer I can keep my silence.

I trusted him, that was never a problem. I trusted him with my life, and I knew he'd never hurt me with the knowledge, but it was still a huge risk. What if Maddie ever found out? I'd be devastated. She didn't need to know how pathetic her big brother was.

I felt words bubble up in my throat without my consent, spilling from my lips like molten rock.

"If," I started, clearing my throat to hide the break in my voice, "if I, uh, if I were to tell you somethin', would you promise me that you'll never tell another soul?" I sounded nothing like myself, even to me. "You can't...my sister can't ever know. She's-she's-she... she wouldn't understand." My voice was barely above a whisper, and cracked on every other note.

"Of-of course!" Sam said earnestly, moving to sit atop the hood beside me. I could see his hand move to grasp my shoulder, but pulled back at the last minute, afraid to touch me lest I break. I didn't blame him.

"Promise?"

I turned my head to look at him and wrapped my arms tighter around my body; whether it was to ward off the cold, or the oncoming pain, I didn't even know.

"Of course, (name), I wouldn't tell anybody, I promise."

Only after searching his eyes for his honesty did I let myself relax some. I trusted that he'd keep his word.

He looked slightly uncomfortable with the way his lanky frame was leant over the edge of the cars hood, like he was stuck on the fence between moving to comfort me and giving me my space. I sarcastically rolled my eyes, scooting over enough for him to climb on more comfortably. He warily pushed himself further up, then lay on his back to look up at the stars like I was. I finally turned my gaze away from him and focused back on the night sky.

They really were pretty out here.

"When I was," I gulped and paused. Not even the person I trusted the most in this world knew; I still can't grasp why I'm about to do what I'm about to do. Maybe it was the bubbling in my gut that told me that he'd understand, maybe I was just weak, maybe I just didn't want to be the only one with this secret anymore.

I made myself start again.

"When I was about fourteen, I was on a hunt with my father. There had been multiple disappearances of children around this one little area in Minnesota, and we had gone to check it out. It was terrible. The youngest kid was nine, and the oldest was fifteen and they'd all disappeared without a trace. No signs of struggle, no witnesses, nothing. Just, poof," I moved my hands to mimic an explosion, for some reason, "and they were gone.

"The local authorities believed it was a person kidnapping them, dad thought it was something else, understandably. Most of the evidence pointed towards something less-than normal. For once, the popo's were right." I laughed ruefully at myself, biting my tongue to keep the whimper that threatened to fight its way up my throat from escaping.

"I don't know how it happened," I cleared my throat and continued. "I don't remember getting split up from dad, I don't remember hi-him grabbing me, I don't even remember the drive there, but when I woke up, I," I choked, pulling my arms closer around me and trying in vain to hold back the burning in my eyes.

"I, uhm, I was," I tried again, with no more luck than before. Strong arms hesitantly wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into a warm side and gently petting my hair. I cleared my throat again.

"I was completely naked, tie-tied to a bench in a room with shelves from floor to ceiling completely," I choked on my words again, turning to bury myself into Sam's chest. I could still see the room if I closed my eyes. "entirely covered in, in, in, those things. Teddy bears. Their beady little black eyes looking down at me as I struggled against the ropes. I was so-so helpless, I couldn't move, or scream, or-or-or–" he pulled me tighter into him, his hand playing in the strands of my hair. I sucked in a deep breath and held it for a second before letting it out, trying to calm myself.

Why couldn't I just stop talking? He didn't want to hear any of this. I'm just annoying him, he'd rather be back at the warm motel with a book and slightly more mentally stable people. And yet I keep going.

"He... he raped me, Sammy, he fucking raped me and all of those teddy bears sat there with their beady little black eyes staring at me." I felt him tense against me, somehow pulling me even closer still. A small, ragged gasp came from the man. "Nobody found me for three days. He had raped and beaten and-and-and hurt me for three fucking days before he tried to take me out to kill me and dump my body, and dad found us. Three fu-fucking days," I was all but sobbing at this point, clinging on to him as I saw the walls covered in children's toys closing in on me. If I let my mind wander, I could still feel his hands groping me. I felt so small.

"(Name)," Sam shuddered against me, gently petting my shoulder as he held my quaking body. "(Name), I had no idea, I'm so–"

"Don't say you're sorry. Please don't say you're sorry. It's not like its somehow your fault. It sounds like pity, and I don't want your pity," I ground out into his warm chest, not letting go of him.

I didn't need anyone's pity, and I sure as hell didn't want anyone's pity. I felt him nod his head above me, before his long body turned on the hood of the car, and he pulled me tightly into his chest as the rest of him curled around my shaking frame.

I couldn't quite tell if the pressure in my chest was good or not.

I'm not sure how long we sat like that, cuddled on the hood of my car, but eventually, once my sobs subsided and I was brought back into the real world for a minute, I came to realize quite how cold it had gotten. It was still only March, and the nights were still cold, and the goosebumps told me I needed to get inside and get warm, but my mind wanted to stay there for just a bit longer. I didn't want to have to let go of the warmth and comfort that billowed off of Sam like hot air, and I don't think I could have forced myself to let go even if I wanted to. So, in all reality, it shouldn't have come as so much of a surprise when I felt my sleep-heavy body being picked up off of the cold metal of my Chevy.

"Sam?" My voice was low and hoarse from spending so long choked full of emotion, and I felt a little jolt of embarrassment run over my body.

Looking up, I could see it was him, but he didn't say a word, simply shooting a soft smile at me before looking back up to watch where he was walking. Not having the energy to try and determine what was going on, I buried my face in his chest and let my body relax farther in his grip. It was only when I felt him open a door that I looked up. Gently setting me in the passenger seat of his brothers Impala, he threw his coat over me before smiling again. Reaching out hesitantly, he ran the tips of his fingers over the side of my face, an action which I immediately found myself leaning into. His brows squinted tightly like he was thinking hard about something. Without even thinking about it, I reached out and smoothed the wrinkles between his brows with the pad of my thumb.

Locking eyes, I finally took notice to just how gorgeous his iris' were. Green and brown and hazel and gold swirling together like liquid fire. Said eyes darted away suddenly, and I somehow knew he was looking at my lips. Mine darted down to his for a moment as well.

I wanted that. Gol, I wanted that.

He leaned forward slightly, and I actually thought he would go for it. He drug his bottom lip between his teeth in debate before moving his eyes to focus somewhere behind my head and stood back up.

Fucking really?

Smiling down at me again, this time making it look almost sad, he tucked the jacket he had previously thrown over my body around me tighter. As he stood and moved himself around to the other side of the car to get in, my gaze tracked him all the way.

He didn't look at me as he started the car and shifted into gear, and the profile of his face held worry. Had I done something wrong somehow? He probably thinks you're weak for what you told him.

As he pulled away from the view point, I watched the back end of my car get farther and farther away.

"My car..." I whispered pitifully, I didn't want to leave it. I didn't actually think Sam had heard me, but evidently, he did.

"I'll pick it up tomorrow. It'll be safe 'till then."

And then he went quiet again. How did I manage to fuck this up, too?

Biting my lip, I curled in on myself, cuddled Sam's jacket to my chest, and let the purr of the engine lul me to sleep.

This time when I woke up in his arms, I made a point of keeping my eyes closed and my breathing steady. We were through the doors before I realized where we were.

The hotel smelled just the same as it had before. Beer nuts, sex, and mothballs. It certainly didn't help the painful rolling in my stomach.

I'd managed to ruin this relationship, too. How was I so good at that? I shouldn't have told him, he didn't need to hear, didn't want to hear. Now he thinks I'm some pathetic little wimp who couldn't so much as protect himself from a human. You fuck everything up, (name).

Somewhere in the back of my self-piteous mind, I was vaguely aware of someone speaking.

The more I tuned in, the more I wished I hadn't.

"—uck happened!? Is he okay?! What'd you do!" Came the accusational voice of my little sister.

Of course she'd have to see you like this. Pathetic. Now she'll surely think as badly of you as Sam does. What the fuck is wrong with you? Can you at least try not to break something for more than ten seconds?

"He's fine," rumbled Sam's voice from beneath my ear, "just tired. He fell asleep on the way here. Just– just leave him to himself for a bit, okay? He's had a rough night."

His tone was somber. His tone conveyed sadness and sadness meant pity and pity meant uncomfortable glances and tense silence and hesitant avoidance of touching. Of course you had to fuck up one of the only good things going for you. Good fucking job. Pathetic.

He was moving again (or maybe he'd never stopped in the first place) and I immediately felt the drop in temperature as he walked with me through the joint door to him and his brothers room. Dean must have been out somewhere, as I didn't hear his voice or feel his stare.

There was a bit more shuffling as he carried me to the bed, and I just don't understand how his arms aren't tired out yet. Soon, he's gently setting me down on the bed, and I'm so grateful that I'd managed to keep myself passing as asleep, because I don't know if I could handle the awkward not-conversation that was sure to follow.

I follow the sound of his feet leaving the room, and wait for the soft closing of the door before I let myself fall apart again. I put a hand over my mouth to muffle the sobs and curl into myself, wrapping one arm around my chest to try and hold off the pressure that's filling my ribcage.

Pathetic.

Weak.

Are you really crying right now?

You're such a pussy.

Why did you have to tell him that shit? 

Now he thinks you're even more of a quivering quim than he thought before.

You can't go a day without destroying at least one relationship, can you?

How sad.

I don't really know how long I sat there and cried pathetically into my fist, but at some point my sobs turned to cries, which morphed into sniffles, and eventually evened into silent, hot, tears.

I was almost fading off again when I heard the door open again.

The hunter side of me wanted to immediately reach for a gun, but the realistic side of me told me that it was just one of the Winchester's coming to grab something from the room, or maybe Sam coming to check on me. Hah. Funny. However, when I felt the bed dip beside me, I couldn't help but tense up and open my eyes.

They were on the other side of my body, my back was to them. I was just on the verge of flipping around and sucker punching whoever it was, when a sudden, soft heat draped over me. A blanket.

Somehow, I knew it was Sammy.

For few quiet moments, we sat in companionable silence. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time, though I couldn't quite tell if it was the judging glare that I expected or not. After a good couple of minutes, I felt the bed shift again as he stood up, and I thought I heard him mumble something under his breath as he did, but I couldn't quite make out his words.

I immediately missed his presence as he moved back towards the door.

Why had I said anything in the first place? He didn't care, he didn't need to care. He probably feels so uncomfortable now. I probably made him so uncomfortable hugging him like I did, crying into his shirt. He probably hates me.

As the door cracked open, I found myself sitting up suddenly, "I'm sorry," I blurted.

He paused in the doorway, and turned to look back at me. I immediately averted my gaze, instead choosing to stare at his boots as I wiped my face of any remaining tears.

"I'm sorry," this time it was softer, a bit more broken.

The door clicked closed, and he was walking back towards me. Seating himself at the edge of the mattress, close enough that I knew he was there, but far enough away that he wasn't making me uncomfortable, he reached out and gently held one of my hands in both of his large ones. I guess he probably expected me to look up at him at that point, but I couldn't make myself look him in the eye, knowing that I'd only see that godawful pity, or worse, he'd see the tears that still threatened my eyes.

It wasn't until his hands left mine, and traveled up to my face that I looked at him, and was met with an expression I definitely wasn't expecting. His eyes were so, so soft. His face not full of pity, as I'd expected, but instead, some gentle version of understanding. A caring, almost loving look came to him as he wiped away the tear that managed to escape, soothing the red tenderness that came from the last however-long of crying.

As if he knew what I had been thinking a few moments before, his face again morphed expressions. A small, sad smile pulled at his lips, and he shook his head softly, "you aren't that at all," I could almost hear him say, though his lips never parted for the words.

His eyes once again glanced down, and, once again, I imediately knew he was looking at my lips. He leaned forward slightly, as he had in the Impala, but this time, instead of pulling away, he chose to look further into my eyes, like he was seeking permission.

A small nod, a painfully slow movement, soft, warm lips pressed gently against mine.

I sighed contentedly and leaned farther into him. The kiss was but a close-lipped peck, really, but somehow it spoke more than I'm sure a full kiss would have.

After a moment, he pulled away, thumbs grazing slightly at my cheekbones, and I found that I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes once again, but this time, for an entirely different reason.

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Dean Winchester walked into his and his brothers shared room, only to find said brother's long body curled up tightly beside (name)'s.

A quiet "finally" echoed through the air as the eldest brother turned back and left the room, deciding he could handle sleeping on the couch in the other room if it meant his brother could have at least one good night of rest.

                                                   *fin*

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Skin (1.06)

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: The siblings head back to Stanford, disaster strikes, and they end up in a nasty sewer like rats

Warnings: cursing, killing, general nastiness, etc

Word Count: 5752

“Alright, I figure we’d hit Tucumcari by lunch, then head south, hit Bisbee by midnight.” Dean propped an arm around the back of the seat.

Sam didn’t answer, and I looked from Dean to him. He was on his PalmPilot.

“Hey, De. Sammy wears girly underwear.” I snickered.

“I’m listening, just busy.” Sam elbowed me.

“Busy doing what?” Dean asked as he got out of the car and went around to the gas tank.

“Reading emails.” Sam didn’t look up.

I popped my head out the window, and I looked at Dean with a tilted head.

“Emails from who?”

“From my friends at Stanford.” Sam replied.

“You’re kidding. You still keep in touch with your college buddies?” Dean scoffed.

“Why not?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

“Well, what exactly do you tell ‘em? You know, about where you’ve been, what you’ve been doin’?”

Sam shrugged. “I tell ‘em I’m on a road trip with Olive and our big brother. Tell them I needed some time off after Jess.”

“Oh. So you lie to them.” Dean shrugged half heartedly. He had pulled something in his shoulder during the Mary hunt, and it was still hurting him.

“No. I just don’t… tell them everything.

Dean scowled. “Yeah, that’s called lying. I mean, hey, man. I get it, tellin’ the truth it far worse.”

“So, what am I supposed to do, just cut everybody out of my life?”

Dean shrugged in response.

“You’re serious?”

“Look, it sucks, but in a job like this, you can’t get close to people, period.” Dean said.

“You’re kind of anti-social, you know that?” Sam scowled.

I laughed, and he looked at me. “You are too, Ollie.”

I pouted and Dean mumbled a whatever.

“God…”

“What?” I perked back up.

“It’s this email from this girl, Rebecca Warren, one of those friends of mine.”

“Becca?” I asked. I had met plenty of Sam and Jess’s friends when I stayed with them.

“Is she hot?” Dean asked, and Sam ignored him, looking back to the email.

“I went to school with her, and her brother, Zack. She says Zack’s been charged with murder. He’s been arrested for killing his girlfriend. Rebecca says he didn’t do it, but it sounds like the cops have a pretty good case.”

I winced. I knew Zack too, and he was nice.

“Dude, what kind of people are you hangin’ out with? You bring those people around Olive?” Dean scowled again as he got back in the car.

“No, man, I know Zack. He’s no killer.” Sam shook his head.

“Well, maybe you know Zack as well as he knows you.” Dean grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. “They’re in St. Louis. We’re going.”

Dean laughed. “Look, sorry about your buddy, okay? But this does not sound like our kind of problem.

“It is our problem. They’re my friends.”

“St. Louis is four hundred miles behind us, Sam.” Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam made his puppy eyes, and Dean looked to me for help.

“Ollie, tell him. We’ve been driving for two days.”

I sighed. I hated to be against Dean, but Sam was right. Something sounded off. Zack wouldn’t have murdered his own girlfriend. He was a kind person. I looked at Dean and pouted, giving him my own puppy eyes. Dean rolled his eyes and pulled out of the gas station.

                                                         ***

“Oh my God, Sam!” Becca shouted once the door was open.

“Well, if it isn’t little Becky.” Sam grinned.

Becca laughed. “You know what you can do with that little Becky crap.”

They hugged, and Dean pulled me into his side.

“I got your email.” Sam sighed.

“I didn’t think you would come here.” She shook her head. “Oh my god, hi Olive! You’re so big!”

“Hi.” I waved.

“Dean. Older brother.” Dean stuck his hand out.

She looked him up and down and then smiled. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Dean nodded.

“We’re here to help. Whatever we can do.” I spoke up.

“Come in.” She stepped back into the house, opening the door further.

We walked in, and Dean was last, shutting the door behind us.

“Nice place.”

Becca laughed. “It’s my parents’. I was just crashing here for the long weekend when everything happened. I decided to take the semester off. I’m gonna stay until Zack’s free.

“Where are your folks?” Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“They live in Paris for half the year, so they’re on their way home now for the trial. Do you guys want a beer or anything? Maybe a soda for the underaged kid?”

I laughed. “No, thanks.”

“So, tell us what happened?” Sam asked as we stopped in the kitchen, sitting around the table.

“Well, uh, Zack came home, and he found Emily tied to a chair. She was beaten up, and bloody, and she wasn’t breathing.” She stumbled on her words, beginning to cry. “So, he called 911, and the police… they showed up, and they arrested him. But, the thing is, the only way that Zack could’ve killed Emily is if he was in two places at the same time. The police… they have a video. It’s from the security tape from across the street. And it shows Zack coming home at 10:30. Now, Emily was killed just after that, but I swear, he was here with me, having a few beers until at least after midnight.”

“You know, maybe we could see the crime scene. Zack’s house.” Sam shrugged.

“We could.” Dean agreed.

“Why? I mean, what could you do?” Becca asked.

“Well, me, not much. But Dean’s a cop.” Sam grinned.

Dean laughed, and I smiled. “Detective, actually.” I added.

“Really? Where?”

“Bisbee, Arizona. But I’m off-duty now.” Dean smiled.

“You guys, it’s so nice to offer, but I just… I dunno.”

“Bec, look, I know Zack didn’t do this. Now, we have to find a way to prove that he’s innocent.” Sam insisted.

Becca looked around, then nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna go get the keys.”

Dean waited until she disappeared down the hall, then turned to Sam was a glare. “Oh, yeah, man. You’re a real straight shooter with your friends.”

“Look, Zack and Becky need our help.” Sam defended himself.

“I just don’t think this is our kind of problem.” Dean shrugged.

“Two places at once? We’ve looked into less.” Sam made the puppy eyes.

Dean sighed, knowing he was defeated.

                                                        ***

“You sure this is okay?” Becca asked Dean.

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I am an officer of the law.” Dean walked into the house first.

Sam and I followed. The walls were smeared with blood, and it smelled awful. There was furniture broken, also bloody.

“Bec, you wanna wait outside?” Sam asked.

“No. I wanna help.” She ducked under the police tape and left the porch, coming into the house.

“Tell us what else the police said.” I asked.

“Well, there’s no sign of a break in. They say that Emily let her attacker in. The lawyers, they’re already talking about plea bargain.” She looked around the room and began to cry.

“Look, Bec. If Zack didn’t do this, it means someone else did. Any idea who?”

Becca shook her head, but then lit up, remembering something. “Uh, there was a robbery, about a week before. Somebody broke in and stole some of Zack’s clothes. They didn’t think it was anything related. I mean, we’re not that far from downtown. Sometimes people get robbed.”

Dean turned his attention to a barking dog, and Becca came up behind him.

“You know, that used to be the sweetest dog.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“He just changed.”

“Do you remember when?” I asked again.

“I guess around the time of the murder.” She shrugged.

Dean and I looked at each other, and he started toward Sam.

“So, the neighbor’s dog went psycho right around the time Zack’s girlfriend was killed.”

“Animals can have a sharp sense of the paranormal.” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe Fido saw somethin’.”

“So, you think maybe this is our kind of problem?”

Dean shook his head. “No. Probably not. But we should look at the security tape, you know, just to make sure.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed.

“So, the tape. The security footage, you think maybe your lawyers could get their hands on it, ‘cause I just don’t have that kind of jurisdiction.” Dean turned to Becca.

She grinned. I’ve already got it. I didn’t wanna say something in front of the cop.” Dean laughed as she kept going. “I stole it off the lawyer’s desk. I just had to see it for myself.”

                                                        ***

“Here he comes.” Becca pointed.

“22:04. That’s just after ten.” I noticed, looking to Dean.

He was sitting next to me, on the floor. Sam and Becca were on the couch, and the laptop in front of us was playing the video tape Becca had taken.

“You said the time of death was about 10:30.” Dean looked over his shoulder at Becca.

She nodded. “Our lawyers hired some kind of video expert. He says the tape’s authentic. It wasn’t tampered with.”

I looked to Sam, who seemed to notice something on the tape.

“Hey, Bec, can we take those beers now?”

“Oh, sure.” She got up.

“Hey.” Sam called, and she turned around. “Maybe some sandwiches too?” He smiled hopefully.

“What do you think this is, Hooters?” She rolled her eyes with a smile.

“I wish.” Dean mumbled.

I moved to sit next to Sam. “What is it, Sams?” 

“Check this out.” He rewound it, and slowed it down.

Zack looked straight at the camera, and his eyes glinted silver. Sam paused it, and I gasped.

“Hey, maybe it’s just a camera flare.”

I shook my head. “That’s not like any camera flare I’ve ever seen.”

“You know, a lot of cultures believe that a photograph can catch a glimpse of the soul.” Sam looked to Dean.

“Right.” He rolled his eyes.

“Remember that dog that was freaking out? Maybe he saw this thing.”

Sam nodded. “Maybe this is some kind of dark double of Zack’s, something that looks like him but isn’t him.”

I perked up. “Like a Doppelganger.”

“Yeah! It’d sure explain how he was two places at once.” Sam’s eyes went wider and he smiled.

                                                        ***

“Alright, so what are we doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning?” Dean yawned.

“I realized something. The videotape shows the killer going in, but not coming out.” Sam stumbled out of the car.

“So, he came out the back door?” Dean got out and leaned against Baby’s hood.

“Right. So, there should be a trail to follow. A trail the police would never pursue.” Sam explained.

“Cause they think the killer never left. And they caught your friend Zack inside. I still don’t know what we’re doin’ here at 5:30 in the morning.” Dean emphasized, but Sam ignored him.

“Blood.” He noted, staring at a telephone pole. “Somebody came this way.”

“Yeah, but the trail ends. I don’t see anything over here.” Dean announced as we checked out the alleyway.

An ambulance zoomed past, sirens wailing. Dean and I looked at each other, then at Sam.

                                                        ***

We stood in front of the house, watching as an Asian man was handcuffed and crammed into a police car. I hugged Dean’s arm.

“What do you think happened?” I asked him.

“He tried to kill his wife.” A woman turned around. “Tied her up and beat her.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

She nodded. “I used to see him going to work in the morning. He’d wave, say hello. He seemed like such a nice guy.”

The car drove off, the man inside looking like he was going to be sick. The boys and I looked at each other.

                                                        ***

I looked inside the other garbage can and found nothing. I dropped the lid back on and snorted, trying to get the rotting smell out of my nose.

“Hey.” Dean called.

We turned around. “Remember when I said this wasn’t our kind of problem?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded.

“Definitely our kind of problem.” Dean sighed.

“What’d you find out?” I asked.

“Well, I just talked to the patrolman who was first on the scene, heard this guy, Alex’s story. Apparently the dude was driving home from a business trip when his wife was attacked.”

“So he was in two places at once.”

Dean nodded and continued.

“So he sees himself in the house, police think he’s a nutjob.”

“Two dark doubles attacking loved ones in exactly the same way.” Sam remarked.

“Could be the same thing doing it, too.” Dean suggested.

“Shapeshifter. Something that can make itself look like anyone.”

Dean nodded. “Every culture in the world has a shapeshifter lore. You know, legends of creatures who can transform themselves into animals or other men.”

“Right, skinwalkers, werewolves.” Sam sighed.

“We’ve got two attacks within blocks of each other. I’m guessin’ we’ve got a shapeshifter prowlin’ the neighborhood.” Dean sighed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he looked around.

“Let me ask you this- in all this shapeshifter lore, can any of them fly?” Sam asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Olive and I picked up a trail here. Someone ran out the back of this building and headed off this way.” Sam pointed.

“Just like your friend’s house.” Dean noted.

I nodded. “Yeah. And, just like at Zack’s house, the trail suddenly ends. I mean, whatever it is just disappeared.”

Dean thought for a minute. “Well, there’s another way to go. Down.”

We looked down at our feet and saw a manhole cover, slightly ajar. I sighed.

“Do we have to?”

“Yes, bug, we have to.”

“If the smell doesn’t come out you two are buying me a new flannel.” I grumbled.

                                                        ***

“I bet this runs right by Zack’s house, too. The shapeshifter could be using the sewer system to get around.” Sam was first in line, shining the flashlight ahead of us.

“I think you’re right. Look at this.” He pointed to something and bent down.

It was a pile of blood and skin. I groaned, feeling like I was going to throw up. I gagged, and Dean stood up, pushing me aside.

“You’re fine. Don’t look.”

He bent back down, and I shook my head in disgust as he pulled out his pocket knife and held up a strip of skin. It had hair stuck to it. 

“Is this from his victims?” Sam was confused.

“Ya know, this is really fucking gross, but-”

“What if the shapeshifter sheds?”

I nodded as Dean completed my thoughts.

“That is fucking gross.” Sam wrinkled his nose.

                                                        ***

“Well, one thing I learned from Dad, is that no matter what kind of shapeshifter it is, there’s one sure way to kill it.” Dean leaned against the car.

“Silver bullet to the heart.” I nodded.

Dean smiled proudly, ruffling my hair.

“That’s right, sweetpea.”

Sam’s phone began to ring, and he picked it up without looking. “This is Sam.”

A pause. “We’re near Zack’s, we’re just checkin’ some things out.” Another pause. “What are you talking about?” Another. “Why would you do that?” His face paled. “We’re trying to help.” He sighed. “Bec, I’m sorry, but-”

Sam sighed, looking down as he pocketed his phone.

“I hate to say it, Sam, but that’s exactly what I’m talking about. You lie to your friend because if they knew the real you, they’d be freaked. It’s just… it’d be easier if-”

“If I was like you.” Sam’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Hey, man. Like it or not, we are not like other people. But I’ll tell you one thing. This whole gig?” Dean raised an eyebrow and held up a gun. “It ain’t without perks.”

Sam only sighed and tucked the gun into the back of his waistband. I took the other from Dean’s hold, and he loaded the last one before tucking it into his jacket.

                                                        ***

“I think we’re close to its lair.” Dean’s face scrunched up.

Sam didn’t look back. “Why do you say that?”

I grimaced, shining my flashlight as I spoke. “Because there’s another puke-inducing pile next to your face.”

“Oh, God!” Sam exclaimed as he turned, eye level with the pile of bloody, hairy skin on the pipe next to him.

“Looks like it’s lived here for a while.” Dean shone his flashlight into the corner, where there was a pile of clothes.

“Who knows how many murders the fucker’s gotten away with?” I scoffed.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, tugging me into his side.

I turned to see the shapeshifter, still in the form of Alex, the guy from earlier. Dean got sucker punched in the face, and Sam shot after the shifter as it ran. I bent down, pulling Dean to his feet.

“Sam, go get the son of a bitch!” Dean hissed.

We followed after it, up the ladder and out the manhole, into the street. The boys and I looked around. I groaned. The sudden sprints and tugging myself up the ladder had brought back the old pain in my ankle from the Wendigo hunt.

“Alright, let’s split up. Olive, up.” Sam nodded, pulling me onto his back.

“Meet you around the other side.” Dean pressed a quick kiss to my cheek before walking off in the other direction.

Sam had his gun hidden inside his jacket, and I had mine tucked between my front and Sam’s back. We found nobody on the street that could’ve been the shifter, and nothing to indicate where he had gone. We waited on the street corner where we had split apart from Dean. I sighed from my perch on Sam’s back.

“Hey? Anything?” Dean’s voice came from behind.

“No.” I shook my head and sighed. “He’s gone.”

“Alright, let’s get back to the car.” Dean nodded.

Sam and I crossed the street, but a car cut Dean off. He caught up after, and we reached Baby. Sam put me down on the hood, and I winced.

“You alright?” Dean asked.

I only nodded. “You think he found another way underground?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, probably. You got the keys?”

I froze. Dean never gave me the keys. Why would he ask if I had them? I looked up at him, and under the light of the lamppost, saw that his eyes weren’t like they normally were. The pattern in them was wrong, looking almost like the diamonds of a snake as opposed to the waves of green that were his. I smiled.

“Sam’s got them.”

“Hey, didn’t Dad once face a shapeshifter in San Antonio?” I caught Sam’s eye and gave him a face of panic.

“Oh, that was Austin.” The shifter cut on. “It turned out not to be a shapeshifter, it was a thought form. A psychic projection, remember?”

Sam caught my glance and nodded, gesturing to his gun. “Oh right. Here ya go.” He tossed the shifter the keys.

He opened the trunk and looked at the weaponry. He laughed, eyes growing wide.

“Don’t move!” Sam shouted, and we both pointed out guns at him.

“What did you do with him?” I growled.

“Guys, chill. It’s me, alright?” The shifter looked at me.

“No, I don’t think so.” Sam hissed.

“You’re not him. Where the fuck is our brother?”

“You’re about to shoot him. Sam, Olive, calm down.”

“You caught those keys with your left. Your shoulder was hurt.” Sam accused.

The shifter scoffed. “Yeah, it’s better. What do you want me to do, cry?”

“You’re not our brother.” Sam shook his head.

“Why don’t you pull the trigger, then? Hm? ‘Cause you’re not sure. Guys, you know me.” The shifter put a hand up, a crowbar glinting by his side.

“Don’t.” Sam growled.

I hissed from my perch on the hood. I could kill him, because I knew it wasn’t Dean. No way on fucking earth was this Dean. But if I killed him, how would we find where he stashed the real Dean?

The shifter hit Sam with the crowbar, then hit him again. I screamed for him, and the shifter moved toward me, hitting my arm. I screamed, and his hand clapped over my mouth. He looked like Dean, but he smelled like death. I dug my teeth into his skin, and a chunk easily slid off. I gagged as it slipped into my mouth.

“You fucking bitch!”

I bit down harder, shaken to the core by Dean’s loving voice cursing at me with malice. I felt metal against my head and I was out like a light.

                                                        ***

“Where is he?” I heard Sam.

I tried to move, but I couldn’t. I opened my eyes wearily to see my head in Sam’s lap. He was tied to a wood beam, neck and wrists bound. The shifter pranced over and backhanded him. Sam groaned, and I looked back up to him.

“Where’s Dean?” I coughed out.

“I wouldn’t worry about him, princess. I’d worry about you.” The shifter snarled.

“Where is he?” Sam asked again.

“You don’t really wanna know.” The shifter chuckled. “I swear, the more I learn about you and your family… I thought I came from a bad background.

Sam couldn’t move his head, but I knew he was trying to look down at me.

“What do you mean, learn?” We asked in unison.

The shifter stopped pacing, he grabbed his head and hissed, pained. The shifter straightened, then squatted in front of us.

“He’s sure got issues with you. You got to go to college. He had to stay home. I mean, I had to stay home. With Dad. With a child.” He pointed to me. “You don’t think I had dreams of my own? You think I wanted to be a father? You think I wanted to raise a kid? No. But Olive needed me. Dad needed me. Where the hell were you? And you.” He pointed to me. “You stupid little bitch. Just can’t live a day without big brother, now, can you? Always gotta be by his side, up his ass. Such a pain. Can’t have a minute alone without you stuck by my side, clawing and begging and whining like a pathetic, fucking, little, lost puppy.” He snarled, and by the passion of his pain, I was almost convinced it was Dean.

“Where’s my brother?” I raised my voice.

The shifter leaned into my face, the wrong eyes glinting in the dim lighting.

“Oh sweetpea, I am your brother. See, deep down, I’m just jealous of Sammy here. He’s got friends. He could have a life. Me? I know I’m a freak. And sooner or later, everybody’s gonna leave me.” He backed away.

Sam squirmed. “What are you talking about?”

“You left. Hell, I did everything Dad asked me to, and he ditched me, too. No explanation, nothing, just poof. Left me with your sorry ass. Left me with a goddamn kid.” It was another snarl. “But, still, this life? It’s not without its perks.” A little laugh. “I meet the nicest people. Like little Becky. You know, Dean would bang her if he had the chance. Let’s see what happens.” He smiled, and threw a sheet over us. 

We waited until his footsteps disappeared, and then I let out a frustrated groan.

“God fucking damnit. Dean!” I shouted, biting at the sheet and ripping it off of us.

“That better be you, Ollie, and not that freak of nature.” I heard Dean’s growl, and my chest swelled with joy.

“Yeah, De, it’s us!” Sam called out with a laugh.

“Dean, he went to Becca’s, looking like you.” I called.

“Well, he’s not stupid. He picked the handsome one.” Sam’s face drew back and I laughed, sitting up. 

My wrists were tied to Sam’s ankles, but luckily were behind my back. Sam was working at the ropes around his hands, and I couldn’t see Dean, but I knew he was too.

“Yeah, that’s the thing. He didn’t just look like you, he was you. Or he was becoming you.” Sam sighed.

I wormed my wrists free of the rope.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked as I turned to untie Sam.

“I don’t know, it was like he was downloading your thoughts and memories.” I grunted.

“You mean, like the Vulcan mind meld?” Dean asked, his voice echoing across pipes.

“Yeah, something like that. I mean, maybe that’s why he doesn’t just kill us.” Sam hissed as I got his neck free.

“Maybe he needs to keep us alive. Psychic connection.” Dean tapped his forehead, and untangled the ropes from Sam’s ankles.

“Hands.” Sam pleaded.

Dean took over and untied his hands while I looked his face over, sighing at the cut on his cheekbone and the bruise forming above his eyebrow.

“Come on, we gotta go. He’s probably at Becca’s already.” Sam grunted, shuffling to his feet.

                                                        ***

“Come on, we gotta find a phone, call the police.” Sam pulled me out through the window and onto the street.

“Whoa!” Dean was left stranded, hanging half out the window.

“Hey, no!” I grabbed Sam’s wrist. “You’ll put an APB out on Dean.”

Sam shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Alright, come on.” Dean grabbed my hand and pulled me across the street.

We made it across the street, unsuspected. There was a TV in the store window ahead of us, a news report blaring red.

“An anonymous tip led police to a home in the Central West End, where a S.W.A.T team discovered a local woman bound and gagged. Her attacker, a white male, approximately twenty-four to thirty years of age, was discovered hiding in her home.”

A bad sketch of Dean followed, nose all wrong and eyes not wide enough.

“Man! That’s not even a good picture.” Dean groaned.

Sam hit his arm as we looked around, making sure we weren’t attracting attention.

“It’s good enough, Dean.” I scowled, grabbing him by the wrist and following Sam as he walked off into an alley.

“Man.” Dean grumbled again.

Dean stepped into a puddle and groaned. I looked down to see him barefoot, and I laughed. He glared at me.

“Aw, come on, De. They said attempted murder. At least we know-”

“That I didn’t kill her.” Dean sighed.

“We’ll check with Becca in the morning, see if she’s all right.” Sam nodded.

“Alright, but first I wanna find that handsome devil and kick the holy crap out of him.”

Sam stopped walking, exasperated. “We have no weapons. No silver bullets.

”Sams, the guy’s walkin’ around with Dean’s face, and he cursed me out.” I hit his arm.

“It’s a little personal, I wanna find him.”

Sam gave in. “Okay. Where do we look?

“Well, we could start with the sewers.”

“Dean. Again, we have no weapons. He stole our guns, we need more.”

“The car.”

Dean’s nostrils flared in disgust. “I’m betting he drove over to Becca’s.”

Sam nodded. “The news said he fled on foot. I bet it’s still parked there.”

Dean pouted. “The thought of him driving my car.”

“Alright, come on.” Sam pulled us along.

“It’s killing me.” He whined.

“Let’s just go, De.” I held a hand out, and he took it.

We walked in silence, until Sam perked up. “How’d you know it wasn’t Dean?” He asked over his shoulder. “I mean, I saw your face, and then the arm proved us right, but… how’d you know?” He stopped walking.

I shrugged. “Well, one, he asked if I had the keys. De never gives me the keys. And two, his eyes were all wrong.”

“His eyes?” Dean echoed.

I nodded, now sandwiched between Sam and Dean. “They just weren’t right. Didn’t look like your eyes.”

Sam hummed, impressed. Dean grinned, ruffling my hair. “That’s my girl.”

                                                        ***

“Oh, there she is! Finally, something went right tonight!” Dean sighed, relieved at the sight of the car.

A police car rolled up, parking right next to Baby.

“Son of a bitch.”

“Fuck.” I tightened my grip on his hand.

Sam turned around. “Oh shit.”

There was another car a few yards back. Dean grabbed me and pushed me ahead of him. “This way, this way. Let’s go.” He pointed ahead, to a fence.

“You two go. I’ll hold ‘em off.” Sam boosted me onto the fence.

“What?” I squirmed, balancing on the wood.

“Sam, they’ll catch you.” Dean’s eyes went wide.

”Look, they can’t hold me. Just go, keep out of sight. Meet me at Becca’s.” Sam reassured.

I hopped over the fence, and Dean began after me.

“Dean! Olive! Stay out of those sewers.” Sam called.

Dean looked at me and rolled his eyes, landing on his feet next to me.

“I mean it!” Sam thumped the wood and Dean rolled his eyes again, grabbing me by the hand.

“Yeah, yeah!” He tugged me along.

I heard a police officer yell at Sam, and I bit my lip with a wince. Dean pulled me to follow as we ran.

                                                        ***

“We’re sorry, Sam. But you know us. We just can’t wait.” Dean mumbled as we pulled the spare guns from the trunk.

I took the last two and tucked them into my pants, shutting the trunk. I slid the silver knife into my boot, clenching my jaw.

“Ready, baby?”

I nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be, De.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

                                                        ***

I flashed the light, trying to keep my hand steady. We had been in the sewers for at least an hour, and the smell of decay had sunk so far into my nose that I became used to it.

I shone the flashlight to the other opening, and I almost barfed. Dean looked over my shoulder and groaned. There was a room off to the side, lit with multiple candles, chains everywhere. Piles of the same hairy, bloody, and now slimy-looking, skin lined the floor. There was a clatter of chains, and my gun flew up. Dean stepped in front of me and grabbed one hand.

“Stay behind me.” He ordered, taking a finger and hooking it onto his belt loop.

I followed him through the dripping tunnels, ducking when he did to avoid pipes, even though he stood a head taller than me. We followed the noise through to another room. Someone coughed, and our heads snapped to a figure under a dirty, tattered sheet. She coughed again, and my eyes widened. I recognized that cough.

“Becca!” I tore the sheet off her.

Dean pulled me away. “It might not be her. Knife.” He held a hand out.

Becca’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to scream.

“Becca, no! Please. It’s us, I swear it’s really us. We just need to make sure that it’s really you.” I comforted, holding her by the shoulders.

Dean sighed, and pressed the flat end of the blade against her bare shoulder. There was no reaction, and we sighed in relief.

“Okay. Okay, you’re okay. Knife.” I held my hand out, and he gave it back to me.

I cut Becca out of her ropes. “What happened?”

She began to cry as we held her steady. “I was walking home, and everything just went white.” She whimpered. “Someone hit me over the head, and I wound up here just in time to see that thing turn into me. I don’t know, how is that even possible?” She shuddered.

“Okay, okay. It’s okay.” Dean tried to soothe her. “Come on. Can you walk?” He asked.

She nodded. “Okay, okay. We’ve gotta hurry. Sams went to see you.” I pulled her up.

She groaned, and Dean grunted, pulling her into his side. We took off through the tunnels, rushing to save Sam.

                                                        ***

“Hey!” I shouted.

The shifter, again as Dean, pushed himself off Sam. He got up, and came my way. I shot twice, nailing him in the heart both times. I watched as the color behind his eyes drained, and he fell to the ground. I dropped the gun and began to shake.

“Sam!” Becca ran to Sam, and Dean grabbed me by the shoulders, turning me around.

“Hey. Hey, hey baby girl. Hi, it’s okay. I’m right here. I am right here. I’m okay. It’s okay.” He pulled me into a hug.

I whimpered. He let me go, and I moved to Sam. He sat up and hugged me as Dean went to the shifter. Dean snatched something off the shifter’s neck and nodded back to us.

                                                        ***

Dean and I were by the car. I was sitting on the hood, slumped against his arm. He was looking at a map of the US.

“I’m sorry you had to do that, babes.” He whispered.

“I’m just glad you and Sams are okay.” I shrugged.

“You’re an amazing hunter. I’m so proud of you.” He kissed the side of my head.

Becca waved to us, and we waved back. She headed back inside the house, and Sam came back to the car.

“So what about Zack?” I asked.

“Cops are blaming this freak Dean Winchester guy for Emily’s murder. They found the murder weapon in the guy’s lair, Zack’s clothes stained with her blood. Now they’re thinking maybe the surveillance tape was tampered with.” Sam shrugged.

Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, Becca says Zack’s gonna be released soon.”

“Come on, babes. Time to go.” Dean kissed my head again, and I smiled before crawling into the car.

                                                        ***

“Sorry, man.” Dean’s voice was a whisper.

“About what?” Sam’s hands were running through my hair.

I was crumpled between the boys, head against Sam’s chest. They thought I was sleeping, and I preferred it that way.

“I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be… Joe College.” Dean sighed.

Sam’s hand stopped, and then he sighed. “No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.”

I could hear the smile in Dean’s voice. “Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a freak.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Well, I’m a freak, too. I’m right there with ya, all the way. And so is Olive.” Dean poked my nose.

Sam laughed, and he dropped his head against mine.

“Yeah, I know you two are.” He sighed.

“You know, I gotta say… I’m sorry I’m gonna miss it.” Dean squeezed my leg.

“Miss what?” I opened my eyes.

“How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?” Dean smiled down at me, then up to Sam.

Sam kissed my head again and Dean looked back to the road as we kept driving.

Previous Ep: Bloody Mary (1.05)

Next Up: Dean the Birthday Boy

Next Ep: Hook Man

[theheartchoice]

Lonely Is The Word 

teen  |  2k  |  canonverse s6  |  ao3

for @profoundnet's bi-weekly Bot Stat challenge. prompt issued: April 30th 2019 

Dean needs a beer. Cas is listening to angel radio. S̸a̵m̴ ̸i̶s̵ ̸f̵i̵n̵e̷.̸ ̷E̵v̵e̵r̵y̶t̵h̷i̴n̸g̴ ̵i̶s̵ ̷j̵u̶s̶t̵ ̷f̸i̴n̶e̷..̴.

Sam knows about his soulless gap year and Bobby's having a hard time trusting the resurrected version. Even without monsters, their lives are still a shitshow. Add in warring Angels and friggin' Purgatory-seeking Dragons and Dean just needs a second to breathe.

Dean only leaves because Sam is safe. No safer place than Bobby's. He just needs an hour or two to wrap his mind around things.

With Baby back to rights he drives 'til the sun dips below the wheatgrass horizon, no destination set in stone but half tempted to find a bar just south of the border. It's the best combo there is to clear his head: just the open road, whatever's on tap wherever he pulls up, and the right kind of company for just long enough to sate this desire to scream his lungs out - at crappy circumstance, at the Winchester family curse, at his own bad choices. 

He just wanted his brother back, is that so bad? Sam didn't deserve to be left behind - not in that place; no one does. He shudders to think how Alastair's torture might pale in comparison to Lucifer's. For Sam to go through that again - to re-discover whatever's left of him? Forget calling in Death for a quick-fix favour, because even Dean knows some things can't be fixed, can't be undone, unseen. 

Dean lives with his memories from the pit every day. Avoids 'em, as much as it's possible to do so without some magic mind-block, but he's changed forever because of 'em. And Sam might not've been the one dealing out damnation, but if time works in a similar way down there then he was Lucifer's chew toy for over a century. And if that doesn't shake anyone to their foundations just to think about then they're either a lunatic or a goddamn liar. 

Cas spelled out Dean's fear in no uncertain terms: Let me tell you what his soul felt like when I touched it: like it had been skinned alive. 

But was he right? Had Dean doomed Sam to a fate worse than death by trying to do the right thing? Trying to save him?

If you wanted to kill your brother you should have done it outright. 

Sam's fine - for now. But how long before his wall crumbles into Hellfire? The structural integrity's already been compromised, and no matter what Sam promised, Dean knows his brother: if Sam wants to right his own alleged wrongs then he'll do it and nevermind the cost to himself.  

And while Dean holds fast that whatever Samdroid did while his soul was MIA isn't on Sam, Bobby's less convinced. Just to throw another wrench in the gears of the 'better life' that was 'spose to finally be possible after the Apocalypse was averted. Not that that was really ever gonna happen. 

No Armageddon, but the tradeoff was Sam jumping into the pit. Sam gets resurrected, but his soul gets left behind. Dean gets a taste of the Apple Pie life, but hunting is his bread and butter. There's a civil war up in the clouds because (as everyone well-knows) Angels are dicks. And as if the self-crowned king of Hell trying to rip a hole between dimensions wasn't enough, apparently that little adventure is now on some dragon-dude's bucket list. 

Crazy as it sounds, Dean kinda misses the ol' days. Y'know, when all they had to do was take down a couple of overzealous Archangels. They've got shit stacking up on so many spinnin' plates right now it's impossible to tell which one's gonna be the first to topple and shatter, that crap raining down on 'em in a mess of blood and pain and one gruesome smear of trouble after another - and it'll soil a bunch of innocent people too, if they're not careful. 

Knowing their luck it probably won't be just the one plate, either. 

But when it comes to this sorta thing all they can really do is.. wait n' see. Try to be ready to divert whatever mountain of crap avalanches at them - or try to outrun it, sidewind it before the risk catches up with them and the goddamn consequences bury them alive. 

    Some small-town city limits come into view just as the clouded night kisses down the last of twilight. Dean knows this place. He can get what he needs here, on a lucky night. Hell, two out of three ain't bad. Booze? Check. Distance? Check. Company?.. Guess he'll have to wait and see. 

He'd kinda like some answers, too. Some goddamn direction to point himself in when he hits the road again. And there is a certain someone who might be able to help with that - or might not. But whatever the case, Dean wouldn't turn his company away. Maybe what he needs right now, more than anything, is a friend. 

Baby slows to a stop in the vacant lot across the street from the bar, Black Sabbath cutting out with the purr of her engine. 

"Hey, Cas.." And where the hell does he go from here? Honesty, or a passable lie? Maybe somewhere in between. "I know you think what I did for Sam was the wrong call, and.." Yeah.. okay. "..honestly, I dunno. I dunno if what I did is gonna make things better or worse in the long run. All I know is that I had to, man - I had to." There's really no more to it than that. Except maybe just, "I could really use a friend, right about now." Reckless little brother, uncle who lied to him for a year; seems he can't really go wrong seeking the advice of his Angelic best friend, right? Even if he has been out of sorts since their little reunion. Better than the alternatives at least, even if there is a year of space between them now. 

Dean'd be lying if he said he didn't wonder what Cas got up to during that year. Caught himself before shooting off a prayer more than once. Maybe just to check in, maybe to brainstorm ways to save Sam. His spirit - already struggling to dry off from the shitstorm of their lives - was dampened to learn that Cas wasn't the one who saved Sam from The Cage - or tried to. Cas did try though, so maybe that's somethin'. 

In the time it would take for Heaven and Hell to play out the last few bars of track seven and most of the closing number, Dean sits alone in the driver's seat, headlights lighting the way to nowhere, waiting. 

Turns out to be just another mistake in a long line of dumbass mistakes, another mark on the board for his tally of bad choices. Baby purrs back to life half only half a minute before she's put to sleep again and Dean's stalking away into the bar. 

    "—Castiel?" Rachel's voice pulls him back before his wings denote a telltale stretch - still a reflex he must wilfully deny. "Is something wrong?"

Yes. "No, I was just.. listening." 

Her eyes harden, and Castiel has been made accustomed to that look over the last mortal year as she nods. "Raphael's soldiers think blocking our channels with their rhetoric will hinder our efforts, but his numbers are not what ours are. And they can't affect our communications for much longer." 

Of course. It is a tactic only effective in the short-term, for the amount of energy required to interfere would significantly drain the Angels pervading the etheric communicative transference. 

She proceeds to inform him of their recent losses in battle along with how many of Raphael's soldiers were presumably wounded or killed. 

Castiel dreads such knowledge perhaps most of all; knowing the extent of Angelic grace being spilled in a war that would not be waging if not for his actions, his choices alone. The only reprieve he finds from the guilt is in the belief that Raphael would have spilled more - and destroyed the Earth, as well - if Castiel and his brothers and sisters had not taken up arms against him. 

He manages a tight-lipped smile, something enough to satisfy that he understands. "Have we any more news of the missing weapons?" 

"Not yet." 

"Then I suggest you get back to it." 

In the very least, being the Commander of garrisons affords him seniority, and with it the propensity to not have to explain himself further. 

She takes her leave, and once he feels her grace reach an adequate distance in the aether, in her absence, he takes flight. 

The familiar silhouette of one 1967 Chevrolet Impala is almost indistinguishable from the night sky, if not for the gleam of street-lamps off the polished metal belying an impression of the sun. 

The moon is hidden tonight, as are the multitudinous stars of this galaxy - a favourite among many Angels throughout the eons. However, given the events of recent times, Castiel suspects he may be one of few Angels who prefer it over other galactic creations primarily for its housing of one particular solar system, which bears one particular planet, upon which a very special species makes its home. 

Dean is gone. 

The bar seems his likely destination, and if Castiel concentrates, allowing his Grace to reach out and survey the atmosphere.. yes. He can feel him near: warm and alive, though not at peace. He has never known what it is to feel Dean at peace in the mortal realm. There was a singular moment - fleeting and seeming so long ago, now - when his Grace touched Dean's soul raw and exposed; it seized his fear, incentivised Dean to feel safe, to trust in Castiel's intentions.

It was something akin to peace, perhaps relief. At the time, Castiel had thought it might be resignation to God's plan. But as he came to know Dean, he came to interpret that feeling as something intensely personal and not at all connected to The Grand Plan. 

Perhaps, once Castiel completes his mission, once he stops Raphael and prevents the Apocalypse for all good, Dean will know peace. He deserves that much. He deserves much more. 

The inside of the Impala is cool. Not as cold as the night air outside, but enough that Dean wouldn't be comfortable if he were to emerge from the bar this instant. Castiel places a hand on the dashboard, and while the engine remains silent, the interior comes alive in light and sound and air-ventilated warmth. 

The music is not familiar, despite having listened through much of Dean's collection during his time with the Winchesters. Over the past year Castiel has not regretted safeguarding Dean's chance for peace, his life away from supernatural beings and the chaos and destruction they wrought. Although, he will admit to a certain discernible ache for their foregone time together; on the road within this now-familiar vehicle, or in whatever capacity Dean would have allowed, in any way that he might have needed Castiel's help. 

The war in Heaven is not going well, despite Rachel's assurances. Without weapons at their disposal, Raphael's forces will soon diminish their own and all will suffer because of Castiel's failing. Which is precisely why he cannot fail.

Castiel always knew the chance of defeating an Archangel on his own was impossible, and therefore anything that could afford him victory in this war - to end the graceshed, to save Humanity, and the Earth, and Heaven from itself - then he must take it. 

But even against all reason, all dangers considered, there are times when Castiel, too, does want for a friend.

For one friend, in particular. 

..been higher than stardust 

I've been seen upon the sun 

I used to count in millions then 

But now I only count in one 

Come on, join the traveler 

If you got nowhere to go 

Hang your head and take my hand 

It's the only road I know.. 

If only Castiel could pray to Dean. 

..Yeah, Lonely is the word 

Got to be the saddest song I ever heard.. 

But the want of a friend is selfish, dangerous. 

Drawing Dean into the skirmish of Angels would further remove him from any chance at peace. And that, Castiel decides, is not worth the win. Even if Dean wants to help, he cannot allow it. He must keep Dean safe, and far away from the destructive reach of Heaven's current state. 

..Yeah, Lonely is the name 

Maybe life's a losing game. 

[maximumkillshot]

By The Books Part 1- Meeting the Professors

Warnings: Mentions of actual murders and psychopaths as well as what they did(this includes rape, torture, murder)[It’s brief but I wanna be safe.], The setting is after the show ends (in my head they’re fine... well some of them.], Major character death is described, cursing, Professor! Dean Winchester, Professor! Sam Winchester, Promise that it gets better though! 

Pairing: Professor!Dean x Reader x Professor!Sam (EVENTUALLY)

Characters: Claire, Dean, Sam, Reader, Jack is mentioned, Mary is also mentioned.

A/N: This part is long... I know, but trust me when I say we are setting up a monster fic so please take the time to read all of it.... LOVE Y’ALLL!!! Also.... sorry in advanced... also thank you for brainstorming with me @anathewierdo and @emoryhemsworth

“All I Could Do” Masterlist- CLICK HERE

Overall Masterlist- Click Here

“When You Call” Masterlist- Click Here

“The Situation” Masterlist- Click Here

 “I can’t believe it took me four years to be able to take these classes,” I said to my friend, Claire as we filed into the giant lecture hall. “You’d think that topics as niche as ‘religious deities and ritual practices’ and ‘the psychology of murder and criminology’ would be a bit more available’.

“Well you know, the professors are in demand. They each have been studying their practices for years, just started teaching though,” said Claire, absentmindedly as she claimed the seats in the front row and center of the hall.

“Okay...how do you know all of that?” I asked.

“I grew up with them…. my mom worked with them on some cases… she’s a sheriff. They’re pretty cool people. Came over for dinner a few times… they were present for some… awkward conversations.” Shuddered Claire.

“Do I even wanna know”

“Hell no”

“Fair enough,” I said as a tall man in a suit came in. He had long brown hair and eyes that could stop anyone in their tracks. He was also incredibly tall and had a body chiseled from marble. Immediately he set his suitcase down and started speaking, “Hello class, wow, big crowd. Hi, my name's Samuel Winchester, please for the love of everything call me Professor or Professor Winchester.”

There was immediate buzzing around the room, everything from women humming in approval and men scoffing at the Adonis in front of them.

When he turned around my head snapped to Claire and she smiled at me… that shit eating grin that spilled that she knew he had an effect on me.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” Asked Claire with a toothy grin…

When I went to shush her the professor spoke up, “Claire… do you have something to share?”

“Oh, I have a few things to share” Claire nudged me and my eyes went wide. I’d known Claire since we both enrolled in the same year, both with an odd interest in the supernatural, she became my go-to for everything weird and out of the norm. She always praised me for my prowess in religious studies, I also knew a lot about different abnormal psychology, which is my major. This is also why she didn’t leave me alone until we took these classes together. Finally, with one semester left to go, I was finally able to take the course, purposely leaving some elective credits for this.

“Go for it, since you’re so eager to share that I can’t even get through the ground rules for this class.”

“Well first off, hi, I’m Claire, criminal justice major, just like mom intended but you know this…. I’m excited to see whatcha got Sam… teach me somethin’” she bounced as my face turned white next to her.

“The first lesson for you, Claire…” the professor pointed to himself, “Professor Winchester… not Sam. Okay? That one was free… don’t make me call Jody.”

Claire huffed as she crossed her arms, then I heard his deep voice address me, “You okay there? You look a little pale.”

Why is my mouth not working, his gaze is so intense yet.. gentle? How can a literal giant look so soft and patient…

“Now is the point in the interaction where you talk” chuckled Claire. The rest of the class chuckled as the professor shot a glare towards her.

“She’s just trying to cover the fact that she isn’t getting any special favors and that she’s on thin ice. Mere minutes away from having her mom roll up here in a police car gunning for her ass, actually… don’t worry… you okay?” He turned his attention back to me.

“Y-yes sir,” I replied.

“Professor works just fine,” responded the professor as he turned his back once more.

He wrote the word ‘rules’ on the board.

His voice boomed as he addressed the lecture hall, “first things first some ground rules. I am going to be teaching real religious deities and practices. This means actual runes and witchcraft, which also means that under no circumstances are you to practice these, unless they are a part of your religious beliefs, of course. This means… absolutely no cursing, hexing, summoning, or rune writing in this or any classroom!”

Claire smirked, which the professor caught and didn’t let slide, “and under no circumstances is there any potion or relic making in any way, shape or form… Claire, I’m looking at you…”

Claire rolled her eyes as the class got underway.

After discussing the syllabus and course materials he began the lecture with a simple question, “Who can tell me the major differences in between Wicca and Witchcraft?”

I raised my hand and he picked me.

“That’s a trick question”

“Oh is it, explain.”

“Wicca is also known as Pagan Witchcraft. In Wicca they have no central deity, instead worshipping and giving thanks to the elements and personifications of these elements. Sometimes through prayer, other times through rituals that call upon the personifications of these elements. This is where the classical form of witchcraft comes from. There are light and dark witches, each specializing in their own forms of worship, although dark witches are known to hex and curse others, where as white witches can be seen as healers. Some who practice Wicca don’t even dabble in classical witchcraft at all…”

The professor’s jaw was wide open as I finished my explanation, “therefore...what you asked is a trick question.”

The professor smiled as he said, “I’ve been teaching this class for two years now and no one has gotten that question correct on the first try...except for you...bravo…” he then turned to the rest of the class, “for the rest of you who aren’t walking encyclopedias on Wicca and Witchcraft, read pages 13 to 45 for next class… although you, young lady may just wanna read it for fun” he said with a wink.. “alright...class dismissed, see? Who knew witchcraft isn’t that scary after all? See you on Thursday guys.”

Claire grabbed my hand and dragged me towards the podium, the closer I got to him the larger his frame became.

Finally, we were right in front of him, Claire practically bulldozing all of the other students that crowded the podium…

“Since the class is over, can I call you Sam now, Professor.” Over annunciated Claire.

“Depends on who we’re in front of, and how did it take you two years to get into my class, Claire? .” He said as he closed his briefcase, when he looked up he said, “ahhh my star pupil, knowing that much on the first day, I’m impressed.”

“This is my friend, Y/N Y/L/N… remember I came home raving about her when we first met?”

“Oh yeah… Claire said you had some major knowledge but I wasn’t expecting you to blow everyone out of the water on the first day…good job.”

“Thank you, “ I said shyly.

He looked at his watch and then said: “shoot I’m meeting someone to go over lesson plans, umm it was nice meeting you and Claire don’t get her in trouble.”

As soon as Claire was a few feet away, his hand brushed my arm and he said, “seriously, great work today. Just so you know…” he leaned in closer, “now that I know how smart you are, I’m going to be expecting much, much more out of you...no pressure” he chuckled. The next thing I knew he was out the door.

By the time I met Claire outside I was completely confused. Claire just looked at me as I said, “He is seriously gorgeous.”

“Eww, dude, he’s like my older brother, practically an uncle! Please don’t give me that mental image.” She smiled as she nudged me.

“You knew he would do that to me, didn’t you?” I asked, almost amused.

“Maybe…”

I  gave her the stink eye.

“Okay, I did know… What with the way you react to Channing Tatum and Thor, of course I’m not gonna tell you that Sam’s your type… knowing you…. You would’ve run for the hills and you would’ve never gotten to know him!” Said Claire.

“He’s a Professor, Claire… Not a Tinder date…” I scoffed, “Being with him in any way would be unethical.”

“Oh please, I know you... I’ve known you for four years, which means that I know that for Sam, you’d break any law in any and every country if he asked you to. Hell, you even called the man ‘sir’. Who does that?” Snickered Claire.

“Shut up, Claire. It just slipped out. He’s intimidating, he’s the literal size of a skyscraper ” I defended.

“If you think that he’s intimidating, then you’re gonna love the next Professor, come on, class starts in 15!” Said Claire as she walked me down the long corridor of the building.

I stopped mid-stride “Wait here it is, room, 132.” As soon as we walked into the hall it looked like a Halloween store, with different photos and mannequins of horror movie characters.

As we filed into the hall, Claire, once again, immediately pulled me to the front and center of the lecture hall. Not too long after that a man walked in and sat next to me. He had piercing green eyes and a jaw that could cut glass, absolutely stunning. He was also dressed up, my guess was that he is just a curious business student since he had a lollipop and looked as casual as his getup allowed.

I heard constant chatter about the professor, everything from him being a jackass to him being incredibly good looking and flirtatious.

As soon as the lecture hall filled up and it was time for class the man that was sitting next to me nudged me and said, “well, looks like it’s showtime,” and got up.

My jaw dropped as he stood and jumped onto the raised lecture area.

“Murder… It’s messy, most times…” The man said as he opened up a briefcase, already on the podium, he handed papers to the first student he saw. Some students chuckled at his shocking yet honest opening words.

“You are here to learn not just about why people kill, but how, how could this person kill another human being?  What were they thinking, if they were thinking at all? What’s their motive, What made them tick….How they kill the way they kill, and who was the person that they killed if that had anything to do with it. You are also going to learn some ties in between these guys,” he pointed to the more prominent horror movie character mannequin,” and the real thing.” He continued.

“My name is Dean Winchester and I am a professor in Abnormal Psychology, specializing in psychological profiling of killers who were dumb enough to get caught.”

He looked around the class as he stated, “This is going to get gruesome if the name of the course didn’t give it away already. You will see dismembered bodies, you will see blood, you will see the worst of humanity in this class… So if you’re squeamish… this isn’t the class for you. You can get up and leave, no one will judge you.”

Immediately 10 to 20 students got up and left, “The remainder of you… you are one of two types of people. You are either a murderer who’s looking to brush up on technique or you’re morbidly curious. That’s the only way you’d be crazy enough to take a class that isn’t even required for a criminal justice major.”

“Now, before I get the influx of questions, yes Professor Sam Winchester is my brother, we are not twins, I am four years older than him, we don’t discuss student’s grades but we do discuss students which means all of the rules for his classroom apply to mine.”

The professor’s face turned hard as steel, “ No potions, no hexing, cursing, rune making, or summoning. If you try, we will trace it back to you, and we will not only report you but reverse it onto you with no way of removing it… I’ve already had many students try to make a voodoo doll, love potions, persuasion spells, the whole nine so don’t think we haven’t seen it and that we won’t do anything about it.”

He then turned to face the board as he said, “don’t believe us, you’re more than welcome to try and find out. Every single shaman, healer, spellcaster, witch, all of them have their special signatures… we will find yours and you will not like what comes next.”

He started writing, “You can all read the syllabus on your own time, since you’re all college students, I assume you can read. If you give me 100% off your efforts, your grades will reflect that.. if you give me shitty work…. you’ll get a shitty grade, simple enough.”

“But we are starting… now.” He turned around to reveal that he wrote ‘serial killers’ on the board…

“Claire, about damn time you’re in my class. Tell me, what do you know about Ted Bundy?” He said as he crossed his arms and leaned on the podium, casually licking and sucking on the lollipop as he waited for an answer.

Claire looked at him and said, “well he’s a serial killer…”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as he said, “well, no shit Sherlock, what else, Claire….give me something!” Said Dean as he motioned in the air… “Anything…”

“Ummm he only killed women…”

He huffed and nodded as he said “Yes but what else, can anyone tell me what else he did? Anything about him?”

I raised my hand and the professor licked his lips and called on me, “C’mon give me something good..”

I started, “Ted Bundy, your classic deranged serial killer. He was active in the 1970’s and admitted to killing 30 women, although his kill count is expected to be much higher. He was most known for kidnapping, raping, and killing women, then dismembering the bodies, he was executed in 1989.”

His eyebrows shot up as he said, “tell me, did he take any souvenirs of his kills?”

“Yes, the heads of the women.”

“THANK YOU!!!” He exclaimed, “You must be Y/N… Heard nothing but good things from Claire and Sammy, I only expect the best out of you… So let’s get a little more challenging here… Tell me, Y/N… What’s the difference in between Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy?”

I replied simply, “John Wayne Gacy, nicknamed ‘the killer clown’ because his day job was being a clown at parties. Active in the 80′s. His victims were teenage boys and young men. His confirmed kill count is 33. He was also known for torturing as well as sexually assaulting and murdering the victims.”

“Very good Y/N… Something tells me you'll be teaching me a few things too.” Dean replied as he licked his lips and looked at me up and down.

After a lengthy class on different serial killers, he assigned us homework and dismissed the class, everyone practically ran out except for Claire and me, as she insisted on personally introducing me to him.

When I turned around to get my bag, I felt someone behind me. Then I heard the professor’s voice loud and clear directly behind me.”

“Hey, Claire… I remember you telling me about Y/N being smart and all, but you didn’t tell me that she had brains and beauty too.” He said, immediately making me blush.

When I turned around he was practically chest to chest with me. Noticing the awkward distance he stepped back a bit.

“Really Dean? You just met her and you’re already hitting on her?” Claire quipped, “it was bad enough that you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her the entire class.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Claire.” Refuted the professor. He then turned his attention towards me, “I just wanted a proper introduction. Hello, My name’s Dean Winchester, it’s a pleasure to meet you and I can’t wait to have you in my class.” He extended his hand as I stood there, dumbfounded.

Claire nudged me and I accepted the handshake saying, “hello, and I can’t wait to get to have your class. This is really interesting stuff.”

Dean smiled, “The human mind is interesting… especially when a few screws are loose… but something tells me you already know that. Judging by the rockstar performance you put on today. I’m assuming that much of my course material as well as Sammy’s is going to be child’s play for you… So I want to offer you an opportunity.”

“Sure!” I exclaimed.

He smiled as he continued, “I know you’re graduating in a semester, and since you’re interested in this… I need a research assistant. I’m working on a book, something that the college is making me do. But I need people like you to help me research some things, it’s a paid position and I don’t mind counting it as an independent study. You’re an abnormal psychology major so I was hoping you’d be interested.”

“I am more than interested.” I immediately replied.

“Great. Then meet me in my office at 3 pm. I’ll have the W-9 paperwork and all of that drawn up by then. I look forward to working with you.”

Claire interrupted with, “hey…. why didn’t you offer me that?”

He just stared at her and said, “really? Claire no offense but you are nowhere near qualified for this.”

“What? I’m qualified!”

“Oh really, where do you get your information from? What website?”

“Wikipedia”

“Exactly… I rest my case…now I need to go and meet my brother for lunch… rub it in his face about how I got the notorious Ms. Y/L/N as my research assistant. I’ll see you both next class.”

DEANS POV:

Room 412: Professor Samuel Winchester.

I scoffed at the nameplate and just opened the door. Sam looked at me almost insulted…

“Dude… knock much?” He commented as he went back to grading papers or whatever he was doing.

“Oh please Sammy, it’s bad enough that we had to retire, now you’re complaining about manners too?”

“Listen Dean… I know this is hard for you.” Said Sam.

“Hard?” I commented. “This… this isn’t hard.. pretending I can do very well Sam. Burying Jack and mom… now that was hard. What’s impossible which somehow you are executing perfectly is acting like neither of them ever existed.”

“Dean, we had to move on and we agreed..”

“I know… we agreed that retirement is the only option. The only way we can save the people that we love.. I know..” 

Sam looked at me, with pain in his eyes, “you still having those dreams?”

I looked at him, “every single night. Mom throws herself on a bed of wood and waits for Jack to light it. Jack lights it and then walks into the flames with her… I can’t move… can’t do anything, Sammy.” I huffed as I loosened my tie and collapsed into the chair next to his desk motioning in the air.

“Maybe you should go to see somebody, Dean.” He replied gently.

“Like who? A shrink?” I laughed, “ I will be in the nearest asylum instantaneously, Sammy. How do I explain half of the shit we’ve been through? ‘Well, it all started when a demon nailed my mother to the ceiling and burned her from the inside out in my childhood home when I was 4’.... can’t imagine that going too well.”

“No… but you can talk to me.” He said as he put his pen down and looked at me, “So, listen Dean, I …”

“Not here… and not now, Sammy.” I interrupted, “The only person I’m seeing is the lunch lady for a double bacon cheeseburger with fries… now are you coming with me or are you going to stay up here doing this?” I asked.

“Ok Dean… let’s eat.”

When we got onto the elevator I struck up a new conversation, “so… Y/N Y/L/N…. she’s something else, right?”

“Yeah, she’s crazy smart.”

“One would think she’s a hunter,” I said absentmindedly.

“No way… no scars, not one scrap of flannel on her.”

“Y’know not every hunter wears flannel, Sammy. But you’re right… she isn’t battle hardened. Shame… she’d be one hell of a hunter…” I flashed a smirk and shrugged at Sam.

“Dean…” Sam warned.

“I know I know… keep a low profile… only kill the monsters that come looking for us.”

“And?”

I huffed, “and never bring someone else into the life… I know Sammy.”

When we got off of the elevator Sam said, “I’m actually thinking of asking her to be my research assistant.”

“Too late” I replied.

“You didn’t.” Said Sam as he stopped me.

“What? Try and find someone willing to look at gruesome crime scene photos all day and actually like it… I dare you…” I said as I continued walking, “by the way most people think that your field is mostly lore based… remember, and who doesn’t like to read fiction all day? I’m sure you’ll find someone.”

“Not someone like her…” Said Sam.

“Why do you think I asked first? You snooze you lose Sammy Boy.” I said as I play punched him on the shoulder.

“Oh please dean, you only hired her because she’s hot.”

“You know I’m almost insulted that you’d think that… she’s a student, Sammy”

“But she won’t be in three months… I know how you think Dean. She’s truly intelligent… she has a future… one that doesn’t involve your bed.”

“Listen the fact that she’s hot is beside the point, Sammy. She has the brains and the ability to digest information that others would go crazy doing. She’s perfect for the job.”

“Well, she’s perfect for my job too…”

“Sammy, this is a student, not a competition… by the way, I already won…”

“Did she sign the papers?”

My eyes went wide.

“Exactly”

WANT MORE? TELL ME SO!!! Tell me if I should do a Part 2!!

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[shaepschift-a]

continued from here @citizenstarlight 【 annie ⇢ sms 9:04 】 coffee shop?? 【 annie ⇢ sms 9:05 】 idk as soon as you're free 【 annie ⇢ sms 9:05 】 i'm . . . i'm really freaked out annie

[an-abundance-of-castiels]

Best Left Forgotten

Part 12: Betrayed

Series Summary: You wake up in the bunker with a serious head injury and no memory of the last year or the Winchesters and find that Dean is avoiding you. You are determined to find out the truth about what happened but maybe the truth is best left forgotten.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas, Charlie, Rowena

Warnings: language, Season 10 Spoilers

Word Count: 1357

General Disclaimer: I do not own the gif or any of the Supernatural properties or characters. This is a fan piece and is intended to be enjoyed only as such.

A/N: This is my first fic so any and all feedback is appreciated! A HUGE thanks to @weirdochick56 for rough beta-ing and encouraging me to pick this up again and give it another try in the first place!

Best Left Forgotten Masterlist

Missed Part 11?

**********

“It’s time to let it go,” Dean says from the bed.

“I don’t wanna have this conversation this early in the morning.” You said, pulling on your pants. You don’t look at him as you grab your brush and start yanking it through your hair quickly.

Dean hops up from the bed and wraps his arms around you from behind, taking the brush. He grips your forearms and whirls you around to face him firmly, looking you in the eyes. “Y/N, we both know this curse has to stay. And I can’t bear to lose you. So please, for me, promise that it’s over. That you won’t try to remove the mark.”

“Dean, I already told you, we stopped a week ago.”

“Promise?” He searches your face for any sign of deceit.

“Promise.” You say, feeling the guilt burning in the pit of your stomach.

He studies you for another minute. “Thank you.” He kisses you, seeming satisfied.

“Me and Sam are going out to the mall today, okay? We need a day to…” you trail off, not knowing how to get him off your trail.

“No, I get it. He was mad when you put a stop to it. It’s okay. I’ll be fine here.” He smiles.

You return the smile, hoping your conscience doesn’t give you away.

————————————

“I don’t like this. Killing Crowley… it just seems… I dunno.” You and Sam are sitting in the Impala outside the abandoned factory where you are keeping Rowena, waiting for Cas and Charlie to meet you here.

“Are you kidding me? After he ran off with Dean? Don’t you wanna kill him?” Sam looks at you incredulously.

You shift uncomfortably and are saved by Charlie turning in to the lot. You point and hop out of the car.

“Y/N!” Charlie runs over and wraps you in a hug.

“Hey, Charlie.” You smile. Something about her just warms your heart. She’s like a sister and honestly, you’re hoping she’ll take your side on the Crowley thing.

“So what’s up?” She asks, smiling at Sam. “How can I help?”

Sam looks at her grimly. “We need your help decoding a book. To remove the mark. But we’re waiting on Cas…”

Just as Sam mentions Cas, he pulls into the lot in what you identify as an old gold Lincoln. As he pulls closer you notice fuzzy dice on the rearview mirror. It’s all you can do to not burst out laughing at his pimpmobile as he parks and hops out. “Hello”

“Hi. Charlie.” She holds her hand out and Cas shakes it awkwardly.

You all head inside to where the witch waits. You turn around to explain. “Okay, so we found the Book of the Damned. We have a decoder that also needs decoding. We were hoping that you could help with that, Charlie.”

“And what am I here to do?” Cas asks, scowling at the red-haired witch.

“You’re the referee. Between Charlie and Rowena.” Sam pipes up. “We need you to stay here and make sure that Rowena stays here and doesn’t do anything… fishy.”

“And how is he gonna control me, dearie?” Rowena smirks.

“I am an angel of the lord, witch.” Cas snarls.

“A… whut?” Rowena seems confused.

“Not the point!” Sam interrupts.

“Oh. You forgot somethin’ dearie. Don’ tell Deano…” Rowena grins from ear to ear, clearly gloating in getting to reveal this secret to the group. You can tell she did this just to piss off Sam.

“What?!?” Cas and Charlie exclaim in unison.

“This is a bad idea! It never turns out okay when you hide things from each other.” Cas scolds.

“I’m with the angel.” Charlie crosses her arms.

Sam looks at you desperately. You step forward. “Dean has told us to give up on him, several times.” You look down at your fingers and play with them. Fear and embarrassment and shame all hitting you full force, you continue. “He doesn’t want to be saved anymore. He says he’s fine and that he can handle it, but… he’s lying. I can feel him slipping away. We have to do something before the black eyes come back for good.” You are silent for a moment. “If you all love him, you’ll help us. If you love me, you’ll save him. Because… if he dies… Again…” You look up and look them both in the eye. “I do too.”

Cas looks down, but Charlie holds your gaze. She walks over and wraps her arms around you.

“For Dean. And for you.” Charlie mumbles into your hair. “I’m in.”

“I’ll do what you need me to do,” Cas responds.

“Aw. How cute. Now, let’s talk about how to kill Crowley.” Rowena ruins the moment.

Charlie pulls back to look at you and Sam. “What? The king of hell? That’s suicide.”

“That’s what I said.” You grumble. “Sam?”

“Rowena is gonna make a hex bag.” Sam waves you off.

You and Charlie exchange looks of doubt.

————————————

“At least the damn book burned, right guys? Then he tells me that it cannot be destroyed.” Dean lurks behind Sam almost threateningly. You are frozen. He looks… dangerous.

Buzz

Buzz

Sam’s phone goes off. He yanks it up and answers it. He talks for a moment and looks up. “Charlie’s missing.”

Your head starts to spin and Dean starts yelling at you both.

Buzz

Buzz

Sam picks up the phone again. “Charlie? Where are you?”

Before you know it, you are in the Impala with Sam and Dean, flying down the road to Charlie’s location. Dean is yelling at Sam when you speak up.

“It was me too.” You say quietly.

“What?” Dean’s voice is broken. “You promised me…” Dean’s eye’s dim and you watch the emotions play out on his face. He is crushed. You try to stutter out an apology for breaking your promise, but your mouth only hangs open silently.

In the wake of your deafening silence, his face contorts in anger. You reach out a hand to his shoulder, but he pushes it away. “Don’t touch me.” He spits through gritted teeth.

You slowly put your hand in your lap and turn to face forward. You are terrified of the anger and pain that your betrayal has caused. Fear creeps in. Not fear of Dean. Fear of yourself and the thought that you may have broken your relationship beyond repair. What have you done?

The car screeches to a stop outside a dingy hotel. The three of you jump out of the car and bust into her motel room. You walk towards the bed and Sam races into the bathroom. Sam screeches to a halt and his face contorts in horror. Your stomach falls to your feet at his expression. You don’t want to walk over there. Don’t want to see what just made Sam hold back vomit, but if you don’t, you won't believe it’s true. What you know is true because Sam isn’t going in to help her. One step at a time, you march toward the bathroom door. Then you see her. Lying in the tub. Blood smeared on the shower and on her face. Dead. Not peacefully. Bloody. Grisly. You hold back vomit. You lower your gun and turn to Dean, to hug him, hold him, have him hold you, something, because the world has just ended and you can’t change this. Dean pushes you away with disgust and anger in his eyes, but you can’t even register the rejection for the thoughts racing in your head. Can’t take it back. What? No. This can’t be real. Your sister. Gone. And it’s your fault. These thoughts attack you as you walk over to the bed and sit, your vision spinning.

You close your eyes to stop the world from spinning and ease the wave of nausea that hit suddenly. This is your fault. This is on you. You wait for the tears, but all you feel is… stunned. In less than an hour, you betrayed two of the people who love you most. You have lost Charlie, she’s gone.

And now you’ve lost Dean too.

So quickly.

You’ve lost it all.

Part 13

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[goblincas]

Entry Level Angel | Ch 1

On AO3

Saturday, October 3rd:

“Ah, wait— shit!”

Splosh.

Cas's muscles stiffened on reflex, gaze sinking into his outstretched forearm. Oh…

…interesting?

Freshly towel-dried skin was now slick with the sheen of froth and espresso. Cradled loosely in his opposite hand was a half-empty mug, Han Solo decal fixing him with a lopsided smirk. Heh, fitting.

Hot coffee. He’d just doused his bare arm in hot coffee.

(Spine-chillingly pricey, imported coffee, at that— lord, what a waste.)

And, seemingly by the grace of his mid-century modern kitchen, he wasn’t burnt. The heat was certainly there, sliding and prickling against the surface of his skin, like some kind of extra-strength Pop Rocks— but there was no pain. There was no reddening of his flesh, his arm still tinged golden by the dusty mid-morning sunlight.

Well, that’s certainly… new.

By all existing reason, Cas knew that he should’ve promptly begun flipping his shit. This had to be an indicator of some kind of bio-engineered, flesh-hacking disease, right? That, or one of the few witches he knew had decided to not-so-discreetly take him on as a spell-casting dummy.

Or a curse, even? Although, it would have been hilariously counter-productive for an act of vengeance to protect him from injury. Hell, even then, Cas didn’t exactly have a reputation of pissing people off— at least, past his occasional gaudy fashion choices. Those could be distracting and potentially upsetting, depending on the refinement of one’s taste.

Now, that would just have been a petty curse, but Cas would have understood. Some people simply found deeper value in upholding their preferred aesthetics.

Plick.

Cas continued to rattle his mind, all the while watching individual drops of coffee slither and drip from his arm. They puddled onto the linoleum floor, alongside the steadily materializing globs of his thought process, as it continued to slobber out of his skull. Should he do something? Should he at least tell someone? Was it serious, or simply a one-time miracle on an otherwise forgettable morning? There was certainly a chance that he had just been saved a visit to Urgent Care.

Should he even risk alerting Dean, his famously magic-phobic best friend and roommate?

Plick.

Plick—

After some frenzied consideration, Cas jolted back to life and moved to clean up the spill.

⁂

If anything mattered to Cas during that casually nihilistic time following his quarter-life crisis, it was his Saturday afternoon ‘bonding’ sessions with Dean. Each week, they slumped on opposite ends of their thrift-tier sofa, quietly grading the assignments of their respective students. Instrumental rock pulsed through phone speakers and took over most of the surrounding air, alongside beats of note-taking, typing, and periodic tongue-clicking.

Frankly, for Cas, it was the epitome of domestic bliss.

As much as he lived for his and Dean’s more active conversations, Cas also reveled in the security of their quieter rituals. Apparently, Cas had developed a bit of a thing for unspoken intimacy, even if they weren’t—

“Hey, you hungry?”

Dean was now nudging Cas with a socked foot, gently prodding at his roommate’s calf. Cas peered up from his lap. All the while, Dean continued to stare vacantly at his laptop screen, vision almost certainly falling out of focus.

The fading traces of daylight framed Dean from behind, the tousled tips of his hair glowing like a field of candlelight. Pair that with his corpse-worthy dark circles, and there you had it: the duality of Winchester. The very essences of life and death, all bundled up into the appearance of one man. One man who sure as hell hadn’t been prioritizing sleep, lately.

“Cas? Dinner? You interested?”

Now, Dean’s gaze had turned upwards, scoping Cas out.

Cas hummed. “I guess,” he said, absentmindedly clicking the pen in his hand. “Honestly, I haven’t had much of an appetite, today. But yeah, I should probably eat something.”

“Huh. Have you at least eaten, at all? Like, anything?”

Upon reflection, the closest Cas had come to “eating” had involved him reverse-baptizing his forearm with his morning coffee. Hunger hadn’t been on his subconscious to-do list, that day.

Honestly, he wouldn’t have been shocked if his caffeine-free panic attack was what had killed his appetite, in the first place.

Cas shrugged, dismissive. “No, I haven’t. Maybe I’m getting sick, I don’t know.”

At that, Dean hauled his supplies over to the center of the couch, before swinging his legs over the side. “Dude. Guess I’m gonna have to feed the shit outta you, then,” Dean grumbled, already heading toward the kitchen, cutting the music on his way there.

Exit Dean Winchester, world-class champion of passive-aggressive mother-henning.

Clearing his own lap onto the nearby coffee table, Cas trailed just behind.

By the time Cas had reached the narrow archway dividing the kitchen from their living space, Dean was rifling enthusiastically through the refrigerator. “Okay, so I know you don’t have much of an appetite, but do you got any preference?” he asked, stealing a glance toward Cas, before returning his attention to the fridge.

Again, Cas shrugged. He took a seat at the breakfast bar, leisurely tapping his fingertips against the pale pink surface. “No preference, no,” he replied, right as Dean was shifting his focus over to the freezer.

“Okay, well, you in the mood for—” Dean began, before abruptly cutting himself off. He was left staring into the open freezer, unmoving.

“Yes, Dean?”

“Cas,” Dean grunted, side-eyeing Cas from over his shoulder. “What the hell is in the freezer?”

To his lukewarm dismay, Cas didn’t need to ask what Dean was referring to. He still wished that he’d remembered to mention it before Dean had made the discovery, however. “Oh,” he said, gnawing at his lip. “So, when you were out visiting Sam this morning, I told my co-worker she could stop by. Basically, she’s in the middle of moving apartments, and she’d only just enchanted some moss the other day, so—”

“Enchanted moss? So, our freezer is packed with, like, thirty Tupperwares full of… fuckin’ accursed tree snot?”

Half-heartedly, Cas began to tug on the peach-fuzzy leaf of the nearest houseplant. Eclectically-arranged greenery could be found across a fair portion of the kitchen. And those god-forsaken plants were now sat, silently observing Cas's situation— assholes, even if their amusement was well-concealed. “Dean, that’s rude. She’d put a lot of time and effort into enchanting it, and she didn’t want to risk it getting destroyed during her move. I’m only being polite,” he said, finishing at a mutter. Cas hesitated before rolling his eyes, belatedly punctuating his argument with a bit more fervor.

“Cas—”

“Oh, also, I’m pretty sure it’s only fourteen Tupperwares. Not thirty.” Because, clearly, thirty would just have been excessive. After all, there was such a thing as too much DIY, home-enchanted purple and red moss. Cas liked to believe that his co-worker wasn’t crossing that delicate threshold; he wasn’t a witch himself, but it was only fair to give her judgment the benefit of the doubt.

With a short huff, Dean turned back to shut the freezer door. “Whatever, guess it’s good we don’t keep much shit in there, anyway,” he said, crouching down to return to the fridge. “But I’m blaming you if I, like, sprout a third arm in my sleep, or somethin’.”

“Dean!” Cas gasped, albeit weakly. “She’s a dryadic witch. I highly doubt she spends too much time working with… freaky limb-growth magic.”

With a concluding grunt, Dean began to yank fresh beef and a head of lettuce from the fridge.

⁂

It didn’t seem to take long for Dean to notice: Cas's face had twisted in on itself, contorting mid-chew of his burger. Cas let out a weak gag in the back of his throat, but for the most part, he was still.

“Uh, hey, Cas? Somethin’ goin’ on over there?” Dean asked. He took a swig of his beer, waiting for Cas to collect himself.

Cas swallowed the food that, up until that moment, he’d considered to be Dean’s specialty. “This tastes weird,” he mumbled, squinting at his meal.

It really did, though— somehow, the flavor was morphing between acrid and utterly tasteless, as it all turned to a tacky paste on his tongue.

Dean nearly gagged on his beer, sputtering onto the countertop. “Dude, way to lay it on thick. Hell,” he grumbled. Still, the chuckle that followed was light.

“No, I mean— actually, I don’t know what I mean. Other than, I guess I am sick, then,” Cas said, dropping his hardly-touched burger as if it had personally slighted him. “I can hardly taste. God, this is awful.”

Dean smirked. “Or, just maybe, you’ve been afflicted by the presence of The Accursed Moss.” Dean was clearly attempting to appear somber in the face of his great revelation, but had hardly managed to contain his giggle.

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester, you are a menace.”

“Fuck off, man, I’m a delight.”

And Cas couldn’t possibly will himself to disagree.

Not long after his aborted attempt at force-feeding himself— formerly known as “dinner”— Cas opted to head to bed early. It hadn’t been an easy decision to make; he was consciously sacrificing time spent with Dean that didn’t involve either work or… meaty disappointments.

Sure, initially, it had seemed to be a perfectly responsible plan of action; this decision was further endorsed by Dean, whose not-so-inner caretaker was already well in action. Still, Cas was soon struck by a pretty vital realization: This would have been simpler if he were at all tired. He was initially willing to sympathize with his body— it wasn’t as if he usually crashed at seven o’clock on a Saturday night. Internal adjustments would have to be made, surely. After all, he was a man of… semi-strict routine.

Several hours of lying awake later, however, and Cas had to admit that he was a bit miffed.

The air in his room was beginning to feel especially dry, as were the inner surfaces of his mouth. He let out a tempered groan, grinding the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. If he really was coming down with a cold, and this was what it was going to be like, then the next few days were going to be miserable.

Still, admittedly, Cas couldn’t exactly say he felt all that ill, aside from his newfound distastes for eating and sleeping— which, sure, were probably two of his favorite pastimes. Until—

Cas found himself rolling out of his blanket cocoon, both to oblige his fidgety legs and to grab a glass of water. He had barely reached the foot of his bed when he began to burn.

What, a hot flash? Seriously, now?

God, a really, absurdly skin-searing hot flash.

Staggering on loose legs, Cas fell backward, perching on the edge of his mattress.

Just ahead, he was able to catch his reflection in the full-body mirror, where it leant against the otherwise bare wall. Despite the dark of the room, Cas was able to make out his paling features, cast over by moonlight.

And, as a delightful bonus, there was also the visible outline of his rib cage. Which was glowing, hot and electric blue, its light seeping through his flimsy T-shirt.

Yikes. So…

Was ‘auto X-raying bioluminescent abdomen’ a symptom of anything serious?

Before Cas had a chance to find his phone and consult the WebMD app, or even the worryingly extensive Curses4You™ database—

—the room seemed to collapse in on itself, oozing into black.

[tinkerbellbleu]

Excerpt is from Chapter 7 - Curses, Foiled Again

"Don't even think about it, Winchester." Voice heavy with irritation, Skyler piped up from the backseat as Dean's hand strayed toward the radio dial, "If I have to listen to the golden oldies for the entire drive, it's a toss-up between whether I'll pull a Cobain or smother you in your sleep."

"And Avenged Sevenfold is so much better. Half of your shit doesn't even qualify as music."

"Okay, and on that note-" Knocking Dean's hand away from the radio, Sam turned the knob firmly to the 'off' position before half-turning in his seat so he could see both of them. As amusing as their squabbling was, Sam's curiosity was starting to eat at him, "How did you two wind up together, anyway? Something tells me it wasn't by choice and Skye, no offense, but you're not exactly Dean's usual type."

"I have a type?"

"I'm thinkin' cheap, easy, and desperate probably qualifies as a type. And silicone. Lots of silicone."

"Guys, really..." Smothering a laugh at the offended look on Dean's face, Sam interrupted before his brother could think of a solid comeback, "What happened?"

"She got us cursed."

"I saved your life." Sounding more than a little miffed, Skye crossed her arms, slouching down in her seat as she glared at Dean in the rearview mirror, "He got us cursed. I don't know what I did in a past life to get this kind of karma, but it must have been somethin' truly horrendous to earn this shit."

"You probably just opened your mouth and your personality popped out, that's more than enough for a few hundred years bad karma. ...and you did not save my life-"

"Words hurt, Winchester. I'm wounded on a deep, spiritual level." Arm draped over the back of the front seat, Sam watched Skye mime pulling an arrow out of her chest, her levels of sarcasm reaching perilous levels. Was this what they'd been like for the entire last week? Sam wasn't sure Dean had ever met someone that could match him snark for snark. No wonder he looked like his head was about to explode.

"-as I was about to say before the muppet so rudely interrupted… I was down in New Orleans workin' a lead on a Voodoo Priestess that was responsible for about a dozen deaths-"

"I'm sorry, did you just call me a muppet, Grandpa?"

"Grandpa?"

"Guys…" Trying to keep these two on track was already becoming a full-time job and Sam had the weirdest feeling that he was going to end up working overtime. A lot of overtime. Too bad it didn't offer hazard pay.

"Right. Anyway, I was down in New Orleans and me and this bitch were goin' toe-to-toe in some dark as fuck back alley on the outskirts of town-"

"-you were right in the middle of town. How the hell nobody else stumbled over you, I have no fuckin' clue-"

"Whatever. As I was saying, so me and this bitch are fightin' it out and right as I'm about to take her down, Skyler wanders into the middle of everything and gets in the way-

"Excuse you? She was kicking your ass. Pretty sure you'd be a John Doe at the local mortuary if it wasn't for me-"

"Fine. She might have been a little bit of a distraction-"

"A little bit? You really are delusional, Short Bus. I gave you enough time to shoot her in the head. In front of me. Which, thanks for the psychological trauma, by the way."

"You're welcome."

Turning away, Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. This was really just too much. He'd thought this kind of thing only happened in cliched straight-to-video Hallmark movies and the occasional bad romance novel.

"Okay, but that really doesn't tell me how you guys ended up in this car together. Dean's not exactly in the habit of taking in random strangers from back alleys." At least, not for longer than a night or two.

"Yeah, well, I didn't kill the bitch fast enough and she cursed us-"

"So you admit this is your fault?"

"For fucks sake, Skyler, would you shut up for two fucking seconds? Jesus."

Oh, this was going to be so much fun. At least, it would be if Sam could stave off the headache these two were threatening to cause. Between the muscle twitching in Dean's jaw and the death glares Skye was shooting at the back of Dean's head, Sam was starting to wonder if they'd come to blows before they came to...well...other things. "So she didn't die fast enough and…?"

"And she cursed us with her dying breath." Swooning over sideways in impressively exaggerated fashion, Skye clutched at her chest and let out a fairly convincing death rattle. Convincing enough to make Dean flinch at the wheel, anyway. Aww, how cute. Propping herself up on an elbow, she flipped her braid over her shoulder and grinned up at Sam, "It was real dramatic. There was Latin and everything. Hollywood couldn't a done it better."

"A death curse?" Sucking in his breath, Sam whistled between his death. A real honest-to-God death curse was some pretty heavy mojo. Like, typically of the fatal variety, but they certainly seemed hale and hearty enough. "So what exactly did she curse you with?"

"I can't get more than thirty miles away from Cheerleader Barbie here without puking my guts up. Literally."

"...and you've tested this out, you guys know for sure?"

"Oh yeah, we know for sure. Dean had to more than prove it before I'd step foot in this fuckin' car."

Sam saw Skye visibly pale at the memory, which was interesting considering she was already the next thing to translucent. If she were a character in a cheap dime-store novel, her complexion would have been described as something between peaches-and-cream and porcelain and just about as flawless. Of course, Sam himself would describe it as 'vitamin D deficient' and 'have you considered making friends with sunlight?', but the former was probably more poetic.

Slouching down in her seat, Skye shuddered and looked at Sam. "Headache, chest pain, heart palpitations, vomiting up copious amounts of blood… It was so much fun, I really can't wait to do it again. Now, I think I'm gonna try and catch some z's because your asshole brother apparently doesn't believe in beds."

Glancing up, Dean briefly met Skye's eyes in the rearview before they both looked away. Oh, come on. It had only been, like, an hour and if these two got anymore absurd, Sam's head might implode from trying not to laugh his ass off. And they were stuck together. This was just too precious.

For the first time, Sam actually felt like he might have made the right decision because come on, no way he could miss this. "Alright. Sleep good, I guess."

"Thanks, Sam."

The Ties That Bind is a Supernatural series rewrite. Starting from the very first episode, ‘Woman in White’, it adds an OC that with her own issues and storyarcs, bringing new dimensions to an old favorite. Find me as TinkerbellBleu on FFNet and Ao3!

If you need even more SPN in your life, check out our Supernatural-centric discord server: Join the Hunt

[wevegotworktodo]

The Phallic Title Debacle(Damsel in Distress 4)

Pairing: Dean x Reader X Sam

Word count : 2634

Warnings: language, smut, crack!!!!

Summary: The three of you are on the hunt for the demon with the yellow eyes. Things happen... Just read the shit.

  Winchester is bustling as you pass through the city square. There’s no King’s guard, no advisors, no servants at your side. You're threesome has become a foursome as Father Castiel leads the way through the winding narrow road. The fresh stench of shit fills the air as a chamber pot is emptied from a second story window, narrowly missing Dean’s head.

He shakes a piece of poop from his the toe of his shoe, “Uh, no offense here Padre, but the Royal Court has its own castle blacksmith.” The three of you wait just under the eave of the open air hut.

“Yes, your Grace…but this one is Kurdish.” The Smith presents Castiel with the blade which he had commissioned, receiving his seal of approval with a nod.

You await the unveiling of the cutlery seemingly important enough to drag the royalty of Winchester through puddles of feces to make its acquaintance. Castiel holds out both hands to display the blade to the lot of you. It's but a knife; simple handle made of antler, the blade eight inches of cold steel, strong and jagged. There's an inscription along the blade, definitely the language of the Kurds, but a subject you're not very familiar with.

“This blade will kill your yellow eyed demon, bring you the revenge and justice you have been seeking.” The boys’ eyes are wide with disbelief, distracted, at the revelation brought forth.

It's maybe a sixth sense, a blessing or a curse from the years of hunting, but you feel the presence behind you. You turn as he draws a small knife, advancing on your King. Drawing your sword you shove Sam to the side, he topples, falls in the urine slick mud. With one quick swing the arm holding the knife is severed. You throw your weapon to the ground as you snatch the new blade from Cas’s hands, plunge it into the abdomen of the still stunned attacker. His face lights with an orange glow, flickering, as the demon is eradicated.

“Blade works.” You say very matter of factly, passing it back to Cas before helping Sam to his feet. “We need to pack, get ready t’send this yellow eyed son of a bitch back to hell.”

“She's right, we need to leave tonight before the trail goes cold.” Dean takes the knife from Castiel. “I'll just hold onto this.” He sniggers.

“Really? You think you're the most capable here? The one who should be in charge of the most important weapon Winchester has ever seen?”

Sam pulls the blade from Dean’s hands. “I'm the King, I'll be in charge of it.”

You turn on Sam, “You? Mr. Almost got stabbed in the back? Mr. Pee Pee Pants?”

“That was so not my fault.”

“Just because it's not your piss doesn't displace the blame. Stay on your feet next time.” You regain possession of the weapon, giving Sam a formal bow, “Your Grace.” It's pure sarcasm and Sam knows it.

Castiel clears his throat before anymore bickering ensues. “He was only the first. Word travels fast. With a weapon like this there will be more, you'll be the hunted.”

*********

You had been the one who chose not to fly the King’s banners. Figured it'd be easier to protect him if he wasn't flaunting who he was while on this mission. Sam was dressed quite plainly, much like Dean, chainmaille concealed under a leather shirt, brown pants to match. Any ordinary peasant wouldn't know he’s royalty unless he were to have to draw his huge sword, or his weapon.

It'd been a seemingly endless ride, a good twelve hours in the saddle-- nervous, thoughts racing, stomach churning with both apprehension and excitement to finally face this bastard head on. The three of you decide to bed down for the night, a small clearing just off the beaten path will do just fine.

Dean still can't let go of the fact that you're the one in possession of the demon killing blade, “You know... I'm responsible, I held Excalibur once.”

You're already smiling,“Do I dare ask?”

“Ask what?” Dean claims a seat by the fire.

“You're aware that King Arthur also calls his prick Excalibur? So which one did he let ya hold, Dean?”

Sam is wholeheartedly laughing, loves the way you can ruffle his brother’s feathers.

Dean stands,“Fuck you both,” begins to swing an imaginary blade through the air, “That sword is enormous, rare steel, perfectly weighted.”

“Yes, and men who carry such large and extravagant weapons are generally overcompensating for somethin’.” You hold a sausage up, skewer it with a stick before holding it over the crackling fire.

“Like what?”

“Let's just say you're not the only one who’s ‘held’ Excalibur, and it wasn't that great.”

“Since when?”

“Since a couple a years ago when I took down a pack of werewolves for ‘em. Oddly enough at that time he was traveling with only a squire who kept banging together two coconuts. Ugh, that sound is forever etched in my brain.” You rub your temples as you gaze into the flames, “Anyway, he was...um…grateful.”

Sam quickly changes the subject, challenging your before mentioned assumption. “My python is by far the largest in the land and I still carry a big sword.”

“Ah, but your reputation precedes you. People across the great seas are aware of the slut slayer in your pants. You could carry a sword twice the size of any other king’s and no one would doubt you.”

Dean’s fed up, jealousy boiling in his veins. “Let's get some sleep, got a long ride in the mornin’.”

**********

“Excalibur, pfft,that's a shitty name anyway. Who names their bratwurst Excalibur?” Dean’s riding in the back, still hung up on last night’s conversation. “I'm going to name mine something way cooler than Excalibur. How about…” He thinks for a moment, “...Winchestibur?”

“No!” both you and Sam say in unison.

“Ok, ok. Win-dicks-i-bur?”

You stop your horse in its tracks, “Oh for fuck’s sake, you're just making shit up.”

“So? You don't think it's deserving of a name then?” He asks, trotting off ahead with Sam.

“Sure. Why don't both of you find a name for your albino cave dweller.” Letting out a deep sigh and rolling your eyes, you mumble under your breath, “It’s gonna be a long day.”

******

Both you and Dean try to convince him it's absurd but Sam quickly settles on ‘King Cocksbury’ enticing a huge, much needed, laugh. Maybe this ridiculousness is exactly what’s required to lighten the mood when- until now- thoughts your family’s death (at the hands of a being with yellow eyes) have been weighing heavy.

“Hmmm, a good title for the bologna pony?” Dean rubs his hand across his three day stubble.

“Hell. Dean’s thinking again. If steam starts coming out of his ears Y/N turn him over, we can cook dinner tonight without building a fire.”

“Ooo, King Cocksbury himself making jokes, you’re hilarious little brother.”

Sam reaches over and gives Dean a good shove in the shoulder, nearly pushing him off Baby. Dean in turn shoves him back which turns into a slap fight between two grown ass men.

As hilarious as this is you have a mission to complete and need to move on, “Ladies, ladies! Break it up before you resort to hair pulling!” They stop but glare at each other. “I'm not sure what's worse, hunting alone- praying to become a knight one day, or actually being one- sworn to protect the two sexiest but childish morons I've ever met.”

There's a roadside pub just ahead, a small stone building with a thatched roof. “It's just brotherly love.” Sam proclaims dismounting first.

“It's annoying.” You mumble as you swing your leg over the saddle, pull your foot from the stirrup.

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Annoyingly sexy,” then winks as pulls you into his arms. You hesitate as he leans in, breath hitches, but you can't seem to resist- letting your eyes fall closed.

Sam crinkles his nose, “I'm going to fill our costrels for the road. You two want anything?”

Dean pulls from your lips long enough to mumble, “See if they got any pie.” Motioning for Sam to go on inside.

You break- suddenly aware of what you're doing, who you're doing it with, and who saw you do it. “We...we can't--S-Sam.”

“Don't worry bout Sammy. We talked... he's ok with sharin’ until you're married to ‘em, then you're off limits,” he does a reach around, fills both hands with your ass and squeezes. “I plan on making the most of it ‘til then.”

You relax a little, “make the most of it fast then, he won't be but a minute.”

You're both hurriedly looking for a place that isn't so out in the open, some sort of cover. Dean grabs his bed roll, takes your hand and half leads, half drags you behind the building. There's a few large pines just to the side, only one of the pub’s windows visible from here so you figure it's as good a place as any. You give the blanket a shake, laying it out in a bed of pine needles while Dean over anxiously jerks his pants to his ankles. You've dropped your sword, beginning to unlace your own pants when he steps forward, cradles your face and dips his head again. Your eyes flutter, close, then spring open again. You’d caught a glimpse, a flash, of bluish white light inside.

“Fuck, Sam!”

Dean’s peppering kisses down your neck, reassuring you between them, “M’told you...he’s ok...with...this.”

You shove him back, pants around his ankles he stumbles- doesn't fall, looks at you inquisitively as you pick up your sheathed weapon. “Somethin’s wrong,” you say kicking his sword closer to his feet, “com’on.”

Entering cautiously, weapons drawn, you study the room. There's no activity, several dead highwaymen strewn about, their throats slit ear to ear.

No Sam.

Oh shit- No Sam.

You begin to panic, heart’s pounding, palms are sweating, breathing is a little erratic. You let the goddamn freaking King, whom you're sworn to protect, out of your sights to ride the steamin’ semen highway and now he's fucking disappeared. “Knew I shouldn't have let him come in by himself, son of a bitch!”

Dean’s at your side, “Well, there is a silver lining.”

“Aaand what is that?”

“Now we can bump uglies anytime we want.” He waits for your reaction expecting bitchface. He gets bitchface alright, along with a slap right across his. Your palm stings and for a second you regret the slap- think you should've punched him instead. “Jeez Y/N, it was a joke,” Dean rubs his cheek, reddened and angry, “S’riously though, Sam's not here. That's a good thing, means he's probably still alive.”

You let out a deep breath, “You're prob’ly right. Grab our stuff, I'll get the horses. They can't be far.” Turning to head out the door you notice a powder-like substance in the windowsill, you rub it between your fingers, smell it, “D, it's sulfur.”

*****

Turns out Castiel was right. Regardless of your efforts you'd been attacked numerous times in the past twenty four hours, managing to literally carve some information from the last demon, obtaining an exact location and description of the one you seek…

You're crouched in a thicket at the edge of the demon’s camp, there's no sign yet of Sam but he has to be here.

“Baron Von Boner?”

“You're going to do this now?” You whisper.

“Might as well be productive.” He says, louder than necessary.

“Shhhhh, damn it, you're gonna get us caught.”

“Knight of the Schlong Table?”

The look on your face was enough for Dean to gesture closing the zipper over his mouth, locking it and throwing away the key.

Only observing for now, you're getting a plan together before rushing in. Obviously outnumbered -three, maybe four, to one- you'd be lucky if any of you make it out alive.

The decision was made to strike at first light.

That leaves fourteen or so odd hours to prepare for battle, or to keep yourselves busy ‘til then.

*****

It's a chilly night, but the blanket is just too warm. You toss it back, welcoming the cool air on your sweat soaked skin. Dean moans and you're not sure if it's because of the cold or that thing you did with your hips.

So, you do it again...

“Mmm Y/N, I swear to…”

And again. “...g-aaad,” he grunts out.

Yep, definitely the hips.

You straighten your back, lock your feet around Dean’s calves as you grind down onto him. His hands slide up your torso, fingers teasing at your breasts. You brush your hair out of your face, peeling a few pieces back that are plastered to your forehead from the perspiration.

Rocking back you place your palm on his chest and when you rock forward it slides up a bit, your thumb grazing across his nipple. He groans again, can barely get it out before it's broken, as you push backward taking him to the hilt.

Dean’s eyes are closed, hands splayed across the tops of your thighs. You let your own eyes fall shut, begin to get lost in the feel of it all-- the smooth flesh of Dean’s chest, the stark contrast of the calluses on his palms traveling across your skin, the bead of sweat slowly trickling down between your breasts.

The fullness.

The grunts and moans.

The snapping of the twig behind you.

The snapping of the twig behind you…

You jump up, pulling the knife from under your bed roll as you move. The demon is dead before the night breeze can dry the coochie juice off Dean’s womb raider.

He sits up on his elbows. “Mmm, I like it when you fight naked. Now get back over here.” You glance over your shoulder at the body laying not 10 feet away, shrug your shoulders.

You plant one foot on each side of his hips, bend over and tuck the blade back under the edge of your pack. “I swear to god I should let you get blue balls.”

“Come on, you wouldn't mistreat Vlad the Impaler would you?”

“If you ever call it that again I'm going to cut it off.” You reach for the handle of the blade.

“Ok, ok.” He holds both hands in the air in submission. “Just fuck me already,” his fingertips graze at your calves, featherlight across your sensitive flesh.

You stand up straight, bend at the knees, sink straight down onto his sperminator until he's bottomed out. Your fingertips are white as you grip his shoulders for leverage, squatted on top of him, raising up to the tip, plummeting until he's balls deep.

His hands have moved to your ass, helping you with the extension, guiding and lifting you as far as possible without sliding out of the sausage wallet. You're able to set a torturing pace, thighs burning, knees tingling, the pins and needles radiating to your core where they're actually welcome. Parts of your body want to give up but you're chasing that release, and it's so close…

You're studying Dean’s features, the lines in the corners of his eyes, how his tongue darts out to moisten his lips just before he pulls the bottom one in between his teeth. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back his growls. How his face is subtly starting to distort into the expression he always has when he cums.

He's crouched just beside Dean’s shoulder when he materializes. He's middle aged, face worn. Looks you straight in the eye and smiles disturbingly, “Nice tits.”

His eyes flash a golden yellow, and with a snap of his fingers they're both gone.

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[shaepschift-a]

@magicveiled liked the thing for something from the spn crew! "SO YOU'RE SOME KINDA-- SUPER WITCH, HUH?" Dean smrirks, his frame lounging against the booth of the diner they reside. "Dean." Sam chides-- it isn't often they team up with 'the other side', witches, demons, monsters and the like and he knows how Dean feels about the whole thing-- witches especially, but they've been over this : Morgan comes highly regarded by Bobby, there's no need for these veiled insults, especially not when they're here in an attempt to find Azazel.

"Sorry, we need your help." The youngest Winchester mentions, attempting to smooth over his brothers faux pas. "Need's a strong word Sammy--" "Dude!" "I'm just sayin--" Dean shifts then, his frame now a little more serious. "Look I know you and Bobby are cozy-- BUT HOW DO WE KNOW YOU'RE ONE OF THE GOOD ONES?"

[maximumkillshot]

The Situation-Part 2

Warnings: Mentions of Menstrual cycle, Gender bent! Dean Winchester, Some Cursing,  I can’t remember anything else at the moment but I hope y’all enjoy!

Pairing: None

Characters: Gender Bent! Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Rowena and Jody are mentioned, Castiel

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy!!

“All I Could Do” Masterlist- CLICK HERE

Overall Masterlist- Click Here

“When You Call” Masterlist- Click Here

Wanna Chat? Click Here

“The Situation” Masterlist- Click Here

Previously:

Sam said, “Oh C’mon Dean it can’t be that bad, you're just being overdramatic.”

I looked shocked… “How dare you. No. How dare you say that to me.”

“Drama queen” Sam laughed back

“Excuse me?!” I said shocked  “I was about to conquer the world. I was this close. Don’t you call me drama queen!” I spat at him… “Now look at me, I feel like I have a blender in my pelvis, my breasts hurt, and I simultaneously want chocolate pudding pie and want to puke… what happened to me? The only positive here is that I’m kinda hot.” I said as I choked, near tears.

Cass responded from the doorway, “perhaps it was the witch that you called, ‘a spineless weak little girl’ that we killed yesterday.”

Dean looked at Cass and said “Oh shit… alright Sam, get those things for me please. Cass, call Rowena…

Sam said, “And what are you going to do?”

“Me? I’m making a triple decker bacon cheeseburger and fries, a chocolate milkshake, and a shit ton of mozzarella sticks… then I’m eating myself into a food coma.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know Sam, WHY ARE  MY INTERNAL ORGANS SHEDDING?! NONE OF THIS MAKES SENSE YET HERE WE ARE!” I screamed as I stomped off into the kitchen.

“How is he?” I heard Sam ask as he came through the bunker's garage with bags.

“So far, he hasn't torn up anything too badly. But he's been on a, what you humans call emotional roller coaster.” I heard Cass say as gently as possible

“What?”

“Well it started when he couldn't find the buns for the cheeseburger…”

“What happened?”

“Well, he started rummaging through every shelf we had. Then when he couldn't find it he started crying until I found it. Then he couldn't find the mozzarella sticks and he started screaming about how he can never find anything, then he couldn't find the chocolate ice cream and he started panicking…. He eventually stomped off into his room...  ”

“Ok let me talk to him”

“Dean” Said Sam as he knocked on my, his brother turned sisters, room, “ I got you a camisole and some jeans that may fit, the underwear, pads,a heating pad for the pain, plus a few hairties for your hair since you said that it was getting on your nerves over the phone…”

“Come in”I mumbled as I tried to sit up in the bed.

“I talked to Jody again, she said that working out or walking can help with the cramping, it helps tense and release…”

“The uterine walls contract making the lining shed with less pain, yeah I know… I was reading up on it.” I said as I gripped my pelvis, the pain was throbbing sometimes and searing the next minute… it was ridiculous. No matter how I stood, laid, or sat it wouldn’t go away, so I texted Jody and she said a warm shower helps, so I did that as soon as I possibly could, I actually just got out.

“So, are you gonna workout or?”

“HELL NO, Sammy, I can’t even sneeze without my underwear looking like ‘The Shining’ I quipped as I snatched the bag of supplies and scurried off to the bathroom.

“I thought you’d say that… so I heard that you didn’t get too far in making your food, huh?” asked Sam as he walked up to the door that I closed to the bathroom.

“Yep, got so frustrated, so angry, it sucked,” I said as I took off the new boxers… only to find at least a gash wounds worth of blood…. There goes the third pair today… and I have to pee again.

As soon as I sat down I heard Sam ask,

“So why don’t we go to the bar?” .

“I could go for some whiskey….” I said as the telltale rip of a pad being opened resonated through the bathroom. I then grabbed the panties and slid them on… it’s so weird I’m used to slipping these off of women and now they’re on me.

“How is everything going in there, Dean?” Asked Sam, he remembered what it was like with Jess, she had really bad periods, sometimes she couldn’t even make it to class because of the pain, at least that’s what he’d tell me whenever we talked about domestic life. Lisa was the opposite, always up and going, I could never tell when she was on hers...

“Well, you’d think beheading a werewolf would be more blood than this, but you’d be wrong,” I said as I swiped another handful of toilet paper and wiped for the twelfth time… It never ends, I went through two rolls already… TWO ROLLS!

After I pulled up the underwear with the pad on it I felt weird immediately….. I feel like a baby with a diaper on. It was even worse when I pulled out the jeans, they look like they’d fit but they look so tight, and they don’t have enough room for my hips. As I shimmied the denim up I could feel the sweat gathering on my brow, I could’ve sworn that I was smaller in the morning… then I remembered… water retention, which also explains the sweating.  By the time they were buttoned, I welcomed the comfort of a shirt with a little more breathability.

As soon as I put on the camisole I breathed semi-easily. I grabbed the hair ties and tied up my hair into a ponytail and grabbed the boots that were hidden at the bottom of the bag. Then I opened the door.

Sam’s jaw was wide open as I looked at him… “WHAT?” I said agitated….

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re kinda hot,” said Sam as he was almost horrified at what he was saying.

“Listen, it isn’t nearly as weird for you as it is for me, where’s Rowena?” I asked.

“She’s a few days out… she’s gonna be here as soon as possible,” said Sam.

“Great, just great… I need food and alcohol, a whole lot of alcohol.” I said almost defeated as I slid on my boots.

“Alright let’s head out.” said Sam.

________________________________________________________________

The minute I stepped into the Impala I had issues. For one, the wheel was way too high, then I couldn’t reach the pedals, and then the mirrors had to be adjusted, I just gave a huff and threw the keys at Sam, knowing that him driving is going to be easier.

When I slid into the passenger’s side I scared myself, I looked at the rear view mirror and I actually thought that it was a different person in my car. Things only got weirder when we went to the bar.

I immediately slammed a fifth of whiskey and started to nurse a beer as I listened to Guns n’ Roses play on the jukebox.

“Dean, you’ve gotta slow down” whispered Sam.

“Sammy, never tell a man who’s hemorrhaging from his junk to slow down when drinking..” I growled.

After I told the bartender what I wanted to eat, which was everything I continued downing my beer.

Then I heard something… a whistle…

“Hey gorgeous,” said a man. He had the longest rattiest beard I’d ever seen.

“I know you aren’t talking to me… I know he isn’t talking to me,” I looked to Sammy, only to find him trying to hold a laugh in.

“Yeah I am, a fine piece of ass like you, can’t blame me for lookin and wantin to talk to you, at least tell me your name.”

“Deannnaa.. Deena, my name’s Deena, you happy now?” I growled as Sammy choked on his drink.

“I won’t be happy until you’re in my bed, sweetheart.”

“ALRIGHT LISTEN HERE ZZ TOPP!” I yelled and Sam interrupted me..

“What my girlfriend is trying to say is that she isn’t interested… right sweetie?” Sam said.

I put on my best smile as I said with all the sarcasm that I could muster, “Yeah pumpkin, M’sorry, just had a rough day.”

"what's wrong with you, are you on your period or somethin'?" said the guy with a twinge of a laugh.

I gave him the death stare as I said "Walk away..... Fuckin’ walk away from me"

“I’d listen to her, she’s deadly, “ said Sam.

“What, are you whipped or somethin’ lettin a little girl control you?” Said the man.

“Not whipped, just smarter than you…” said Sam as he looked to me.

“C’mon Baby, just have a seat, don’t worry about him, we didn’t even eat yet.” Said, Sam, as he guided me back to the chair.

As soon as the man left we looked to each other and I said "We are NEVER speaking of this again" and he replied with "Wouldn't dream of it... never happened" It was then that we clanked our beer bottles together…

“Bitch,” I said under my breath,

“Jerk”.

After a bunch of bar food and way too many drinks, I found myself leaning on Sammy…

“Sammy, but suuuuurrrrously… my tits are amazing… they’re so soft and perky… Pillows on my ssheesttt…”

“Dean you’re hammered” said Sam as he watched me grab on to his arm.

“And you’re so ssttrrronngg, like holly shiit. I reemmmeebbburr when you’s a little baby…. Tiniest little thhingg now look a’ chu!! A fuckin’ Adonis on moose legs! Hoow? I have nuuu fuckin’ clue!”

“Annnd that’s definitely enough for you… looks like your metabolism changed too.” Mumbled Sammy.

“WHAAAA NUUUUUUUU I NEED MOORE!!!” I screamed.. “BARKEEP ANOTHER… HA SEE WHAT I DIID THERR SAMMY? THOR, GOD OF THUNDER… I’m gonna call you Thor from now on…” I then petted his hair, “SO soft...like my…”

“OKAY, thanks for the drinks, I’m gonna take her home now.” Said Sam to the bartender.

The second I went to get up my legs gave and Sammy caught me, he carried me like a toddler to Baby as I yelled, “HA! I KNEW IT, SO STRONG… LOOK…. PICKING ME UP LIKE A PIECE UH PAPER!”

Soon I felt myself plop down in Baby’s back seat…

As soon as Baby’s engine roared to life I said, “Hey Sammy?”

“Yeah Dean?”

“I’m glad you came back…”

“What?”

“After Jess… was afraid you’d pull away… that I’d lose you for good, y’know… but you didn’t… Maybe it’s selfish of me or maybe it’s the booze but I’m happy you came back… I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You would’ve been fine,” said Sammy.

“No I wouldn’t have been ‘fine’. I wasn’t fine when you were gone either… I missed you. Had no idiot little brother to nag me about my Nirvana tapes. Would’ve never had fun like I had tonight, wouldn’t have anything without you.”

“Shut up… Missed you too…”

“We’re a team, right Sammy?”

“Yeah… yeah we are…”

“Mmmm I knew it” I said as I passed out.

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