#*sam the onion man voice* i can fix that

[terrainofheartfelt]

okay could you do dair 23 or 26

Dair + 23 …in relief.

(there was another request for dair + 26 so that shalt be answered later <3)

(in the meantime, some 5x24 canon divergence as self care <3)

Dan knocks back the shot Serena hands him with a wince. Tequila. Whenever Dan shoots tequila he makes ill-advised choices. Which is why for his birthday two weeks ago, he and Blair drank Manhattans before feeling each other up in the bar bathroom. 

Whiskey goes with Blair, warm but harsh, sweet and sharp, burns down through his chest like being in love. Tequila is dangerous. Tequila is…well…Serena. 

“Okay, okay, time-out,” Dan pleads, making a T with his hands, trying in vain to referee his own life.  

Serena laughs, her smile glinting around a wedge of lime. “Don’t give up on me now, Dan. I never took you for a lightweight.” 

He snorts. “Yeah, well, anyone’s a lightweight when they ingest tequila on an empty stomach.” 

He hasn’t eaten all day. He couldn’t make himself. His stomach has been twisted up in knots ever since those fucking Gossip Girl blasts. He’d stupidly thought that drinking would help, but it’s only made it worse. 

Serena pats his shoulder sympathetically. “There’s food around here somewhere. I’ll flag someone –” 

She lifts her arm, and despite his compromised state, Dan is able to spot the danger. He stumbles backward and pulls Serena with him, out of the way of a passing waiter, narrowly saving the both of them from being doused by an entire bottle of champagne. 

“Whoa,” he brilliantly comments, then reflexively drops his hands from Serena’s arms to his sides, releasing her.  

She only steps closer, looking at him with concern. “You okay?”

He chokes on an hysterical laugh, because no, he is clearly not, and suddenly everything in the party becomes too much. The noise, the people, the terrible music, the lighting, the dense, cloying air of a hundred over perfumed American aristocrats, and is he that drunk or is Serena still extremely close to him?

“Uh – yeah.” He rakes a hand through his hair—it’s so hot in here that he wishes he could chop it off now, or at least have a hair tie on his wrist like Jenny always does. “I just – I need some air.” 

He takes a step back, and Serena immediately follows him. “I’ll come with you.” 

“No, Serena –” he snaps, then catches himself, his stomach does a violent flip. Personal space has never been much of a thing with them, even as friends, but now Dan feels on the precipice of something dangerous. “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna puke. And I know that dress you’re wearing is worth more than my book deal, so –” he waves a vague hand, and turns and walks away before Serena can protest again.   

Dan ends up on the sidewalk in front of Grand Central. Given the spring humidity and all the city smells that come with it, the air outside the Campbell isn’t much better, but at least out here Dan can be alone for a moment. 

He knows she means well, but Serena’s hovering only makes him feel worse, like she’s already decided what choice Blair is going to make. 

Dan supposes if anyone were qualified to weigh in on Blair’s choices, it would be Serena. But no, Blair hasn’t really let Serena know her for a long time now, and maybe Dan is partially to blame for that, but — he’s too drunk to follow this thread right now. 

He leans back against the wall to steady himself. He’s already out here, public transportation hub at his back, it would be pretty easy to make a getaway, spare him the humiliation of waiting around for the rest of the night. 

But, what if?

He tips his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. Too many trains of thought, too much tequila to chase them down. 

“Dan?”

He wrenches his eyes open. No way. 

“Oh thank god,” he mutters, pushing himself off the wall and into Blair’s arms, pouring all the relief he can’t speak into a kiss. 

“Mm – Dan,” she pulls back, but holds her grip on his lapels, keeping him close. She wrinkles her nose, impossibly cute, and he loves her. “You taste like a distillery.” 

He loves her. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, tipping his forehead against hers, wrapping his arms tighter around her waist. 

“I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats unevenly, apologizing for more than just the tequila breath. For being drunk now, for serving her that stupid ultimatum, for nearly giving up on his end of it, for saying too much and scaring her off. 

“It’s fine,” Blair says with a long-suffering sigh as she twines her arms around his neck. “I love you anyway.”

Dan gapes at her, dumbstruck. Blair Waldorf has a singular talent of rendering him speechless. “You’re gonna have to tell me that again when I’m sober.”

She giggles and pulls him in to kiss him again, distillery be damned.

[blondchameleon]

🎵 Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby and I'm a monster on the hill. Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city. Pierced through the heart, but never killed 🎶 (anti-hero by taylor swift plays automatically when you go on sam's blog)

LIMA LOSER? OR IS THAT SAM EVANS? THEY MIGHT EVEN PASS FOR NICHOLAS  GALITZINE IN THE RIGHT LIGHT. THEY'RE TWENTY-ONE, BUT STILL STUCK IN LIMA AT MCKINLEY. THEY'VE BEEN CALLED THE CROWD PLEASURE, BUT PREFER TO BE THE NEXT BIG THING. MAYBE IF THEY FIX THEIR AESTHETIC AKA LONG NIGHTS SPENT UNDER THE STARS ON A BLANKET IN THE BACK OF A PICK UP, UNDER THE BRIGHT NEON LIGHTS WITH A CAMERA ROLLING TO A SLOW SMOOTH SOUNDTRACK, AND LONG DISTANT CALLS HOME TO A DEEPLY MISSED FAMILY THEY'LL GET THEIR WAY. WORD ON THE SHOW CHOIR BLOGS ARE THEY'RE IN NEW DIRECTIONS. SO GOOD LUCK TO THEM!

THE BASICS:

name: samuel jessica evans. 

nicknames: sammy, white chocolate, trouty mouth, blond chameleon or captain trouty. 

pronouns: he/him.

gender: cismale.

birthday/zodiac: may 21, gemini.

birthplace: knoxville, tn!

relationship status: single.

sexuality: pansexual, like deadpool.

occupation: “accountant” and part time exotic dancer, also an ex-model. you might've seen my junk looking as big as a car on the side of a bus in new york a couple of years ago.

sports/clubs: art club, astronomy club, digital media club, drama club, fight club, film club, gay-straight alliance, god squad, improv club, painting club, photography club. i'm also on the football team, go titans! and the swim and synchronized swim teams.

major/minor: digital media and visual communications!

languages: english, ASL, na'vi, very poor spanish.

social media handles: blondchameleon everywhere and uh, ifykyk about my other ones.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE:

height: 6'0''.

build: athletic??? and my abs can cut glass, absolutely ab-ulous!

eye color:  hazel.

hair color: blond and i don't dye it.

piercings: oh man, i got my nipples, tongue and ears pierced... but like, think teddy altman from marvel not grey's anatomy. but also specifically in his earth-616 era.

tattoos:  i have a firefly quote on my forearm, i'm fine on my inner elbow, i'm just starting a sleeve of comics and anime panels on my right arm and left leg, respectively.

other distinguishing features:  i got some birthmarks on my face?

style: homeless man, 12 year old boy, and a hooker!

PERSONALITY/INTERESTS:

traits: pretty much anything that fits a hufflepuff, so like loyal and creative, optimistic and i think i'm pretty funny and charming! i uh, might also be kinda stubborn and impulsive, according to my therapist.

likes: space, comic books, anime, chapstick, mountain dew and cool ranch doritos, avatar, star wars, lord of the rings, you know that kinda stuff.

dislikes: rude people (but i ain't hannibal okay), onions, pickles, losing, politics, math.

fears: being homless again or losing my friends and family.

skills: i can play the guitar and i can hold my breath for like five minutes underwater. i can fit my whole fist in my mouth too! i'm also pretty good at tying knots.

quirks: i bite my nails and talk in my sleep??? if i'm stressed out i also sleep walk?? i also do that thing people hate where i jiggle my leg when i'm nervous.

hobbies: doing impressions, playing sports and video games, i used to model a lot more than i do, but i think i like taking pictures more, playing the guitar and bass, especially for high road. i also dabble in paint and i love stargazing.

music tastes: ♪♫♬ listen... i like a lot of different stuff and some was just for work, but you can't hear something for so long and not enjoy it too. ♪♫♬

myers-briggs: it started with an e and ended with t? i think?

kinsey scale: it's a solid three, i know 'cause they taught me at pride a couple of years ago.

strengths: if you've seen me in the gym, you know. also i'm really working on my singing 'cause if i want to voice something on disney, i know i'm going to have to sing.

weaknesses: math. fuck math, fr.

My personality is like a radioactive asteroid, spend too much time with it and it could kill you.

[13uswntimagines]

Leave the Cooking to Me (Sam x Rose x Reader)

Request: Sam x rose x reader. Where R was a part time chef so she’s always cooking their meals and the team is jealous of the good food

Author’s Note: Special Thanks to @literaryhedgehog. We had way too much fun doing this one and spent way too much time looking up random food things. Gotta say that we are both a sucker for writing for Sam. 

Sam and Rose were lucky and they would tell that to anyone who would listen to them. You weren’t just the sweetest human being they had ever met, or the most thoughtful. You were all of those things, and you knew how to cook. Not just recreationally either. You were the full fledged winner of Top Chef season 19, and the Sous chef at one of the hottest restaurants in Washington D.C.

“How can you make such good food dressed like that?” Sam asked, leaning over the island and resting her chin on her hand. 

“What do you mean?” You raised your eyebrows at the woman, continuing to run your knife along the onion without looking at it. 

“Don’t all of your skills come from your chefs coat?” Rose asked, sliding up beside you, her hand trailing under the back of your shirt. You shivered at the cold hand touching your skin. 

“I’m not Iron Man. I can function without an outfit,” you said, rolling your eyes, as you grabbed an egg. You happened to like wearing an oversized pajama shirt and short-shorts while cooking. You never felt bad about spilling anything on them, since you didn’t exactly wear them in public. “Sam, since your hands aren’t literal icicles-” Rose stuck her tongue out at you playfully “- can you hold this and warm it up to room temperature while Rose helps me hold the pastry?” 

“Ohhh what kind of pastry? Why is that filling purple?” Rose squealed. You knew how much she loved when you baked for them (especially considering those croissants you made them for special occasions). She pulled the bowl closer to her, and scrunched her nose when she saw the contents. 

You may have had a good track record, but that color was crazy. 

“It’s Spanakopita, but we’re going to experiment just a little bit. If you don’t like it you have to eat it anyway,” You shrugged, rolling out the dough onto a cutting board, and positioning Rose’s hands right where you wanted them. 

“If you make it, we’re going to like it.” Sam snorted, and Rose raised her eyebrow at her. 

You bit you lip, wilting just slightly. “I just got inspired, cause the beats are going to look so good in the risotto for the Arancini,”

“If it’s anything like that curry you made last time you got inspired, I think we’ll be ok,” Sam said, kissing your neck with a grin while you worked. You squeaked a little and jumped, hip-checking her to keep her away from accidentally touching the food. 

“It’s just a shame Valentine’s day already happened,” Rose said, looking at the three bowls of filling in their various places on the counter or in the fridge, “Pink, red, and purple dishes would have made great themed appetizers for your restaurant!” 

You snorted and shook your head. “I wish, we could do anything this interesting.” The arancini, maybe. The other two would probably be avoided like the plague for fear of any garlic or other lingering spices. “People are too bougie to enjoy the simple things like strangely colored foods.” 

“Good thing we’re not!” Sam smiled broadly, stealing a piece of orange-colored pork from the bowl to your right. 

“Yeah, we get all the sass and none of the class,” Rose giggled, barely avoiding your slap at her hand as she also stole a piece of pork. 

Just then you heard singing from the couch. “We are family,” Sam stuffed the piece of pork in her mouth and jumped up to grab her phone from where it was wedged between the cushions. “I’ve got all my sisters and me.”

“Tha’s Kwsten,” She spoke through her mouthful then swallowed. Do you mind if I go take this?” 

“Go for it, we’re about to stick this stuff in the oven anyway,” You nodded, giggling when she tripped over a chair on her way to grab the phone. “Make sure you swallow before you answer,” 

“Took you long enough. What were you doing, trying to find your pants?” Kristie’s voice rang through your apartment the second Sam answered the call. You smiled when your girlfriend’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink. 

“No, Y/n is cooking. She’s so good with her hands Kris, it’s not fair,”  Sam said shaking her head. 

Kristie snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at the woman. “I’m sure she is,” 

“Stop trying to turn everything I say into a euphemism.” Sam groaned, sending a glare at Rose who was cackling like a madwoman. 

“But you make it sooo easy,” Kristie teased, “I mean what was it you said last time, ‘she kneads aggressively?’”

“Bread, Kris. She was making bread. And you’re supposed to do-I mean knead it aggressively, that’s how gluten develops.” 

“Stop trying to explain it babe,” Rose sang, her voice bubbling with suppressed laughter.  

“You’re just making it worse,” You nodded along. 

“You know, I’m not this mean to you when Emily and Lindsey pull this shit with you. I was even sympathetic with the Sketchers thing,” Sam pouted. 

“We agreed to never mention that again,” Rose said menacingly, but Sam was distracted as you handed her a plate with the Spanakopita.

Sam’s pout melted off her face at the sight of the plate. “Ooo goodies. Thanks babe,” 

You kissed her cheek and waved to her sister on the phone before heading back to the kitchen to finish the next set. 

“What is that?” 

“Just course one of the amazing appetizers lunch my wonderful girlfriend is making for me.” Sam bit in and rolled her eyes at the taste, holding up the other half of the Spanakopita so she could see the gorgeous and delicious purple filling. 

“For both of you Sammy. Don’t leave Rosie out, that’s mean,” You called out, your tongue poking between your teeth as you stirred the pot on the stove. 

In the background of Kristie’s call, Sam could see other teammates gathering around the phone to see her food. She stood and walked back to the kitchen, turning the facetime camera around so they could see the two trays out of the oven and then you stirring at the stove. You waved your spoon but stayed focused. The rice was just at the point when it was most likely to burn and you needed to make sure the texture didn’t go from delicious to goopy. Risotto wasn’t for the faint of heart. 

“Look at how fluffy this Bao is!” Sam said, slowly tearing one of the dumplings in half in front of the camera. Sisterly torture went both ways- her sister may turn half of what Sam said into sex jokes, but Sam could rub the delicious food in Kristie’s face. 

“Why is it so orange?” Emily asked, piping in from behind the older Mewis sister. 

“Some awesome Indonesian spices that Y/n thought would be good,” Sam said, taking a huge bite out of the bun. 

“Tamarind and Turmeric in the mix,” you called out from behind her.

“It’s not fair that your girlfriend is a literal chef who enjoys cooking in the weekend,” Emily whined, followed shortly by a “shut up Sonnett” from Lindsey and a thump. 

“Experimenting apparently,” Rose said, mischievously. 

“Not helping dear. Anyway, what were you calling about Kris?” Sam said pointedly. 

“We just wanted to know what you eta for camp was?” Kristie asked. 

“Um, the flight leaves tomorrow at what time was it again Rose? 8 am?”

“Try 4:30 am Sam,” You rolled your eyes. It was going to suck, but you were going to make sure to pack some tasty overnight oats so no one was grumpy on the plane. 

“Ugh. That’s bullshit. Anyway, takeoff at god-awful early in the morning, and then we’ll see you when we land!” Sam said. She hung up the phone and moved back towards the counter. 

“Don’t worry babe, I’ll schedule the flight next time,” You leaned up to kiss her cheek. “Now how bout you help me roll some balls?” 

*****

“I don’t know what we did wrong this time?” Kelley said, poking the overly pale cinnamon rolls that had just come out of the oven. Then she turned the roll over to see a crisp black scorch on the base. “It looks like we took them out just in time though?”

“They’re pale on the top and burnt in the bottom,” Rose whined, tapping the middle of one of the rolls experimentally. 

“Kind of line you Rose,” Sam laughed, patting her shorter girlfriend on the back. 

“Haha, at least they’re not hockey pucks like the last batch,” Rose grumbled. 

How they had let their teammates talk them into this, she didn’t know. What she did know was that cooking with you was way more fun than doing it with this bunch. At least with you everything turned out tasty in the end. And if she accidentally messed something up you always knew how to fix it. 

“Stop that,” Kelley swatted Alex’s hand away from the bowl of icing. “That’s unsanitary. Let us drizzle it on the rolls first and then you can clean the bowl.” 

“But then what are we gonna do with this caramel you insisted I stir?” Emily asked, looking up from the pot in front of her. 

“It’s for the next batch. You put it in the bottom before you bake,” Sam answered, beginning to roll out the next set of cinnamon rolls. 

“And technically, we didn’t insist you do anything Sonnet. We mentioned our idea to make caramel for the cinnamon rolls and you jumped up and said “I volunteer as tribute”” Rose grumbled. “You didn’t even let us suggest a recipe.”

“Which considering the success of the other recipes you picked, might have been a good idea,” Emily said, frowning slightly at the bubbling mixture in front of her. She was stirring but the bubbles weren’t going away like they did with pasta. Maybe because it was thicker? She stirred faster to compensate.  

“Hey guys, what are you-... oh shit,” You raced over to the stove, nearly barreling into Emily as you grabbed the practically overflowing pot of molten sugar and moved it off the heat, praying you had gotten to it before it was too late. You really didn’t want to have to explain to the trainers why you and Emily had third-degree burns if the pot exploded. 

You spun towards the group of older players, glaring at them. “Who let the child do the most dangerous job?” 

“Dangerous?!?” Kelley and Rose sputtered. Sam just blinked at you

You shook your head and pinched the space between your eyes. “If it crystallizes and you don’t take it off the heat it can explode. You don’t stir sugar,”  

“Oh. Well. At least there’s still icing?” Sam grabbed one of the better rolls and gave it a hearty helping of icing before handing it to you.

“What did you use, because Alex is vegan and she’s been eating it?” You narrowed your eyes at the offered plate, glancing sideways at a set of very pale rolls and a set that were very burnt and flat. 

“Flaxseed and applesauce instead of eggs and oat milk instead of milk. And margarine instead of butter.” Kelley said, automatically. She and her fiance had been making vegan substitutes for a while now, and while they might not have been traditional cinnamon roll ingredients, she knew the measurements by heart, so that’s what they had used. 

You bit your lip and squinted your eyes as you reached out and swiped a bit of frosting from on top of the bun and put it into your mouth. 

You gulped when the salty substance hit your tongue, trying and failing to conceal your wince after the flavor. Your girlfriends were a lot of things, but apparently good cooks wasn’t on that list. “Hey, what container was the powdered sugar that you used for this in?”

“Um, this one?” Kelley said, sliding you a container. 

Your eyes widened at the blue-lidded container. You had been experimenting for a new dish at the restaurant and had gotten a hold of some micro powder salt flour for it. You thought it would give the new cracker-jack-themed desert a better taste, and help to balance out all the sugar from the Caramel ice cream. 

“That’s not sugar,” you said weakly. 

Alex dipped her finger into the bowl and tasted it, gagging. “It’s salty!”

Sam frowned down at the plate in her hand. She hadn’t wanted to do this, to begin with, but the team had insisted. Assured her they knew what they were doing and that you would love the surprise. Instead, Emily had almost burnt down your kitchen and everything was a mess. 

“Is none of it alright,” Rose asked softly from behind you, her lip jutting out. 

You scanned the kitchen, looking from the still ominously bubbling ooze on the stove, to the cinnamon rolls so undercooked you could catch salmonella from them to the icing, then finally to a glass on the counter. You grabbed it and took a large swig of vanilla oat milk. 

“Your milk tastes great!” you said enthusiastically, as the others started laughing. 

Sam and Rose just wilted further. You sighed, wrapping your arm around your taller girlfriend and holding your hand out to Rose. “It’s the thought that counts guys. And I love the thought,” 

“That’s what your parents tell you when you give them shitty presents so you don’t feel bad,” Rose grumbled, and Sam nodded. 

You sighed, unable to keep your lips from tipping up in a smile. It was just. It was so bad it was funny. “Maybe next time start with something a little easier? I’d love some scrambled eggs and toast!”

 Sam sighed. “You hate eggs,” 

You laughed again. “But I love you, even if you two can’t cook,” 

You leaned up to kiss under Sam’s chin and over to Rose’s cheek. You loved them and would remind them that their skills were on the field. They should leave the kitchen stuff to you. 

[curlynerd]

You're Bacon Me Crazy Word Count: 2K Rating: T Summary: "I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!" Or, Dean comes out through complicated burger metaphors. Notes: humor, canon-adjacent, coming out, established Destiel, #pray4Sam

Also read on AO3!

"You're really having two burgers, Dean?" Sam asks in his most smug, most obnoxious "I’m eating kale for lunch" voice. Dean really hates that voice.

Dean straightens his back and spreads his hands out, like the two wrapped burgers, the extra large fries, and the soda with two straws are a majestic bounty. “I’m a growing boy, Sammy."

“Uh-huh,” Sam deadpans. He lifts the takeout lid of his salad and starts carefully drizzling the vinaigrette cup over his bed of leafy greens and grilled chicken. “And you’re definitely not going to bully Cas into splitting them with you? You know he doesn’t need to eat.”

Something tight and anxious curls in Dean’s chest. “No!” he blurts out, realizing a second too late that it’s normal for him to share his food with Cas. Just because he’s been doing it more now that he and Cas are finally together does not mean that it’s weird now.

In response to Dean’s defensiveness, Sam raises a self-righteous eyebrow in sync with his salad-laden fork. “Can he even really taste them? I thought he didn’t like food in angel mode.”

Dean swallows down a multitude of answers. He likes sharing the experience with Cas anyway. He thinks the way his face scrunches up at the molecules is cute. It makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside that an angel -- his angel -- is willing to put up with something so silly and mundane and human as taste-testing different burgers.

He really, really needs to tell Sam the truth about him and Cas. Hell, he’s been trying to for months! But every time the perfect opportunity presents itself, he turns into a fuckin’ coward.

And today definitely is another perfect moment. The conversation has naturally turned to Cas. They’re sitting at a picnic table at the park, with nobody around to overhear Dean spill his guts in the most agonizing and uncomfortable way possible. They’re working a case, so immediately after the conversation Dean can bury himself in research and hunting and not have to deal with Sam’s big, obnoxious “let’s make a huge deal out of this!” puppy dog eyes. And Cas isn’t even here right now to make things more awkward. He’s still checking out the victim at the coroner's office across the street.

Dean tries not to think about what a big baby he’s being by ignoring this golden opportunity. “He just tastes stuff different as an angel. He’s learning how to pick out the nuance.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Because there’s so much nuance to ‘extra cheese’ or ‘hold the tomato.’”

“Oh like you’d know, Mr. Tofu Burger.”

“You’d eat a burger off the floor. Are you really trying to convince me you care about what kind of burger it is?”

Dean huffs and levels an indignant glare at his brother. “I absolutely have a favorite burger.”

“Then why’d you get two different kinds?”

"I can like more than one kind of burger, you know!"

Sam snorts. "That's just an excuse to eat more burgers." He spears a forkful of tomato and spinach with a smug little twinkle in his eye.

"It's so not," Dean insists. He gestures at the two wrapped foil rounds in front of him. “These are two unique burgers that both have their own delicious qualities.”

“Really?” Sam’s expression is so pompous Dean kind of wants to throw a french fry at it. Except that would be a waste of a perfectly good fry.

“Yes ‘really.’ Look--” Dean carefully unwraps his first burger. “This is a pickle burger. And not just any ol’ pickle burger. The best, most amazing, and -- dare I say it? -- sexiest pickle burger in the entire continental US.” He smirks as Sam rolls his eyes. “Now I can tell by that condescending look in your eye, you’re wondering, ‘What the hell is so special about a pickle burger? It’s just pickles!’ But that’s where you’re wrong.” Dean lifts the top bun and points down to the burger, looking almost gleeful at all its toppings. “Fried pickles, pickled red onions, relish…Sour and sweet and crunchy, the perfect compliment to a juicy, meaty burger. And one this big? You’ve gotta have a little something special to handle all this meat.” Sam tilts his head, his mouth twitching like Dean said something embarrassing. Was it waxing poetic about vegetables? Probably. Dean chooses to ignore it.

“Ya know,” he continues, “for the longest time I didn’t think I’d like a pickle burger. For years I’d be at diners and think, ‘...maybe? I dunno. Probably not for me.’” Dean pulls his mouth down into a thoughtful frown and bobs his head to mimic his past thoughts. “And then...I’m not sure, I just figured, why not at least try it? All those burgers I’ve had all over the country; I could at least give it a whirl. And it. Was. Awesome!” Dean gently places the bun back on his burger and gives it a little affectionate pat. “Now I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Sam's expression does a complicated dance that Dean can't even begin to follow. But it suddenly clears into a look of dawning realization, followed quickly by horrified guilt, before it clamps down entirely.

Weird.

"Well...I can't fault someone for enjoying a good pickle burger," Sam says slowly. He doesn't meet Dean's eye, keeping his gaze down as he delicately stabs at his salad with his fork. He frowns at the cucumber slice he spears and carefully dislodges it from the prongs. "Especially if they really like, uh, pickles?" Sam cringes a little down at his greens. Dean can't blame him. It's a sad looking salad.

"Exactly!" Dean gestures down at the burger. "I'm a meat man and a pickle guy." Sam looks up toward the sky and then down toward the ground below with a sort of pleading desperation. "This is a great burger for me. And don't even get me started on the sauce--"

"Okay!" Sam's voice pitches up several octaves. Dean frowns at him, but before he can ask, Sam takes a deep breath and plasters a warm, understanding smile across his face. "You know what? You're right, Dean. After all this time. All those, uh...burgers. I'm glad you've figured out which one you like best."

"Well, not quite. I mean, this one…" Dean carefully unwraps the second burger. "Is there anything sexier than a breakfast burger?" He practically beams down at the golden-brown bun, the fringes of fried egg drooping over the side, crisp bacon peeking out from under the patty.

"I...I don't know?" Sam has the same terrified expression as when Dean drags him onto ramshackle roller coasters at crappy county fairs. God, he's such a baby about cholesterol.

“Yeah. C’mon, you know they’re great!” Dean says cavalierly, because he’s not going to miss a chance to gloat about the awesome food Sam misses out on with all his salads. “Bacon is, you know, bacon! It’s the best tasting thing in the world! Salty, greasy, crunchy…”

Sam’s brow furrows so deeply it’s like it’s mining for coal, his unfocused eyes searching the empty space between them like he’s trying to figure out the deep, dark mystery of bacon.

Dean rolls his eyes. Of course he wouldn’t understand. The dude eats low sodium turkey bacon. "I know you haven't had good, real bacon in ages--" Sam looks offended. Then confused. Then offended again. "--but trust me, man. It's awesome. When ya got bacon in your burger, it automatically makes the burger a hundred times better. Can’t get enough of it!” Sam groans like he's in pain.

Dean grins and keeps going. “And you’ve gotta admit, a fried egg is a thing of beauty. Give me a good silky, drippy egg all over my burger and I’m a happy guy.” Sam’s nose scrunches up into abject horror. “You get that gorgeous, soft yolk oozing everywhere...It’s creamy and delicious and unctuous and--”

“Dean!” Sam shrieks. He lets his fork fall into his bowl and covers his face with both his hands. His voice is muffled, but it’s definitely a tormented whine. “I know this is a tough topic for you, but can you please just say you’re bi and never use words like ‘unctuous’ again? I’m begging you!”

Dean freezes. “Wh-What?” Did Sam really--? He--? How does he know?!

Sam pops up from his elbows, dragging both hands through his hair as he frees his face from hiding. “I get it, dude. Okay? I get it. I mean...I don’t get it.” He glances down at the two burgers with a perturbed look and holds up his hands in surrender. “But I get it.”

Dean stares at him. “Get what?” he demands. His heart is pounding fast. Bi. Sam knows he’s bi. When did he figure it out?! Why’s he bringing it up now?!

Sam fixes him with a flat look. “The burgers? The...God...bacon sex metaphor? The pickle guy thing? I get it. Please. Please stop talking about eggs like that. I’ll never eat an omelette again!”

Sex metaphors? Pickle guy?! Dean takes a moment to think and...yeah. Yup. He really did say “I’m a pickle guy,” out loud. Wow.

Maybe he should just...roll with it?

Because otherwise Sam is definitely going to mock him for that for the rest of his life, and honestly, coming out is the much better option.

“You got me,” Dean says with a small laugh. He spreads his arms out with a bit of a flourish, and it’s a relief to say it. It feels good. “What can I say? I like all kinds of burgers. And hotdogs. Tacos. Kielbasa...”

“Please stop,” Sam groans, rubbing at his eyes with his hand.

Oh yeah, this is definitely the better option. Dean fell ass-backwards into a conversation he’s been dreading for months, and the only person feeling awkward and miserable here is Sam!

Really it’s a win-win.

Dean grins from ear to ear as he relishes Sam’s mortification. “Hey now, I thought you were supportive! What happened to ‘I’m happy for you and your burgers?’”

“I am happy for you, I just wish this wasn’t happening over lunch…” Sam whines as he drops his hands on the table.

“What’s Sam happy about?” Cas asks, startling the both of them by approaching their picnic table. His eyes are earnest and sincerely curious, which only causes Sam to send a miserable, pleading look his way while shaking his head.

“Sam thinks pickles are gay,” Dean says to Cas with the same sort of smug glee of the teacher’s pet tattling about note passing in class.

Cas scrunches his face in confusion as he sits down beside Dean. “Sam, that’s...nonsensical.”

“That’s what I said!” Dean lies, because the way Sam’s eyebrow is twitching right now is too damn funny. “Wait til you hear what he thinks about bacon.”

Sam drops his face into his hands again. “This is the worst day of my life,” he groans as he massages his temples with his fingers.

Cas furrows his brow at him. “You’ve been to Hell.”

“And I’m still there, apparently!” Sam flings his hand up in exasperation. Cas quietly takes a sip of Dean’s drink, which for some reason just pisses Sam off more.

“You know, you could have just been normal about this. No weird, gross food metaphors. Just--” Sam drops his voice several octaves and bobs his head in a deliberately annoying parody of Dean. “--‘Hey Sam, by the way, I’m bi and totally in love with Cas, no big deal,’ or whatever.”

Dean goes still while Cas tilts his head at the two of them.. “Who says I’m in love with Cas?” Wait. Is that obvious too? Shit, well, looks like he gets to rip two bandaids off today. Thank God for the hilarious panic on Sam's face, because otherwise Dean would be the one freaking out here.

Sam’s eyes go huge, all color draining out of his face. “Oh shit. I didn’t-- I’m sorry, I--”

Dean can only manage to maintain the ruse for a few seconds before he bursts out laughing. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Where have you been, man? Cas and I have been together for ages. I thought you were the smart one!”

Sam looks like he wants to leap across the picnic table and strangle Dean.

With a glare so sour it could peel paint, Sam snatches Dean’s extra large order of french fries and storms off toward the car to sulk. About three paces away, he stops, turns around, and levels a stern finger at Dean alongside his scowl. “For the record. I’m proud of you. And I’m honored you chose to trust me with this information,” he hisses in a frustrated huff before he spins on his heel and marches away.

Dean wipes a tear from his eye, still chuckling under his breath. Cas stares after Sam in concern.

“Why is he so mad?”

Dean shrugs off the question as he slides the pickle burger in front of Cas and nudges him with his elbow to try it. “Hell if I know. If you ask me, dude needs to have a burger every once in awhile.”

[peterman-spideyparker]

Grocery Store Hero (Joaquín Torres x Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey guys! I know I’ve been procrastinating posting this fic, but apparently ideas like to strike when I have things (like this) to do (I guess it works out though, since I now have more fics to post). Also, I assumed the age of the reader for a joke’s sake, so sorry about that. Anyways, here it is! I hope I did this sweet puppy of a man proud! Enjoy! :)

Summary: While telling Sam you don’t want to go on a blind date while simultaneously trying to avoid your ex grocery shopping, you have a bit of an accident. Luckily, a certain Air Force First Lieutenant is there to help patch you up.

Warnings: Fluff, blind date set-up, a little blood/klutz injury

Other Characters: Sam Wilson

Word Count: 1,456

“Sam,” you sigh as you push your cart through the grocery store. “I’m sure the guy is nice, but, I really don’t want to do this blind date tonight.”

“(Y/N), c’mon, trust me on this one!” he urges. “I’m telling you, you’ll love him! You’re both quirky and optimistic and bizarrely wise. Match made in heaven.”

“Well, my idea of a match made in heaven is French fries and a chocolate shake,” you chuckle as you maneuver around the produce displays.

“I still can’t believe you dunk fries in shakes,” he says, and you can just imagine the grimace on his face.

“Listen—it’s delicious. Bucky has my back on that one.”

“I’m not sure I take what he says as a glowing recommendation. He has old man taste.”

“Funny, I thought that’s what you had.”

“Oof!” he laughs. “That one hurt. You’re only, what, ten years younger than me?”

“Um, thirteen years. Those years basically make us from different planets on a pop-culture standpoint.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

“Hey, I—Shit!” you hiss, your eyes going wide as you make a 180 degree turn with your shopping cart.

“(Y/N)?”

“My ex is heading due north in produce and I do not want to deal with it,” you whisper as you bob and weave in the opposite direction.

“Just because you’re going one way doesn’t make that north.”

“I don’t have time for your navigational skills! I need to—.”

Clong!

“Ow!” you wince as your head goes back and your hand moves to your head. You just walked into a hanging scale by the onions. Awesome. “I’ll call you back,” you grunt as you end the call.

“Are you okay?” you hear a voice say to your right.

“Besides the burning embarrassment I feel? Nothing an ice pack won’t be able to fix,” you tell the voice. You turn your head and see a handsome man with big brown eyes and gorgeous hair trying to get a clear look at your forehead.

“May I?” he asks.

You nod and move your hand from the throbbing spot on your forehead. 

“You might need more than just an ice pack. Let’s go to customer service and see if they have a first aid kit,” he suggests, and you make the short trip from produce to the main help desk.

“Aren’t you kind?” you say, and you feel the tips of your ears grow hot as he wipes a small trickle of blood from your forehead with the supplies. “But I guess my true klutzy colors really had their moment.”

“Well, it’s not your fault that scale was right at your height level,” he chuckles. “This is gonna sting a bit.”

You wince as he sterilizes the small cut before he does anything else.

“So, should I be thanking a doctor or an Eagle Scout for such good care?” you tease.

“First Lieutenant in the Air Force,” he says. You swear he’s smirking. “But I was an Eagle Scout, so I guess either works.”

“Oh,” you say, and you feel your ears burn even more. “Thank you for that. And this.”

“Trust me, it’s my pleasure.”

“Can I at least know your name so I can properly thank you?”

“Joaquin,” he smiles, smoothing a small bandage on my forehead. “You’re all good to go—.”

“(Y/N),” you tell him with a small smile, gently touching the bandage on your head. “Thank you, Joaquin.”

“Anytime. Although, I’d prefer if you didn’t injure yourself again.”

“Well, it’s not penciled in on my agenda, but you never know,” you chuckle. “You really didn’t have to do any of this. Can I repay you with a coffee sometime? I feel like saying ‘thanks’ isn’t really enough.”

“Coffee sounds great,” he says, his eye twinkling. “I’d suggest we grab it now, but we both have groceries and I gotta take care of some things this afternoon.”

“Yeah, no, I totally understand that. Does tomorrow afternoon work for you? Around two?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Great! Do you know where Mugs is?”

“I love that place!”

“Awesome,” you smile. “I’ll see you then.”

“Sounds great,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Cute,” Sam chuckles as we walk down the brick sidewalk. “You’re still not getting out of this date. Why do you think I’m walking you?”

“So I get there safely?” you tell him with a fake enthusiastic grin.

“Well, yes, but I’m making sure you don’t dip out on the poor guy. Joaquin is a really good kid.”

“Joaquin?” you repeat. “Is he like 5’10”, brown eyes, dark hair, sweet puppy vibe?”

“Yeah,” Sam trails as you come to a stop in front of the restaurant, and you lock eyes with a sitting Joaquin through the front glass. A smile grows on your face as you look at one another, and the gesture is mimicked by your date. “I feel I’m missing something.”

“You did good on this one, Sam,” you tell him, giving an appreciative squeeze to his forearm. Before he can get a word in edgewise, you’re already approaching Joaquin inside the restaurant.

“Small world,” Joaquin smiles as he stands, giving you a quick hug before pulling out your seat.

“Indeed it is,” you smile back as you both sit. “But look at it this way: the awkward introduction part of the date is already over.”

Joaquin nods as he chuckles. Is he . . . blushing?

“It looks like your forehead is doing alright,” he says, his eyes examining your injury from across the table.

“Well, the guy that patched it up really knew what he was doing,” you grin, leading him to let out a light laugh.

“Glad to hear,” he smirks, taking a sip of water. “So, how do you know Sam?”

“I was helping out with a program at the VA a few years ago,” you tell him. “Night classes for veterans that never went to college.”

“You’re a teacher?”

“Mm,” you nod enthusiastically. “English. It’s . . . the best thing in the world.”

“That’s awesome that you love what you do so much.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky. From what I can tell from you, you seem to feel the same way about what you do. And I’m assuming you know Sam from work? Covert missions on the down-low?”

“Bingo,” he laughs. “I’m usually his eyes on the ground.”

You chat back and forth like this for a long time through the appetizers, entrees, and desserts that come to the table. 

“Seriously?” he asks with raised eyebrows and an amused smirk as we stroll out of the restaurant and down the old brick sidewalk.

“Yeah,” you nod, hiding your face. “I was so embarrassed afterwards. And the thing is, I think I would have been fine with the whole ‘wiping out on my ass’ thing if the wig had been on correctly, but nobody told me I had the wig on backwards, and because I had never wore it before, I thought that’s just how it was supposed to be.”

“That . . . I’m sorry I don’t know how to twist that to make it sound not as bad.”

“That’s because it’s just that bad.”

“I do have to ask you something, though,” he says coming to a stop.

You nod, prompting him.

“Technically,” he says, clearing his throat. “Technically, this date was arranged by Sam, and it could have been with anyone, but it was with us. And before we knew that, we met at the store and made a date—or, uh, like a meeting of our own.”

“Mhm.”

“So—going on the assumption that it seems you had just as good of a time at dinner tonight as I did—does that . . . coffee meeting for tomorrow still stand with you?” he asks. 

You let out a soft chuckle and nod. “Yes,” you tell him as you come to a stop. “We are definitely still on for tomorrow.”

“Yeah?” he smiles. 

“Yeah.”

Joaquin’s chocolate eyes twinkle in the evening light as you realize the space between you isn’t as big as it was moments ago. You feel your cheeks burn hot as you lick your lips ever-so-slightly. Meeting Joaquin halfway, your lips press together. The kiss is gentle, but it takes the breath right out of your lungs, causing you to rest your hands on his shoulders for support. You part after a few seconds and leave little room between out faces.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the entree,” Joaquin whispers.

“You too?” you tease, quirking an eyebrow.

“Does that mean I can kiss you again?”

You nod and lean back into Joaquin’s embrace, and this kiss is better than the last. When you feel Joaquin’s hands circle around your waist to hold you close, you know he feels the same way.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​​​​​​​​ @steampowerednightvaler​​​​​​​​​ @themusingsofmany​​​​​​​​​ @just-the-hiddles​​​​​​​​​ @toozmanykids​​​​​​ @dangertoozmanykids101​​​​​ @clints-worldavengers

[thatsbucknasty]

she used to be mine (xi) waitress au

summary: Inspired by the broadway musical. Y/N Beck is a pie baking force to be reckoned with. She’s pregnant with her lazy ass husband, Quentin Beck’s baby. As everything around her turns upside down, Doctor James Buchanan Barnes charms his way into her life.

pairing: Y/N x Bucky

tags are closed

author’s note: Alrighty guys, we’ve almost reached the end of this story. I hope you’re still reading, please tell me if you are!

chapter 11: she used to be mine

I wake up startled by a searing throb down the side of my belly. I quickly remove the sheets and there’s no blood so I try to lift myself up from the bed and start walking to the kitchen to get my decaf ready. I remember Bucky talking about the Braxton-Hicks contractions in one of our appointments a couple weeks ago and he told me I should walk so I walk. I have one of Wanda’s pregnancy books that she keeps sending me and walk, walk, walk for what feels like hours, although it’s only been 15 minutes.

I see myself in the mirror and I can’t recognize myself. My body’s changed so much, I’m pretty sure I have a few more wrinkles around my eyes and a few more freckles from all the damn walking under the sun. But that’s not what bothers me the most about all these changes. I just don’t feel like the person I used to be. She was good, a bit messy but always kind, she had a lot more hope in life for herself and those around her. I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy, or the divorce, or everything combined that’s made this version of me so bitter. And this isn’t something I can fix with a little more butter and sugar, in fact I don’t think it can be fixed.

-

It’s been the longest week of my entire life. Old Nick and Sam collectively decided to gang up on me, and I feel Bucky had to do with it a little bit too. They forced me to go on a “stay-at-home-vacation” until the baby is born, which should be any day now, so I’m just here, alone on a Saturday morning, while everybody is working, Quentin is sleeping with that woman and hasn’t even bothered to call me or show any interest in either his unborn child or our imminent divorce.

This is boring, I feel useless and I need to get out of here. This house, this awful, lopsided couch, that crooked picture frame of me and Quentin at prom so many years ago. I want to throw all of it away and start fresh in a nice, picket white fence house, just me and my baby. Wanda and Nat would come visit and I would bake some of my “La vie on rose petals and vanilla ice cream pie”, we would have a no boys allowed day when it’s just us, and sitcoms, and I could have wine or coffee again, little peanut could have a puppy or a kitty to play with and I would give her all my love and we could be a real, whole family. If I wasn’t tied to this place, these curtains that never let any light on, that man who was always so violent and disgusting but only just showed his true self, maybe I could have that pastel colored life that I should deserve. But what if this is what I deserve?

-

I called Quentin six times this week. Matt finally was able to send me the divorce papers that I already signed, but that lying, cheating, bastard hasn’t sent them back to me and won’t even dare to answer my calls or texts. I cleaned every surface of this dingy house and put every item that reminded me of my screwed up marriage in a box outside for the garbage collector to take away. Quentin can buy new shirts and underpants, if he can’t answer the stupid phone I can throw away his stuff. I don’t even care anymore.

I find myself walking again but not around my kitchen. I’m waking to the diner cause I felt trapped in the house and I need to cook, something with lots of garlic or onions, I will call it “Wrecked home scrambled eggs pie” served with sauteed bell peppers on the side and a spicy sauce dripped on top of the crust. 

-

I go through the back door and into the kitchen before the girls see me, Sam reacts by giving me a side eye and continuing flipping the burgers he’s working on right now.

“Table 9 order’s ready!” Sam calls out and Wanda takes it.

“We have a pregnant lady in the back, stress baking”.

“I can hear you!”

“Alright good, well you shouldn’t be here. You’re lucky it’s a busy day so we can’t just drop everything and drive your ass back home where you should be!” Nat’s in the kitchen window scolding me now too, perfect. I knew this was coming and to be honest I prefer their banter than the deafening silence I felt at home.

“Just so you know, I’m texting Bucky and he’s coming over” Sam interjects.

“Wha- guys, I’m just baking one pie and then I’ll go, tell him he doesn’t have to come”.

“Why couldn’t you bake this one pie at home then?” Wanda asks with genuine curiosity in her voice.

I decide to be truthful.

“I felt trapped and lonely, I missed the diner. Plus I didn’t have any bell peppers at home and I was craving them”.

They all look at me weirdly, there’s no pity in their eyes, there’s just… tenderness.

-

Bucky arrives an hour after I got here, with a stern face and his lab coat still clinging to his frame.

“Hey, what’s up, sweetheart? You’re supposed to be resting”. He rubs my shoulders and all I can think is how grateful I am for this little family and this man life blessed me with.

I explain how awfully sad and stressed I was feeling at home and he takes a seat between me and Steve, who’s eating a slice of pie while Wanda’s showing him what she calls “satisfying cleaning Tik Toks”, and Sam’s chatting with Nat about a concert he’d like to take her to next week. Everything about this feels so calm and I’m even starting to feel sleepy with Bucky’s skilled hands rubbing my knotted neck and shoulders.

“Well, well, well. Look who’s decided to finally stop being a fucking hypocrite! It’s Y/N and the stupid fucking Doctor. Tell me, Doc, did you enjoy gazing at her lady parts when she’d go for a “check up” and fell in love because you too are lame and boring?”

I grab Bucky’s hand and stand between him and Quentin, using my other hand to protect my belly.

“What the hell are you doing here, Quentin? You’re not welcome here anymore”. I say, head up high but voice trembling.

“Came home to drop your divorce papers- that I’m not signing by the way- and to tell you to fuck off because whether you like it or not, I’m gonna be a father and you can’t do anything about it baby girl. It’s you and me! It’s always gonna be you and me, so tell you precious Doctor and your friends goodbye. We’re coming home!”

Quentin grabs my hand and tries to yank me away from Bucky but before I can do anything else Steve and Sam are already punching the shit out of Quentin, sitting him down on the floor and pushing his arms around his back. Bucky is taking me away from the fight, shielding my eyes from the view, he knows I don’t need this kind of stress. Nat called the cops when Quentin arrived, knowing the asshole would pull out a stunt like this. Minutes pass and I can’t step away from Bucky’s embrace to see his ass handcuffed and thrown into the police’s back seat.

Bucky takes a step back to look at my face as he feels me trembling and his shirt soaked with my tears.

“Y/N, sweetheart, it’s over. He’s gone”.

I try to form words but then it hits me.

The pain.

This is not what I asked for.

The excruciating cramp-like aches in my lower stomach.

If I’m honest, I’d give this life back for a chance to start over.

The water running down my legs.

I would rewrite the story, from beginning to end.

I can’t feel my legs. All I feel is fear, pain and anger.

This is the life that I’m bringing you into, little girl. I’m so sorry. To you, but also to the little girl I once was. Because she also deserved a good life and she’s gone, but she used to be mine.

chapter 12: contraction ballet

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: Stairway to Heaven

Special thanks to James @friedchickenangelwings for helping me out with this story. I can’t wait to write this. Read on AO3 here

Summary: Everything is the same up to the end of 15x20. Chuck has been “defeated,” but it was all a farce. When Jack absorbed Chuck, Chuck easily took over the 3 year old’s body and acted as if he were defeated. Chuck!Jack then had the Rusty Nail placed in the barn where Dean died, and with Cas gone, Dean didn’t fight it. Chuck did reimagine Heaven, but he’s fed the same lie to them all: that everything is perfect, they are free, they are in real paradise. Except it’s all an illusion insulated by blue skies and endless horizons. Because, just like the Good Place, people make Heaven into Hell for each other. And there’s nothing Chuck loves more than the natural order of tragedy. He “let it slip” to Bobby that he brought Cas back, when he really left him to rot in the Empty. Dean has to find his best friend before it’s too late, and he has to keep a happy face for everyone else, because Chuck is watching. Always watching.

Chapter One: Runnin’ on Empty

“Well, Cas helped.”

Dean’s heart flutters at that and he looks at Bobby. The damn old man raises his eyebrows; he knows he just buried the lead and he did it on purpose. A soft breath escapes him and he smiles. Maybe this is gonna be alright after all. Hell, maybe he can find that angel and…

“It’s a big new world out there. You’ll see.” 

Dean’s stomach twists at the idea. I don’t wanna see. His stupid brain insists. He takes a swig of the beer in his hand to try to quiet the voice. “Oh, wow.” He recoils a bit and looks at it. “This tastes like the first drink I ever shared with my dad.” He shares a wry smile with Bobby. Drinks with Dad weren’t exactly top-tier, and they both knew it.

“Quality stuff?” 

Dean’s smiling because he feels like he should be. “Nah, it’s crap.” He tries to shift that memory into a good thing, because his memory of his first beer is the crushing doubt and fear that swirled around his head. Finally, he’d done something right enough to earn a beer like a Man, but he still felt… broken. 

He feels the same now.

Maybe it’s because he’d really just wanted a hug.

But Bobby is waiting for him to say something. Dean focuses instead on the surface-level joy of that old mid-evening beer, the pride in his dad’s eyes, trying to drum up the feeling. “But it was fantastic.” 

“Just like this.”

“It’s almost perfect.” Dean manages. He wants Bobby to agree. He wants Bobby to say ‘Yeah, I know, something just ain’t right, can’t put my finger on it,’ but he doesn’t. He lets the silence drag on for a second longer before he fills it.

“He’ll be along.” Dean’s heart jumps, but then he realizes he’s talking about Sam. Not Cas. But he doesn’t want Sam up here anytime soon; he wants Sam to live a nice life with Eileen, like he promised. “Time up here, it’s different. You got everything you could ever want, or need, or dream. So I guess the question is, what are you gonna do now, Dean?”

It kinda feels like when Jack was born and Cas was dead and Sam wanted to go to strip clubs and listen to Zeppelin and eat at the greasiest holes-in-the-wall. Like he had everything he was supposed to want laid right out in front of him, but… none of it made Dean feel anything. He looks around, searching for inspiration, and his eyes land on home. Things always look clearer when he's looking out at ‘em through Baby’s windshield. “I think I’ll go for a drive.” 

“Have fun.” 

He leaves the acrid beer with Bobby and climbs into his car. Maybe he’s insane, but she feels.. different. He is insane. He is in heaven. “Get it together, Dean.” he mutters to himself as he pulls away. Bobby mentioned that his parents are nearby but… Dean doesn't want to face that yet. Nothing to fix your existential crisis about Heaven like a neat talk with your disappointed parents. 

He keeps to the main road instead. He drives for an hour, maybe two, at least that’s what it feels like. From what Bobby said, time isn’t so straightforward here. That only scares him a little bit. Eventually, his brain seems to calm down enough to think clearly. He’d chosen this. He’d accepted this. And he’d meant what he’d said in that barn; he was okay with dying. Of course, he didn’t realize that meant… He didn’t realize that meant more. 

A little voice inside him whispers something evil. He’d just wanted to see Cas again. Even in memories. Like it was before…

He takes a deep breath. “I’m not gonna fuck it up. It’s heaven. I can’t fuck it up in heaven, right?” He laughs out loud to himself, but it’s cut off by Baby groaning underneath him. She starts to slow. “Baby? What the hell?”

She’s out of gas.

Dean grumbles as he pulls over. “Sonuvvabitch, what the-” He almost said what the hell. He’s in heaven. Nothing in hell. Heh. She rolls to a stop and he kills the engine, letting the new silence and stillness wash over him. He sighs. Heaven, huh?

He scrubs a hand across his back and looks over to his right, to an onion field. Yellow and pokey and-

Cas is standing in the middle of it. 

Dean just about has a heart attack. He scrambles out of the car, honks Baby’s horn in the process, is all the way around the car by the time he really sees him.

Cas looks terrible. He’s standing stock-still in the middle of the field, arms down at his sides, crumpled trench coat speckled with the black sludge that haunts Dean’s nightmares. His hair is matted, his face gaunt, eyes sunken in with bags dark as bruises. But what scares Dean the most is the look in his eyes. His eyelids droop and hang and he stares straight ahead, straight at Dean, without seeing him, without any light in them at all. 

It doesn’t look like Cas. 

“Cas?” Dean approaches slowly, hands held out like he would to a wild animal. Cas shows no sign of moving, just stands there. “Cas, look at me, man,” There’s pleading in his voice, but he doesn’t care. He needs Cas to be okay. 

Castiel is not okay. 

As Dean gets closer, he starts to hear screams and crashes. He twists around to look for the source, but it just seemed to come from… around Cas. He looks closer, and Cas’s hands move to fend something off he can’t see. He’s still just staring ahead, but, looking closer at Cas’s face, he sees something he hadn’t noticed before. 

Cas is talking. Well, muttering really. Dean can barely hear him through the pauses in far-off yells. “d-Dea-Dean. Dean- de-Dean.” Dean stomach drops off a cliff. “Dean, just think of… D-du-Dean.” 

“I’m here, Cas.” Fuck the rasp in his voice. Fuck the tears in his eyes. Cas can’t hear him. He can tell by the look in his eyes. “FUCK!” 

He rubs his eyes with his fists furiously. This is so frustrating, this is so-

There is no one there. No sound. Cas is gone. 

Dean strides ahead, but it’s no use. The field is empty, and he is alone. Again. 

It takes Dean a few minutes before he can get himself under control. Cas isn’t there; he has to assume he never had been, not really. So, unless Dean has finally gone off the deep end, it was… what, a vision? A- god, it felt familiar. It felt like - it felt like after purgatory. The same haunted face, the same unseeing eyes. Gone in a blink.

Why am I seeing you again, man? 

But, as sure as he is that there is grass on the ground, he knows Cas can’t hear him.

Dean sits up against his fender and sighs. On the one hand, he is sitting on warm clear asphalt, feeling the afternoon sun bake his face, and on the other, he is miserable and seeing his dead-alive-again best friend. Except if Cas was around, he would come see him. Right? I mean, Dean died. So young. And Cas just told him- 

And Dean is praying to him. And he’s not here. It’s not right. None of it is. That he is sure about. If this was heaven, he didn’t want it.

Dean gets up. Will he ever get some motherfucking peace? He gets in his car, tries the ignition. She starts up again and - miracle of miracles - has gas. He thanks her with a pat and they're off, riding into the eerily-perfect sunset, back the way they came.

Night’s fallen by the time he pulls into the dirt pathway. He parks on the lawn and shivers a little bit in the chill of the night. Funny, he wouldn’t think Heaven got cold. But then again, he wouldn’t have thought Heaven would be shitty either. The roadhouse is inviting and homey, lights on inside. Dean snags a beer from the cooler left out front and kicks the door open softly. “Hello?” He doesn’t know who he’s expecting, but it definitely wasn’t who he gets. 

“Dean!” Charlie wraps him in a hug before he can say anything, and Dean gladly melts into it. God, it’s good to see her. He pulls away and pats her cheek, checking her out. She looks good, normal. Less… dead and bloody than he last saw her? Jesus his mind is a dark place. 

“Hey kid! How the hell are you?” 

Charlie rolls her eyes at the greeting, but she can’t stop grinning. “All things considering, y’know, being dead and all, I’m good!” 

Dean laughs. She’s already rambling, and he missed her. “Sorry about that one,” he winces, remembering his part in the circumstances around her death. 

Charlie chooses to take it as a condolences. “Yeah, you too, dude. But at least we died young and hot, right?” She tugs him over to the bar and leans around to yell at the scuffed doorway. “Ash! We got company?”

Dean’s eyes widen. “Ash? You guys know each other?” 

“Can’t keep geniuses like us apart, compadre,” Dr. BadAss comes out of his backroom, arms spread out in greeting. Dean can’t stop himself from greeting him with a hug. He hadn’t known who to expect here, but Ash and Charlie are just about best case scenario. “What’re you doing here?” 

Dean knows he means how he died, but he looks around anyway. The rest of the bar is quiet and still, and Dean can hear nothing outside the heavy doors either. “I think we gotta problem, Ash.” 

Ash’s face folds into a frown. “What kinda problem?” Dean feels Charlie press in and he glances at her suddenly-serious face. 

“A big one. A heaven sized one.” They all looked around skeptically, a little Scooby-Doo-like, taking in the lifeless room around them. Finally, Ash meets Dean’s eyes, and Dean withdraws a little. 

“Yeah, we know. Welcome to the team, Deano.” 

Tag list: @dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat

[lost-andfound]

CARRY ON (How Supernatural Should Have Ended)

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041390 

INT. VAMP NEST BARN. NIGHT.

A VAMPIRE has just impaled DEAN on a nail. It is suggested that he is about to die. There are two flickering light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The barn looks uncannily similar to the barn in which Dean and CASTIEL first met.

Dean chokes, blood pooling from his mouth. His eyes are glassy and fighting to stay open. SAM’s eyes are filled with tears--he can’t believe it.

DEAN (coughing, trying to speak through the pain) I thought— dammit, man, I thought this was our chance. A chance at a real life.

SAM (truly, genuinely, painfully) I’m sorry.

Sam’s hand hovers around the wound, as if trying to cure it. Dean shakes his head. He doesn’t want to die, but he’s past the point of no return.

DEAN (gently) Sammy— everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve lost— I’m glad it was with you.

SAM (starting to panic) No, Dean, no—

DEAN (breathing slower, but doing his best to look his brother in the eyes) I didn’t wanna die. I didn’t. Promise me you know that.

Sam nods. He can’t speak. He wishes— he prays— but no one comes. Dean’s head goes slack in Sam’s hand. His eyes are empty. He’s dead. The camera PANS slowly to Sam’s stunned face.

SAM Dean. (He waits for an answer, but none comes.) Dean, please.

Behind, there is a flutter of wings. The light bulbs blow out, glass shattering on the ground. Sam freezes, hoping against all odds—

CASTIEL (firmly, as if with all the power of Heaven on his side) No one dies today.

Without further ado, he grasps Dean’s body and pulls him off the nail. Sam winces at the sound, but Castiel does not flinch. He grips Dean by the shoulder and puts his hand over the wound. An unearthly blue light— the light of angelic Grace— flows from his hands, shines from his eyes. It is not the healing we’ve seen before— this power seems to come from the deepest part of Cas himself.

A beat. Sam stares, tense, hoping. Cas steps back, and Dean gasps.

SAM (with deep relief) Thank God.

DEAN (exhausted, yet still wise-cracking) That asshole ain’t to thank for this one, Sammy.

He sways, and Sam rushes to hold him up. Dean looks at Cas, who is, as usual, unreadable.

CAS Hello, Dean.

DEAN (softer) Cas. Jesus, you’re— you’re here.

CAS (with a slight smile, hardly believing it himself) Jack. He came for me.

Dean’s smile falters. He glances at Sam— they both feel guilty for leaving Cas behind. Castiel catches this look, and is about to speak, but winces. A curl of blue Grace floats from his mouth, winding into the air and vanishing like smoke.

SAM (concerned) Cas— are you okay?

Cas stumbles, falling to brace himself on the wall. Both Sam and Dean reach out to grab his arms on either side.

CAS (looking between them, suddenly weak) I think— I think I’m falling again.

BLACKOUT.

END OF ACT TWO

ACT THREE

INT. BUNKER - KITCHEN - MORNING

With a WIDE SHOT, we see that Dean is making eggs this time, with less spirit than the last morning. He slices peppers and onions with precision, but we can tell that he is worried, his brow furrowing as he sprinkles them in the pan.

Sam sits at the table, flipping through a huge, ancient tome. A stack of books rests next to him, waiting to be studied. Cas is not at the table, a noted absence.

Dean flips the omelet off the pan and onto a plate, setting it in front of Sam, who barely looks up.

DEAN (demanding) So?

SAM (looking up apologetically) I don’t know. I think it’s something to do with The Empty— sapping his grace, somehow. Saving you probably took a lot of mojo.

DEAN (muttering sarcastically, as usual) Great.

INT. CASTIEL’S ROOM

Castiel sleeps, his face serene. Morning light spills in through the window, the drapes gently fluttering. It’s a beautiful scene, almost like a painting. The song “THANK YOU” by Led Zeppelin begins to PLAY. PAN TO Dean in the doorway, awkwardly holding a plate of eggs and mug of black coffee. Dean’s face is softer than we’ve seen it in a long time. He hesitates, not wanting to disturb his friend.

CAS (sleepily) Dean?

The music fades, but remains in the background of the scene.

DEAN (gruffly) Mornin’, sunshine.

Dean moves to sit on the bed, a respectful distance away from Castiel. He sets the plate and mug on the bedside table. Castiel shifts into a sitting position. Dean looks at Cas, and we think he is about to speak— he thinks he is about to speak— but he remains silent. Cas merely looks back at him, at the face he thought he’d never see again. The awkwardness is mostly on Dean’s side, which is not a surprise. Castiel seems content to merely look.

DEAN (eventually) So, are you… human now? For real this time?

CAS (eyes flickering briefly) Yes. I believe so.

DEAN (gearing himself up to be angry, to find a solution) Okay. Well— we’ll fix it. Find some spare grace, find a spell to restore your grace, whatever. We always do.

CAS (sighing) Dean—

DEAN (a little heat to his voice) Dammit, Cas, let us help you. You saved my skin at the cost of your own for the hundredth time and— and I won’t let you do that. Not again. No one dies this time, remember?

CAS Dean, you’re not gonna find anything. Not this time. And I’m— (he pauses, smiling slightly. He looks calm, at peace.) I’m happy. And I can say that now, without fear. I can feel. That’s all I’ve wanted, for so long.

There is a pause. Dean swipes a hand over his face and shifts closer on the bed. There is so much left unsaid, between these two, and it hangs heavy in the air.

Dean (voice ragged) Cas. What you said. Before the Empty took you.

CAS (steadily, without hesitation) I meant it.

DEAN I’ve wanted to say it back. For so long, Cas. But I— I didn’t think— I mean, you were an angel, and there was Lisa, then Purgatory, and the Mark, and Chuck, and everything against us— it was never right, and I never thought you felt— (he breaks off, swallowing.) I never thought you could. Love me, I mean.

Cas says nothing, but laces his fingers with Dean’s. Dean looks down, stunned, then back up at Castiel’s face.

CAS But I do. Against all odds, I do.

Dean kisses him. “Thank You” by Led Zeppelin resumes. Cas pulls him in, closer. It is a beautiful, tender kiss, a movie kiss. After a moment, they break apart, still holding hands.

DEAN (slightly embarrassed, yet as unguarded as we’ve ever seen him) I love you too, Cas. I always have— you’re family.

CAS (softly, as if this moment is one he could break) So what now?

DEAN (his voice opening, finally, into hope) The rest of our lives, man. Everything that comes after.

PAN OUT, as they move into a tight, intimate hug. They’re family. The camera moves from them to the window. The curtains. The soft light outside.

INT. BUNKER - KITCHEN

Sam sits at the table, hands in his hair, still poring over the books. His plate is empty— Dean is a good cook. He is unaware of the conversation his brothers are having inside Castiel’s room. There is a CRASH. Sam sits instantly alert— there are those killer instincts. He grabs a gun and creeps slowly towards the entrance, where he finds… EILEEN. She stands at the entrance, confused, looking around. Sam keeps the gun trained on her, grief and rage and confusion flitting across his face.

EILEEN Sam?

SAM (speaking with certainty) You’re not her. You can’t be her. No one ever really comes back, no one that I— that I—

EILEEN Sam, it’s me. I promise.

She pulls out a silver knife, slashes it on her arm. She lets Sam pour some holy water on her hand. She goes through every test, staring at Sam’s face, willing him to believe her.

SAM (disbelieving) Holy crap. It’s you. It’s really you.

EILEEN (smiling) Duh.

Sam sweeps her into his arms, as if he’ll never let her go. She holds onto him just as tightly. In the same moment, they both realize how lucky they are to be here, together.

“CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON” begins to PLAY.

CUT TO MONTAGE:

Dean hunting with Charlie and Cas, watching their backs as they move through a dark tunnel.

Sam and Eileen sharing a beer as they watch a movie, the lights flickering on their faces.

Dean throwing popcorn and Monopoly pieces at Sam, chasing him around the living room as Sam raises his arms in protest.

Cas and Dean washing dishes together, bumping shoulders and hands, smiling.

Eileen holding a newborn child as Dean, Sam, and Cas all crowd around her— someone takes a picture.

PAN UP from that picture on a table to an older Sam, reading in the study while his son reads next to him, a picture of his father.

Cas playing catch in the yard with Claire, who is clearly indulging him. His brow furrows as he drops the ball again and again, Dean laughing from the porch.

An older Dean finally perfecting his pie recipe, passing the plate around the dinner table, looking pleased with himself. Contented.

Sam’s son goes off to college, and Dean takes a breath, and claps a hand on his shoulder. Smiles proudly at him.

Finally, Dean in a hospital bed, surrounded by his family. He grasps Sam’s hand, looks at Cas like he’s trying to memorize his face. They are all old. They are all satisfied with their lives. Dean smiles, closes his eyes.

BLACKOUT. Heart monitor FLATLINES.

ACT FOUR

EXT. BOBBY’S FARM - PORCH. LATE SUMMER.

The field is golden and beautiful, yet as ragged as Dean remembers it. BOBBY SINGER sits on his rocking chair, beer in hand. Dean walks up to the porch. He takes his time— he has all the time in the world, after all.

BOBBY (fondly) Took you long enough, boy.

DEAN (looking around, smiling slightly) Had a life to live.

Bobby grunts, motions for Dean to sit down next to him. He hands him a beer from the cooler.

DEAN Thought you’d be able to magic yourself one of those from thin air, up here. Service not working lately?

BOBBY More authentic this way. (pause) Heaven’s better now, actually. You saw the old version— it’s not like that up here anymore.

DEAN How’s that?

BOBBY That kid of yours: Jack. He made it so you’re not just trapped in old memories— you can go anywhere, see anyone. (another pause— he knows how much this means to Dean) Anyone.

DEAN (swallowing— this is difficult, painful) Even—

BOBBY (more gently) They’re just up the road. (He takes a sip of his beer.) You have a lot to talk out. Bad memories to work through. But you can do it, with time. Work it all out.

DEAN I hope so, Bobby. I think so.

Pause. Something catches Dean’s eye. PAN OUT to the road— to the IMPALA, shiny as the day she came off the line.

DEAN (reverently) They brought my Baby.

BOBBY (looking at him like a father looks at his son) Go. They’ll wait.

Dean smiles, as big as we’ve ever seen, like a kid on Christmas. Driving down an empty highway, with nothing to do, nowhere to go. His favorite.

Dean turns on the car, smiles nostalgically, and flips on the radio. “HEY JUDE” by The Beatles begins to PLAY.

As the song plays, Dean sees people standing by the road— old friends, old lovers, old rivals, old members of his family. There is CHARLIE, waving frantically, a grinning KEVIN by her side. There are JO and ELLEN and ASH in the Roadhouse, bickering among themselves. There are MARY and JOHN, young lovers again, looking at each other with hope in their eyes. There is PAMELA, there is JODY, LISA, JESS, countless others they’ve loved and lost. JACK even blips in to wave hello.

And then, as the song concludes, Dean pulls to a stop. At the end of the road is Cas, and Sam standing behind him, waiting. They stand on a bridge that stretches over a river. The sun is just beginning to set. Dean gets out of the car, closing Baby gently.

DEAN Miss me?

SAM (rolling his eyes fondly) Shut up.

DEAN (brief confusion) So? Where’s everyone else?

SAM They’ll be here soon.

CAS They have some more living to do.

Dean nods, and turns to gaze out over the bridge. Cas slips a hand into his, and they stand together, looking at the sunset, breaking gold and crimson rays over the water, finally calm, finally peaceful.

BLACKOUT.

CARRY ON WAYWARD SON begins to PLAY again as the credits roll.

THE END.

[inkyvendingmachine]

What do you like about Henry x Bertrum in the slime rancher au?

Henry and Bertrum started as a jest when Mochi and I were talking about them complaining about Joey together and Bertrum having a No Trust to Okay This Guy Is Alright arc, which is always fun to throw a ship ontop of for giggles. So there really is no Bertrum/Henry ship.

But in our joke version of it, love a good Sam The Onion Man Voice: I Can Fix That ship dynamic. Slowly growing fond of each other through reoccurring mundane hanging out while trying to make the farm work again and pay back past debts.

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing) 

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Grieving Over Dead OMC, Drinking, Swearing, Flirting

A/N: This is my first Supernatural fic ever! I’ve been writing for a while and have adored Supernatural since the beginning so I’m really excited for this series and I hope everyone enjoys it! 

Chapter 1.

Autumn used to be a season that you adored when you were little. It was the fresh chill of the air and the taste of possibility that clung to the wind. Now you can't help but find it mindlessly awful.

You used to love Halloween and all of the holidays that accompanied soon after. It brought you and your family together. Until your mother died. Then it was just a teeth gritting ride of vengeance by your father, who had loved his wife since he was a teenager.

He did his research, something that you would find harrowing if you didn't grow up in this life. He spent your entire life dragging you around, preparing you to fight against monsters and magic. 

Your father had discovered what had killed your mother when you were fifteen on Christmas Eve. He had left you at the Right Swing Motel to kill the monster on one of your favorite holidays.

You weren't mad then and you still weren't mad now. You couldn't imagine loving someone so much that you were overcome with anguish and the need for revenge. 

When he finally came back to the motel two days later, you had expected him to be relieved. He killed the werewolf that ripped your mother's heart out. You expected him to be your father again. But alas, he seemed angrier and more prone to violence then you could ever imagine.

When he finally died on a job that could never be done alone, you realized just how fucked in the head he had become. Just how overwhelming grief could make you and you swore to yourself that you would never become like him.

Even if that meant setting your emotions aside every time.

Pulling up to the old diner on Route 30, your eyes lazily drift over the parking lot. Spotting the 67' Impala you've grown to know since you were a teenager, you park your car beside it before blowing a bubble in your gum.

You watch the bubble expand and expand before sucking all the air out of it as you step out of your car. Slamming the door shut, your combat boots slap the concrete as you enter the diner.

Taking off your sunglasses, you walk past the waitress as she welcomes you. You give her a brief smile before spotting the men you've grown up with.

Without a word you walk towards them, watching as Dean devours the cheeseburger in hand like he has never eaten a damn thing in his life. Grimacing, you plop yourself down in the booth earning both of their eyes as they slowly drift up from their plates.

"Oh Jesus!" Sam yells, putting his hand over his heart.

"Am I that hideous? My God." You mumble as you grab a french fry off Dean's plate. 

He smacks your hand multiple times earning pink splotches as you slap his hand back.

"Order your own food, Y/N. I'm a growing boy. Gotta eat." He complains as you rest your elbow on the greasy table surface.

"Can I get you anything?" The waitress asks as she approaches. 

"She wants a philly cheese steak, extra onions. No mushrooms or peppers. And, a strawberry milkshake." Dean says as he wipes some crumbs out of the stubble on his chin.

You hum impressed to him before throwing your legs over Sam's lap. 

He's been used to it by now, earning the title as your best friend quite quickly since you were fifteen. His hand wraps around your thigh high combat boots before ignoring Dean's gaze and continuing to eat his salad. 

You steal a cucumber off his plate before looking at his older brother. His eyes were on yours, forest green irises looking over your body intently before looking back down at his food.

"Job?" You ask as Sam holds up the local newspaper he was reading before you arrived.

"Nothing we can't handle. Why don't you go back to the bunker and just relax, hmm?" Dean offers sweetly and you scowl at his suggestion.

"What's with this whole macho man show you've been putting on lately? It's so infuriating, Jesus. I've saved your life so many times and now suddenly I'm a frail crone that has to be a housewife to her two best friends as they go out and fight demons and monsters?" You ask, raising your eyebrows.

He cringes at your words before setting his burger as if it made him feel sickly.

"This job is dangerous." The oldest mumbles and you find yourself suddenly aggravated. When has Dean Winchester ever made you back down from a hunt? When has he ever begged you not to come instead of joining them? 

The answer is never.

"This ghost seems to abduct beautiful, single women and do things to them. I don't want you at risk." You look over to Sam as his brother speaks and you notice how he avoids eye contact with you. 

Your plate of food is set down in front of you and you thank the girl quietly as the tension in the air thickens. Dean Winchester in his whole life has never called you beautiful. He's never even given you the time of day. Which you don't mind really, that's how he's always been. But he's never kept you away from a hunt and you're wholeheartedly offended.

"Then I'll be perfect bait." You reply. 

"I said no." Dean says through gritted teeth.

Sam squeezes your leg gently as if to beg you to not start a fight in a random diner off the highway. 

"I don't give a fuck about what you say Dean Abel." He coughs awkwardly at the middle name you bestowed on him since you were younger. 

You never use it unless you mean business. 

"Y/N. I'm just looking out for you. Jesus Christ." He whispers. 

Folding your arms, you look over at Sam expectantly. You know he hates to be involved in your spats with Dean.

You're both hard headed beasts that don't quit until you get what you want.

"I mean...When has Y/N ever backed down from a fight? When has she ever been anything but safe with us?" Sam says, still avoiding eye contact with his brother.

If looks could kill, Sam would be dead against the window of the diner.

"Thank you Sammy." You say happily before sipping your milkshake. 

Dean makes an angry grunt before leaning back in the booth and throwing a balled up napkin onto his plate.

"What's so wrong with me wanting you safe? Is it a fucking sin?" He asks bitterly as you take a bite of your sandwich.

You look up at him again, watching as he swallowed thickly.

What's his fucking damage today? 

"In your life you've never kept me away from a hunt. In your entire life. I've been attacked by ghosts. Bitten by vampires. Abducted by djinns and you've never batted an eye. Now when there's an abducting ghost you suddenly assume the role of protector?" You ask pointedly, your index finger pressing into his chest across the table.

Dean sniffs before pulling out his wallet and throwing cash onto the table. His large hand runs over his face before he's shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"You're not going. End of story. I am not losing another person." He mumbles before walking out of the diner and leaning on the hood of Baby.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" You ask his brother loudly.

Sam shoves a fork full of salad into his mouth as he plays with the laces of your combat boots. He seems to be distracting himself so he doesn't have to look at you.

"He's been this way for weeks. He's...I mean he's worried about you. We only just burned Marsh a few weeks ago and he doesn't seem to think you're ready to go back out." Sam says before looking over at you. 

You begin to smile, a feral nasty smirk spreading onto your face. Gripping your legs harder, he widens his eyes at you begging you to stop.

"Let go, Samuel Cain." You seethe through your teeth and he sighs loudly before finally going slack against the leather of your boots.

Jumping out of the booth, you fix your leather jacket. 

It takes a few large steps before you're barreling out the diner door straight towards the boy you've watched become a man.

"You son of a bitch." You curse as you advance on him. 

His head turns to you slowly and his jaw clenches. 

At one time when you were sixteen, you'd find it absolutely hot but now it just sets fire into your veins at a quicker pace.

"Y/N…" His voice is weak as he holds his hands up.

Opening up your hand, you stiffen your arm before jabbing your palm underneath his chin.

With a groan he slides off the hood of his car.

"Come on!" He yells angrily before standing up and opening his mouth before spitting out a drop of blood or two.

"How dare you decide what I need to do! How dare you for one second think that I need to be told to sit one out!" You yell as you grip his jacket. 

Hauling him up, he puts his hands on your shoulders.

"I'm just looking out for you, goddammit! You're not okay, and you won't talk to me! You look through me! I'm trying to protect you! You mean something to me! Fuck!" He yells as he shakes you about.

"Yeah?! Well I don't need your fucki-" You begin to scream before being cut off.

"Guys. They called the cops. We gotta go." Sam says before ripping the door open to the Impala.

Dean lets go of you before huffing out and smacking the hood of his car loudly. 

"This isn't over you asshole." You mutter, jutting your finger to your best friend as you put on your sunglasses.

"Why am I not surprised?" He seethes as you open the door to your car.

It's incredibly insulting. Unbelievably unfathomable. In all your life, Dean Winchester has never thought you were weak. 

These weeks without Marsh haven't been easy but that doesn't mean you're lost. Doesn't mean you haven't given up sight of who you are and how things need to be. He wouldn't want that.

"Hello Y/N." The deep monotone voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you jump slightly at the man now sitting beside you in the passenger's seat.

"God! Cas, what did I tell you?!" You yell, slamming your hand onto the steering wheel.

"To never appear in your car like this." He states matter-of-factly.

Rolling your eyes, you begin to focus back on the road watching as Dean speeds down the highway.

"What? What do you want?" You ask the angel as you lower the music.

"Well. I don't want you to fight with Dean." He says as he stares ahead at the road.

You give a short laugh before clicking your tongue and tilting your head.

"Sorry Cassy, all me and Dean do is fight." You mutter as you open the window. 

"It's okay to not be okay, Y/N. I have been watching you, seeing your inner struggle. I know it's hard without Mar-" 

"First of all, don't watch over me. I don't need you to. Secondly, you don't know anything about how I feel. He was just a kid, Cas. He was fourteen years old for God sake." 

He stays silent as you drive down the road. 

"He's happy where he is. He isn't in Hell." Cas says and you laugh to yourself before biting your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

You've been there through it all, through the angels and the demons. Through the ghouls and the werewolves. Heaven and Hell were so far off your list of things to think about, just the notion bleeds your very soul. 

"Doesn't mean Dean can try to keep me away from what I need most." You tell the angel as the Impala in front of you turns into the parking lot of a motel.

"And what is that?" He asks as you park beside them.

You open your mouth to answer before shutting off the engine of your car and turning your body to him. He looks upon you blankly as you run your fingers through your hair.

"Can't you see what I need without asking?" You ask quietly. 

He sighs before nodding, "Yes. I see." 

Exiting your car, you don't even look at the oldest as you grab your bag from the back seat. 

"Room?" You call out before opening your trunk and grabbing your duffel bag filled with the usual gun paraphernalia. 

"Seven." Sam says and you don't miss the irony of it. 

Luck could go shove it.

You push past Dean as he holds his hand out for your bags and you hear him curse under his breath.

"Come on." Dean says as he jogs beside you. 

You hold your hand out for the key and it's immediately placed in your hand by the younger brother.

"I'm gonna go for a walk." Sam mutters out.

"Be careful." You and Dean say at the same time. You crack your neck loudly before pushing open the door and dropping your bag onto the small table the cheap motel room offers.

Closing the door behind him, you can hear Dean sigh loudly. 

Fighting was always fun with him in years passed. It was always an adrenaline rush. But, these days you're so far past it. You just want to do your job, have a drink and that's it.

"You can't just shut me out." Dean says, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Yeah? Watch me." You retort as you begin to make lines of salt on the window. 

"Y/N. I mean it. This has fucked you up entirely. I know what it's like to bottle things away until you're overflowing. I know that pain you're hiding. Just talk to me." 

"No!" You bark out before you feel arms wrap around you.

You can smell him. The smell is something akin to home. He smells of whisky and musk. Old leather that is worn and creasing. He smells of gunpowder and mint. 

"Get the fuck off me." You seethe, writhing in his grasp as it tightens.

"I know you. I know you so well- Hell, I practically am you. Don't you dare think it's okay to keep it to yourself. You're strong? Yeah well, sometimes dams break too." You set the bottle of salt down on the table before turning towards him.

His evergreen irises, staring deep into yours. His small freckles that you've counted a number of times since you were fifteen. His gentle stubble, a sign that he's been taking care of himself. 

His thumbs run over the leather of your jacket but you can practically feel the calloused skin on yours.

"If I talk about it, it makes it real. I just want to work. I want to shoot things and save people." You say before ripping your eyes away from him to the gold necklace he adorns.

"This is real, Y/N. A kid that we called our own is gone. His mother. His father. His uncle. Are all without him now." Just those words send you hurtling yourself towards him. 

Breaking free from his grasp, he lets you punch him in the chest. He lets you take your anger out on him. Because he's Dean and he's always here to drink in your sorrow whenever it comes around. Because, in order to be truly emotionless you have to give them away to someone else.

"He was just a kid! He was just a little boy!" You yell as you punch the older man in the jaw. His body makes contact with the floor as your screams become intelligible.

With a groan he pulls himself up before standing still. Your hard punches slowly turn soft and then you're beating on his chest. 

Letting out a shaky breath, he pulls you close to him. You let out a sob, a small garbled noise, into his grey t-shirt. Feeling the cotton absorb your tears as your eyes burn.

"He was a baby. We should have just left him at the orphanage like Bobby told us. We sh-shouldn't have taken him with us." You cry out.

You let the sorrow eat at you for a second. Let your mind wrap around your emotions before closing yourself off once more. Something you're getting almost too good at.

You shove the handsome man away from you before wiping at your face and turning away from him.

"Y/N. He wanted to come with us. We couldn't leave him to the system after everything he had seen. He wanted to grow up and be a hunter. He wanted us. And we wanted him." Dean whispers, you can hear the crack in his voice. The strain of his vocal cords from weary emotion.

"Yeah well, we fucking failed him. We should have never taken him with us."

"He loved you, Y/N. You raised him. You were his mother for years when he didn't have one himself. You made him into a strong boy." He tells you.

You look down at the woven bracelet Marsh had bought you for mother's day with Dean's money and your jaw clenches with grief.

But, Dean was his father too. And, you know it's taken a toll on him as well. You can't be so selfish. 

"He loved you too. You were the father he needed and always wanted. I'm sorry." You say finally before looking out the window at both of your cars as they sit side by side like always.

"Me too. I'm-I'm sorry." He mumbles.

You know that's big for him. Even if he is ever sorrowful getting those two words out is like hot searing pain to him but he at least tries with you.

"We good?" You ask him as you turn back around.

You find him still staring, still drinking you in even with your back turned and your stomach coils like when you were a teenager. 

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good." He says finally before opening his arms. 

You almost take that welcoming before snorting and grabbing the discarded salt on the table.

"Nice try." You mumble before putting salt in front of the door.

"It's not a sin to hug someone." He whispers before grabbing your gun bag and throwing it on his bed.

No but it's a sin to hug him.

"So what's the job?" You ask aloud as you all sit in the dive bar.

Sam holds up the newspaper before sliding it across the table. 

"Annalise Greenlee. An aspiring model, murdered and raped in her apartment. Police say there was no forced entry, all doors and windows were locked. Now, get this-- her body from her kidneys and above were mush. Exploded inside her body while she was dying." Sam says earning widened eyes from you.

"Must be one pretty pissed off bitch." You reply before taking a long sip of your whisky and coke.

Dean seems to have meant it when he said you were both okay because his attention has now left you and worrying about you. He's more worried about who he'll be sheathing his cock in tonight. 

Typical.

"Y/N. Go tell that girl that we're producers for a reality t.v. show." Dean says elbowing you and nodding to a pretty petite brunette that leans against the bar.

You sigh almost a little too loudly.

"Hey! Pretty girl!" You call over to her. 

Her head turns and you want to roll your eyes at her confidence. As if she was the only pretty girl in the bar.

Sauntering over, you watch her overly eager hips sway. Her index finger twirling her hair seductively as she approaches.

"My friend here wants to buy you a drink. You okay with that?" I ask her as she looks over at Dean.

Her pupils widen and her tongue slowly licks at her lips before smiling.

"Sure. That sounds great. I'm Olive." She says leaning against the booth. Her breasts thrust upwards in the air as her low cut tank top is pulled lower and you can hear the audible growl your best friend gives.

"Just call me Popeye." Dean says before shoving you out of the way and climbing over you to get out of the booth.

You stare at Sam unimpressed and he covers his face as he begins to smile. 

"See you two later hmm?" He asks.

Kissing the top of your head quickly, you roll your eyes before turning the small black straw in your mixed drink. 

Seems like he's forgotten every reason to be upset when he can be knee deep in pussytown.

Fingering at the small woven bracelet, you let out a small, unamused laugh before finishing the contents of your drink.

"You okay?" Sam asks quietly as you pick up the newspaper.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You bite back, angrier than you mean to.

"It's not fair of him to do that." He replies kindly and you put your fist under your chin before skimming over the bar.

"The word fair and the word Dean do not go hand in hand. Come on, let's go play pool. I could do with beating your ass in something today." You say before standing up.

It's almost too easy for Dean to unlock the recesses of your heart but it's almost too painfully easy to lock yourself back up.

[justjessame]

Starting Over Chapter 40

Sam and Bucky left me to work on my portfolio - I also had a print to finish for Sarah.  I thought that I’d go with the printer upstairs first, then if I didn’t love how it turned out, I’d try out my new darkroom.  Sam had mentioned some “stuff” he needed to finish - vague, but he WAS Captain America - and Bucky had to check in with Raynor after he made one last amends.   

“It’s Yori,” he told me, alone in my - I didn’t really have a name for the workspace Dad created in the guestroom -.  “We’re friends, or we were -” his eyes were tight and I reached out to hold him.  “I killed his son, Brooke.  I snuffed out the life of his son, and I have to tell him that - confess to him that I DID it.”  

“It wasn’t -” I stopped, he didn’t need me to say that, not now.  He wasn’t looking for absolution from me.  He was looking for strength.  Framing his face gently between my hands, I forced him to focus on me, not what he was about to do.  “You are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, formerly the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier killed Yori’s son and YOU are going to confess to that -” he looked so torn apart by it, the knowledge and the memory.  “You’ll tell him, you’ll admit to it, and give him the power to decide what to do with it -” We both knew that Bucky had been pardoned, the consequences he’d face from Yori were higher though - the loss of a friendship and comradery that he’d come to appreciate and enjoy.  “But regardless of what Yori does with what you tell him, you’ll come home -” hearing the word, knowing that I meant me and our house, I felt some of his tension relax.  “And I’ll be right here waiting for you, Bucky.”  

Bucky’s arms were tightening around me, clutching me like a drowning man might a life preserver. And the kiss he took before he left was just as desperate.  He needed reassurance.  And I hoped that Raynor AND Yori understood just how fucking hard he’d worked to get so far.

While they were gone, I worked on getting the image of Sarah’s boys and the shield just right before making it big enough to go over her mantle.  It was touch and go, and it took longer than I cared to admit, but when it was finished - I have to admit I was pretty damn impressed with myself.  

The bigger issue, I realized, staring at the huge picture that I’d managed to figure out how to create - was how to get it from Brooklyn, New York to Delacroix, Louisiana without it ripping or wrinkling?  A tube would be perfect, a frame better, but -

A soft knock interrupted my musing and I looked up to see Sam staring at me from the doorway.  “I see you figured out Sarah’s copy,” he was grinning and I rolled my eyes.  “It’s huge.”  

“No kidding,” I tilted my head while I contemplated the closest office supply store.  “I need to grab a tube.”

“A tube?”  He’d moved closer to study the picture, his eyes roving over the matte finish.  “Like what they put blueprints in?” 

I nodded.  “Can’t have it ripping up before we get there, can we?”  He snorted.  “I could have it framed, but I don’t know what Sarah would pick, so I don’t want to be presumptuous.”  

“Safer to get the tube,” Sam agreed.  “What size do you need?”  

I told him and he grinned and said “On it,” and was back out the door before I could argue.  

With that task crossed off, I got up to see what Connie had brought with her grocery load.  If it was going to be a threesome for dinner, I should probably fix something.  

By the time that Bucky came home - and he’d been gone long enough to make me start to get worried - Sam was helping me in the kitchen.  I’d been happy to see that Connie, knowing me and my family for as long as she had, had gotten me all the staples of the quick but hearty and leftover friendly dinners my mom had loved.  

The house smelled like Italian sausage and melted cheese with a hint of garlic and yeast.  Bucky found us as Sam was chopping up the salad add-ins - tomatoes, cucumbers, onions - and I smiled when he came straight for me and a kiss.  

“Hey,” it was a murmur against his lips, but he didn’t really give me much of a chance for more than that.  “You ok?”  

“Yeah,” his eyes looked like he’d lost something - and I knew he had.  He’d lost Yori.  “What’s for dinner?”

“Brooke here is a freaking chef on top of being an artist, Bucky,” Sam bragged, and I shook my head, while Bucky held tight to me.  “She’s making this baked pasta dish that - well I’m telling you what, I have a feeling we’re going to be so stuffed that we won’t have to eat the entire drive to Delacroix.”  

“That good?”  Bucky stared down at me.  “Sounds amazing,” his forehead met mine.  “But that’s my Brooke.”  

Dinner was quiet, but Sam chalked it partially up to how good everything tasted.  I think he knew where Bucky went, and with his background he was giving Bucky time to process what had happened with Yori.  It wasn’t as awkward as I would have thought - Bucky sat at the head of the table, now that I’d insisted he took it willingly - and Sam and I flanked him.  His partner in heroism, and his partner in life - I hoped.  

After dinner, with a nineteen hour drive ahead of us - I offered our bathroom to Sam first.  He insisted that he’d shower in the morning, preferring to be fresh for the road.  The hallway half-bath was fine for the night, so with that assurance, Bucky locked up and we went upstairs.

I insisted, since we weren’t dealing with the upheaval that had come from Sharon’s gunshot, a hostage situation, and Sam’s unveiling, that we take that hot bath - Bucky needed it.  Leaving him in our bedroom to take a couple beats on his own, I took the same care to draw it that I had when I prepared it the night I welcomed him home.  A few candles and some soothing bubbles and salts, then I pulled him into the room - and I once again tried to wash away the grim of his day and the bad.

My back against the rim of the tub, cradling him against my chest, my arms wrapped around him, I told Bucky to tell me all about it - and he did.

Dried and back in nightclothes, back in our bed, Bucky pulled me into his body.  We weren’t as tired, and so - in the flickering blue light of the television - Bucky sighed into my still damp hair.

“We’re gonna end up putting off your meeting Dr. Strange,” I snuggled into his chest.  “I’m sorry, Brooke.”

“Why are you sorry?”  I had to pull away to look up at him and I hated to lose his warmth.  “Don’t be,” my fingers slid over his cheek, my thumb brushed his lips.  “First we celebrate Sam - AND you.”

“Me?”  That got his attention, his eyes found mine even in the dimness.  “Why do I need to be celebrated?”  

“You, Bucky Barnes, are just as much of a hero, “ he started to scoff, but I cut him off.  “You are, you always have been.”  Pushing up, so we were face to face, I moved closer nose to nose with him.  “Steve Rogers didn’t like bullies so he called them out into the alleys, but who checked the alleys to see where Steve and those bullies were?”  He started to say something, but I wasn’t finished.  “And yeah, he came searching for you when you were taken - when all of you were taken - but Bucky, what you went through before he got there?  You withstood it, you survived.  And you kept surviving.”  He didn’t want to remember it, the Winter Soldier and what he did to survive.  “You hate HIM, what they made you become, Bucky, and I get that - but I can’t hate HIM - not when he made sure that YOU are here.”  He really wanted to argue, but I STILL wasn’t finished.  “You saved lives, Bucky, just last night.  And then, you brought Sharon home with you even though you know I said I don’t share - and you had to have had a tiny inkling that I might have thought -”

That earned me a chuckle.  “I did think you might throw both of us out.”  

“I thought about it,” I teased.  “I love you, and I want to celebrate you every single day from here on out, Bucky.”  

“Every single day?” He asked, his voice going slightly husky.  I nodded, and his fingers slid through my hair.  “Can we start now?” 

Our lips met and my only thought was “abso-fucking-lutely”. 

[soupyboysforlife]

Oh F*ck

Hi guys! This is my first time writing fanfic so it may not be perfect or exactly how I wanted it to turn out but I’m very proud of it and myself. I really hope you enjoy!

Once again the whole world was in danger. Once again no one knew but the Winchesters and some close friends. Once again all of the pressure was on Sam and Dean Winchester to fix it.

(Please don’t be upset at this, I’m only on season 11)

Dean sighed. This whole “End Of The World” was starting to seem normal as it became a routine. When was the final shabang? He knew he wasn’t able to escape this life, not properly at least. There would always be another hunt up until the day he died. One boss fight after another like a bad, never ending video game. 

He finished getting ready, Sam was already waiting in the car. Dean did one final mirror check, quickly fixing an out of place strand of hair. He grabbed his duffle bag with a grunt and strut out of the motel room, locking it behind him. 

Dean walked up to the Impala’s trunk and threw the black duffle in before getting in. Sam looked up from the book he had his nose in. 

“Took you long enough, Princess,” he said.

“Let’s just get this over with.” Dean grunted, he started the car, turned on his tunes,drove off. The clock read 7:30. 

It’s too fucking early, Dean thought. 

Sam and Dean stopped at a Diner for breakfast. They sat down at a table and waited for the waitress to come ask them what they wanted. The two looked at eachother, noting the shared exhaustion. Maybe they wouldn’t be as tired if they hadn’t stayed up until 4 in the morning doing research.

Dean balled his fists on the table and placed his head on them briefly before the waitress came over to their table.

She was blonde, tall, skinny and beautiful, couldn’t have been more than 25. Just Dean’s type. Dean was obviously checking her out and was about to make a move before he saw the scowl on Sam’s face. His smile faded into an uncomfortable smirk.

The waitress made it to the table, looking just as done with life as the boys sitting in front of her and asked with just a hint of annoyance what they wanted.

“I’ll have a bacon cheese burger, extra onions, extra cheese and bacon, with fries on the side and a coffee, black” Dean said(of course). She jotted it down and turned her head to Sam.

“Uh, egg white Omelette with coffee, please.” He responded with a respective grin. He was always too formal when ordering food, Dean thought.

The waitress left to relay their orders to the chef. 

Dean finally looked around the Diner, they were the only ones in there with the exception of a lonely old man sitting at the high rise counter, staring at our waitress’ ass. Dean nudged Sam’s arm to draw his attention to it, trying hard to stuffle his laugh. 

Sam looked and immediately looked back at Dean with an annoyed face. 

“What?” Dean asked, still grinning with amusement. Sam’s expression remained unwavering, “C’mon. That’s funny.”

Sam remained unamused. “We have to work” he buried his face back in the book and kept it there, even when the waitress sauntered over carrying a tray with their food and coffee, which was unusual for a diner but it was early. Dean eagerly tore into his burger and wondered what the day would bring. They were planning to meet up with Castiel back at the bunker. They were only in town for a case involving some odd hybrid between a vampire and changeling. It was weird, but so were monsters. 

Dean thoughts wandered back to their blue eyed angel friend as he took a long swig of his black coffee. He felt a small smile spread over his face as he pictured the confused look on the scruffy face when some human trait or tradition didn’t make sense to him. He pictured softly kissing the plump pink lips, running his fingers through his beautiful black hair, questioning the chances of being able to cuddle up next to him as they binged Orange Is The New Black(Dean would have to explain to him the meaning of the title). Before he met the beautiful angel Dean was certain about his sexuality, he had forced down any thoughts or feelings about other boys in any other way than platonic. He still felt slightly uncomfortable thinking of Castiel in that way. Dean wasn’t entirely sure if it was internalized homophobia or the fact that he didn’t know if Cas felt the same way as him. His smile faded to a slight frown at the thought of rejection. 

“Dean.” Sam said, jerking Dean out of his trance, “Earth to Dean, please respond.” Sam continued sarcastically, getting an annoyed look out of Dean. “What were you thinking about?” 

Dean felt his cheeks start to heat up, “Uh, nothing. What’s up?”

Sam obviously didn’t believe him but didn’t pry, filling Dean with relief.

“I might have found a way to defeat her.” Sam offered the book to Dean, who had just taken another big bite of cheeseburger, causing Sam to retract his offer and instead read it out loud to him, “it says here we need something called the “Arrow of Brahma”, I haven’t been able to find a location but we can run things over with Cas back at the bunker.”

There it was again, that name. That one syllable that could bring a smile to his face or take it away.

They finished their breakfast, paid, and got back on the road. 

…

Dean was the first inside and once he got in he immediately headed towards his room to get some shut eye. His plans were foiled by Sam grabbing the back of his loose t-shirt and dragging him to the Study where Cas was waiting. Dean sighed in annoyance and exhaustion. “Come on, man.” he said with exasperation. 

“Stay. I’m gonna go see if we have any books on the Arrow.” Sam said, nudging Dean towards the brightly lit table in the center of the room where Cas was sitting. 

Dean made eye contact with Cas as he approached the table, sitting across from him. He put his head on the table, giving into his body’s plea for relaxation. He almost fell asleep like that but couldn’t for some reason. He lifted his head enough to see Cas staring at him with a slightly confused and concerned look on his face.

“What?” Dean asked, feeling his jaw hit the table with the word.

“You seem, tense,” Cas replied in his usual monotone voice, “I could fix it?” he offered, starting to reach out to Dean.

“Nah,” Dean said, he didn’t think he could handle feeling the angel’s soft fingers touching him, especially with the massive hangover he was suffering through.

Cas pulled his hand back, looking slightly hurt. Dean felt an apology rising in his throat, it was interrupted by Sam walking back into the room with a small stack of different sized books in his hands. He put three in two in front of each of them.

“What exactly are we looking for?” Cas asked.

“Where the arrow of Bra-man or something is.” Dean said, still unmoving from the position he was in.

“Brahma,” Sam corrected, shooting Dean a sour look, “it should be able to stop Aella.”

Dean rolled his eyes at his goody two shoes brother before sighing and lifting his head up to scan through the novels. 

They read through all the books in the library with no luck on finding its location. At that point Dean was almost completely knocked out. He heard Cas say something about using his angelic powers to look for it but Dean was too tired to register what his actual words were. He checked the time on his phone, it was almost two in the morning which didn’t seem too late but Dean had only gotten a few hours of beauty sleep the night before. He stood and mumbled something about hay to Sam before finding his way to his room. The second his head hit the pillows he was out, not even bothering to change out of his sweaty clothes. That night he dreamed happily about guns and a certain pair of blue eyes. 

It didn’t last long before he was getting shaken awake by a familiar pair of hands.

“Ugh,” Dean moaned sleepily, “What time is it?” 

“Dude, is three in the afternoon,” Sam said, chuckling slightly, “I thought you were dead.”

Dean sat up wondering if he looked as dead as he felt, “Who says I’m not.” he joked back.

“Cas is back with the arrow.” 

“Sweet. Do we have a plan of attack?” Dean questioned, not sure of what answer he wanted.

“No, we were waiting for you to wake up.” Sam said, with a note of sarcasm. 

“Really? Wow, I’m flattered.” Dean replied, squinting up at him with a half smile on his face and yawned.

“Don’t be,” Sam said, “I said we shouldn’t wait but Cas insisted.”

That caught Deans attention, “Oh?” his voice hitched a little.

“Yeah, I guess he thought you’d be awake sooner.” Sam smiled, “get changed and meet us in the kitchen, you reek.”

Dean scrambled up as soon as Sam had left the room, his face felt hot at the thought of Cas thinking about him. He quickly got changed and attempted to cover up his scent with some cheap cologne and deodorant before heading to the kitchen. When he got there Sam was sitting at the table with his laptop, clicking away at the keys. He made eye contact with Cas who was leaning on the counter with his usual serious face. Dean quickly looked him up and down with a smile. Cas shot back a cute confused look.  

Dean moved over to Cas, getting uncomfortably close, before he reached around him and poured himself a cup of coffee. Cas looked slightly panicked at the act but calmed down once Dean sat at the table. 

“Got any leads, Sammy?” Dean asked.

“Nothing on Aella but I might have found another case.” Sam responded, not looking up from the screen, “a werewolf in Massachusetts, three dead, two missing. Sounds interesting, wanna check it out.”

“Oh, come on man,” Dean answered in exasperation, “we just got off a case.”

“You don’t have to-”

“No.” Dean interrupted, “I’ll go. Just let me get a shower in.”

Dean walked into his room after showering in his usual Jeans, flannel, and gray shirt. He was rubbing his damp hair with a towel. Cas was standing by his desk. He was inspecting something in his hand that Dean couldn’t see what though. 

“Jesus, Cas.” he said, with a slight tone of annoyance. 

Cas whipped around, surprised at the sudden words. He quickly hid the paper he was holding behind his back.

“What the Hell are you doing here, man?” Dean asked, glancing towards the angel’s arms. 

“I-uh…” Cas stuttered, reaching for an excuse but not being able to grasp one.

Dean moved one step closer to him, “What’s that you got there?” he said gesturing to Cas’s arms while moving closer. 

“It’s nothing,” Cas responded nervously, “just something about the case.”

At this point Dean was close enough to Castiel that a slight movement of his hand could have him touching the angel’s arm. Cas was backed up against the desk, his back was leaned back towards the desk. His blue eyes were wide with a mixture of confusion and panic. 

Dean reached behind Cas and grabbed the note, not breaking eye contact. He slowly unfolded the note. 

“Dean…” Cas said, a hint of warning in his voice.

Dean looked down and read the note. It was a Good-bye note. From Cas. Dean felt a sudden rush of emotions. 

“Cas?” he said, voice breaking slightly, “Cas, what is this?”

“It’s- I-” Cas started to say. He never finished the thought.

Dean closed the distance between the two, pressing his lips to Castiel’s. Cas gasped at the unexpected action. Dean had pictured this moment a thousand times but never thought it would be like this. Cas didn’t return the gesture. Dean stopped and pulled back, cheeks flushed, looking embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, backing up to sit on his bed with his hands in his face. Cas remained leaned against the desk. His face was frozen in shock, slowly processing what had just happened before slowly walking over to stand above Dean. He squatted down in front of him. Cas felt his mind and heart racing. He reached up and gently tugged Dean’s hands away. 

Dean’s face was already damp with tears but another betrayed him, running quickly down his cheek. Cas raised his hand to Dean’s face. His palm pressed against Dean’s cheek as he wiped some of the moisture from under the closed eye. Cas lifted his head and let his lips meet Dean’s once again. Dean melted into the kiss. 

It started soft with their lips barely on eachother. Dean grabbed Cas’s face to keep him close as he pressed further into the kiss. Cas moved his hand from Dean’s cheek up to his still wet hair. It felt cool as it slid through his fingers but it quickly warmed at his touch. 

Their lips separated after a little while. They pressed their foreheads together, not ready to stop touching but too overwhelmed with emotion to continue the kiss. What little space there was left between them filled with their heavy breath. 

Cas moved his hand around Dean’s arm and trailed it around his torso to lock with the other one, pulling Dean into a hug. Dean sank down to the ground on his knees. They slumped into each other. Dean breathed in Castiel’s smell. 

They sat there for seemingly hours, relishing in what had just happened. Fear that they might wake up and find it was a dream settling in their hearts. 

Fin

[fanaticfangirl001]

Like Real People Do Ch 3: Ex- Best Friends

Author's note: Oof don't hate me guys.

@kissofvenom922

@p3nny4urth0ught5

Winnie carries her laptop to the kitchen and sets it down on the bar. Grabbing the eggs for her omelet, she resumes the footage captured from a small drone nicknamed “Red Wing”. She cracks an egg one handed into the bowl then another. For an Avenger Falcon doesn’t really have the best cyber-security on his drone. Maybe she would get the chance to fix that if she ever did meet him. She dices onions and bits of ham when Redwing spots a warehouse just outside of a heavily wooded area. Satisfied with the few screenshots of the area and a geotag, Winnie mixes the eggs and toppings for her omelet together. As she cooks the eggs, Winnie sprinkles in generous amounts of cheese. She sighs and dials the new number on her phone.

As she waits for the recipient to pick up Winnie sits at her dining room table and starts eating her breakfast.

“Hi, Is this Joaquin Torres, don’t panic. I’m the security breach. I work with a formerly avenger adjacent super powered individual. “Winnie greets.

“Uh yes,who are you and who is your super powered individual?” Joaquin asks, trying to keep her on the phone to track her location.

“Call me W, and um Bucky Barnes.” Winnie answers carefully stabbing a piece of egg.

“The Winter Soldier? Joaquin zero ins on the IP address, placing her in Sweden.

“He’s not that person anymore.”Winnie adds.

“Your IP address puts you in Sweden, something tells me you're not Swedish. “Joaquin smirks.

“I like Swedish soap operas, I can’t very well get them here.” Winnie laughs.

“VPN, that’s smart. Joaquin says.

“Thank you.” Winnie can’t help but be a little charmed by this man. There’s something about his voice.

“ I’m almost a little impressed. “ Joaquin admits.

“ Would you be impressed if I said I’m watching Red Wing.” Winnie gloats

“ You hacked into Sam’s tech. He’s not gonna like that. “ Joaquin warns.

“Not maliciously, I just need a few questions answered.” Winnie defends herself.

“ Shoot. “ Joaquin replies.

“What are the flag smashers after?”Winnie asks.

“They think the world was better during the blip.” Joaquin answers with the few bits of information he has.

“But why? I’m also trying to figure out why they pin their location, after a few hours it disappears but I’ve saved a few on my map. No real pattern, just places where people need help. Could be anywhere after returning.” Winnie questions.

“That’s the million dollar question. I’m meeting with Sam on Friday.” Joaquin adds, “ Red Wing as you can see found something in Munich.

“Hotspot of activity.” Winnie muses.

“Bingo.” Joaquin snaps his fingers.

“ It’ll be hard to convince Buck,” Winnie pauses then adds,” But if worst comes to worst I’ll go by myself. Ex-shield after all. “

“You were with S.H.I.E.L.D Like Peggy Carter, S.H.I.E.L.D. ?” Joaquin asks, shocked.

“Or Clint Barton, Or Natasha Romanoff.” Winnie names a few more.

“Woah.” Joaquin says.

“See you Friday.” Winnie ends the call.

Winnie sighs and puts the plate in the sink to wash later. If she’s going to Munich on Friday, she’ll need her old gear. She walks to her room and digs through the closet until she pulls out a large waterproof rubber bin. It’s everything she took when she left S.H.I.E.L.D. Winnie pulls off the tote’s lid and takes out the top most piece of clothing. The tactical overalls, a pair of black bullet proof overalls with several pockets along the front and back, including two gun holsters on each side, a place to hold a lightweight enforced steel whip: another invention of her’s.

She sets the overalls aside, and opens a small box. Inside is a tactical ring. The ring itself has a sharp side to be used in a fight, it contains a small piece of flint for fire starting, a compass, and a vial of poison. The buzzing and vibrating of her phone pulls her out of the going through the box. Another text from Sharon, Winnie deletes it without reading. She puts on the ring and remembers her first mission with Sharon. It was a simple gun smuggler recovery. The two worked together perfectly. Sisters from different misters, was constantly used to describe the two. After a few years of missions, Winnie noticed the acknowledgement and accomplishments were awarded to Sharon. Sharon is the niece of the afamed Peggy Carter, it made sense that she would be praised but it slowly began to chip away at her. The worst had to be after the medal of honor ceremony only a few years ago.

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

(Flash back)

“The Secretary of Defense would like to bestow the medal of honor to Sharon Carter, for the retrieval and restoration of several Hydra communications. Without these SHIELD and Captain America would not be able to capture the rogue hydra base in the warehouse in Rhode Island.” Director Fury states.

The Secretary of Defense pins the medal on Sharon’s lapel as the room abrupts into thunderous applause. Winnie watches from the sideline with a polite glass of champagne, she doesn’t drink but will certainly toast a friend, even if the saving the file and decoding was all her. Sharon just served as her cover during the mission. She takes a deep breath and pushes those thoughts down. She’s here to celebrate her friend’s accomplishment. Winnie looks around to find Sharon at the after party being held for her.

“Winnie,” Sharon hugs her, “ Do you want to get some drinks with us and some of the guys from research?”

“I don’t drink, you know that.” Winnie lets go of her.

“Lighten up, you’ve been burning the candle at both ends. “Sharon insists.

“I like the work.” Winnie shrugs.

“Fine, you’ll get out of drinks this time, but get some sleep tonight.” Sharon says before being dragged off by a group of guys.

“I will. I promise.” Winnie shouts to her before leaving for the apartment.

(End flash back)

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

After the ceremony Winnie put in a request to change divisions. Director Fury accepted the change to Research and Development. The next thing she pulls out of her box are the rocket boots. Many of Winnie’s inventions became the punchline of all the research and Development department’s jokes. The Rocket Boots, were the most egregious. As the Avengers developed, because of the hostile working environment they’re gear stayed relatively the same. No innovations made with the gear from Winnie’s perspective. She did try to design weapons for Sharon but that didn’t go well either.

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

(Flash back)

“Sharon, you have to see this.” Winnie insists dragging Sharon to the training room.

“ Winnie, this is the first time you’ve been excited about something, what is it?” Sharon asks letting herself be dragged.

“This.” Winnie pulls out from her back, a light weight steel whip.

“A whip?” Sharon’s eyebrows narrow.

“Yeah, it’s lightweight steel and with a little extra training.” Winnie starts rambling about the implications.

“Winnie. Focus. I need practical weapons...like guns.”

“Okay practical. I got you. What about this?” Winnie holds a small metal sphere.

“What is it?”

“I call it a black out bomb, it short circuits and fries electrical systems in a surrounding area.” Winnie explains then adds “ This could help take down so many Hydra bases quicker.”

“There’s not a problem with our speed.” Sharon says.

“Well no, I just thought this would be safer.” Winnie shrugs starting to shut down.

“Anything else?” Sharon asks.

“Taser grenade.” Winnie suggests.

“No.” Sharon says.

“Dagger boomerangs.” Winnie suggests, this time almost hopeful.

“No.” Sharon’s voice is flat and annoyed.

“Rocket boots.” Winnie holds up the boots.

“No.”

“But the boots, “ Winnie shakes the boots.

(End of Flashback)

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

Winnie gently puts down all her personalized weapons in their respective pockets in the overalls. She puts the boots by the door, knowing they will be the most useful. She’ll show the world just how great her own inventions can be. Winnie looks down at her phone, another text from Sharon sits unanswered. She sighs and deletes it once again, still hurt from the ending of their friendship.

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

(Flash Back)

Winnie looks over her shoulder in the Research lab and relaxes when she realizes everyone else is out to lunch and or working out. She sets up her laptop and begins a bit of light reading on a newly created file that was just out of her clearance level. She squints reading the money transactions and leadership positions. Is this some sort of bribery or hush money. Winnie dives deeper and downloads the files. There’s no way this is possible. Hydra has infiltrated Shield.

Winnie quickly types out a letter of resignation and emails it to the office of Director Fury. She takes her flash drive and laptop to the apartment to show Sharon.

“ I have something to tell you, but you can’t ask how i know.” Winnie runs in the apartment and locks the door behind her.

“Woah, calm down! That’s an awful way of introducing something.” Sharon raises a hand in front of her.

“ Yeah well it’s bad news.” Winnie takes a few breaths.

“ Shoot.” Sharon says sitting down.

“Hydra is in SHIELD.” Winnie blurts out.

“How do you know this?” Sharon asks in shock.

“ I can’t tell you. You’ll be in danger if you know. Hell, I’m probably in danger right now.” Winnie rambles getting more anxious.

“I need some proof. Give me your laptop.” Sharon insists on trying to take the laptop.

“No! They’ll kill me and you. I can’t show you, just trust me.” Winnie holds her laptop closer to her.

“You sound paranoid and on edge.

“Sharon, just trust me. I’m not making it up. I saw contracts and money transactions.”

“Winnie, when’s the last time you’ve gotten a full eight hours.

“That’s not important. I know what I saw.

“Winnie, what do you want me to do?

“I want you to believe me so we can save the damn Sharon Show.

“ The what?

“I-I didn’t mean that, I meant SHIELD.”

“Is that really what you think about SHIELD?

“You can’t say I’m wrong. I’m just as good an agent as you are, and whenever we get back it’s like I don’t exist.”

“Is this about the medal of honor?”

“No it’s not but you told me to get the files and you covered my back. I got the files, and restored them. You got the credit for saving and restoring the files. Your manicured hands never touched a laptop. It took me a week straight of decoding.”

“ Winnie, you’re overreacting. SHIELD is safe.

“I put in my resignation. I’m not staying to get killed and watch this ship sink.

“Okay here’s my theory, I can’t tell you why but maybe you’re the Hydra traitor.”

“Fuck you!” Winnie screams at her while packing quickly. “I spent five years working alongside you, and you think I’d do that! I’m leaving. Call me when you’re not a bitch!”

In Winnie’s fast paced packing she left her flash drive with the evidence with Sharon. Everyday after Sharon found out Winnie was right, she carried around that flash drive just for the off chance that she could return it to her ex-friend.

[touchstarvedsam]

Read on AO3 or read the fic under the cut.

Sam’s been spending less time in the bunker since curing Dean of being a demon. After unchaining him, he left the dungeon with a look on his face Dean never wants to see again. Dean’s seen Sam cry, he’s seen Sam completely broken and hurt. But he has never seen this look on Sam’s face before. Complete and total hopelessness, terror, and heartbreak. Not even after Jessica burned up on that ceiling did Sam look like that.

And Dean put that look there.

Dean broke Sam so totally and completely beyond repair.

He remembers the things he said, as a demon, because he remembers meaning them. But he doesn’t mean them now and he doesn’t know how to fix this.

Castiel had brought him food from the local diner after he was cured, said Sam placed the order and picked it up but couldn’t bring it to Dean himself. He’d told Cas he just needed time, and Dean will give him that, as much as it hurts having his little brother hide from him.

Sam ordered him a cheeseburger extra onion and double French fries, just like he likes, with two slices of apple pie for dessert. Even sad and scared, Sam will always think about Dean above himself.

He’d asked Cas if Sam got himself a salad like the health nerd he is. Cas just gave him a pitying smile, which told Dean everything he needed to know.

Now, almost a week since he was cured, Dean knows Sam hasn’t been eating enough, and that Sam spends a lot of time at the local bar outside Lebanon. It’s a couple steps down from a dive, but it has its share of rowdy drunks, a pool table for some good hustlin’, and bartenders that aren’t scared to kick you out on your ass. Dean would know.

And Sam has been there at least four nights this week.

It’s the fifth night that he hears the creak of the door open and slam shut that alerts Dean to Sam leaving again. It’s just after nine. Dean weighs his options and decides to follow Sam there but remain hidden; he’s gotten good at hiding since he got the mark of Cain.

He gives him an hour head start before heading over, driving through the lot to locate the car that Sam seems to take whenever he goes off alone, then parks in the back so Sam can’t find Baby and know that Dean came.

The bartender knows him, lets Dean take up a shadowed corner with a couple’a beers and hunker down to watch the show.

Sam seems to be two or three beers in; he’s swaying on his feet, cheeks flushed and hair a mess like he ran his fingers through it several times in frustration.

And he appears to be hustling, except the little shit is drunk and not just faking it to play the guys he’s hustling. If Sam does this every night without backup, Dean is going to kill him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” one of the guys slurs, leaning too close to Sam for Dean’s liking. Dean never was fond of anyone touching Sam or calling him pet names. That’s Dean’s baby brother and Dean doesn’t play nice when it comes to Sammy. He watches as Sam visibly tenses – knows what’s making his brother uncomfortable – and steps back. “Oh, don’t be like that, pretty, you know you can’t win this, don’t ya? I’m givin’ you an out. Your arm’s broken, ain’t it?”

“No,” Sam replies, bumping the pool table in his haste to put more distance between them, grunting in pain at the contact. “Already told you… I lose an’ you take me for all the money I got, or you lose, and I take you for all the money you got – no more no less. I can beat you, sprained elbow or not.”

Dean smirks with pride. His brother may be drunk but he’s not stupid. Sam can play pool left handed or right handed. They trained themselves over the years how to use both hands in case their dominant hand becomes incapacitated somehow in the middle of a hunt. Always need a contingency plan when your life’s on the line.

“We’ll see about that,” the man growls, leering at Sam, eyes roaming his body up and down. That kind of scrutiny would have Dean wanting to shower and scrub himself raw; he can’t imagine how Sammy feels. “It’s prudes like you that beg for cock when it’s presented to them.”

That has Dean half standing, anticipating. He’s furious that anyone would say that to Sam. It has Dean’s skin crawling and the mark on his arm burning, begging for bloodshed. Dean wants to slit this man’s throat for even thinking of Sam that way. He wants to torture him and make him beg for Sam’s forgiveness.

He wants to bash his face in.

Sam shoves the guy’s shoulder and says, “Just play pool, man,” and Dean sits back down. The game resumes and Dean keeps a watchful eye as Sam fumbles his way through the game, drunk off his ass. Sam accepts drink after drink and Dean knows his little brother isn’t going to win this game with that much alcohol in his system, but he’s waiting until Sam actually needs help to step in.

“You’ve been alone for awhile, sugar. You waitin’ for someone?” a smooth woman’s voice says from his left. He looks up just as she’s sliding into the seat across from him and blocking his view of Sam and the guys he’s hustling. He needs to get her out of here fast.

“I’m just enjoying some time alone,” he replies, not trying to sound rude but wanting her gone.

Her smile is predatory when she asks, “Would you like some company?”

“I’m sorry, darlin’,” he tries to sound remorseful but misses by a mile as he leans slightly to the right to try to get an eye on Sam.

She must notice he’s distracted because she turns her body slightly to the left and cranes her neck to see what Dean is looking at before turning back to him. “That tall glass of water, huh? It’s always the gorgeous ones,” she says wistfully with a shake of her head and winks at him as she gets up from her chair. “If you strike out, I’ll be at the bar, sugar.”

It had to be less than a minute between the time she looked at Sam and then left the table, but by the time Dean’s view cleared, Sam and the guys at the pool table were gone. Dean almost knocked over his chair in his haste to get up and find Sam. It was barely 11, and the past week Sam hadn’t been coming home until well after midnight. Last call was 1:30 but Sam has always been the type to leave well before last call to avoid being “one of those people,” he’d say. His little brother was such a nerd.

Sam’s a grown man. 32 years old and 6’4”, he shouldn’t need Dean’s protection, but that will never stop the big brother side of Dean from protecting his little brother. And now, with this mark burning into his arm, Dean’s more protective than usual. More agitated, angry. He’s itching to make someone hurt, someone bleed, and if tonight it happens to be some guys Sam beat at pool then so be it.

He bypasses the pool table they were hanging at -- the  drink Sam had been drinking rests on the edge of the table, condensation leaving a ring on the lacquered wood finish -- and heads for the hall leading to the bathroom. He stops at the sound of voices in the middle of an argument.

“I told you, nothing more nothing less,” Sam’s voice carries down the hallway and Dean waits, wanting to give Sam the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t see how many of the guys followed but even inebriated he knows Sam can hold his own. It’s just the protective part inside him that wants to beat this guy’s face in for thinking he can get something from Sam.

“I might’a let you go if you didn’t hustle me an’ my boys for all we got,” the man replies huskily. There’s a thud and Sam grunts. It sets Dean’s teeth on edge and makes his hand twitch for a blade. He peers around the corner and sees that Sam’s pressed against the wall by the man he was playing when Dean got to the bar, the other two that had been hanging around the pool table watching them play were flanking the two of them. Dean could only make out Sam’s shaggy head of hair. “Now we’re gonna take it out on your ass for all we lost.”

Sam tries to shove at the guy’s shoulders, says, “Just because I can outplay you in pool with my arm in a sling doesn’t mean I cheated. You just lack skill.”

It’s Sam’s smart mouth that Dean both loves and hates. His baby brother can be a huge pain in the ass with his book intelligence, but sometimes he lacks severe street intelligence. He wonders how often this has happened before; he’s going to have to have a talk with Sammy after he saves his ass, literally.

He has half a mind to let these guys fuck with Sam a little bit to teach him a lesson; give himself a better excuse to beat them half to death for touching his brother.

He wants to be Sam’s savior and then punish him accordingly, both for running away from him and for putting himself in deliberate danger.

He’s going to punish Sam regardless.

“Get off’a me!” Sam shouts, trying to shove harder, but he’s outnumbered and while Sam is tall and strong, these guys have more muscle mass on him and they just laugh as Sam struggles against them, his arm in the sling cradled against his chest. He can’t use all his strength because of the damn sling and his hurt elbow.

Being bitten by a vampire while Sam watches crosses his mind and he feels less inclined to jump in just yet, wanting to see how this plays out. Sam had no soul, he reminds himself, but at the same time… Dean feels like he doesn’t have a soul right now, too. Just dark thoughts swirling around in his head about his little brother and pain.

“Aw, come on, pretty boy,” another one of the men taunts, gripping Sam’s chin and turning him to face him. “Don’t be a prude. You look like you’re desperate to get fucked. Just turn around and we’ll make you feel good, baby.”

“No!”

Hearing this sleazeball call Sammy “baby” is enough for Dean. He steps away from hiding just as they’re turning Sam to face the wall, fiddling with Sam’s belt buckle as his little brother squirms in their grip.

“Let him go,” Dean growls.

“Mind ya own business, pal.”

“I said,” Dean speaks slow, as if talking to a child who broke the rules, “Let,” he steps closer, “Him go.”

“Dean,” Sam says, voice quivering both in fear of the men trying to have their way with him and possibly at Dean himself. Sam hasn’t looked Dean in the eye since Dean was cured; he’s been ducking out of the bunker before Dean can emerge from his bedroom, or the bathroom. Dean had been longing to catch Sam in the library again, reading a book, happy and comfortable like he used to be. But as far as he knows, Sam stays in his room, or leaves the bunker altogether to run away from Dean.

That stops now.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” Dean says, “I’m here.”

“Listen, buddy,” the man that Sam beat speaks up again, “Find your own bitch, this one’s ours.”

Despite the burning of the mark, begging for Dean to slit the throats of these men, Dean actually laughs out loud. “You’re right,” he shrugs, a smirk growing on his face as he steps closer. “He is a bitch, but he’s my bitch, and I’m not going to let scumbags like you taint him.” He grabs the hair of the one who had grabbed Sam’s chin and yanks him away roughly. “If you don’t want to die today, let him go.”

“Alright, asshole--” The first guy releases Sam and lunges at Dean, who slams the guy he has by the hair face first into the wooden wall of the hallway next to the bathroom. He whirls around before the guy reaches him to throw a right hook into his chin, sending him flying back. The third guy releases Sam completely with a shout and lunges, too, but Sam sticks a foot back and trips him so he falls face first.

“Like I said,” Dean says with finality.

“Dean,” Sam repeats his name, looking at him fully. He still has fear showing in his face but Dean is just glad to hear his voice. “You--”

“Sammy,” he says softly, stepping over the man he knocked out with a right hook and pressing Sam back against the wall. He almost backs away when Sam’s beautiful hazel eyes flash with fear -- the last time he had Sam against a wall, he had a hammer and was going to kill Sam and Sam had a knife to his throat that Dean knew he wouldn’t use on him -- but he doesn’t. He holds his ground. “Sammy,” he repeats, raising a hand to caress his little brother’s alcohol flushed cheek. “I don’t want you doing this anymore.”

“Dean, I- I just needed time and--”

He doesn’t know why he does it -- actually, that’s a lie because he knows why he does it, he’s always wanted to do it -- but he leans in and kisses Sam, effectively quieting him. Sam gasps against his lips and accidentally grants access to Dean’s tongue. Dean holds Sam’s chin with one hand while the other trails downward and grips Sam’s hip to press it tightly to the wall, keeping him still. His hips follow soon after and press against Sam’s. He’s careful where they press together so he doesn’t put pressure on Sam’s hurt arm as he deepens the kiss.

Sam doesn’t fight. His free arm lifts up and he wraps his thin fingers into the collar of Dean’s shirt and pulls him closer. Dean smiles into the kiss before pulling away, says softly, “Come back home, Sammy,” and gives him another chaste kiss.

Sam goes home with him, riding shotgun in the Impala as he should. They’ll get the car Sam drove tomorrow. Tonight he’s going to punish Sam for running away, and then claim him like he should have done all those years ago.

[milliethekitty27-writing]

Carry On (A SPN fix it fic)

When Dean’s alarm went off, he had to take a minute to figure out where he was and if everything was a dream. The past several days (weeks? years? honestly, all of the above) had been a completely exhausting blur. Jack and Castiel had been gone for what felt like years, but Sam had left a note on the table saying he was out for a jog and there was a familiar weight at the end of the bed. Miracle looked up and whined. 

“Right.” Dean rubbed his face. He got up, yawning, and took a long hot shower that soothed his aching muscles. He pretended he didn’t see Cas behind his eyes. God he missed him, terribly, but he was still so angry. How could he have just not said anything? So many people had died, Rowena was gone, and now Dean was just… here. Doing nothing. 

Sam slammed his hand on the door and Dean jumped out of his skin.

“I made breakfast but I want to shower!” he called. 

Dean met him downstairs. They ate, Dean did dishes while Sam showered, and then he started messing around on his computer. 

A story popped up and he let out a long sigh. 

“Sam-” he cleared his throat and Sam looked up from his book, his hair still damp. “-we’ve got a case.”

They headed out, the Impala humming under his hands like always. They played whatever music he was in the mood for and both of them were quiet. They wondered about Cas, and Jack, and everyone else, but the day was clear and beautiful.

Something must have aligned because when Dean got out of the car, there was a big sign reading All You Can Eat Pie over a field thrumming with people. 

“Are you crying?” Sam was clearly trying not to laugh. 

“Nope.” There were tears streaming down his face but he wiped them off. “Just, uh… smelled some… onions.” Sam laughed behind him, but Dean ignored him in favor of exploring the fair. 

There were so many pies everywhere. Cherry, pumpkin, sweet potato, apple, blueberry, gooseberry, peach, pecan, it was actual heaven. Dean didn’t care what Jack was doing up there, this was better than anything else he could do. 

Dean turned to tell Cas, but his heart sank. There was no idiot in a trench coat to drag around with him. There was just his brother on his bench, nose buried in his phone. He looked tired. 

Dean bought six slices of pie, ones that the cute blond woman told him were best. She kept glancing at Sam and Dean delighted in the fact that he sauntered up and dropped them onto the picnic table. Sam jumped. 

“I am going to eat pie until I die.” he said. “If you want to join me, get your own.” Sam laughed. He kept eyeing the pumpkin, though, so Dean relented and slide it over to him. 

Sam smushed it into his face.

Sam. Smushed a pie. Into his face. A perfectly good piece of pie. This was pie abuse.

Sam was laughing though, and he looked better. Dean felt better too. 

“You’re getting me another one.” He pointed at the blond woman at the counter. “From her.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up it’s delicious. Where else am I going to be able to eat pie all day? You’re the jerk who wasted that slice anyway.”

Sam did. He chatted with the woman, and he came back with a slice of pumpkin and a slice of blueberry for himself. The woman’s named was Sherry and she was Sam’s age. She worked in a bakery with her mom, and she’d written her number on the plate of his pie. 

The next town over was their proper destination, though. A family had been attacked in part of a string of similar attacks - the father had been drained of blood, the mother had had her tongue cut out, and the pair of sons had been abducted. The picture, from the mother, was one of men wearing masks.

They searched through their records, finding a little, but eventually Sam found the entry. 

“Vampires. Vampire mimics? Vampires.” Eventually, they agreed vampires and geared up - plenty of fine, beheading weapons, because that’s was the routine. Miracle jumped into the car and off they went. 

The nest was in an old cabin in the woods. It was an absolutely massive place, covered in ivy, and it painted a haunting picture against the twisted wood.

“Can they not be so cliché?” Dean rolled his eyes, arming himself. Miracle was kept in the car, with the windows cracked wide enough for him to jump out. “You stay, Miracle.” The dog grumbled a little, then settled on the car. “No tearing up the seats either.” Another grumble and Sam snorted.

They crept in but found the house practically devoid of life, even more so then usual.

It reeked of blood too.

“I wish we’d come when it was lighter out, or hadn’t stopped for lunch.” Dean grumbled. Sam shushed him, but the moonlight peeking through the cracks of the house.

They found the first body a little ways away. It was clearly a man, and when they checked the teeth it was a vampire. 

It had almost entirely been beheaded by something very big. They cut the head off for good measure, but their unease was growing with every second. 

They heard it only a second before they saw it.

A wendigo was standing over the body of a vampire. There were a pair of terrified children trembling near a rotting couch. The thing was making the most awful noises and the older brother was hiding the younger one’s face in his stomach. Sam and Dean looked at each other. 

They needed better weapons. 

“In the car.” Dean said it very very quietly. “Flare gun. Only one, though. Get it.” 

Sam creeped out and Dean stayed, wishing he had a lot of other things right now. Why a wendigo, why now? Sure, it saved them the trouble of the vampire nest, but now they had a wendigo, at least two kids, and one fire weapon. 

Bobby would’ve yelled at them for an hour if he’d found out they’d been so unprepared, but at the same time it was pretty clear it was a vampire nest. 

Dean didn’t really remember the fight, honestly. He didn’t know what triggered the wendigo but it saw him, or smelled him, and he was using the machete he had to keep it away from his face. The thing was too damn fast. 

Sam shot the flare and he got it in the shoulder. It burst into flames but Dean was pinned under it. 

They both realized with horror that the old wood of the cabin was catching on fire too.

“Go!” Dean shouted at his brother. 

Sam got the kids out quickly enough, but he started towards Dean. The smoke was growing thick and Dean couldn’t breathe. The wendigo was dying but it had landed a few bites, and now there was a fire and Dean couldn’t get out. 

“I said go, Sam!” Sam stared at him, then was forced to flee as the fire choked Dean to death.

I wonder if I’ll see Castiel.

Dean blinked and found himself next to a cabin, staring at a lake. He rubbed his chest, coughing a little. 

“Fuckin wendigoes.” he muttered. 

“Nasty sons of bitches, aren’t they.” Dean turned very sharply and found Bobby sitting in a chair. They looked at each other. 

“Weren’t you in heaven’s lock up? Last I heard, anyway. This has to be some memory.”

“Jack made some changes.” Bobby chuckled. “He and Cas have been pretty busy.” Dean’s heart panged. They chatted, about heaven and about now what. They shared one of the shittiest bears Dean had had in a long time, but talking with Bobby made everything a little bit better. 

“Thanks.” Dean said rather suddenly. Bobby grunted. “For… everything.” He waved the mostly empty bottle at the lake. “You know.”

“Don’t be an idjit.” Bobby said. “I said you were my boys. I meant it.” Dean’s heart warmed and they were quiet for a bit. “What are you gonna do now?”  

“Get a better beer.” Bobby laughed and Dean smiled despite himself. “Sam… Sam’ll be ok, won’t he?”

“Course he will be. Don’t make me tell you not to be an idjit again.” Dean blinked, his throat tightening a little bit, then he nodded. 

“Right. Course.” he sighed, then got up. He looked at the car Bobby had pointed out. “Maybe I’ll go look for Castiel. You said he’s around, right?”

“Should be.” Bobby lifted his bottle a little. “Come visit.”

“Don’t be an idjit.” Dean grinned at him and Bobby chuckled again. 

His Baby hummed to life beneath his hands. Dean had no idea how he’d find Castiel, but he had to try. There was a lot they had to talk about, and primarily the first one was yelling at him for telling him how he felt when he was about to be grabbed by an oily black octopus, and then they needed to talk about what next. 

Dean wasn’t sure how long he drove for, but he pulled up to a barn.

He got out of the car and missed his brother, and his dog, but he tucked his hands into his pockets and sauntered in.

“...Castiel?” He called finally. There was a noise, a familiar rustle of wings, and Dean turned.

Castiel was standing there, wearing his stupid trench coat and looking at Dean like he’d looked a thousand times but Dean had never understood. His throat twisted up again.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s voice was quiet, but very tender. 

“I’m still upset with you.” Dean said. “Very. But… I missed you.” He shuffled his feet a little, then nodded to the car outside. “Want to go for a drive? Talk about some stuff? Maybe find a place with decent beer?” After a moment, Castiel’s lips curved into a smile and he nodded.

Sam died at eighty-three years old, and he woke up to find Bobby sitting on the porch. Bobby directed him down a path and he saw people he’d thought he’d never see again - his mom was there, Jo, Charlie, Garth, lots of people he hadn’t seen in ages. 

He got to the end and he found his brother leaning against the Impala, looking at a map. 

“...Dean?” Dean looked up and smiled at him so wide that his face looked like it would burst. Sam went to him and felt like he was five, but Dean met him halfway and held him tight.

“I can’t believe you named your kid after me.” Sam went red.

“It suited him, he’s a good kid. Besides, it was Sherry’s idea.”

“I claim full credit for getting you two together. You married the pie girl of my dreams.”

“She did more than just pie.” Dean laughed. They got in the car and drove, the Impala purring along the road and the music blasting, and they pulled up to a rather simple looking house. Sam got out a little slowly but Dean got up without a concern. Miracle shot out the door when it opened, barking like a lunatic like he often had. He pranced around Dean, then he saw Sam and Sam got the same treatment as they tried to get inside. 

Castiel was standing at the counter, staring at the coffee pot rather absently. Dean kissed his cheek and the angel jumped. 

“Oh. Hello, Sam.” 

“...uh… hey.” Sam pointed at Castiel, then at Dean, then back as Castiel again. “Are you two, uh…”

“We are.” Dean puffed up a little. “We talked it out.” 

“Cool. Good. That’s great.” 

“There’s pie in the fridge.” Castiel offered after a moment. “If you’d like. I can leave.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “You stay. It’s been a while. We can chat. I have to wait for Sherry no matter what. She’s looking forwards to meeting you.”

“You’ll think the pie’s boring then.” Dean sighed dramatically. “I still dream about her apple pie.” Castiel looked at him affectionately and Sam instantly regretted agreeing to stay. This was going to be a long visit, but he didn’t mind too much. After all, they had all the time in the world.

----

Thank you for reading!

Find this fic on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27675821

It’s worth noting that I have seen five (5) episodes of Supernatural (Gabriel episodes, plus Garth with a sock puppet) Is that stopping me from being angry about the finale, thinking I can do better, and writing a fix-it fic? Absolutely not.

I had an idea for how I wanted this to go and what I wanted. I read the synopsis of the last three episodes or so. My goals; 1. Dean gets a fighting death 2. Wendigos were cool opponents and I wanted to see more of them. 3. Find Castiel 4. Give Sam’s wife a name and something to her. 5. You know the montage in Hamilton where Eliza sees everyone before finding her wife again? Yeah that’s Sam’s death gift. 

[440mxs-wife]

When Words Fail, Music Speaks

You were working what you thought was a routine hunt to clear out a vampire's nest. The members had been terrorizing the locals, picking them off one by one. This time, though, your intel said they had grabbed a family, parents and their eight-year old daughter. The father was driving down the road, and they were captured when they happened to stray too close to the vamps' nest.

Dean had the accelerator mashed to the floor, trying to get to the family as quickly as possible. When you got to the location, you counted four vampires standing watch outside. You, Sam and Dean did a quick weapons check before going in, making sure your blades were sharp and that you had syringes of dead man's blood on you.

Sam went first, taking out two vamps, one after the other. You engaged the third one, slicing its head clean off. Dean took out the fourth one and you all silently moved downstairs into the main nest area. As you made your way through the building, the metallic smell of blood was almost overpowering.

Your eyes swept left and right, keeping watch for the parents and child you hoped to rescue. In a glance to your left, you saw the father, mother, and eight-year-old girl hanging on a rack. Tubes were coming out of their arms and connected to bags that held their blood. You walked up to the father, checked for his pulse and found none. You moved to the next body, that of his wife, and no luck there either.

You checked their daughter, and found a faint pulse. While you were setting her free, Sam and Dean were clearing the rest of the nest, about six more vampires. They ran to your position after they were done, and you informed them that the daughter was still alive, but barely. Dean scooped her up and started up the stairs back to the Impala.

On your way out, you sent a prayer to Castiel to meet you by the car, that you desperately needed his healing help. As requested, Cas was waiting for you when you all got out. He pressed two fingers to the child's forehead and stretched out with his grace to try and heal her.

Cas bowed his head. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. This child is already gone," he stated.

"No, try again, Cas. You've got to do something, she's only eight years old, give her a chance!" Dean exclaimed.

"I cannot bring this child back, but I will take care of her from here. I can assure you that her soul has gone to Heaven, as did the souls of her parents," Cas explained.

"Well, that's just peachy, Cas. This child should be worrying about nothing more than getting a skinned knee falling off of her bicycle, not...." Dean trailed off.

You gently laid a hand on Dean's arm to try and comfort him a bit. "Dean, we got here as quickly as we could. You couldn't have driven any faster," you said.

He shook your hand off of his arm. "Yeah? Well, small comfort for this kid who won't get to grow up and do all of the things she's meant to do with her life," Dean retorted. "Let's go."

You knew by the tone of Dean's voice that it was an order to get in the car, not a suggestion. You exchanged a look with Sam before getting into the back seat. You both knew that by the way this hunt ended, things were going to get pretty tense around the bunker. Hopefully, things would turn around before too long.

The ride back to the bunker was a quiet one. Dean didn't put any of his cassettes in and didn't seem interested in speaking to anyone about anything. He made a stop for gas once, and since you weren't sure if he'd stop again, you got out and used the facilities.

Sam was filling up the Impala's gas tank when you came out of the convenience store. You leaned against the Impala and looked up at the younger Winchester. "Sam, I'm worried about Dean. This one seemed to hit him pretty hard," you started.

"Yeah, especially since a kid was involved. Even though there was nothing more he could've done, he's going to keep beating himself up about it," Sam remarked.

"I guess all we can do is be there for him when he is ready to talk about it. Which will probably be around a quarter to never-o'clock," you replied. "I wish there was something I could do to help him," you added.

"If anyone can get through to him, I'd put my money on you," Sam said.

"Really? Why me?" you asked.

"You're persistent without being pushy. I can tell that you care about Dean, I mean, you two are best friends. I think you are coming from a place that's more than friends, though. You love him, don't you?" Sam inquired.

"What? Sam, don't be silly. I....I....Oh, I give up. You're right, I do love him. It tears me up to see him do this to himself. He knows we can't save everyone, and I realize that's a bitter pill to swallow for all of us. Yet he blames himself for everything that went wrong, most of which was out of his control.

"All we can do is make the best effort to save as many as we can. The people we save? Their lives go on to touch other people, who in turn affect others and so on down the line. I think that's our legacy, and that's what I want to help Dean remember," you finished.

"Truer words were never spoken. Like I said, I'm putting my money on you being able to get through to him," Sam smiled and gave you a wink.

By this time, Dean came walking out of the convenience store with his bag of snacks for the road. "Ain't you done yet putting gas in?" he grumbled. Sam gave your shoulder a quick squeeze before you got back into the backseat. He replaced the fuel nozzle on the pump, refastened the gas cap on the Impala and resumed his place in the front seat. Dean started the car and drove the rest of the way back to the bunker, again, in silence.

You woke up when the Impala rolled into its parking space in the bunker garage. Dean abruptly got out of the car and headed for the bunker door. He was halfway down the spiral staircase by the time you had gone through the door. You watched as he briskly walked through the War Room and to his bedroom. You jumped when you heard him slam his bedroom door.

As you slowly walked to your bedroom, you didn't notice that Dean was coming down the hallway at the same time on his way to the showers. Just before you ran into each other, you stopped and moved to the side. Only problem was, Dean moved to the same side, which left you still blocking each other's path. After a couple more attempts to dodge each other, Dean put his hands on your shoulders to keep you in place. He then walked around you and continued on his way to the shower without a word.

Once you got done with your shower, you wandered into the kitchen to fix dinner for the three of you. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes and baked beans were comfort foods for you, so you thought it might help bring Dean at least part of the way back. In your meat loaf mix, you added some onions and bacon bits along with all of the other usual ingredients.

While the meat loaf was baking, you got to work peeling some potatoes. Before you got started, you put your headphones in your ears and opened the music app on your phone. Music had always been a part of your life. When you were younger, your mother told you stories of how your grandpa used to play his guitar and sing for people. Singing had always been your escape. Didn't matter what kind of music, even if it was the jingle for a commercial, singing made you happy.

Dean walked into the kitchen to grab something to drink. When he got to the doorway, he saw you standing at the sink, peeling potatoes. You were singing "Walking After Midnight" by Patsy Cline, and were swaying your hips in time with the music.

For Dean, your voice seemed to bring the song to life, about a young woman searching for her lover under a starry night sky. And oh, what your swaying hips were doing to him. He thought about what it would be like to hold you in his arms and dance with you. He would gaze into your honey-and-green colored eyes and be mesmerized. Your sweet smile would lead him to capture your full pink lips with his own and melt into their softness.

You turned around to grab a pot to put the peeled potato chunks in and gasped in surprise at Dean standing in the doorway. You turned off the music and yanked the earbuds out of position. "Sorry, Dean, I didn't see you standing there. Is there something you need, something I can help with?" you asked.

He came in, yanked open the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. "No, thanks, I don't need anything," he answered gruffly. "How much longer before dinner anyway?" he snapped.

"I think about another 45 minutes, give or take," you answered. "I'm making mashed potatoes and baked beans to go with the meat loaf," you informed him.

"Fine, I'll be in my room," he grumbled as he walked back out of the kitchen. You finished peeling the potatoes and preparing the baked beans in silence. The music could no longer comfort you at the moment.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dean chose not to join you and Sam for dinner that night, but you fixed him a plate he could heat up later. Even after all that work, though, you found that you really didn't have much of an appetite. You were concerned about Dean, with how closed off he was emotionally and isolating himself in his room. You didn't feel much like eating with all that was on your mind.

The next morning, you took out the eggs and bacon to start making breakfast. You noticed the plate that held Dean's dinner from last night was in the sink. Good, you thought. At least he got something to eat last night.

You cracked eggs into a bowl, separating the whites for an omelet for Sam and put the extra yolks in a bowl for Dean's omelet. You added spinach, mushrooms and some onions to Sam's omelet, while you put onions, ham, and green peppers in the one for Dean. You had added cheese to both omelets and were just finishing plating them when the boys walked in. You added a few slices of bacon to each plate, then set them on the counter.

"Wow, this looks great, thank you for making breakfast," Sam smiled in appreciation.

"What's in this?" Dean asked.

"I added onions, green pepper, ham and chee--" you started.

"I never asked for green pepper, when have I ever asked for that in my omelet?" Dean snapped.

"I'm sorry, I've made other things for you with green pepper before, and you never said anything," you replied.

He shoved the plate away from himself and grabbed some bread for toast. "Well, that doesn't mean I want it mucking up my eggs, now does it?" he sneered.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I'll remember that for next time. Excuse me," you said as you left the kitchen.

"Dean! That was uncalled for! She made you a nice breakfast and all you can do is find fault. Now, I know you're probably still stinging from what happened on the last hunt--" Sam started.

"Sam, don't even THINK about going there! It was MY responsibility to get that girl out alive after those vamps got to her. I should've driven faster, left sooner, SOMETHING. She shouldn't have died, Sam!" Dean thundered.

"I know, Dean, she shouldn't have. I know you blame yourself, which you shouldn't. But you're also taking it out on your brother and your best friend. We're the people that love you and care about you the most," Sam froze as he realized at that moment that he may have accidentally let your secret slip out about your feelings for Dean. Fortunately, Dean didn't seem to notice because he stormed off to his room, but not before taking his breakfast with him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After you finished the breakfast dishes, you called out for laundry to be done. Sam took his to the laundry room, but Dean had yet to do so. You knocked on Dean's door and asked him for any clothes that needed to be washed. He told you he would take care of it and to leave him alone. You told him you would give him 10 minutes to gather his dirty clothes or you would come in and do it for him. A few minutes later, he opened the door, shoved a basket full of dirty clothes out, then slammed the door. Sighing, you picked up the basket and headed for the laundry room.

As you stood up, you felt a little lightheaded. You nearly dropped the basket of Dean's clothes, but you closed your eyes and leaned up against the wall until the dizziness subsided. Once you had regained control, you took Dean's clothes to the laundry room to start them in the washer. You put the washing machine on a heavy-duty cycle, because you were certain there were shirts with blood stains on them from some time ago.

You went to your room to get your book, then you changed your mind. You were going to try and talk to Dean and see if he would open up to you about how he was feeling. Sam seemed to have confidence in you, so you decided to give it a try. You walked over to Dean's door and gently knocked. At first he didn't answer the door, so you tried knocking again. As your knuckles were about to connect with the door, Dean yanked it open, glaring at you.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"I'd like to talk to you about something that's been bothering me, if that's all right," you started.

"Why don't you go and talk to Sam about it, I'm kind of in the middle of something," he answered.

"Please? Dean, you're my best friend and I'd really like to talk to you about this," you tried again.

He rolled his eyes, but stood back to let you in the door. You waited for him to find a seat on the bed, then you sat next to him. "So, what is this all-important thing you had to talk to me about and not Sam?" Dean retorted.

"I've already talked with Sam about it. I told him how worried I am about you," you explained.

"Oh, come on! Not you too," Dean grumbled. "I'm fine, I just want to be by myself right now, okay?" he growled.

"No, Dean, it's not 'okay'. You sit in your room all day, you come out for meals maybe, and I'll bet you haven't showered yet today," you huffed.

"So, we're not going anywhere, are we?" he snapped.

"No, but that's not the point!" you exclaimed.

"Then what is the point? Please make it so that you can feel like you've accomplished something and I can get back to communing with myself," he ranted.

"That's it. I've tried to be nice, Winchester, but I'm tired of you pushing me and Sam away. We're the ones who care about you and love you, and we can forgive, but even we have our limits," you retorted. Taking a deep breath and trying again, you said, "Dean, it hurts my heart to see you do this to yourself. You know we can't save everyone, because you've told me this on so many occasions. You also can't blame yourself for everything that went wrong."

On a softer note, you continued, "I wish you would let me in to try and help you, Dean. You don't have to be the strong one all the time. What I told Sam when we were outside of the convenience store is this: All we can do is make the best effort to save as many as we can. The people we save? Their lives go on to touch other people, who in turn affect others and so on down the line. I think that's our legacy," you finished.

Dean sat quietly for a moment before responding. "Look, I appreciate you coming in here and trying to fix whatever you think is wrong with me, but it's not your place. I've got to work through this in my own way. Now, if you'll excuse me," he gestured towards the door.

You got up from the bed and stomped out of Dean's room. As you walked down the hall, you felt a searing pain in your head, but you kept walking. You were passing through the library when you spotted Sam on his laptop. "You were wrong, Sam. I tried, but I couldn't get through to your brother," you said as you winced at the pain in your head.

"Hey, are you okay? You look a little pale," Sam asked.

"I'm fine, Sam," you said as you got that lightheaded feeling back again. You were having trouble keeping your balance so you leaned against the table for support. You took two, maybe three steps towards Sam then you saw the floor rushing up to meet you and your world went black.

Sam raced over to your side, trying to get you to wake up. "Dean!" he called out. "I need your help!"

Dean rounded the corner to see you passed out on the floor and Sam kneeling beside you. "What the hell happened?" he demanded. 

"We were talking, then all of a sudden she passed out. Just before she did, I told her she looked a little pale," Sam explained. "Do you know when the last time was that she ate anything?"

"I didn't see her fix herself an omelet this morning, but didn't she have dinner with you?" Dean asked.

"No, she put stuff on her plate, but just kind of picked at it. She didn't really eat much, if anything last night. I know she didn't have any breakfast either, come to think of it. At least not what we had," Sam mentioned.

Your eyelids fluttered and opened to see a worried Sam and Dean hovering over you. "What happened?" you mumbled.

"You were talking to me, then you passed out. When's the last time you ate much of anything?" Sam asked.

"I had some beef jerky when we stopped for gas, but other than that...." you trailed off, looking around.

Dean took both of your hands in his and looked into your eyes. "Honey, come on. You know you have to take care of yourself, which means eating something on a regular basis," he started.

"Really, Dean?" you retorted as you pulled your hands away. "You? Going to advise me about taking care of myself? You've been holed up in your room since we got back from that hunt. You snap at anyone trying to reach out to you or give you a chance to open up. I care so much about you, and I love you so much that it hurts me to see you do this to yourself. So, do me a favor, Dean. The next time you want to lecture me about taking care of myself? Don't," you snapped. You hastily scrambled to your feet and stumbled towards your room.

Dean stared after you for a few minutes, not knowing quite what to say, but knowing you were right. "Well, that was both barrels. You might as well let me have it too, Sam," he stated.

"I don't think I can improve on that. She summed it all up quite nicely. Although, I think you missed an important part of what she said, though," Sam smirked.

Dean ran back through your speech in his mind. When he got to that one particular part, he jumped to his feet, his eyes landing on Sam's face. "Wait. She loves me?" he asked incredulously.

"It would appear so, Dean. The question is, how do you feel about her, and what are you going to do about it?" Sam posed to Dean.

Dean took a moment to consider his feelings about you. The two of you were best friends, had been for years now. You have always been there to support him and frequently give him a shoulder to lean on. You could almost always make him laugh with your silly voices and lame jokes. You were patient with him and he knew you never have given up on him, and never would. Everything you did was done with your whole heart, there usually was no halfway with you.

Then....seeing you in the kitchen the other day when you were making dinner, he thought a little deeper. When you were listening to your music, you were so into what you were doing, you seemed to forget about the world around you. The way you were swaying your hips to the music made him want to take you in his arms and be your dance partner. Your voice was like an angel, bringing the lyrics to life for him. And those lips....he knew that once he touched his lips to yours that he would be ruined forever for all other women.

Dean got a huge grin on his face. "I know what to do now. Thanks, Sam," he said as he bolted from the room to put his plan into action.

You were sitting on your bed, feeling really stupid and scared, considering what happened earlier in the library. You thought that you probably pushed Dean completely away, driving him further into isolation. Also, any shot you might have had with him was likely gone now, especially after everything you said to him. All of a sudden, you could swear you heard a guitar and singing. You opened your door to find Dean standing there with his guitar, serenading you.

Angel Eyes by The Jeff Healey Band

Girl, you're lookin' fine tonight And every guy has got you in his sights What you're doin' with a clown like me? It's got to be one of life's little mysteries

So tonight I'll ask the stars above How did I ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say To turn your angel eyes my way?

Now I'm the guy who never learned to dance Never even got one second glance Across a crowded room was close enough I could look but I could never touch

So tonight I'll ask the stars above How did I ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say To turn your angel eyes my way?

Don't anyone wake me, if it's just a dream 'Cause she's the best thing ever happened to me All you fellows, you can look all you like But this girl you see, she's leavin' here with me tonight

There's just one more thing that I need to know If this is love, why does it scare me so? Must be somethin' only you can see 'Cause girl, I feel it when you look at me

So tonight I'll ask the stars above How did I ever win your love? What did I do, what did I say To turn your angel eyes my way?

"Hey," Dean said softly with that heart-stopping smile of his.

"Hey, Dean," you returned. "Your guitar playing and singing were beautiful," you remarked shyly.

"May I come in?" he asked. You nodded and after he entered your room, you closed the door behind you, leaning against it.

"Dean, I---" you started.

"Wait, I have something to tell you first. You were right. I wasn't being fair, and you were only trying to help. I just get so focused on what went wrong and blaming myself, that I forget about the huge amount of good that we do. Promise me that you won't ever give up on me? That you'll keep trying to get through to me no matter how much I might push you away?" he implored.

You looked at him with unshed tears shimmering in your eyes. "Never, Dean. I'll never give up on you, as long as you don't give up on yourself," you replied.

Dean gently set his guitar down on the bed and crossed over to where you were still standing by the door. His rough, calloused hands cupped your face as he swiftly and tenderly captured your lips with his. As your mouths moved together, your lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip in to tango with yours. You started to get that lightheaded feeling again, but this time it was from Dean's amazing kisses, not from lack of food.

When the kiss was broken so that you could both catch your breath, Dean looked at you and smiled. "I was right," he said.

Puzzled, you asked, "About what?"

He caressed your face as he explained. "I knew that the moment I kissed you that I would be ruined forever for other women," he said softly.

"Good thing, because I believe you've ruined me forever for other men," you replied huskily.

"Here's to our mutual ruination, then," Dean grinned as he dove back in to claim your mouth as his. "I love you so much," he said between kisses.

"And I love you, Dean," you returned.