#Dean Winchester in the Bardo

[drsilverfish]

What’s with all the claws? The Winchesters

There are a lot of talons and claws and tentacles and spines in The Winchesters monster-parade so far (episodes 1-6)

Is that just because monsters are generally claws-and-teethy or is there a symbolic function to all these claws in the narrative?

In the pilot we see the long talons of what? An Akrida, the Akrida leader, a Wicked Witch of the West-esque entity?

In SPNWin 1x01 Pilot we meet a Loup-garou with its very long werewolfy talons:

Image credit: http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/Loup-Garou 

It was placed as a guard by the Men of Letters over the mysterious, trans-dimensional box which can entrap demons, and, apparently, the alien Akrida.

In SPNWin 1x02 Teach Your Children Well, La Tunda has tentacle-vine talons which seek to suck the life-force from her victims:

She is an abusive parent feeding on the life-force of rebellious children, and her lair is other-dimensional (like the Akrida’s, who come from another world).

Second image credit: http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/File:LaTundaVines.png 

In SPNWin 1x03 You’re Lost Little Girl, the Bori Baba emerges, talons first, from its portal-sack into a child’s bedroom:

It also seems to feed particularly on children and young people (judging from the number of stuffed toys in its lair) and its sack is a portal to another alternate realm/ dimension.

SPNWin 1x04 Masters of War has the God Mars-Neto as the monster, so no physically manifest talons there. But the theme of an alternate reality is present, as Mars Neto creates an illusionary return to Vietnam, within which he traps John and Carlos, forcing them to relive and re-experience the traumatic effects of the war.

In SPNWIn 1x05 Legend of a Mind we learn that the Akrida have stingers which they inject into some people’s brains in order to control them:

This appears symbolic of the hold childhood trauma has on the mind (a claw/ spine/ talon/ tentacle of poison, hooked into the self) given that we explore Mary’s childhood trauma at the hands of her hunter parents (with the help of Ada’s Djinn son as a healing mind-guide) after she is brain-injected with an Akrida stinger herself.

And in SPNWin 1x06 Art of Dying Darla is found dead in a barn, mutilated by claw marks, and Carlos finds a claw embedded in the ceiling. The team initially think a werewolf is responsible (this theme of misrecognition of monsters is a recurring one; Mary thought that the monster in 1x03 Teach the Children Well was a shapeshifter). Another taloned creature is responsible, a Soucouyant:

All of which makes me think of the expression, “to get your claws into someone”, meaning to gain a controlling hold over them.  

Psychologically speaking, The Winchesters is exploring the way trauma, in particular the trauma parents visit on their children, gets its claws into the psyche. The claws, talons and tentacles of the monsters symbolise the dark hold that such abuse has on the mind.  

In terms of the recurring themes of alternate dimensions and misrecognition, that may be symbolic of the larger frame of the narrative (which, as I’ve explored in earlier 1x06 meta) might suggest that the entirety of The Winchesters is actually taking place in Dean’s mind, in a liminal state between dying and rebirth, where he works through the main themes of his life; parent-imposed trauma being fundamental.   

[rocksaltandmountainash]

Waking up in Beacon Hills - pt. 28

Chapter summary: Kara gets back to work, but an interruption from Beacon Hills makes it tricky. Set in the gap between Teen Wolf season 3b and 4, and Supernatural season 7 and season 8.

Series masterlist: can be found here.

Word count: 5.9k

Warnings/notes: swearing, canon (TW and SPN) typical violence, gonna be honest - it's just pure smut, peter hale is on my brain, but! the sex is safe - that's something? Gif sources: Deaton | Peter 1 | Peter 2

“As in Bardo?” Deaton’s eyes belie his concern; “Why? Is Stiles okay?”

“No, no!” you cry, “It’s not him - he’s good.”

He relaxes and drags a stool over to the exam table for you. Dumping your bag on the ground, you sit across from him as he sips his coffee.

“I mean actual Purgatory. Bardo is, like, um, a state of being?”

He nods, holding the cup lightly in both hands, displaying all the patience and calm that makes him such a successful vet and mentor; “That’s right.”

“But I need the place.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s here, right?” you gesture around the room, “And Heaven and Hell. And Purgatory.”

“Okay,” he nods again, following your logic, but not sure where you’re headed with this hypothetical discussion.

“So…how do I get there?”

Deaton is stunned into silence, expecting you to laugh and admit this is a joke. It has to be a joke - the breezy way you’ve asked, like you’re requesting he direct you to the nearest gas station.

“Doc?” 

“I…I don’t know.” 

Although Deaton finds he’s surprisingly accepting of your rambling assertion that Heaven and Hell are real, he has no clue how it all works. 

“Why would you want to?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. He’s right, he doesn’t understand. 

You’re discovering that Bobby and the Winchesters have spoiled you, giving you insight into parts of the life that apparently even Deaton hasn’t seen. It would scare the shit out of you if you were still the same woman you were a year ago. 

Once you learned all this was real - monsters and magic and angels - it blurred together. Doesn’t help you’ve lost most of the people who could provide you some perspective. And you’re loyal to your core, possibly to your own detriment. So all you see in front of you is the puzzle of pieces to figure out. The how, the maybe this, the A that can lead you to B, which might unlock C. 

The work - research, fighting, hunting, helping - has given you so much. More than you’d hoped for when you packed up your flat and turned up on Bobby’s doorstep, telling yourself to keep your expectations low. You’d never been happier to be proved so wrong.

It’s granted you friends, a sense of family. Sam can’t see it, or doesn’t want it, you can’t blame him, and you’ll respect his choice. 

Dean - he’s gone. But after all the good the Winchesters have done, someone should get him back so he can make his own decisions about how his life will play out. Fuck knows how you’ve gotten here - where it appears you and Samandriel will be the ones to bust him out, but finding him has stopped feeling like a task to feeling like duty. Morphed from a want to a need.

Painting on a fake smile, you chat with Deaton a while longer as you finish your coffee. Eventually the bell chimes, signaling another patient for him.

“I better get going.”

“I don’t think you should do whatever you’re thinking, Kara…. It’s risky... and…” 

His voice trails off as he walks you out or you just don’t hear the rest because you’re mentally fixated on the next step. You thank him for the advice, grateful for the distraction an overexcited bichon puppy brings and ignoring his pointed looks as you exit the clinic. ****

Nevada:

There’s a loud knock that makes you jump, because Samandriel never knocks. He doesn’t even use doors, just pops up without warning, making your heart fall into your ass every time.  

Taking a peek out the window, you scold yourself for not checking the porch light was working - you can’t quite make out who’s standing there.

Opening the door a crack, you grip your gun tight behind your back. When you spot Peter, your nerves dissipate into confusion that tints your greeting.

“What…how…what are you doing here?” 

Pushing the door closed, you remove the chain before opening it to allow Peter to stroll in. He glances around the room and drops his keys, wallet, and phone on top of the TV.

“You told Stiles where you were.” 

“Yeah, I told Stiles,” you rake your eyes over him.

Judging by his disposition - confident, arrogant, acting like he owns the place - nothing is amiss. He’s not here to rush you back to Beacon Hills because something is horribly awry. So you ponder what he’s here for, why he’s shown up ten hours from his home. You think you may know. But it will be much more fun to hear him say it.

“Let me guess, you were eavesdropping around Derek’s like a stalker?”

He grins as he wanders over and lays his palms on your hips; “Maybe.”

You remove his hands, not forcefully, but enough to console yourself that you’re not this easy, that he might need to jump through a few hoops, do more than merely turn up. It’s dismal how happy you are to see him, and you do your best to not show it. 

“But I didn’t tell him where, just said I was in Lovelock.” 

Keeping your tone light, you search for something other than Peter’s body to occupy your hands, because he’s looking at you like he can feel the excitement that’s pinging its way through your body. You grab a beer from the fridge, throw the cap in the sink and take a long pull to calm yourself. 

Peter studies the subtle way you’re sucking down deep breaths and pretending you don’t want him as he gauges the most efficient way to get you naked. Like this wasn’t inevitable, as if he was going to let you leave town and never see you again.

You raise an eyebrow, waiting on him to answer your question.

“I just found the motel with the most bed bugs.” 

“Hey! Fuck you Hale.” you defend your choice of accommodation though you’re smiling as you tell him off.

Peter laughs, circling around the small table to pluck the bottle from your grasp and set it down. He slips his arms around your waist to hold you in place; “This town is small. There are only two motels.”

You try for a witty remark or sassy retort, but your defences are slowly being eroded by the warm cradle of his arms around you, the pressure of his palms resting on your ass. 

 A sly smile tugs at his lips while his eyes dart from yours down to your mouth and back. He holds in a sigh when your hands find their way to the front of his shirt.

“Okay.” is all you manage, because his eyes are twinkling and maybe you’re a bit lonely and maybe you’re a lot weak but he looks good and his chest is so firm that it seems like a pointless waste of time to act like you don’t want this.

Peter dips his head, “Okay. Happy? Can we fuck now?” 

The raspy way he asks sends electricity down your spine and you press yourself closer, feel him stiffen against your thigh, “Yes.. please.”

Not even embarrassed that you’re whining, and Peter forgets to feel smug that he’s won because as soon as the plea leaves your mouth, he kisses you. You let his tongue delve into your mouth and give tiny little whimpers that he swallows down.

This shouldn’t be turning him on this much - he’s a grown man who enjoys sex in its plentiful and varied forms, so why is the simple pleasure of your lips on his driving him crazy? Fully clothed, with your fingers threading into his hair, how do you make it so there’s no air in the room? Peter’s thoughts are halted when you moan, and it becomes a flurry of lips and tongues and you rubbing against his crotch as you fumble with the buttons of his shirt. 

Squeezing the back of your thighs, he urges you up, craving the crush of you on him. He can’t get close enough upright like this. Needs access, needs your scent filling his nose and your skin sliding along his.

“Wait…wait,” pulling away, you shake yourself free of the horny daze Peter put you in, “I don’t have a condom.”

“What?” 

The abrupt change of pace tilts Peter off balance, and his arms flex automatically, wanting your warmth back. Then it occurs to him you hadn’t insisted on protection the other times. That fact, combined with his recent discovery of Malia, has him suddenly worried, 

“I thought you were on the pill?”

“I am. But, you know,” god this is awkward, “That just covers pregnancy.”

Peter annoys himself by asking, “Are you seeing other people?” 

You shrug - you aren’t, but he’s missing the point, “None of your business. Besides, it takes two.”

“And you don’t know where I’ve been?” he chuckles, breaking the tension. 

You laugh too but are adamant, “If this is happening again - condom.” 

“Right,” Peter agrees with a quick nod before re-buttoning his shirt and smoothing it down, then focuses on dealing with his hard on. You grin at his desperate attempts to rearrange himself so it’s not so obvious and he grunts at you, “Your fault.” 

Throwing your hands up, you step back to give him some space, not wanting to make matters worse.  But Peter, this shook up, is too delicious, feels a bit like giving him a taste of his own medicine so you can’t resist -

“Bet this is the first time you wish you weren’t so big.”

He stills, closing his eyes as his hand fists around his cock and groans, “Not helping, Kara.”

“Sorry! I’ll just…” you make your way to the bed and find the remote, but hesitate before turning on the TV - should ask if he wants company, it’s your request that requires a run to the store, after all. 

It’s only polite.

“Peter? Do you want me to come?”

By the sour glare he throws over his shoulder, he’s not amused. 

“Just wait here,” he orders, shoving his wallet and keys into his pockets. He’s halfway to the door before he switches course and stalks over to you, leaning down to grab you by the chin and plant one more kiss on you, “You’re trouble.”

You beam up, basking in his discomfort.

“Don’t start without me, sweetheart.” with that, he slams the door behind him. ****

Peter always selects a high end rental when he travels, but he’s too preoccupied to enjoy the ride when stuck behind a line of trucks. Apparently he has hit the dinner traffic - every person in this ridiculous town is queuing at the intersection for Main Street - and the drugstore is at the other end. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he checks the clock - if they close early, he’s gonna have to hurt someone. 

He sighs, thinking he could have just told you the condoms are unnecessary. He’s clean, prides himself on it, in fact. If you didn’t have such a bug up your ass, he might have tried.  Maybe he should tell you he’s not fucking anyone else. He’s irked to learn he doesn’t like that you are. Didn’t think he had anyone - anything other than the shadow of Argent - to contend with. But you’re young, and sexy, and probably spend your nights in bars flirting and taking your pick, so now he feels foolish.

“Hurry the fuck up.” he mutters and gestures at what must be the oldest man alive, who is incapable of parking in one swift movement.

A perplexing flush spreads through his chest at the idea of you waiting for him, which he attributes to the heated seats, jabbing at the button to turn them off.

“Fucking finally.”

There’s just enough space for him to maneuver around yet another idiot who can’t drive and pull into the Walgreens parking lot, breaking into a hurried jog as another image of you pops into his mind. **** After taking a quick shower, you sit cross-legged on the bed, watching TV as you dry your hair. The tepid stream of water did nothing to quell the daydreams of what Peter had in store for you. You cannot hide your eagerness when you hear the ‘click’ of his car locking and him busting through the door.

He tosses a plastic bag to you then undresses at the foot of the bed.

“Why’d you get all this?” you ask, digging through the assortment he’s returned with - a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of body wash, candy, some beef jerky, aspirin, and stashed at the bottom - a large box of condoms.

You laugh, holding up the items, imagining him all flustered, ashamed of his intended purchase, like a teenager.

“Thought you’d like ‘em.” Peter shrugs, joining you on the bed, his hands going to your ankles and tugging to encourage you to uncross your legs.

“I do. Thanks,” you tell him, moving so he’s positioned between your knees, slowly running his palms over the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

Ripping open a bag of gummy worms, you twirl your tongue around one and suck it into your mouth, feeling his fingers squeeze into your flesh as he watches you. You dangle another in front of his mouth, “Want one?”

“I’m having something else.” With a wink he buries his head between your thighs and when he has you quaking, a few minutes later, you have the sticky sweet taste of fake raspberry on your tongue.

Peter stays, keeping you up till dawn. When he leaves later in the morning, he tells you to text when you have a night or two free.

Colorado:

“Any reason we’re not going in?” you ask quietly, blowing into your hands.

“There’s at least ten of them.”

“There’s four of us…” 

You’re working with a father - Darren, his son - DJ, and his nephew whose name you don’t remember, and hating every single minute of it. 

Despite the weak afternoon sun breaking through the trees overhead, it’s cold out, and if you have to stand idly by as they take turns with the binoculars for one second longer, you think you’ll scream.

“Too risky.”

You back down after one boy gives you a judgemental stare, “Your call I guess,” and stamp your feet to stay warm.

“We should wait for nightfall.”

“When they’re awake? Yeah, that makes sense,” you comment sarcastically.

“Hey, this is our job. You don’t like the way we run it - you can leave.”

“Okay.”

They nod, glad you know your place and unaware when you turn on your heel and head back toward the road. 

You’d taken an instant dislike to the men - not sure if it was sexism or because you just didn’t command attention like Sam or Dean, but you’ve had enough of them bossing you around. 

You type an angry text to Clyde, then delete it before coming up with kinder wording as you crank the heater on and wait for your windshield to clear. 

Eventually, you settle on telling him you’re working on your own thing and won’t be available to help anyone for a bit. Not his fault these fuckknuckles are complete amateurs.

The entire day has been a total shit show. For starters, Samandriel turned up in your passenger seat with no warning, causing you to drop the overpriced Starbucks you were holding. 

Already frustrated, cursing as the hot coffee dripped down your lap, Samandriel looked at you all prissy, which just set you more on edge.

Then you’d accidentally revealed you knew Sam wasn’t in Purgatory along with Cas and Dean, and Samandriel badgered you for close to forty minutes, implying you were being childish and acting stupid.

“But he could help us.”

“If he wanted to be here, he would be.”

“I can ask him - you wouldn’t even have to see him.”

“Fuck! Just drop it, okay?” you hit the steering wheel with your palm, sick of going round in circles. “I’m not dragging him into this.”

“I could make you tell me where he is.” Samandriels voice is icy, but you’re too pissed off to care.

“Fucking try then!”

You peel your eyes away from the road, but he’s gone, and you sigh miserably.

****

Replaying your argument as you drive only winds you up, and you can’t stop yourself from becoming more and more annoyed. You’d only agreed to help Clyde’s buddies ‘cos you were itching for a fight and you can’t understand the point of calling in reinforcements if they weren’t gonna use them. If they wanna hang around the woods and watch a farmhouse all night, well, they can fuck right off and do it without you.

So you’re agitated, boiling with pent up aggression by the time you arrive at the motel and see Peter waiting at your door. Distractedly you press a kiss to his lips, ignoring his affections in favor of pacing around the room, fuming, as you tell him all about the job. 

“They didn’t even read the case files!”

“God, stop.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I said stop. Stop being such a brat.”

“What the fuck, Peter?” you round on him, taking offense and on the verge of exploding.

He strides over to you, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing you against the counter with his full weight, “You don’t need anyone’s permission.” 

He stares at you, daring you to disagree, to push him away and make believe this isn’t exactly what you need.

“If you want to kill something… just go do it,” Peter slides his hands under your shirt, fingers coasting along your hips and the tiny touch anchors you in the moment, “Hell, we can go now.”

“You’d do that? Work with me?”

That’s touching.

“If it would get you out of your head for five minutes?” he reaches his hand up and grabs at your breast, “Yes.”

Maybe not so touching.

“Are we going?” Peter steps away.

“No!” you yank him closer by his jacket, “Later. Tomorrow.” 

Doesn’t matter, just not now - not when he’s tweaking your nipple and you can feel him hard and ready, a willing distraction you desperately want. Winding your hands up his chest, you apologize. “I’m sorry.”

“Good.” 

“Do I…oh…” your voice falters when Peter pops the button of your jeans and brushes his fingertips along the skin of your belly.

He stops, nodding for you to continue.

“Do I need to make it up to you?” you ask sweetly.

It can stay a suggestion, just loose preambling banter if Peter doesn’t pick up what you’re laying down. But there’s a version of you that’s dying to be set free. You want to stop your mind whirling, to be fucked out, empty-headed, and Peter’s a solid bet to give that to you, even if you can’t come right out and say it.

He feels a twist in his gut at the tremble of need laced through your playful tone, your big innocent eyes tilted up to him, filled with curiosity and longing. 

“Hmm,” he pretends to consider it, like a shiver hadn’t just run through his cock, “Maybe you need to be punished?”

There’s a devious glint in his eye as you swallow thickly and give the faintest of nods.

“You’d like that?” 

He slips his hands into your underwear, moaning at the wet he finds. “Shit…yeah you like that.”

****

Peter abandons you to remove his clothes and lay back against the pillows before beckoning you over. Your legs move of their own accord, though stop short next to the bed, unsure of what to do next. 

“Take your jeans off,” he orders, sounding gruff and almost cold.  

He’s clearly done this before, from the smooth way he’s eased into control and how his lips twitch up into a smirk as he watches you.

Complying with his request, you’re suddenly nervous you don’t know what you’re getting into. Can’t help but wonder about Peter’s other partners, spiraling into self doubt as you compare yourself to the imaginary women, maybe men. They’d no doubt have more experience, be more confident than you could ever be. Sexier, you think, self consciously tracing the scars on your abdomen. 

Peter sees you nibble the inside of your cheek and play with the stitching along the bottom of your shirt.

The first time you’d been together you were covered in bandages, and the second you’d gotten fully, gloriously bare, but distracted him with your mouth when he went to turn the lights on. Aside from those exceptions, you always keep a shirt on when you fuck. He’s noticed, but never mentioned it, though it drives him crazy that there’s a part of you that you’re keeping from him.

“Shirt?” he tries his luck.

Freezing, your face clouds with an uncertain expression.

“Never mind,” he says, more gently, “Just come here.”

He tugs you by the wrist, splaying you out across his lap. Impatient to get his hands on you, even if he can’t get all of you.

“Here’s what’s going to happen, darling,” he uses a hand to part your legs, “You’re getting ten because you deserve it for being rude.” 

“Ten what?” you ask, your voice muffled by the blankets your face is buried in, and Peter chuckles before he answers by swatting your ass firmly. You gasp at the sting and squirm in his lap.

“Ten of those. And you’re going to count them, okay?”

Nodding your head against the crook of your arm, you pray he can’t spot the flush spreading across your skin. You’re sure he does, you’re ass up over his thighs after all. 

Turning to risk a glance at Peter’s face, you find him staring down at his palms running over the curves of your cheeks. He slides his eyes to yours, and you’re pleasantly surprised that he looks as excited as you feel. He looks hungry for you and your thighs want to press together but he keeps a hand in place, holding you open.

“Have to say it, doll…. I need to hear you.”

It feels wrong to ask for this, to want it, resembles walking a tightrope. But mostly you only feel his hands, kneading and squeezing, and your cunt clenching around nothing, and it just feels good.

“Yes, yeah - I’ll count.”

He grins, immediately landing a hand on your other cheek, and you cry out “One!”

“That’s it.”

Another smack to your left side, “Two.”

“Good.”

Again, “Three.”

You make it to five easily with Peter talking you through, before he pauses to let you recover while he runs his hand between your folds, gathering up your slick and using it to ease his fingers inside, “See what happens when you’re nice?” 

He strikes - six and seven - in fast succession, one hand still pumping away at your pussy.

“Poor little slut, so stressed.”

You bite into your own forearm when he gives you another, harder, spank.

“What’s that?”

“Eig - Shit! Eight!”

“You know what I think?” he teases you mercilessly, moving his hand away. “I think you needed this.”

When you say nothing, can focus only on your cunt throbbing, and trying to wriggle over the hard bulge in Peter’s pants, he grunts out a command - “Words.” 

“Yeah - I” he cuts you off with another whack and you scream, “Nine.”

“Doing so well for me, darling, just one more.”

You’re shivering, anticipating the last hit, keening for him to touch you again. He takes his time admiring red handprints while he rubs his thumb over your clit in tiny, torturing circles. 

Waits while it builds, witnessing you shake and arch your back and he raises his hand to give you a final slap. You swear you hear when his palm makes contact, but he presses his thumb down on your clit and slams thick digits into you and then it’s only your own moans and sobs in your ears as you come, ending up a writhing, panting mess. 

When you’re able to see again, breathe again, you turn over, carefully - so you don’t squish him, 

“Fuck Peter,” you sigh, then giggle, practically glowing with bliss, “Ten.”

****

You purposely close the bathroom door louder than is required and shoot Peter - sleeping soundly - a death stare. When he sighs, you roll your eyes and finish fixing your hair into a tidy bun. You’re mad, regretting every choice that led you here. 

After your spanking last night, Peter toyed with you for hours, but didn’t fuck you, wouldn’t let you orgasm again. He declared, standing behind you where you knelt on the bed, “Rude sluts don’t get to come.” 

You begged and whimpered, tried it all as you watched him stroking himself over your shoulder, but your frustration only made him worse, meaner. 

He only barked out orders, “turn over,” “touch yourself” “stop” and you did everything he asked, desperately bending yourself to his will for just the promise he’d make you feel full again.

Then he’d laid down his rule - that when he’s around, you forget about hunting, pay attention to him, only him - and you’d agreed instantly, though you would have said anything at that point. 

He’d finished himself off with a satisfied groan, shooting ropes across your stomach before turning over and promptly falling asleep.

Peter ignored your incredulous threats, pretended not to notice when you chased an orgasm on your own instead. He hid his grin, and his erection when you failed, too over-stimulated with his body next to you but off limits, too empty, to reach your release.

“Fuck you.” You hissed at his back before you gave up.

Now he observes you stomping around the room, looking gorgeous in an outfit he’s never seen before with a face like thunder.

“Morning.” 

You huff - busy packing your laptop into a handbag, and taking out a mirror to check your makeup. The lighting in the bathroom was shit, and you’re not the greatest at blending. 

“You look nice,” you look fucking edible in a knee length skirt, pantyhose, and dress shirt, “Where are you going?”

“Sheriffs….” using your pinky, you tidy up the edges of your lipstick. “Working, remember?”

Peter smiles. You’re pissed off and testing him. He can feel the reflexive instinct in you to pull back. A woeful attempt to regain control. It won’t work, you’re in it now, but this is a part of the game and he’ll play along.

“Course. Give me five minutes.”

“Wait, you’re coming?” you stare after him as he goes to brush his teeth.

“Said I would.”

You think of reasons he shouldn’t, but can’t find many, it’s always smart to have backup and he could be useful if you run into Darren and his lot again. 

“Do you have a suit? Or a jacket?”

“Think it’s my first time in a police station?” he digs fresh clothes from his bag and gets dressed, grinning at you.

“I’m sure it’s not…” you say dryly, “What about impersonating federal law enforcement? You alright with that?”

“Not a concern.”

Of course it isn’t - nothing is for him, you think bitterly, hating the way he moves around the room casually, how he exists so comfortably. Acting like last night didn’t happen, that you hadn’t humiliated yourself and he hadn’t been cruel.  

“ID?” you ask, trying to rein in your emotions.

“What for?”

“Need to make you a badge,” holding out a hand, you sigh impatiently, “License… or something with a photo.”

Peter plucks a plastic card from his wallet and hands it over. “Will this do?”

Reading the ID, “Montana State Livestock Commission”, you wonder if it’s real, and why he has it, but won’t give him the satisfaction of asking. 

You scowl when you see the picture. Fucking typical, even in the grainy, low contrast photo he’s handsome. 

“This might work actually, there’s been some cattle deaths.”

He smiles proudly, irritating you further.

“Come on. You’re driving.”

Your wall of disinterest remains up during the journey to the Sheriff’s Station and you stare glumly out the window, opening your mouth only once, to advise Peter that when you go in, he should take the lead, introduce you both and ask to speak to whoever is in charge of the case. He gawps at you, can’t believe what you’re saying.

“You’re older, and you’re a man - they’ll expect me to defer to you.”

You despise it, but it’s the truth and it’ll get you in and out fast.

****

Peter’s far too proficient at being dismissive. You had told him to take the lead, even so, might have been nice if it felt like more of a struggle for him to talk down to you in front of the Sheriff. 

“Where to now?” he asks, thoroughly enjoying your simmering rage perfuming the air.

“Morgue.”

“Why?”

“Wanna see the bodies, something’s not right. Plus, I need to restock.”

Peter reminds himself to pull up, tread light, you're moody and he wants to break you. But he wants to do it slowly. 

“Restock?”

“Doesn’t matter, just drive.” You snap, reading through the reports from the Sheriff, the headache of Peter temporarily forgotten as you try to figure out what’s vexing you.

****

Handing Peter the syringes you’d filled from the bodies at the Coroner’s, you switch out your sensible, professional flats for your boots.

“What’s in here?” he sniffs, his nose crinkling in disgust.

“Dead man’s blood. Won’t kill them, but slows ‘em down.”

He senses the shift in you as you prepare, an almost visible change while you flick through the report one more time and mutter to yourself. You sit up straighter, eyes narrowing while you chew on a nail.

“Hey,” he moves your fingers away from your mouth, “What are you thinking?” 

Before you can snatch your hand out of his, you catch the worried way he’s looking at you. You appreciate him taking this seriously, and manage a small smile. 

“The first body was a vamp.”

“So?”

“They’ve probably been here for months, feeding on livestock.”

“Right,” the Deputies had mentioned the local farmers were up in arms about the number of cows going missing from their herds, “And?”

“And…shit…I don’t know.”

You shrug - don’t know why it bothers you, why you feel such an obsessive need to have every little detail before you jump in. If you wait any longer, you’ll be as useless as Darren, staking out the nest while townsfolk keep turning up dead.

Peter seizes on the opening. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’ve got a theory.”

“Just thinking - this could be retaliation, you know? Maybe - if they’d been left alone…”

“They might’ve stuck to beef?”

“Yeah.”

“But they haven’t.” 

“Nope,” you smile again, but it’s conflicted and Peter wants to slam the car in reverse. 

“Let’s go” you hand him a machete.

Pieces connect and it starts to make sense, coming at you full speed when you’re halfway through the nest. The son, DJ, he’d been limping, and the other guy - the nephew - was the one who shot down all your ideas about how to handle the job. So the encounter, the fire thrumming through you which should have lifted your spirits, had you buzzing with adrenaline for a few hours after - does nothing. 

Logically, you should be grateful for Peter’s help, you know this, but he’d proven too helpful, too nimble, and you hadn’t gotten to hit enough, hurt them enough, for your liking. 

“You were good in there,” he tells you, rinsing the blood off under an outside faucet.

He means it as a compliment, but your brow just knits in confusion.

Because - no shit, you’re good at this - it’s the only thing you are any good at. 

You’re undeniably not good at casual sex or at being alone and seem to fare just as badly when you try to live differently, indulging in the delusion that you deserve something else. 

Can’t he tell? Doesn’t he see?

That you’re achingly, transparently bad at stopping bright, shining boys from getting possessed by Nogitsunes or from saving your almost-boyfriend’s daughter. 

You turn your back on Peter to change into a fresh t-shirt. You didn’t sign up for this, you don’t need this.  Don’t need angels berating you when all you’re doing is trying or idiotic men picking fights they don’t finish with vampires and leaving you to clear up their messes. Don’t need Sam’s silence while he plays house and pets his dog. You don’t need anyone, definitely not Peter goddamn Hale and his infuriating mind games.

****

Peter stews as he drives back to the motel, not comprehending why you’re still angry, why getting your hands dirty and tearing up the vamps hasn’t calmed you. It helped him - provided an outlet for his rising frustrations. Watching you land fists to faces, swinging a blade, getting your pretty little blouse drenched in blood and sweat was enough to soothe his misgivings about accompanying you. 

He’d woken up with other plans for the day, but you had ruined them. Working with you was him making the best of an unpleasant situation, wouldn’t kill you to be more appreciative. You should thank him. 

Your phone pings, and you chuckle scornfully, reading the message from Darren.

“Assholes. Get this,” you pivot to share with Peter, “Last chance if you want in - meet at the farmhouse at 7.”

He’s relieved to no longer be the target of your ire, “Gonna tell them?”

You tap out part of a text before deciding to call. A girl has to get her kicks somehow.

“Hello?”

“Don’t bother. Vamps are dealt with.”

Darren scoffs, “You took out a nest by yourself?”

“No, I had help.” You smile at Peter, a crack in your armor he intends on exploiting.

“You’re not supp - “

“If you got a problem, talk to your nephew. Ask him why they started chowing down on locals.” 

Waiting a beat, you revel in the gratification as your meaning dawns on Darren, “Burn the bodies, and don’t call me again.”

****

Feeling better after laying into Darren, you talk yourself down to something approaching normal while you smoke a cigarette and Peter grabs the first shower.

“So, what now?” he questions after you emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. You stare at him blankly, the late night and exhaustion of the day creeping up on you.

“After a hunt - what do you usually do?”

You picture it - used to be Sam or Dean would get burgers and beers and you’d chill out, rest. Other jobs - ones that didn’t go clean - you’d take off, Dean putting as many miles between you and the case as fast as Baby could manage. 

Lately, on your own, you pretty much drink and smoke and drink and rattle around until the sun comes up. Vamps are different, it’s better to hit during the day, so you don’t really know how to fill in the evening.

“Not usually done this early,” you say, deciding you’ll give Peter one last chance to salvage the day; “Thanks for the assist.”

“It was fun,” he admits, facing you, taking in your damp hair and upturned mouth while he pulls down a deep breath. He smiles when he can’t smell bristly prickles of fury any longer, and it stretches wider when a yawn bursts out of you.

“How ‘bout I go pick us up some dinner?” he loops an arm around your waist, “Then you can have your reward.”

Trailing your hands over his broad chest, you lace your fingers behind his neck, impossibly cute as you ask, “Reward?”

“Think I’d leave you hanging, doll?” he tuts, and tips your chin, making sure you’re looking him in the eye before he continues, “You took your punishment,” he drops a leisurely kiss on your waiting mouth, “You’ve earned a treat.”

[ks-caster]

The 100 Finale (Part 2)

Hope meditating on Octavia’s throne... I wish the show had had time to get into the connotation of her being Blodreina’s heir.

Last night on Earth and all that... Where’s Dean Winchester when we need him?

Raven walking out of the anomaly with Nikki and the Bad Boyz was amazing, even with the crummy special effects lol.

Careful Bardo people. Here there be monsters. :-)

SAVE MY BABY EMORI!!!!!! 

dID THEY SHOW US THAT SCENE IN THE PROMO TO FAKE US OUT. 

okay it’s drinking time.

[drsilverfish]

SPNWin 1x07 Reflections - The Seance

John broke the musical box, which played his parents’ intensely romantic love song As Time Goes By (which was also the love song of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca): 

Dean “Dammit Cas, we can fix this”

Cas: “Dean, it's not broken.”

6x20 The Man Who Would Be King

Now he needs to speak to his dead loved one (his father) and Lata tells him that the seance-spell requires that the connection between the significant object and the loved one’s spirit:

Dean: “I hope you can hear me, I hope you can hear me...”

Cas: “You don’t have to say it... I heard your prayer”

15x09 The Trap 

Cas: “You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me.... I love you...”

Dean (Non LatAm dub version): “....................”

15x18 Despair

“Amate Spiritus Obscure Te Quaerimus

Te oramus nobiscum colloquere

Apud nos circita”

“Beloved Hidden Spirit, We Seek You

We beg you to speak with us

In our circle”

SPNWin 1x07 Reflections

Pamela (with her hand on Dean’s hand-print brand):

“I invoke, conjure, and command you, appear unto me before this circle.”

4x01 Lazarus Rising

Notice that in The Winchesters seance, the spirit is addressed as “Beloved”.

Narrator-Dean’s story is filled with reflections from his own life, and here, in the subtext of 1x07, a story about his parents’ first kiss, he longs to share his feelings openly and honestly with his own beloved, from whom he is separated by death, Castiel. 

[drsilverfish]

Taking a Closer Look at 1x06 Art of Dying as Dean’s Subconscious (The Winchesters)

This episode feels like a really significant one, so I went and had a re-watch, this time specifically to take a closer look at the set-dressing (hello set-dressing narrative, my old friend).

There’s so much in there which speaks to Narrator-Dean’s subconscious and (significantly, given the episode’s title) to Dean’s own death.

The barn (a barn was, of course, the mise-en-scène of Dean’s death):

The shots of skulls (twice - one in Losy’s van, and the other in the background as Carlos sews up John’s shoulder):

The Soucouyant is a type of vampire, just like the vampires were the monsters at the scene of Dean’s death. But the Soucouyant-vampire here itself is (double?) dead. It’s only animated because it is being possessed by Mac’s vengeful spirit (layers and layers of correspondences and death and spirit symbolism). 

The claw of the Soucouyant and the bloody wound this double-dead vampire makes in John’s shoulder recall (in the way in which, in dreams, objects symbolise other objects) the cursed rebar at the scene of Dean’s own death:

Then there’s the beautiful, slow sequence of Darla’s hunter’s funeral with Judy Collin’s “Joan of Arc” (1971) (written by Leonard Cohen) playing in the background. We don’t know Darla, but the funeral is given great emotional depth. Her body is prepared, and she is wrapped in white and tied with yellow cord. The scene is shot in golden light, with long lingering sorrow. And the song, about Joan of Arc’s death, is couched in the metaphor of a marriage:

"Then fire, make your body cold, I'm going to give you mine to hold," saying this she climbed inside to be his one, to be his only bride. And deep into his fiery heart he took the dust of Joan of Arc, and high above the wedding guests he hung the ashes of her wedding dress.“

And what has Narrator-Dean already explicitly told us? He’s picking the music. 

This funeral really recalls the funeral for Castiel in SPN 13x01 Lost and Found - the way Dean prepared Castiel’s body, wrapping it in white and tying it with the torn yellow curtains. In his heart, it was a funeral for his husband; that’s what The Winchesters’ Narrator-Dean’s song choice here suggests (as if we didn’t already know, Dean):

And oh look, there is a freaking (Soucouyant) hand-print on the barn door to the right of Tracy!

Which of course recalls the significance of Castiel’s own death hand-print on Dean in SPN 15x18 Despair:

And in this episode, Losy is wearing a necklace that says “Love” in 1960s lettering (recalling Cas’ dying “I love you” confession to Dean). But (hello wish-fulfillment for Dean’s subconscious) Carlos manages to get a date with his crush, Anton, (not a funeral):

And is that a statue of Michael and Lucifer locked in combat on the left there by the window?!?! Why, yes, yes it is, Dean’s subconscious:

There’s an Ankh symbol on the chest behind John in the post-possession talk he has with Mary. The Ankh is the Egyptian hieroglyph known as the “key of life” which had enormous significance for the passage of the soul after death to eternal afterlife:

There is also a triquetra symbol in Tracy’s house. The triquetra is a Celtic symbol which is sometimes understood to symbolise the cycle of birth, death and rebirth:

These symbols of life after death, and of life, death and rebirth, fit with my earlier 1x06 meta musing on Narrator-Dean as being in the liminal state between dying and rebirth (known as the Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism).  

All of which is to say, that one way we can read The Winchesters is as a dream-like sequence where God-Narrator Dean re-mixes things of deep emotional significance to him. And this episode, read that way, seems to be a re-mix in particular of the scene of Dean’s own death in 15x20, and his painful experiences of Castiel’s deaths in 13x01 and 15x18.

NB: This reading does not promise a Dean/ Cas reunion - this level of The Winchesters’ narrative is subtextual (no surprises there - hello subtext my old friend) and will probably remain there.  

But isn’t it heartbreaking and beautiful?

[drsilverfish]

1x07 Reflections - Dean Picks “As Time Goes By” and “Can’t Find My Way Home”

To reflect is both to mirror and to meditate/ think upon. 

Dean, Dean, Dean... this story continues to be filled with reflections in Holy Ghost Narrator Dean’s mind, about matters of his own heart.

Honestly, when read on this level, The Winchesters is the most bittersweet of meditations.

Firstly, the characters keep saying all the emotionally meaningful stuff to each other which Dean himself needed to hear or to say:

Notice how we can read this as a reflection for Dean’s relationship with his own father (remember when he knew Azazel was possessing John, because the demon told him it was proud of him in in 1x22 Devil’s Trap, whereas his Dad would have “torn him a new one”), AND we can read it as a reflection of the moment Dean lost Castiel for the last time. Henry, like Cas in 15x18, is saying “I love you” here, as he fades out, back to another dimension. AND we can read it as a reflection of Dean telling Sam he loved him and was proud of him, whilst he lay dying on the rebar in the barn in 15x20. Henry speaks both to a lover (Millie) and to a son (John) allowing all these subtextual reflections (Dean-John, Dean-Cas, Dean-Sam). 

The music Dean picks this week is all about love and longing.

Can’t Find My Way Home can be read as Dean’s reflections on his soul leaving his own body in death, with the lyrics singing to his beloved, Castiel, about how much he wants to find his way back to him, but he can’t find him (because he’s lost in The Empty): 

Can’t Find My Way Home

Come down off your throne and leave your body alone Somebody must change You are the reason I've been waiting so long Somebody holds the key [Chorus] But I'm near the end and I just ain't got the time And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home [Verse 2] Come down on your own and leave your body alone Somebody must change You are the reason I've been waiting all these years Somebody holds the key

But I'm near the end and I just ain't got the time And I'm wasted and I can't find my way home [Outro] But I can't find my way home

We could read a Dean-longing-for-Sam reflection here too, although all the other reflections in the SPNWin 1x07 narrative point to Cas (John and Mary’s situation locked in the room with no way out, as the Akrida bear down on them, prompting John to declare his feelings with a kiss, being a strong reflection for Dean and Cas locked in the bunker with no way out, and Billie bearing down on them in 15x18 Despair, prompting Cas to declare his feelings). 

As Time Goes By, Millie and Henry’s love song, is a classic made famous because of its role in the wartime star-crossed lovers story Casablanca (1942) 

And Millie and Henry’s back-story, wherein we learn this week they fought a lot, because Henry was always leaving (and keeping Millie in the dark about his MoL work) because he was trying to protect her and young John, has echoes of the many times Cas left Dean (often to protect him, e.g. in Purgatory) when all Dean wanted was for him to stay. 

And John was so angry he broke the musical box which played the love song. Sad echoes here, of the Dean/ Cas break-up.

“You must remember this A kiss is just a kiss A sigh is just a sigh The fundamental things apply As time goes byAnd when two lovers woo They still say "I love you" On that you can rely No matter what the future brings As time goes by”   

Holy Ghost Narrator Dean sure is dreaming of a kiss:

[drsilverfish]

The Winchesters 1x06

I can’t stop thinking about the fact Narrator-Dean, who explicitly told us he was picking the music, picked Leonard Cohen’s “Joan of Arc” for the funeral in 1x06 Art of Dying.

Joan of Arc, the historical character, claimed to have been inspired by visions from the Archangel Michael (Dean of course having been “designed” as Michael’s vessel):

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joan_of_Arc#/media/File:Joan_of_Arc_miniature_graded.jpg 

And there’s a Michael fighting Lucifer statue in the set-dressing narrative of the episode!

This beautiful Cohen song is about a warrior who didn’t get to hold a lover before she was burned at the stake.

I mean, for anyone who felt that way about Dean’s death (and I did, in both senses, the lover part and the burning at the stake part)... 

I just have this feeling that Robbie Thompson has decided to permeate The Winchesters, in every way, including the golden light frequently used in the cinematography, with the deepest sense of nostalgia, longing and regret, yet somehow, also infused with a profound feelng of Dean’s loving sacred heart, in his role as Holy Ghost Narrator.

It took me a while to open my own heart to The Winchesters, because of the pain of the Supernatural ending, but it feels like a gift, as if Robbie is on his knees in the subtext, like Dean in Beren’s episode SPN 15x09 The Trap, praying, “I hope you can hear me, I hope you can hear me.” 

[drsilverfish]

1x06 Art of Dying

Kinda fascinated by the monster-anatomy x-ray images very prominently in-shot behind Tracy here. 

What do they look like (from left to right)?

1) Angel with wings

2) Skull 

3) A foreign object in the gut (front shot)

3) A foreign object in the gut (side shot)

If The Winchesters is taking place in Dean’s liminal dying state, are these representations of his angel, his mind/ spirit, and his re-bar wound?

[drsilverfish]

Resurrection Reflection SPNWin 1x07

OK - why does the entrance to the Queen Akrida’s underground tomb look like the crucifixtion?!?!

We know the story - Jesus was crucified (three crosses - Jesus and the two thieves beside him). He was entombed, and he rose again...

We can see clearly now that The Winchesters is, in its subtext, replete with references to the events of Supernatural, in other words it is filled with reflections, as the mid-season episode sign-posts for us, from Narrator Dean’s POV. 

Are these three crosses representative of the deaths of Dean, Sam and Cas?

In reading the SPN subtext in The Winchesters, it’s important to note that subtext often functions like a dream-language - signs and symbols shape-shift - and the symbolism here isn’t necessarily a straightfoward breadcrumb trail of clues leading to a material outcome, such as the resurrection of Dean, Sam and Cas (again) and the continuation of the SPN narrative on main.

Our trio have all died and been resurrected, several times, over the course of Supernatural,  so this imagery can be understood simply as Dean’s unconscious working through his traumatic journey to date.

Or, indeed we can read this symbolism as foreshadowing in the story of John and Mary, as we know from SPN that John dies, and is resurrected thanks to Mary’s demon-deal with Azazel. 

The Akrida Queen getting hopped up on monster-mash juice, and therefore resurrected to full strength, is the most literal reading of the resurrection symbolism.

The collection of monster venom the Akrida have been preparing really made me think about Mary’s father Samuel, as we meet in him in Supernatural, resurrected by Crowley in S6, and hunting Alpha monsters in a deal to locate Purgatory for Crowley, in exchange for the promised resurrection of Mary. 

Samuel is so obsessed with resurrecting his daughter, that he’s prepared to feed his grandsons to ghouls (6x10 Caged Heat). 

An interesting dark reflection here then, in the SPNWin episode, 1x07, in which Mary is reunited with Samuel. 

Further foreshadowing of the darkness in the Campbell and Winchester families to come - the incestuous cycle of demon deals to resurrect dead family?

[drsilverfish]

Re-Mix in Dean’s Mind 1x04 Masters of War

Just a few more moments of ghosts of the future, Supernatural, echoing in the past in The Winchesters (or the other way round, from our own time-line point of view):

Sam and Dean’s long-running rock-paper-scissors go-to for the dirty decisions:

http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/Rock,_Paper,_Scissors 

is used by The Winchester’s Scooby gang.

Remember, Dean usually loses, and here it is Losy, who loses, and who is, as a result, the undercover corpse in the body bag, to get them all into the morgue. So a Losy-Dean parallel (bi-disaster twins, you might say). There are often Dean-Mary, Dean-John and Dean-Lata parallels too - they can all be read as aspects of Dean’s consciousness/ soul.

And then there’s the Mars-Neto induced flash-back Vietnam reunion hug between John and Losy, which echoes with the first Dean/ Cas reunion hug, in Purgatory.

Finally, this gem, as John heads off to undercover PTSD therapy, and Millie calls out, don’t listen to them if they start saying it’s all the mother’s fault, to which John, with strong fore-shadowing/ back-shadowing, replies:

[drsilverfish]

Dean’s Soul in the Bardo -   The Art of Dying 1x06 The Winchesters

Catching up British-time, so a bit late to the party as usual, and coming to it fresh, as I like to do, without jumping into the time-line first. 

Screeches a bit because I am overwhelmed.

This episode suggests that, on one level, we can read every character in The Winchesters as manifestations of Dean’s consciousness, as he hovers in the “bardo”, the liminal realm in Tibetan Buddhism, between death and reincarnation. 

Mary - the leader and hunter who wants to get out of hunting; John - filled with wounded rage, Daddy-issues and violence; Carlos - the fabulous bisexual who dares to get into therapy and to go after the men he wants; Lata - the abused child who manages to chose love over violence - ALL OF THESE ARE ASPECTS OF DEAN WINCHESTER’S being, his experience/ soul/ desires <sobs a little because it’s beautiful>. 

Now I’m back on my meta, I’ve previously mused on The Winchesters as a reparative narrative told by Holy Ghost Dean Winchester; a counter-point to the traumatic narrative of Supernatural.

1x06 The Art of Dying offers further illumination and elaboration on that concept, namely:

The episode title, “The Art of Dying” is a George Harrison song, the right time-period for The Winchesters (1970), from his album All Things Must Pass. 

The Beatles, in keeping with the hippie counterculturalism of the time, were interested in Eastern spirituality, particularly Hinduism and Buddhism, and this Harrison song was inspired by his reading of Timothy Leary’s The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on The Tibetan Book of the Dead (1964). 

Harrison’s lyrics are about the religious philosophy of perfecting the soul through cycles of reincarnation:

“There'll come a time when all of us must leave here There's nothing Sister Mary can do, will keep me here with you As nothing in this life that I've been trying Can equal or surpass the Art of Dying....

There'll come a time when most of us return here Brought back by our desire to be a perfect entity Living through a million years of crying Until you realize the Art of Dying “

A theme which fits well with the Ouroboros (serpent swallowing it’s own tail as it ascends) narrative of latter-day Supernatural, which drew on Jung and esoteric alchemy to manifest the Winchesters’ journey as the journey of the soul towards God.  

The Tibetan Book of the Dead is the Bardo Thodol, which means “liberation through hearing in the intermediate state”. It is a 14thC esoteric text (or possibly older but that’s when the written text we have dates from).

John, Mary, Lata and Losy all struggle with pain, parent-induced and violence-induced and hunting-induced trauma, but they are able to communicate their feelings to one another in a way which is strikingly and remarkably different from the enormous struggles with emotional articulation which animated Supernatural, which we watched Dean suffer with throught his life. 

So we can read The Winchesters as Dean’s revelatory hallucinations in the liminal state between death and liberation (or rebirth) - his revelatory sexual and emotional healing soul-dreams (in which, and what could be more Freudian, he returns to the scene of his parents).

And look, Lata is teaching John, who surived being possessed by the vengeful spirit of abused-as-a-child and violently out-of-control Mac, how to meditate and achieve higher consciousness (with an image of a globe in the background):

And isn’t it interesting that the rare type of vampire which Mac’s vengeful spirit first possesses is called a “soucouyant”, which means (incongrously, one would think) “carefree” in French. But not so incongruous if The Winchesters is about the journey of Dean’s soul to liberation, to bliss, to being “carefree”...

[drsilverfish]

Murph’s Silver Cross in The Winchesters

That’s some pretty striking symbology; John Winchester lost his best buddy (lover?) Murph (Hank Murphy) in Vietnam when he was blown to bits after stepping on a landmine, and shrapnel from Murph’s sliver cross necklace ended up embedded in John’s arm (so John literally carried Murph with him).

We see in John’s flashback, Murph kissing the cross just before his ill-fated break for it:

 “I think I’m being haunted,” John tells Mary in SPNWin 1x01 Pilot:

Others have already mentioned the way in which Dean’s Purgatory One journey mirrors John’s Vietnam. Dean returned with his vampire buddy (lover?) Benny’s essence embedded in his arm (8x01 We Need to Talk About Kevin):

and he was haunted by his visions of (his beloved) Castiel, whom he’d left behind there (8x07 A Little Slice of Kevin);

John digs Murph’s cross shrapnel out of his arm to use its silver properties to fight the Men of Letters Watchdog Loup Garou (werewolf) in SPNWin 1x01 Pilot.

However, it’s not gone from haunting his consciousness.

In SPNWin 1x04 Masters of War we meet the cross again, when WW2 veteran “Patches” (killed by the God Mars-Neto) has a similar silver cross on his body, which gives John Vietnam flash-backs (here he is, holding it in the hospital morgue):

Interestingly, the lore on Mars-Neto in the same episode says this (about his amphora):

Of course, the cross is a symbolic item for Christians, linked to Christ’s immortaility (his sacrifice and return from the dead). 

The cross has been associated with Castiel at various points in the set-dressing narrative of Supernatural, perhaps most famously in the reunion scene here in 13x06 Tombstone when Cas returns from The Empty:

If The Winchesters is all taking place in Narrator-Dean’s mind (Dean’s soul in the Bardo - the liminal state between dying and rebirth) he is remixing his own loss and longing with his father’s.