#Azazel Colt

[1000deaddraculas]

Wayward Sons

[dreameramimir]

ᕙ⁠(⁠＠⁠°⁠▽⁠°⁠＠⁠)⁠ᕗ i wish i could hug my perfect babies

[19catsncounting]

Made myself cry while writing a Supernatural/Dungeon Meshi crossover.

I just think Lucifer would uh really fucking love all the Special Children if they loved him a little first. Imagine if Sam springs the cage open on purpose and then Ava, Jake, Andy, and Lily (Nick from Nightmare? Ansem?) are there they’re just like “Yeah, we’re all outcasts and cursed and we’re together now, alright? So as long as you keep us safe you can be in the clubhouse” and Lucifer would really wanna be in that clubhouse.

[shanastoryteller]

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[italwayshadtobeyou]

Is Sam really "breaking a cycle," though? Maybe he would think so, given the information he's working with, but it doesn't fit with the audience's knowledge on rewatch. In the very next episode, John sells his soul and the Colt-- the only effective weapon that they have against Azazel-- for Dean's life. While this might be the worst possible way to demonstrate his priorities, it isn't the choice of a man who "prioritizes revenge above all else."

Sam choosing not to sacrifice John to kill the demon in S01 E22 is so fucking important to me. This poor boy has been primed by a lifetime of neglect and the machinations of Azazel to become the next John Winchester, fuelled by rage and violence, prioritising revenge above all else. It would be so easy for him.  Jessica’s death clearly devastated Sam and there is so, so little tying him to a life not consumed by hunting above all. He has no friends he can be honest with and his father seems almost desperate for Sam to join him in his lonely, bloodthirsty world. It’s only really Dean that tries to convince him that preserving the family is more important than pursuing revenge. 

Despite all of this, Sam in this moment resists the temptation to become his father, choosing life and family over revenge and its wonderful. I think a lot of people with less than perfect parents worry about becoming them and continuing the cycle, so to have a character who clearly struggles but ultimately breaks a cycle of revenge seeking to the point of self-destruction is just <3. And don’t get me started on how much I adore that rather than choosing the right thing being an easy thing for him, it’s clearly difficult and he fucking does it anyway. 

[deadwerewolfgirlfriend]

Supernatural season 1 + the first half of the major arcana (explanations below the cut)

0. The Fool: Sam

Kind of self-explanatory. Sam is the Hero at the start of his journey, knowing nothing yet. The Fool upright represents innocence, youth, and new beginnings. This is him at the end of 1.01 Pilot where he lays down in bed to see Jess burning on the ceiling.

1. The Magician: Dean

The Magician upright means that you have all the skills necessary to be successful. It's a time in your life when you have power. About other people, it can mean someone who impresses you or someone you can learn from. It also means someone crafty and intelligent, who's creative and able to utilize the resources at hand to accomplish their goals. For the Sam-centric storyline of season 1, Dean is that someone. He's a major part of pulling Sam back into hunting. I chose this scene from 1.02 for him just because I watched the episode recently and I think he's adorable here -- and in stark contrast to how he appears in later seasons.

2. The High Priestess: Jess

Upright, the High Priestess represents personal clarity and wisdom. Reversed, she represents ambiguity, a disconnect with the inner self, and secrets not yet uncovered. Jess's relationship with Sam in 1.01 Pilot is one based on only partial understanding; she doesn't know about hunting or monsters or who he is (and at this point neither does he). Her death only complicates things. Sam doesn't know why, and his journey is driven by the need to avenge her and Mary's death and to find answers.

3. The Empress: Mary

Opinions are divided on whether The Empress symbolizes femininity and sensuality or femininity and maternal energy. In some interpretations The Empress can represent the mother and The Emperor the father. The Empress upright represents fertility, in this case motherhood, and also beauty and nurturing. Upright the card encourages the querent to trust themselves and to listen to their intuition. This scene is from 1.09 Home when Mary's spirit appears to save Sam from another ghost and to apologize to him, though he doesn't yet know why.

4.

The Emperor represents authority, foundation, law and order. All things associated with the father. Reversed, he represents someone who is too controlling and inflexible, unable to see another point of view. He is purely logical and devoid of human instinct. In John's case, the boys see their father as a rigid, austere authority figure who seems to always have the answers, but at the same time is leading them on a wild goose chase, sending them on case after case as they try to find him. He's obsessed with avenging Mary's death, but he has moments where he breaks the mold, surprising the boys when he's able to be tolerant of Sam's powers, when he admits that they're right, when he "wastes" a bullet from the Colt to kill a vampire that's about to kill Sam in this scene in 1.20 Dead Man's Blood. And yet he remains predictable: Dean knows that Azazel is possessing his father in 1.22 because John wouldn't be proud of him.

5. The Heirophant: Missouri

The Heirophant upright represents spiritual wisdom in the self, and a mentor or guide in others to focus the Hero on their journey. Missouri is a tangible example to the boys that Sam's power doesn't necessarily make him evil, an idea that the Winchesters are all concerned about for more than just the first season. In 1.09 Home, she's hiding John from them at his request, surprised that even with Sam's powers as strong as they are, he couldn't sense his father there. I chose this specific scene because of the visual of the Heirophant fading from John to Missouri: John is their teacher, but Missouri has just as valuable a lesson for them to learn.

6. The Lovers: Sam and Dean

Not Wincest. If you feel strongly that it is about Wincest to you and want to engage with this edit as such, do ya thang, but it's not my intention as the creator. Rather than necessarily romantic or sexual relationships, the Lovers are about harmony, choice, and accountability. The Hero, halfway through his journey, is no longer innocent, and the consequences of his choices are his own. Reversed, the Lovers represent disharmony, dishonesty, unhealthy relationships, and an inability to find balance. In 1.16 Shadow the boys have finally found their father, but just as they escape from Meg and the Daevas, Dean realizes that John needs to stay away from them for their own safety, while Sam, even despite his issues with John, objects. The brothers are on different wavelengths here, and the camerawork in this specific scene reflects how they're experiencing the story on totally different planes.

7. The Chariot: Baby

This one is also self-explanatory. The Chariot represents forward movement, and carries the Hero on his journey. The car being a character unto itself is not only a slice of Americana but a manifestation of the unspoken main character of the show, which is the relationship between the brothers. This scene from 1.01 Pilot literally represents the start of the journey.

8. Strength: Sam

The Strength card is what it says on the label, both physical and emotional strength, and all the traits that go hand in hand: bravery, courage, facing fear of the unknown and being gentle with the self.

However, Strength has an interesting history. In old versions of the deck, Strength is represented by Heracles beating two lions into submission, from the Greek stories of his Twelve Labors. When tarot became a thing more close to what we know now in 14th century Italy, the animal and the beast were symbols of the Devil (put a pin in this part of the journey until season 4). In that time the thing to do was to beat the devil (put a pin in that until season 13), a violent display of man triumphing over nature. Later, Heracles became an unnamed female figure, and the two lions became one. Instead of man vs. nature, the card became taming the lion, acceptance of the beast and acceptance of parts of the self which are unpleasant or horrifying.

In 1.05 Bloody Mary, Sam has been keeping a secret from Dean that he saw visions of Jess's death before it happened. He uses that secret to lure out the titular monster so that she can be defeated. Though he wars with his own nature, he comes to accept it as something he can use to achieve his goals.

9. The Hermit: Azazel in the nursery

Well, he's literally hiding from them. But the Hermit also represents the Hero succumbing to parts of their life yet unconfronted along their journey. Reversed, he represents an individual isolated from the outside world, a recluse. He can also represent that the Hero isn't taking the time to self-reflect, constantly pushing but not considering the self. The Hermit can be a person but also the issue of the Hero hitting a wall and realizing their journey is far from over. Azazel is a force to be reckoned with for the first two seasons and the Winchesters all experience tunnel vision when it comes to hunting him down. In this scene in 1.21 Salvation he disappears from the nursery before Sam can shoot him, then reappears in the flames in the window seemingly to taunt them. For as much as the brothers have learned and done, there's still more left to the story.

10. Wheel of Fortune: Azazel as John

The Wheel is the perpetual motion of life. It has no agenda or intent, it just is, and while it does not literally represent death, it does represent the death of the life previously lived and the constant metamorphosis of the Hero. While it is often taken to mean a good future when upright and bad luck when reversed, the Wheel is not that simple. It forces the Hero to make choices, good or bad, and reap the consequences, much like Azazel in 1.22 Devil's Trap forces the brothers each to choose between letting him go to save their father, or killing him while he's possessing John. It's a central feature of Supernatural that when the heroes finally confront the villains, they and the audience realize that they were always going to end up here. For that reason I chose to display it as a card that exists both upright and reversed. The Wheel of Fortune, simply, is.

[pollsnatural]

*to bring the Colt to her.

**I was thinking that she would actually shoot that other demon, was pleasantly surprised to be wrong. She was so upset about this <3

[violetpurpleviolet]

Supernatural , Season 12 , Episode 12

Stuck in the middle (With You)

“Urination , I understand” - Castiel the Angel

Mary would work with the men of letters but not Sam and Dean?

Crowley!

Princes of hell.

Like Azazel. They even have his eyes. Woah Crowley initially didn’t want to be King? He wanted Ramiel to be the king?

“Three humans with one good liver between them” ToT I knew Dean’a liver was long gone. But Sam’s too?

“You’re my family , I love you , I love all of you” Aaah

Mary could have just given whatever she took????

Woah Crowley just saved Cas without any deals.

THE COLT?

He kept Lucifers in a kennel. He shouldn’t have kept him near enough to get in his head.

[jennysamslady]

༉‧₊˚. "Echoes of the past"

Chapter 1

Pairings: Sam Winchester x OC Female! Reader x Dean Winchester (Not Poly)

Word count: 9k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, Reader is a baddie

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3 and this is my first time writing a series !! send some love. thanks so much for reading through my yap sesh. ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱

Summary:A seasoned hunter with a past tied to the Winchesters, Jennifer is drawn to a chilling case in Sandpoint, Idaho—two men, two murders, and a mysterious woman at the center of it all. But just as she pieces together the puzzle, an unexpected call from John Winchester changes everything. He’s in hiding, demons are closing in, and he needs her to watch over Sam and Dean.

Tracking the brothers to Jericho, California, Jennifer is forced to confront old ghosts—both literal and personal. A sinister Woman in White lurks in the shadows, but something darker looms beneath the surface. As tensions rise and past wounds reopen, Jennifer’s nightmares whisper of a fate she refuses to name.

She’s keeping secrets. The kind that can save lives—or end them.

Sandpoint, Idaho – September 13, 2005

The sun was setting, its golden light slipping through the thin gap in the motel curtains, casting long shadows across the room. You sat on the bed, dismantling and reassembling your gun with practiced speed, your hands moving on instinct. It wasn’t just a habit—it was a competition, a silent race against yourself.

Your laptop screen flickered with grainy CCTV footage from a local bar, the common link between two recent murders. Two men, on separate nights, had killed their closest loved ones. Both claimed they did it for the love of their life—a woman they had met at that very bar. Their words had been eerily identical. That was no coincidence.

Then, you saw it. Two women in the footage, their eyes flashing unnaturally—a telltale sign of sirens. That was unusual. Sirens typically worked alone. But for a hunter at your level? It wouldn’t be a problem.

Your phone buzzed. Unknown Number. You ignored it.

It rang again. Persistent.

With a sigh, you picked up.

"Jennifer, I need you to do me a favor."

Your eyes narrowed slightly at the familiar voice. John Winchester. Not surprising, but unexpected. It had been almost more than 5 years since John called you that too for a favor. You had a million questions in your mind not for him but for yourself. You expected him to call like this much later not right after it had barely been a year since sam left for college. 

"Depends on what you're asking for, John," you replied, smirking.

You had always supported Sam’s decision to leave for college—hell, you had managed to squeeze in your own degrees in anthropology and mythology while still hunting every few weeks. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t last. You had seen this moment before.

John’s voice was lower than usual, tinged with something rare—concern. "I need you to watch over Sam and Dean… I’m in hiding. I’ve got leads on the yellow-eyed demon."

You scoffed. "You mean Azazel, the said Prince of Hell? You do know he’s not the 1st prince?” Your voice carried a slight tease, but the name itself left a bitter taste in your mouth.

John hesitated. "How did y—never mind. I didn’t know any of this for a matter of fact…but… Yeah, him. Every demon’s after me, and sooner or later, Sam and Dean are gonna get caught in the crossfire. I have a feeling. Better to prepare them now."

"I know, and welcome for the free info" you said simply.

“yeah…Figured,” he muttered.

You leaned back against the headboard, watching the footage out of the corner of your eye. "So, you’re after the Colt?” Smirking since you had the lead on it more than him. Your nightmares were a much of help as much as pain. They showed you the truth…always. Of how people died what the future holds for them and to some of your close one aswell. Also leaving you with the burden of protecting them without actually telling them how it happens because you know that wont change a thing expect only you could. 

Silence. Then, finally, "…Yes."

You let out a dry chuckle. "And you’re sure this isn’t just some elaborate plan to push Dean and Sam back together?"

More silence. That told you everything.

"Yeah, figured. Sentiment’s not really your thing, huh?"

John exhaled. "You taking the job or not, kid?"

You rolled your eyes. "I’m down for it."

The call ended abruptly. A moment later, a message flashed on your screen.

" Jericho, California "

You exhaled through your nose, pushing some buttons on your phone. A trusted hunter—one of the few you called a friend—picked up. "I’m sending you my motel info. Got a siren case that needs closing."

After a brief exchange, you hung up, shoved your gear into your duffel, and grabbed your leather jacket off the bed. On your way out, you snagged a couple of Monster energy drinks and some beers for the four-hour drive.

As you took a quick break to eat, you pulled up articles on Jericho. Multiple mysterious deaths—all victims had driven their cars off an unfinished bridge. That screamed supernatural. And it meant Dean and Sam would be there.The thought of them brought back memories, ones you’d tried to keep locked away.

You remembered the first time you met Dean. You were three. And he was younger just 2 months, but it didn’t matter. You’d been inseparable. The best of friends. You two had spent hours playing, laughing, getting into trouble together. Back then, there wasn’t a day you didn’t see him by your side.

But that was a lifetime ago. None of that felt real anymore. You couldn't remember your parents—not their faces, not their voices. Just a strange blankness where they should’ve been. Your house, the one you’d lived in with them, had burned down, just a week after Mary Winchester’s house caught fire. That night, that fire—everything had changed. You hadn’t known it at the time, but in the blink of an eye, your life had been turned upside down.

Bobby had taken you in when you were just eight. You traveled with the Winchesters for three years before that, travelling with them and taking care of sam as he was awfully young at the time. You learnt the ropes, became a part of the supernatural world. A world that was far different from the one you’d known before the fire.

But when you turned sixteen, things changed again. Dean became more distant than before, pulling away from you in ways you didn’t understand. You had a stupid girl crush on him back then—thought maybe he’d notice you the way he noticed everyone else. But he didn’t. And slowly, that crushed part of you had turned into something colder. Something more guarded. Dean’s absence didn’t hurt as much anymore, but it still stung.

Shaking the thoughts away, you focused back on the road. There was no time to dwell on the past—not when there were monsters to hunt and a world that needed saving. But as much as you tried to push it down, that ache never really went away. And you knew that the moment you saw Dean again, all of those old feelings would come rushing back. But you wouldn’t let them show. Not this time. Not anymore.

~

The night air was crisp, carrying the distant hum of insects and the whisper of rustling trees. You pulled up near the construction site just past eleven, where the latest victim had met their end.

Then, headlights cut through the darkness.

A sleek, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala rumbled onto the scene, its low growl breaking the silence. You recognized it instantly.

Dean’s car.

Two tall figures emerged, both clad in leather. Even without seeing their faces, you knew exactly who they were.

Dean and Sam Winchester.

And they were heading straight for you.

“Hey, lady! You shouldn’t be out here so late,” the shorter one called out.

Dean.

He approached, stopping just a few feet away. As you turned to face them, recognition flickered across their faces.

“Hello, boys,” you greeted, your tone laced with sass.

Dean muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Sam to hear, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sam shot him a questioning glance before stepping forward, a grin spreading across his face. “Jenny? Man, last place I thought I’d see you,” he said, wrapping you in a warm hug.

You chuckled. “Well, death follows me, so I follow death. What can I say?”

Pulling back, you glanced at Dean, who had yet to say a word. You smirked. “Hi back to you too, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped in and hugged him anyway. He stiffened for a second before sighing and melting into it, his arms wrapping around you.

“Hi, Jen,” he murmured against your ear, his voice softer than expected.

Your heart did a little flip, but you played it off with a smirk as you pulled away.

“So, I’m guessing the case brought you here?” Dean asked, slipping back into business mode.

"Not exactly," you admitted, a playful grin tugging at your lips. "Spirits are a little below my pay grade love"

Dean's brow twitched, and you couldn’t help but smirk. Sam amused. 

"Actually, I got a message that led me here. Figured it was worth checking out. And now, here I am—stuck with you two." You let out an exaggerated sigh, as if the thought of their company was pure torture.

Sam's face twisted in confusion. "You say that like it's such a bad thing to be around us."

You laughed, nudging his arm. "Relax, Sammy. I'm messing with you.”

Dean froze mid-step, snapping his gaze toward Sam, then you, then back again. Wait.

Sam didn’t even blink at the nickname. Instead, he just nodded. 

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Hold up—what?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

Dean gestured vaguely between you and Sam. “You just called him Sammy.”

You shrugged. “Yeah. And?”

Dean pointed at his brother. “And he let you.”

You smirked, tilting your head toward Sam. “He doesn’t let you?”

Dean scowled. “No, he doesn’t.”

Sam just shrugged. “I don’t mind when she says it.”

Dean’s expression was priceless. Like someone just told him the sky wasn’t blue. “You—you don’t mind?”

You shot Dean a smug look. “Jealous?”

Dean scoffed, crossing his arms. “No.” Then, after a beat, “Okay, maybe a little.”

You patted his shoulder as you passed him. “You’ll get over it, love”

Dean blinked after you, then turned to Sam. “Dude, seriously?”

Sam just gave a knowing smirk and followed after you.

Dean groaned. “This is bull—”

Dean huffed, amused. Changing the topic “Well Funny, ‘cause our dad’s last known stop was here, too. Can I check the number you got that message from?” He asked extending his hand in front of you as you gave it to him already deleted your recent call interaction with the same number. 

“Thats dads number….”

That got Sam’s attention. His expression sharpened, scanning you like he was trying to piece something together. "You got any leads? Besides this bridge?"

You shrugged. "Not really. I’ll let you boys take the lead. I’ll just make sure you don’t get yourselves killed. Sound good?"

Sam raised a brow, clearly debating whether to be grateful or suspicious. "Alright then."

Dean just shook his head, smirking. "This should be interesting."

~

The night hung heavy, the distant croak of frogs and hum of insects weaving into the eerie silence near the abandoned house. The place loomed just beyond the bridge, its rotting frame barely standing against the wind. The sagging porch looked one strong gust away from collapse, and the shattered windows yawned like hollow eyes in the dark.

Dean pulled the Impala up beside your Mustang, killing the engine with a low grumble. Sam, ever the researcher, was already flipping through a worn leather notebook filled with scribbled notes and local lore. You watched as his brow furrowed in concentration, lips moving slightly as he tried to piece things together.

Dean, meanwhile, leaned against the hood of the Impala, arms crossed. He let out a deep sigh, glancing toward the house with mild irritation. “Alright, let’s go over this one more time. We got the classic Woman in White—vengeful spirit, offing unfaithful guys. Did I miss anything?”

Sam skimmed his notes again. “Yeah get this her name was Constance Welch. Lived here with her husband and kids. Supposedly went mad, drowned her children in the river, and then killed herself. Standard tragic ghost origin story.”

You tilted your head, already unimpressed. “Uh-huh. And you got all that from, what? A quick Google search?”

Dean shot you a look. “We did actual research.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, I’m sure.”

Sam ignored you, flipping a page in his notebook. “We’ve got five victims so far, all guys. No sign of physical struggle, just—poof. Gone. And then their bodies show up days later, looking like they died of fright.”

Dean nodded. “Alright, so she’s luring them to their deaths. But why the bridge?”

Sam frowned, glancing toward the old structure looming in the distance. “Well, she was last seen here before she died. Maybe it’s her anchor?”

Dean let out a sharp exhale, rubbing a hand over his face. “Great. So, we torch the bridge, problem solved.”

Sam gave him a flat look. “That’s not how this works.”

Dean groaned. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Then what are we missing?”

You watched, highly amused, as they visibly struggled to put the pieces together. Sam kept flipping pages, scanning old reports and crime scene photos, while Dean tapped his fingers against the Impala impatiently.

Finally, you couldn’t help yourself. You let out an exaggerated yawn, stretching against the side of your car. “Wow. You guys are so good at this. Truly impressive.”

Dean turned to glare at you. “Alright, what’s with the smirk?”

“Oh, nothing,” you drawled, twirling your thick iron bar in your hands. “It’s just really cute watching you two work through something I figured out hours ago.”

Sam looked up, brows knitting together. “Wait, what?”

“I already solved the case.” You inspected your nails, feigning boredom. “Like, before you even got here.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah? Then why the hell are you still here?”

You smirked. “Because watching you two stumble through the mystery is way more entertaining love. ”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh, muttering something under his breath before turning back to the house. “Whatever. Just stay here and don’t get yourself killed.”

You lifted your iron bar. “Please. This isn’t my first rodeo.”

Sam gave you a long, knowing glance but didn’t argue as he followed Dean toward the house.

You leaned back against your Mustang, shaking your head. This was going to be fun.

From your spot by the cars, you listened as the boys moved through the crumbling house, the floorboards groaning under their boots. Muffled voices carried through the night, their conversation breaking the eerie silence.

“This place is falling apart,” Sam muttered.

Dean snorted. “Yeah, well, it’s not like she needed a home makeover.”

You smirked, shaking your head. Same old Dean.

You shifted your grip on the thick iron bar, fingers tightening around the cool metal. Not because you were worried—you weren’t. Ghosts didn’t faze you. They were predictable, tied to their deaths and reliving their tragedies like broken records.

And Constance Welch? She was no different.

Then, right on cue, a sharp, bone-chilling scream sliced through the air.

You straightened, eyes snapping toward the house just as a blur of white darted past the shattered windows. A second later, Sam and Dean came crashing through the front door, stumbling onto the porch like a pair of rookies.

“Oh, come on,” you muttered.

Dean wiped at a fresh scratch on his face, glaring toward the house. “She’s pissed.”

“You think?” Sam huffed, brushing dust off his jacket. “We found some old newspaper clippings inside. Turns out she didn’t drown herself—her husband buried her in the basement.”

You arched a brow. “And you didn’t lead with that?”

Dean scowled. “We were getting to it.”

But you weren’t paying attention anymore.

The air shifted, dropping to an unnatural chill. Your breath curled in front of you.

“She’s coming back,” you said smoothly.

Sam stiffened. “How do you—”

Before he could finish, you moved—spinning on your heel just as Constance materialized behind them, her hollow eyes locked onto Dean.

Without hesitation, you swung the iron bar like a home run hitter, striking her mid-lunge. The impact sent her flickering like a bad signal before she was flung backward, vanishing into mist.

Dean let out a low whistle. “Well, damn.”

Sam blinked at you, still trying to process what just happened. “You barely even looked phased.”

You twirled the iron bar with ease, smirking. “It’s almost like I know what I’m doing.”

Dean ignored that, glancing back at the house. “Alright, we need to burn her bones. Basement. Now.”

But you weren’t done yet.

“Not yet,” you muttered.

Dean gave you a look. “The hell do you mean, ‘not yet’?”

You took a step forward, eyes scanning the darkness. The temperature hadn’t risen yet. Which meant—

There.

You caught the flicker of movement before it happened—saw the way the shadows shifted unnaturally.

“Duck,” you ordered.

Neither of them hesitated—they dropped to the ground just as Constance lunged again, aiming straight for Dean.

This time, you didn’t even bother using the bar. Instead, you sidestepped smoothly, yanking a handful of salt from your pocket and tossing it directly at her.

She shrieked, the sound grating against your skull as she dispersed into thin air.

Sam exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I—I didn’t even see her that time.”

Dean shot you a wary glance. “Alright, seriously. How the hell did you know?”

You just smiled. They didn’t need to know everything.

“Lucky guess.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, unconvinced. Sam just sighed.

Dean shook his head. “Whatever. Let’s burn the damn bones before she decides to play round three.”

You twirled your iron bar again, gesturing toward the house. “Lead the way, boys.”

The next ten minutes were a flurry of movement—Dean and Sam dug through the rotting basement floor, finally unearthing Constance’s remains. You stood watch at the top of the stairs, iron bar at the ready in case she decided to show up for one last hurrah.

She did.

Constance lashed out one last time, her wailing form barreling straight toward Dean.

“Oh, hell no,” you muttered, stepping forward.

You grabbed the salt from your pocket and flung a handful at her. She shrieked, flickering violently before disappearing.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” you said smugly.

Dean coughed, wiping dirt from his hands. “You could’ve done that earlier.”

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have learned anything.”

Sam snorted, tossing the last bit of gasoline onto the bones. “Let’s just finish this.”

A single match later, flames erupted, the fire crackling as the spirit let out one final wail before vanishing completely.

Silence followed.

Dean dusted himself off. “Well, that was fun.”

Sam sighed. “Define fun.”

You grinned. “Watching you two struggle for the past hour? Very fun.”

Dean huffed. “You’re lucky we like you.”

“Oh, I know.”

With the case finally closed, the three of you made your way back to the cars, the night air no longer carrying that same eerie chill. You leaned against your Mustang, arms crossed.

Dean eyed you suspiciously. “Alright, seriously. How’d you figure it out so fast?”

You shrugged. “I pay attention.”

Sam shook his head, smiling. “Remind me never to bet against you.”

Dean groaned. “Great. She’s got a bigger head now.”

You smirked. “Oh, don’t worry, Dean. My head was already plenty big before this.”

Dean just shook his head, climbing into the Impala. “This is gonna be a long night.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah. But at least it won’t be boring.”

The three of you walked back toward the cars, the night air thick with lingering tension. The fire crackled in the distance, the scent of burning wood and decay still heavy in the air. The case was over. But the conversation? Not even close.

You could feel their eyes on you—both of them trying to piece you together.

Dean was the first to speak, his voice edged with suspicion. “Alright, I’ll bite. What the hell are you really doing here?”

You exhaled slowly, brushing dust off your jacket. “I told you. Working a case.”

Sam, ever the more patient one, tilted his head. “Yeah, but why this case? Why this town? I mean, you don’t just randomly show up in the same place as us. That’s not a coincidence.”

You turned toward Sam, giving him a small, almost fond smile. “Would you believe me if I said I just had a feeling?”

His brow furrowed slightly, but there was no hostility in his expression—just curiosity. “A feeling?”

You nodded. “Call it instinct.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, sure. That’s not suspicious at all.”

Your expression hardened as you turned to face him, all traces of warmth gone. “I don’t owe you an explanation, Dean.”

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the sudden chill in your tone. “Okay, damn. No need to get all—”

“You’re the one demanding answers,” you cut in sharply. “I don’t see you handing any out.”

Sam sighed, already sensing the brewing tension. “Alright, alright. Let’s just—take a second, yeah?” He glanced between the two of you before settling on you. “But you’re really sticking with us? Just like that?”

Your gaze softened when you looked at him. “I want to find your dad too.”

Sam’s expression shifted—a mix of surprise and something else. Maybe gratitude. Maybe curiosity. Maybe both. “Why?”

You hesitated for a second, just enough to make it look like there was more to it than you were letting on. Then, you shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Dean let out a dry laugh. “Oh, great. Another damn mystery.”

You ignored him completely, turning back to your '69 Mustang. It was sleek, **matte black, with a low, aggressive stance—**a car that didn’t just exist on the road; it owned it. You pulled out your phone, dialling a number.

“Hey, it’s me,” you said casually when the call connected. “Yeah, I need my car picked up. No, nothing’s wrong—I just need it taken back to my place. Yeah. Thanks.”

Hanging up, you turned back to Sam, offering him a small smile. “Looks like I’m riding with you boys for a while.”

Sam chuckled softly. “Well, I guess it’ll be good to have another person around.”

Dean leaned against the Impala, watching you with narrowed eyes. “And what? You’re just inviting yourself along?”

You met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “Looks like it.”

He scoffed. “Not even gonna ask?”

You smirked. “Would you have said no?”

Dean opened his mouth, then shut it, exhaling through his nose. “You’re annoying.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” you deadpanned before looking back at Sam. “Hope you don’t mind me tagging along.”

Sam smiled. “Nah, I think it’ll be nice.”

Dean threw his hands up. “Oh, so when she pulls this, it’s fine, but when I do—”

Sam shot him a look. “Dean.”

Dean sighed, muttering something under his breath. You just smirked.

As you leaned against your Mustang, arms crossed, you could already see Dean eyeing you, that signature smirk creeping onto his face.

“So, Jen,” he started smoothly, stepping closer, “since you’re riding with us, I gotta ask—are you gonna be able to handle being stuck in close quarters with me?”

You didn’t even look up. “I’ll survive.”

Dean chuckled, unfazed. “You sure? ‘Cause, y’know, some people find me irresistible after a while.”

You glanced at him, deadpan. “Lucky for me, I’m not ‘some people.’”

Sam snorted, clearly enjoying the show.

Dean put a hand over his chest, feigning deep offence. “Ouch. That one actually hurt a little.”

You smirked. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Dean perked up. “I mean—”

“No love” You turned away before he could finish, fighting the grin threatening to break through.

Dean exhaled, muttering, “You’re gonna be a real pain in my ass, aren’t you?”

“Yep.”

Sam shook his head, amused, and you turned to him with a smile. “You good, Sammy?”

he just nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

You were talking to the guy here for your car talking to him in a distance. “Well then I guess there is no reason for me to be with you now dean you got her you both can probably find dad without me…” sam spoke after a long silence

“Yeah but its dad sam….ill drop you off to say bye to your girl whoever she is…”dean says. Sam nodded.

You drove for another 14 hours back to Stanford fighting for which music to be played.

~

Sam stepped into his apartment after a long day of hunting with Dean, his thoughts weighed down by the decision he had just made. He’d agreed to join his brother on the road, leaving behind the life he had carefully started to build. The door clicked shut behind him, and the familiar scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, blending with the soft hum of Jessica moving around the kitchen.

"Hey, you're home early," she greeted, her voice warm as she smiled and walked toward him.

Sam managed a small smile in return, but the heaviness in his chest made it feel forced. "Yeah, just wanted to check in before—"

His words were cut off as she leaned in and kissed him, the warmth of her touch grounding him. He didn’t want to pull away, but reality loomed.

“I’m sorry, Jess,” he murmured, gently breaking the kiss. “But I’ve got to go.”

Her smile faltered, her brows furrowing slightly. “I know. I don’t get it, Sam. You’re leaving... and I don’t understand why.”

He rubbed his hand over his face, the tiredness in his eyes matching the sadness in his heart. "I don’t understand it either, but I have to go. I’ve got to help Dean."

Her expression softened, her hands finding his, holding on tightly as if trying to keep him there, keep him safe. "I’ll be here when you get back. Just… don’t keep running forever, Sam. You’ve got a life here."

Before Sam could respond, his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Dean—another reminder that the family business always called him back.

“I’ll be back soon,” Sam said, his voice firm but lacking conviction. "We’ll figure this out."

Jessica watched him, her eyes filled with a mixture of concern and something else—fear—but Sam, lost in his own turmoil, didn’t notice. He gave her one last fleeting look before heading out the door, his mind already a thousand miles away.

~

Outside, you stood by the Impala, your arms crossed, arguing with Dean about the case.

“I’m telling you, Dean, we’re missing something,” you insisted, frustration seeping into your voice as you tapped your foot. "We’re not looking in the right places."

Dean, his patience wearing thin, crossed his arms and leaned against the car. “You don’t think I know that? We’ve been chasing our tails all day. If you’ve got a better idea, let’s hear it.”

You shot him an exasperated look. "We need to think bigger. Your theory is too small."

Dean rolled his eyes, clearly done with the conversation. "Great. Now we’re getting all philosophical. What next, a séance?"

You were about to snap back at him when suddenly, everything shifted. The air, heavy and charged, felt wrong—suffocating even. You stopped mid-sentence, your senses on high alert.

“Dean… do you smell that?”

Dean frowned, looking around. “Smell what? The way you’re turning this into some drama?”

“No, seriously. I smell fire.”

Dean snorted, dismissing it. “Fire? Nah. There’s no fire—”

But as soon as he said it, both of you froze. The scent of burning—smoke, scorched wood—hit your noses, unmistakable and sharp.

You and Dean exchanged a quick glance.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath.

Without wasting a second, you both sprinted toward the Impala, adrenaline kicking in. Dean’s foot slammed on the gas, the car roaring to life as you tore through the streets, your mind racing. You didn’t need to say it aloud; you both knew exactly what had happened.

When you arrived, the building was already engulfed in flames. Sam’s apartment—the one where he had been building a life with Jessica—was being consumed by the fire. Without hesitation, you threw open the car door and bolted toward the building, the heat from the blaze already intense against your skin.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos as he ran ahead.

You followed, your heart pounding as smoke billowed from the windows. Through the thick haze, you could see the shape of someone moving inside.

"Sam!" you shouted again, louder this time, your voice cracking.

Dean didn’t waste a second. He slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking it down with ease, and the two of you rushed in.

The smoke inside was thick, almost impenetrable. You could barely see through the haze. But then you saw him—Sam’s unconscious form, slumped against the door, barely breathing.

“Grab him!” Dean yelled at you.

You didn’t hesitate. You reached for Sam, pulling him from the flames with Dean’s help, the heat and smoke almost unbearable. But adrenaline surged through you, fuelling your every move. Sam’s body felt limp in your arms, but his pulse was there, faint and erratic.

“Jess... where’s Jess?” Sam mumbled, his voice barely audible, his confusion cutting into you like a knife.

You froze. The question hung in the air—where was Jessica? The fire had been set with her still inside. You didn’t need confirmation to know it was true. Sam’s face was pale, his eyes clouded with disbelief. But you knew, deep down, that she was gone.

Dean didn’t answer, his face hard as he threw Sam’s arm over his shoulder, helping him toward the door. You followed, your mind racing with the implications. You couldn’t ignore it anymore. The events, the fire, Jessica’s death—it all pointed back to something far more sinister. Azazel. The demon who had been manipulating events from the shadows.

But you didn’t voice it. Not yet. You kept your face blank, hiding the depth of your thoughts. This wasn’t the time to confront Sam. Not when he was in this state.

The three of you got into the Impala. The ride was dead silent except for the occasional hitching breath from Sam, still in shock. Dean had his jaw clenched tight, and you couldn’t help but feel the same wave of grief and helplessness but it didn’t affect you much after what you’ve been through. It was merely a drop in water in a ocean full of it. 

The road stretched ahead of you, but it felt like the world was closing in. You’d seen a lot in your life and this wasn’t any different from the time Mary Winchester died…..After hours of driving, you pulled into a motel, the lights flickering in the distance.

Dean was the first to break the silence. “I’ll take the first watch,” he muttered. “You need anything, Sam?”

Sam didn’t respond. His eyes were vacant, as if he hadn’t even heard Dean.

You looked at Sam and then back at Dean, offering a quiet, reassuring smile. “Let me take him. Get some rest.”

Dean nodded, though his eyes were filled with concern for his brother. “Alright. Just don’t let him wander off, okay?”

You didn’t answer at first. Instead, you gently helped Sam out of the car, guiding him toward the motel room.

~

It was 3 a.m. You couldn’t sleep. It was one of those nights where the nightmares came, sharp and relentless, and you didn’t want to drag anyone else into that darkness. The Winchesters were both asleep in their respective rooms, peaceful in the kind of sleep you hadn’t had in years.

You didn’t want to wake them, but you couldn’t sit still either. So, you buried yourself in work, flipping through cases, searching for something to focus on. You were handling cases across the U.S., the ones others couldn’t, but you had your reasons for staying out of the limelight. You weren’t known by your real name; to most, you were just "The Night Fang" or "The Reaper of Hell" You’d killed nearly a hundred Hellhounds, and you were damn good at it. You kept it a secret from everyone, except for Bobby Singer, the closest thing you had to a father, and Jake Wyler, your Bestfriend who had become more like family.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, interrupting your thoughts. You glanced at the screen—it was Bobby.

You picked up immediately, trying to mask the surprise in your voice. “Hey, Dad… what’s up? Are you alright? How’d you call so late?”

Bobby’s deep voice rumbled through the receiver. “No, just wanted to check in… figured you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. Made me uneasy, so I called.”

You sat up straighter, concern creeping in. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks for checking in, though.” You hesitated for a moment before flipping through your journal, skimming past old cases. “Give me a second, Bobby.”

“Sure thing,” he replied calmly.

You quickly found the name you were looking for—Red Springs. A case that had slipped under the radar, but something about it felt off. You reached for your contacts, dialing the number for Jacob Wayne, an old hunter who could help.

As you spoke, you heard the faint sound of movement behind you. You glanced over your shoulder, spotting Sam, now sitting up in bed, staring at you. You finished the call with Bobby, your tone rushed as you closed it out. “Yeah, I’ll call you later. Take care, bye.”

You set the phone down and looked at Sam. “When did you wake up?”

“A few minutes ago…” he answered, his voice hoarse from sleep.

“Couldn’t sleep, I’m guessing?” you asked, the statement more than a question.

He nodded, his gaze lingering on you with a mix of curiosity and concern. “So… this is what you do? Give anonymous leads to other hunters? Or what?” He was sitting up now, the sheets tangled around his legs as he watched you.

“Yeah, I guess,” you said, turning your focus back to the case in front of you. “Less collateral damage this way, actually…”

Sam tilted his head, clearly not understanding. “You never told me about any of this…”

You sighed, leaning back slightly, feeling the weight of years of silence. “Well, talking about family business wasn’t exactly the best topic with you, Sam. Not when I could see your face fall every time it came up.”

He winced, but nodded. “Yeah, I guess. But now it’s not just family business, right? It’s your life. I’m not stopping you.” His expression was guarded but searching, as if trying to find the words he hadn’t spoken in years.

You paused, feeling the sudden shift in the air between you. “Yeah, I can tell you. I’d love to actually.” A bright, teasing smile tugged at your lips, and for a moment, you could see the surprise in Sam’s eyes. It had been a long time since he’d seen you smile like that—genuinely, without the weight of the world behind it.

Sam’s heart skipped. He hadn’t expected the smile, but it hit him in a way he wasn’t ready for. The feelings he had pushed down for years flooded back, memories of you from before Jessica, from when he was a kid, when he thought it was just a crush. But no, it had always been more than that. Even after everything, he couldn’t seem to shake it. He had always believed that you saw him as nothing more than a younger brother, but now... it felt like that was changing.

Before Sam could think too much about it, you broke the silence, standing up from the bed. “Well, come for a walk with me then. I’ll be waiting outside.”

Sam snapped out of his trance, his eyes still lingering on you. “Uh, yeah, sure…”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a playful glint in your eye. “Hurry up, Sammy.”

Sam blinked at the nickname, but it sent a jolt through him. You had been calling him that for years, and despite everything, he had always found comfort in it. No one else called him that—not even Dean. It felt familiar, and for the first time in a long while, it made him feel like he wasn’t alone in the world.

~

You stepped outside, the cool night air hitting your skin as you waited for Sam. The moment he joined you, you started walking in silence, the moonlight casting long shadows across the path.

Finally, Sam spoke, his voice softer than usual. “You never told me much… about what you were doing all these years… After high school… You kept me in the dark… Never let the topic linger around you, but always interested in mine though… why?”

You paused, your steps slowing just slightly. The question hit deeper than you expected, but you shrugged it off, brushing it aside with practiced ease. “I don’t know… It wasn’t as easy then. But I guess I’ve grown accustomed to it now… I could now, you know,” you said, raising an eyebrow and smirking, the look you gave him one that only you could pull off. It was a smile that seemed to play with the edges of his thoughts, the kind that made his chest tighten, like butterflies trying to take flight.

Sensing the shift, Sam’s curiosity piqued. “Sooo… tell me. I’m all ears.” His voice was light, but there was a hint of something deeper—something vulnerable—as he glanced back at you, waiting for whatever came next.

You let out a soft chuckle, your smirk not fading as you looked over at him. “Well, after high school… I might’ve gotten a scholarship to Princeton… And I might’ve squeezed my way into degrees in anthropology and mythology—both bachelors and masters.”

You waited for his reaction, not sure what he’d think of the admission. Sam blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, you—what? You did all that?”

“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug, your voice casual but there was pride hidden behind it. “And before you ask, yes, I did it in five years. It wasn’t easy, but I made it work… while hunting. You know how it goes.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Wait, you’re telling me you were studying those degrees and hunting every month?”

“Mmhm,” you nodded, keeping your gaze ahead as you walked, the rhythm of your steps matching the weight of your words. “Some months, it was more hunting than studying, but yeah… a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of road trips between classes, and a lot of pretending to be a normal college student.”

You shot him a playful smirk, your eyes narrowing slightly. “Even pulled a boy, not so proud of it.”

Sam blinked, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “What was that about?”

“Well, you’ll know when you meet him,” you said with a shrug, though there was an edge to your voice that made it clear you weren’t quite over the whole thing. “Apparently, our paths collide inevitably.”

The conversation shifted as you recalled the first hunt with Bobby, the first time you stepped into the world of monsters, a world that was nothing like the books you’d read.

“The first hunt…” you paused, a quiet smile tugging at your lips as memories flooded back. “That was with Bobby. It was a vampire nest—your classic case. But I was 16. The real deal. Bobby took me to a warehouse, and we ended up fighting off a group of vamps. They didn’t know what hit ‘em. And I… well, I took them out. Alone.”

Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief, and his mouth dropped open slightly. “You were 16, and Bobby took you on a hunt? No wonder you turned out so…” He trailed off, clearly searching for the right word.

“Dangerous?” you offered with a knowing smile, half teasing, half serious.

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled softly, shaking his head as if trying to wrap his mind around the fact. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Well, unlike you,” you said with a slight smirk, “I remember I trained every day since I was 13. Don’t know what got into me, but I pushed myself for everything—anything that could help me fight the monsters I studied with Bobby during late nights. And I remember feeling so damn proud after my first real hunt, after three years of intense training. Dad—he was so proud of me… It’s one of those memories that stuck with me.”

Sam’s heart tightened as he listened, an overwhelming sense of admiration creeping in. There was something about the way you spoke, so passionate and proud of everything you had accomplished, that made his chest flutter. He didn’t know why, but it was like hearing a side of you he had never truly understood before, and it stirred something deep inside him.

A brief silence passed between you two, the ease of your earlier banter fading into something heavier, more intimate. Sam studied you, the weight of your words sinking in. He could tell there was more you weren’t sharing, something unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.

Finally, Sam’s voice broke the quiet, softer than before. “What about your nightmares?” His words hung in the air, fragile and almost hesitant, as if testing the waters of a topic neither of you had really touched on before.

You felt the shift. You had been expecting the question—your thoughts had already been circling it. But that didn’t make it any easier to answer. You sighed, briefly looking away as the tension in your chest returned. You could feel the darkness of those memories creeping in, but you forced yourself to push through.

You felt the shift. The lightness of the conversation suddenly took a turn, and a weight settled in your chest. You had avoided this topic for so long, but Sam had asked, and for whatever reason, you felt compelled to answer him honestly.

“They’ve been with me for years, Sam. Since I was a kid.” You kept your voice steady, but it didn’t quite mask the underlying darkness. “I didn’t always understand them, but now… they’re just part of the deal. Nightmares of things I’ve done, things I’ve seen, things I’ve killed.” You gave him a glance, but didn’t let him see too much. “The ones that don’t ever let you sleep. They wake me up, and I end up going right back out there. No breaks. No time to process it all. You just keep going.”

Sam’s expression softened, and he didn’t ask for more. It was clear you weren’t ready to tell him the full depth of it, but he respected the silence. Still, you could see the way his gaze lingered on you, the weight of his emotions creeping through. His feelings for you—feelings that had been buried for years—were bubbling to the surface. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, not when you were standing there, revealing parts of yourself he had never expected.

You glanced at him, catching the look on his face, and it made you uncomfortable, though you wouldn’t admit it. You had always kept your distance, always shut down any emotion that might pull you in, but now, standing side by side with him, you couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect you.

“So,” you said, trying to shift the topic away from the dark cloud you had just shared. “What about you, Sammy? Got any more secrets I don’t know about?” You nudged his arm with your elbow, trying to break the tension that had settled between you.

Sam didn’t answer right away, his mind clearly still processing everything you’d just shared. After a few moments, he looked over at you, his expression uncertain but his voice steady as he spoke. “I don’t know. I thought I had everything figured out, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to make sense of it all. “I guess sometimes, you never really know, do you?”

You met his gaze, offering a soft, reassuring smile. Your tone was gentle, but there was a weight to your words, something unspoken but understood between the two of you. “No, Sammy. You don’t. But I know you, inside and out. You’ll figure it out. You always do. And I’m always here for you. You know that, right?”

You let the question linger in the air, your eyes searching his for any sign of doubt, but his answer came easily, without hesitation.

“Yeah… yeah, I know,” Sam replied, his voice steady, though there was something more in his eyes now—something deeper. It was an unspoken promise, a quiet understanding that no matter where the road led, you’d be there for each other, even when the world seemed uncertain.

“Yeah… yeah, I know,” Sam replied, his voice steady, though there was something deeper in his eyes now—something unspoken. It was a quiet promise, a silent understanding that no matter where the road ahead led, you’d be there for each other, even when everything else felt uncertain.

The air between you two grew heavy with the weight of unsaid things, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a silence that felt like it was meant to be, like the stillness allowed you both to process, to share a moment without words. You walked side by side, the distance between you shrinking in ways that words could never accomplish.

In the quiet, your minds seemed to speak to each other in ways the outside world couldn’t hear. You didn’t need to fill the space with chatter. The understanding was enough. It was as though, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t alone with your thoughts—and neither was Sam.

The silence stretched on, and for a moment, it seemed like the world around you had paused, just for the two of you. The night air was cool, the distant hum of crickets a soft soundtrack to the stillness. But then, you broke the silence, your voice cutting through the calm.

“Let’s head back to the motel,” you said, your tone quiet but firm.

Sam gave a slight nod, not pushing you to say more, but clearly still processing everything you’d shared. You both walked in step for a while, the rhythm of your footsteps matching the weight of the conversation you had just left behind. But there was still more you needed to say, more pieces of yourself you weren’t sure you could leave unsaid.

“Sam…” you started again, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “The things I can do, the things I know, they aren’t… human. Not anymore, anyway.”

Sam glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he said nothing, just listened. You continued, each word leaving your lips like it was a confession you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“I’ve built walls, Sam. Walls around my heart, around my mind, around everything. I can take almost any physical pain and it barely phases me. It’s like… nothing really hurts anymore, you know? Not since the nightmares started. The stinging still lingers, but it doesn’t cut deep. It never really breaks through.”

You paused, feeling the weight of your own words. You tried to brush it off, but Sam could see the underlying sadness there, the pieces you hadn’t yet let go of.

“Some things still keep me sane though,” you continued, your voice growing quieter, more reflective. “You, Dean, Bobby... my friends... they’re the things that remind me there’s still something worth fighting for. You guys keep me tethered to something that feels real.”

Sam looked at you, his expression softening as he watched you, but you could see the concern in his eyes.

“The pain I feel isn’t like it used to be,” you continued, almost to yourself. “I can’t really feel anything the way I used to. Like a wall went up, you know? Physical and emotional pain? It just bounces off now. The nightmares, what they did to me, it changed everything. Made me… resistant.”

The words felt heavy as they settled between you, but you weren’t sure why you were even saying them. Maybe you needed to hear them out loud, to acknowledge it, to finally let someone else in.

“But there’s one thing I can’t take, Sam,” you said, your voice almost breaking. “If any of you—if any of you die, that’s the only thing I can’t stand. The only thing that would break me. And I won’t let it happen. I’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

You stopped walking for a moment, turning to look at him with a gravity in your eyes that you knew he’d understand.

“I’ve killed over a hundred Hellhounds, Sam. Nothing’s going to stop me from protecting you, from protecting Dean, from protecting anyone I care about. I’m not human anymore. I’m something else. Something that can’t be stopped. Something that has to protect. But there’s a price to it.”

Sam’s expression shifted, concern deepening as he processed your words. But you weren’t finished yet, and you needed him to understand.

“You don’t know what it’s like, to feel this power coursing through you and knowing that if your leash ever breaks—if anyone you love dies—that you won’t be the same anymore. You won’t be able to stop the monster inside.”

The words were out before you could stop them, and the weight of them hit you harder than you expected. You could feel your breath catch in your throat, and before you knew it, the first tear slipped down your cheek.

You quickly wiped it away, but Sam saw it. He saw the crack in your armor, the vulnerability you couldn’t hide anymore. He stopped walking, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin as if grounding you back to him.

“Hey…” Sam’s voice was soft, more comforting than anything else. “It’s okay. You’re not alone, Jen.”

You shook your head, trying to hold yourself together. “But I am, Sam. I’m alone with this. And if I ever lose control—if I become that monster—it’ll be the end of everything. I don’t know what will happen then. I’m scared of who I might turn into.”

Sam’s heart ached as he watched you, his hand finding its way to your cheek, gently cupping it as his thumb wiped away another tear.

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice thick with regret. “I didn’t know... I didn’t realize how much this was eating at you. But I promise, you’re not alone in this, Jen. You’re not a monster. And you won’t have to face it by yourself.”

You closed your eyes, taking a slow breath, trying to push the emotions back down. “I don’t know if that’s true. I don’t know if I can trust that anymore.”

“Then trust me,” Sam said, his voice steady, but there was a rawness to it now. “I won’t let you face this alone. We’ll fight this together.”

You looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, you felt something shift inside. Maybe it wasn’t enough to heal you completely, but it was something—something that made the weight a little easier to carry. You nodded, taking a deep breath. And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

“I know, Sammy,” you said softly. “You’re not exactly a fan of hunting. You never were. You wanted something different—normal. Safe. And I get it. I do. But once you’re in this life, there’s barely a way out. Not really. Even if you try to run, it finds you again.” You paused, your voice steady but filled with something deeper. “I was given a choice once—leave it all behind or stay. And I stayed. Not because it was a family business, not because I had nowhere else to go, but because I knew the world needed us.”

You could see the conflict in his eyes, the part of him that still longed for something different, something better.

“The loss of one hunter doesn’t just affect our lives, Sam. It costs innocent people theirs. If we turn away, if people like us refuse to fight, then there won’t be anyone left to save. And I can’t live with that. I won’t.” You took a breath, steadying yourself before continuing. “This isn’t just something I do—it’s who I am. Even if destiny had never called me to it, even if I had another path, I wouldn’t wish for a different life. Because this is the only way I know for sure that I can protect the people I love. That I can protect you.”

The words hung between you, heavy yet unshakable. Sam swallowed, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. Understanding. Guilt. Maybe even relief.

After a long moment, he nodded, his voice quieter now. “I think… I needed to hear that.”

You offered a small, knowing smile. “Yeah, I think you did too.”

The weight of the conversation settled between you both, not in a suffocating way, but in a way that felt grounding, real.

"Come on," you said, exhaling as you turned toward the road. "Let’s head back to the motel. The sun's rising. We’ll figure this out. Together."

For the first time in a long time, Sam didn’t feel so alone. Then again, with you, he never really did.

You made him feel safe. Like he belonged. Like someone truly saw him—not just as a hunter, not just as John Winchester’s son, but as Sam. And as he watched you, standing under the dim glow of the streetlight, he found himself taking in every detail. The way the light cast soft shadows across your face, highlighting the sharp edge of your jaw and the warmth in your eyes. The way your hair caught the breeze, strands dancing around your face before you tucked them behind your ear.

Sometimes, you were just like Dean—unyielding, with an unshakable confidence that you’d make it through anything, even if the entire universe stood against you. But at the same time, there were things that set you apart. Dean was all sharp edges, reckless and loud, hiding his pain behind sarcasm and bravado. You, on the other hand, were quiet in your strength. Steady. Unstoppable. You didn’t just survive—you endured.

And yet, there was something else about you, something softer. Something bitter and sweet all at once. A part of you that carried the weight of the world but never let it show unless you wanted to. A part of you that made Sam feel like you were something otherworldly—something perfect.

An angel in human skin.

And God help him, because he was starting to see you in a way that scared him. A way that made him wonder if maybe, just maybe, the life he thought he wanted—the normal, apple-pie life—wasn’t what he needed after all.

[keen-eye]

dean using the colt to kill azazel and sam using his powers to kill alastair

[lenoue]

saw @holyfreaks 's beautiful wincest wednesday prompt on a thursday because the universe hates me

It's so very interesting and i keep turning it over in my head and

let's say sam kills azazel in john's body when he's hurting dean and its dean and sam's firing the colt before he knows what he's doing and dad- no not da- azazel-but also dad. azazel's going down and he's taking dad with him and i let him take my dad with him oh god

and dean's standing up now. he's looking at his father, on the floor, eyes glassy, blood pooling out of the hole in his head and he has the vague sense that he's trapped in a nightmare. he can see the smoke billowing from the colt's mouth and the trigger of the colt was on sam's finger just a minute ago. he doesn't want to think. he wants to sleep and never wake up.

but sam can think. his head has never been clearer he's thinking and he can see that dean is barely holding himself up and we need to leave right now we need to get you help dean

dean doesn't remember what happened but one second he's looking at his father's hand starting to stiffen like all corpses do and the next he's in the car. he looks to his left and sam's hands are on the steering. sam's hand on the colt. sam's hand on the steering. he can't stop staring at them

sam feels his stare burn hot and dean hears him say "dean hey hey just hold on okay we're only a few minutes out we'll get you help just hold on"

dean doesn't care about any of that. he just wants to know why, why "sam why'd you do it? "

"what?"

"why'd you- why'd you shoot?"

and sam's turning to look at him now, he doesn't know what dean wants to hear but he knows that "he was hurting you dean. he was going to kill you."

"you shot him sam" and sam feels like someone clawed at his insides "you shot dad. what am i supposed to do now?" dean's voice breaks at that and sam is a gaping, open wound.

"dad wouldn't want you to die by his hands dean. you have to know that" he can't look at dean now. he needs to look at the road. it's not busy but he has to be careful with dean in the car.

and dean, dean feels the fire and oh how afraid he was that it got snuffed out in that room over his dead father and he's whirling to sam, litany of curses at his tongue and-

he's waking up at the hospital.

pt.2

[emo-markie]

Was watching a historian answer questions about the American Wild West (link here) and he mentioned that the Colt (Single Action Army Revolver) was very popular and was referred as the peacemaker because it ended any kind of arguments.

I SEE WHAT YOU DID SUPERNATURAL OF COURSE AZAZEL NEEDED TO BE KILLED BY THE COLT

Another popular gun was the Winchester Repeater.

Dean Winchester I hope that you somehow knew this information and it made you happy you cowboy freak

[soft-pine]

spn20rewatch 1.22 devil's trap

okay i have to admit i'm feeling a little self-conscious about all the john analysis. cause like there is so much going on in season 1, so many things to learn, so many dynamics to unpack! but to be honest dean studies and piecing together pre-series dean and dean & john's relationship takes up so much of my headspace. but i guess if you're still hanging around here you must know that....

so let's dive in! first off, BOBBY! hello! i love his introduction here as the place dean runs to when he's out of all other options and i love that theme will carry us through so many future seasons!

given the context we gain from 7.10, there is something so layered about bobby having had to shoot his own dad, having babysat sam and dean as kids and fought with john about their treatment, and having threatened to shoot john. paired with dean aiming the colt at john at the end of the ep - but not because his dad is being too cruel but too kind.

anyway, I was really struck this go-round by how much dean is not motivated by revenge. like we saw that in the contrast in 1.21 when sam wanted to run back into the house to kill azazel even if would kill him and dean stopped him. dean later says, "if hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing." in 1.22, that's repeated with added layers:

Dean: Well, you and Dad are a lot more alike than I thought, you know that? You both can’t wait to sacrifice yourself for this thing. But you know what? I’m gonna be the one to bury you. You’re selfish, you know that? You don’t care about anything but revenge.

of course this all sets up sam's choice at the end of the episode - kill john and azazel together or let azazel escape.

but like... did you know... dean does everything for love?

he helps exorcise meg, he unties her and gently lays her on the floor, he tries to find out where john is, he shoots the demon attacking sam, he helps support his injured father's weight, and it's all for love.

"I swear to God, I will march into hell myself and I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches" (oh god girl don't say that.) and it's for love

"I always wanted to be a fireman when I grew up" and it was for love. (sam says "you never told me that"... hon, he doesn't tell you all that much)

"Everything stops until we get him back, you understand me? Everything." and it's for love.

it's interesting that sam (and john) is put in a scenario which puts his desire for revenge to the test against his desire for his family to be safe and it's a question.

but there's no scenario dean can be put in where it would even be a choice. even though he knows john will be pissed at him for bringing the colt and using a bullet, he just can't watch sam die. even though he knows down to his bones that john's possessed, he just can't shoot him. and it's for love!

of course this is what azazel plays on in his creepily-close (we'll see that again in 4.03) speech to dean.

You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them. Sam – he’s clearly John’s favorite. Even when they fight, it’s more concern than he’s ever shown you.

honestly there's not much i could say about that scene that hasn't been said - and better. like i'm constantly thinking about that post that's like, they should have had dean start to get pushed up the wall to mirror mary (i've lost the link rn!!) but i mean he's already got the bloody torso...

it fits again within the pattern of dean trying to distract the villain from sam by mouthing off. "Listen, you mind just getting this over with, huh? Cause I really can’t stand the monologuing," he says as azazel fawns over sam. and it works. and he nearly kills dean.

there's something in the way dean is watching and articulating his worry about john and sam throwing their lives away for revenge and how he keeps trying to hold them back from that and yet he loves them so much he's the one who ends up almost dying. the ultimate "things [he's] willing to... kill" being himself.

i'm holding myself back from getting more into dean's anger with john until next time (2.01) but there is something so delicious to me about him both being ready to die for john and also yelling, "I don't care what Dad wants." as i've been saying, there have been cracks in the questionless loyalty all season. soon it will be irreparably damaged. but the love, oh, the love is still there.

but oh i cannot resist the little hint. dean, dying and bloody in the backseat listening to john yelling at sam that killing the demon comes first, "before everything."

oh look at those eyes....

speaking of, dean is so babygirl in this ep!

[scoobydoodean]

what really gets me about spn is how early the revisionism starts from characters within the show, like everyone (including themselves) spend the entirety of season 3 saying “sam and dean opened the gates of hell” (literally factually incorrect) - it’s kind of fascinating because sam wasn’t even azazel’s chosen one at that point, the gates weren’t opened by him and they certainly weren’t opened by dean but multiple hunters place the blame on them. when what really happened was that sam and dean (and bobby, ellen and john’s ghost) were the ones who closed the gates, dean was the one who killed azazel with the colt. idk there’s probably more to it but it’s a really fascinating example of how dean and sam (and the rest of the hunting world) don’t always represent things accurately, even reaching the point where they completely change history in order to place blame.

It's definitely a sort of recurring theme that we see blame for certain things get cast off on Dean/Sam/Cas/Bobby for things they simply didn't do. I discussed this most recently in 6.11 "Appointment in Samarra" which reads as a commentary on classism to me. Season 5 is also rife with the angels blaming Sam and Dean for the things the angels had the most culpability in. The apocalypse isn't Dean's fault at all as it happens.

Related tags: #spn revisionisms and #projecting displaced aggression and scapegoating in spn

[daddario]

Holy shit I forgot Dean unapologetically used a bullet from the Colt to kill a demon who was beating Sam during Devil's Trap even though he could've used the knife or just tackled the demon or whatever. He literally does not care about anything including having demon killing bullets to use on Azazel if Sam is not safe.

[sandgrassbagel]

going over my s1 dean analysis notes so I'm thinking about 1x22. what upsets me most about dean recognizing john is possessed is its not just that john is proud of him that clues him in. dean has been raised to prioritize sam above all else, but dean knows that john's desire for revenge and to kill azazel has a higher priority. so in using one of the colt's bullets to kill that demon, dean is by john's standards "wasting" the bullet that should've been saved for revenge. dean knows its not john because john wouldn't have been proud of him for prioritizing saving sam's life over killing azazel

but even if he hadnt used the colt, if sam would've died in that scene, john would've been livid at dean and likely never been able to look at him. and considering the gun was their only way to kill demons at that point, those are essentially deans only options. use a bullet to kill the demon and save sam, something he knows john would be pissed about. or don't use a bullet to kill the demon and let sam die, something he knows john would be pissed about. he was always gonna disappoint john in that scene

(but that doesnt even matter to dean in that scene cuz he's not thinking about john or his training or what john prioritizes. he's protecting his kid and doing whatever it takes to do that. sam is more important than revenge)