#Dean has PTSD

[huggybearsunshine]

Fewer Things 5

Sam stirred awake in the library, book abandoned in his lap and looking around for what woke him. Then the sound of boots descending the metal stairs pulled his attention to the room behind him.

“Dean?” his tired voice called and went unanswered.

He placed the book on the table and rose to his feet as his brother reached the foot of the staircase.

“What’s wrong?” he pressed, body tensing and brows stitching toward the middle of his face.

“It worked,” the hunter’s voice cracked as he said it.

“Worked?” Sam tried to shake the sleep from his mind, “Burying the box?”

“No, Sam, Cas is…” but Sam’s eyes had drifted up the stairs, “He’s standing behind me, isn’t he?”

“I’m sorry, but my stomach felt suddenly very empty and I also have to urinate,” Cas replied apologetically.

Sam’s gaze drifted back down and found Dean staring up at Cas with the softest adoration before he pretended to cringe.

“Just say you have to pee,” the older of the brothers laughed, “And there’s still takeout in the fridge, right?”

Cas descended the stairs and passed the two, offering a quick ‘Hello, Sam,’ as he did. Dean’s eyes followed before finding Sam’s again once the other man had left the room.

“What?” he bristled at the expression he found there.

“So Cas is back,” Sam raised his brow, “And also human… apparently.”

“I was trying to tell you,” he shrugged.

“You okay?” the younger asked knowingly.

“Better than,” he stood firm, but received an even higher raised brow in response.

“You sure?” Sam insisted.

“I’m a lot of things, okay,” Dean shifted uncomfortably, “Better being one of those.”

He stalked off, wishing to leave the conversation behind him.

“I’m gonna heat him up something to eat,” he tossed over his shoulder as he went.

Cas was coming down the hall toward him as he reached the kitchen.

“Come on,” Dean nodded for him to follow, and without hesitation the former Angel went.

After almost a minute in the microwave, near instantly forgotten as Dean stared at the other man like he was a revelation, the ding startled him into motion again. He placed a lopsided burger on a plate in front of Cas with such care, it seemed almost too precious to eat.

However, the hunger in Cas’ gut insisted.

“Not the best meal, but it’ll do the trick,” Dean commented as he sunk into the seat across from him, “Then we’ll get you showered and dressed in something that’s not drenched.”

“We?” Cas asked around his bite, and Dean’s brows knit in confusion as he replayed his words in his head, going pale when it hit him.

“What? No, I just meant…” but the mischievous glint in Cas’ glance loosened him again, “Are you… messing with me? Really?”

“I just needed clarity,” Cas feigned innocent.

“The hell you did,” he couldn’t help the tug at his lip as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“I have no other clothes,” the former Angel added, sparing the other man from commenting further down that line of thought.

“Right…” Dean sat up again, thinking for a moment before rising to his feet, “Keep eating, I’ll be right back.”

Dean passed Sam on his way out of the kitchen with a quick but evasive glance.

He seemed unsure of where to look since getting back with Cas, and Sam was starting to think he might have a suspicion to why.

“Hey, Cas,” he took the now abandoned seat across from him, a warm smile spreading at the sight of his returned friend.

“Sam,” he forced himself to break from eating in acknowledgement.

“We thought you were gone for good,” the hunter couldn’t stop himself from saying the thought aloud, “Are you… okay?”

“Yes, I admit, I did as well,” Cas nodded, “I am… feeling many things at the moment… but mostly, I’m just glad to be back… and to hear that everything with Chuck was resolved,” a crease formed between his brows as his focus dropped to the table between them, “I do have complicated feelings on Jack being God, though… I wanted a normal life for him. That’s why I… did what I did…”

“Dean wouldn’t tell me anything…” Sam revealed gently, “But I have to ask, Cas… What happened that day?” he tried, wanting to venture further, but a clearing throat in the doorway behind him saved Cas from coming up with a response.

“Let him eat, Sam,” Dean spoke gruffly, a clear and unquestionable warning to his words, before his eyes shifted to look at the former Angel in the seat facing him, “Got you these.”

He held up a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, picked for comfort. Something loose, soft, and warm. The opposite of what Cas usually outfitted himself in.

He didn’t want to look any further into why he’d put that much thought into the garments. In fact, he was struggling to keep his thoughts as far away from that type of thinking as he could, resorting to counting the steps it took to get from his bedroom to the kitchen.

There were one hundred and forty-three.

“I think I’m full,” Cas cut into the hunter’s introspection to which Dean responded with a grateful smile, “Ready for that shower, I think.”

“Right,” Dean nodded, “Sam, you can clean up here. I’ll get him setup in there.”

“Yeah, okay,” Sam couldn’t help the smirk that pulled his lip.

Dean nodded his head for Cas to follow and the former Angel rose without another word to Sam.

Once they entered the hallway, there was a noticeable shift in the energy around them.

“How ya feeling?” the need to fill the silence finally got the better of the hunter.

“I’m fine… a little overwhelmed, but fine,” he assured him as they reached the room and walked in together.

Dean busied himself, gathering all of Sam’s toiletries with the assumption that Cas would like them more than the cheap shit he used.

“Shower might help with that,” he replied, placing everything in one of the stalls for him, “Good way to reset, you know?”

“Yes,” Cas nodded as Dean handed him a towel, “I found them very pleasant before… showers.”

His fingers touched Dean’s in the hand-off and the hunter froze, eyes instantly darting down to the connection before returning to Cas’ soft eyes.

“Thank you, Dean,” he commented sincerely, “For everything.”

“Yeah,” the word puffed out of his mouth on a breath, “Yeah, no problem…”

Cas watched him curiously until the attention seemed to remind Dean that he should be leaving at this point.

He cleared his throat, something he seemed to be doing in excess since Cas’ return, and pulled his hands away to take a hesitant step back.

“I’ll, uh- let you get to it,” green eyes shifted nervously before he backed away and toward the door, “Clothes are there…”

He pointed toward the nearby bench where they were placed in a carefully folded pile and gave another quick glance before he was out of the room.

Inside, Cas smiled sweetly toward the clothing and began to undress. While outside, Dean had pressed his back into the now closed door, shaky breath pushing its way out.

“Dean?“ Sam asked gently from down the hall, concerned frown scrunching his expressive face.

“Yeah,” Dean quickly stood straighter and schooled his face, “Hey, what’s up?”

“You okay?” his brother neared.

“Mm hm,” Dean’s voice came out clipped and forced, “Yeah, just realizing how starved I am… gonna see what I can whip up real quick.”

He brushed by the other hunter as quickly as possible to head back into the kitchen where he immediately started his search for sustenance.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam asked as he rounded the corner, “Something’s different between you and-“

“Sam, back off,” Dean’s voice shook as he tried to keep his calm.

He wasn’t ready, didn’t know his own feelings on the matter and sure as hell wasn’t ready to let anyone else in on them.

“Cas just came back,” he settled on, “Can you not just… let me be happy about that…”

“Yeah,” Sam looked taken aback for a moment, “Yeah, of course, Dean… sorry…”

He looked legitimately guilty so Dean loosened his shoulders and unbristled his defenses.

“Thought we could watch a movie,” he offered, “maybe have some beers and popcorn…” his eyes found his brother’s own awaiting him, grateful to the change in energy if not a little whiplashed, “What d’ya think?”

It looked like Sam was mulling something over before he spoke, “‘We’ as in..?”

“Me, you, and Cas,” Dean frustratedly answered, “Who do you think I meant?”

“No, right, yeah,” Sam stuttered, “Sounds good.”

“I’m gonna have a grilled cheese, you want one?” Dean altered his tone yet again, turning his back to him.

“I’m good,” Sam’s eyes searched the back of his head and shoulders as if he’d find some answers there, but it seemed in vain, so he let it go, “Thanks, though…”

A small nod was Dean’s only response, focus remaining unwaveringly glued to the stove at his fingertips until the sandwich was done. He found the task relaxing once silence filled the room and he could lose himself in the act, but by the time he sat down with his creation, Cas was padding his way into the doorway, barefoot with towel-dried hair and a much more contented look on his tired face.

Dean couldn’t help it if his smile got away from him at the sight, “Hey bud, how ya feeling?”

“The shower was… a nice reset,” he returned Dean’s earlier statement, “Thank you.”

“Thought it might be,” Dean forgot the other half of his sandwich entirely, “How do the clothes fit?”

“Well I think… much more comfortably than my previous clothes,” he replied back, looking down at himself, and that’s when Dean realized he hadn’t given the other man any underwear, “Especially after they were drenched in that sludge…”

He noticed Dean’s eyes fixated on the lower half of his body and he trailed off, head tilting slightly.

“What’s wrong?” Cas voiced the question written on his face.

“N-nothing,” Dean’s eyes immediately darted toward Sam, who seemed as though he wanted to focus anywhere but on his brother in that moment, “Uh… come with me for a sec, will ya?”

He stood, and as always, Cas followed without question.

They entered Dean’s room and the hunter went toward one of the drawers of his chest.

“Do me a favor and put these on, okay?” there was a blush to his cheeks when he handed the boxers over.

Cas squinted his eyes at him as he took them, “Something wrong, Dean?”

“No, uh… just…” he cleared his suddenly dry throat, “Gray sweatpants have a tendency to… um… geez,” he turned away, rubbing a hand over his face, “They leave nothing to the imagination, is what I’m trying to say…”

Cas looked down again and realized the meaning behind Dean’s roundabout description.

“Ah… so it’s a modesty issue,” the former Angel nodded, “I see.”

“Yeah,” another throat clearing rang out in the silence, this one less intentional than the last, “I’ll give you a minute…”

He brushed passed him, face even redder, and Cas felt his lips curl up in response as the door clicked shut.

Dean practically barreled into Sam on his way out, in too much of a hurry to notice the giant looming presence.

“Hold long have you been standing here?” he barked out as he stumbled back.

“I haven’t,” Sam’s eyebrows rose in an amused expression, “I was going to get my own pajamas on.”

“Yeah, me too,” he huffed out, eyes cast downward on his own feet before turning back toward his room.

“Isn’t Cas still-?“ Sam started as the door opened and the man in question stepped right into Dean’s space.

“Yep,” Dean side-stepped awkwardly into the room and slammed the door shut behind him, leaving Cas to confusedly turn to the other Winchester brother as he laughed and shook his head.

“What did I do?” the former Angel asked.

“I wish I knew,” Sam walked away, continuing to shake his head.

———————

@destiel-wings @destieliscanon5nov

[nexilu]

Dean totally has some severe PTSD from the first time Sam died in his arms at Cold Oak

[bisaster-energy]

people who hc cas as this just. guy that helps dean with his issues and trauma. why are you living that "no one cares that you're broken cas" life. why are you not caring about him.

[suncaptor]

literally every main character has autistic traits and ptsd let's be real.

[anadrenalineslut]

people getting mad headcanons to me is like getting mad at someone for playing pretend incorrectly like what do you mean i'm pretending this character is autistic incorrectly?

[boywifesammy]

dean isn’t ever happy, per se. he’s only ever on edge or indulging in a false sense of safety. it’s not happiness more than it is a sense of raw Relief.

why does he eat like a glutton? safety in food, safety in being well-fed and not having to worry about where your next meal is coming from. why does he have rampant casual sex? safety in another body. safety in being close to a person in a way that isn’t violence, safety in trusting your body to be more than a killing machine. why does he cling onto sam like a lifeline? he wants to keep him safe. sam is happy memories. he’s christmas and thanksgiving and new years and fourth of july. sam, to dean, is the EPITOME of safe because he is strong and trustworthy and familiar. he must be kept safe because dean knows that the world outside is angry and barbed with horns, and how could he ever feel safe again in his own presence if he knew that he let his brother die? how could he ever forgive himself for losing that one tether to a world that isn’t terror and fear all the time?

it’s why dean isn’t affected by famine or lust. he’s not hungry. he’s not horny. he’s SCARED. he’s empty. he’s not looking for happiness, he’s looking for safety. for peace. he’s long since given up on any happy ending and all the hope he has left is in sammy and burgers and hot chicks because it’s the little things in life that make him feel like he’s somewhere he belongs, somewhere safe.

[starkskypines]

truth in the angel’s garden

a little sabriel for swoon june day 16: alternate prompt: hug

>>>

Sam breathes out a quick breath and then another and another and tries to get a handle on his raging emotions. It’s dark in his room and that’s a hindrance to his breathing, so he reaches for the light switch as quick as he can, letting the thundering in his chest remind him that he’s still alive. The light flooding the room is too bright, like staring into the light of Gabriel’s angel grace before Sam forces his eyes shut lest he goes blind, but it beats off the demons well enough. Figurative ones that is. The ones that haunt Sam’s dreams until they become nightmares that leave him waking terrified like this.

It’s a consistent thing now with him being a hunter for so long. He’s grown used to nights like these for the most part. As much as one can get used to something that no normal, sane person would ever be used to. He’s used to them enough to be able to get some rest at night. He has his routine at this point, and it works to calm him down. He focuses on the light both literally and figuratively. The lightbulb provides light to fight off the darkness in his room. The warm images of Dean and Cas and Jack and Gabriel provide light to fight off the darkness in his mind.

Tonight, he focuses on the memory of him and Jack looking for the perfect flowers for Castiel’s garden. It was only a few days ago that they went flower shopping. They went through the farmers market first and then the greenhouse a few blocks over. Jack was very specific about getting the right flowers for Cas and scared of disappointing him. Sam told him that this wasn’t something that could end in disappointment. If they got the wrong flowers, Cas would love them anyway because of the gesture. Jack believed him eventually, and they left with a trunk full of a variety of flowers. From daffodils to sunflowers to tulips. And even ferns and a climbing vine of some sort that Sam didn’t quite understand the appeal, but that Jack knew was something Cas spoke of before.

And of course, Cas did love the flowers and the gesture behind them, and he planted them almost immediately in his flower garden right outside Sam’s window. Well, right outside the living room window downstairs, which Sam is above and which Sam could go to right now. He could let the rich scent of dirt and the lingering floral scent wash over him like a tide across the shore of a beach he secretly calls home because he’s never been able to call a burn-blacked house in Kansas home.

Sam spent the night at Dean and Cas’s for the weekend before he heads back out to California for a few weeks, though on nights like these, he wonders why even bother going back to his empty apartment there. He doesn’t truly miss California enough to keep returning, but he doesn’t have reason enough to impose his stay here.

read on ao3

[righteousmandownunder-a]

@noditchablepromdate x

Since his mother died a month ago, Dean had suddenly fallen mute, only talking when he wanted to. When he did communicate, though, it was through pictures or he would use his hands to make shapes.

When Bobby asked if he went anywhere exciting, Dean thought for a moment when his small hands gripping Bobby's shirt. Dean suddenly grinned and put his hands together to make a shape like a steeple for a church, indicating that they went to go see Pastor Jim for a few days. Dean always liked to play out in the back garden with the other kids under the supervision of Pastor Jim himself of course.

[hellvive]

the nightmares that once plagued him about hell had long become a vacant and faint scar, because after all it had truly been a lifetime ago. his stoic and ten-yard stare crumbles, and brows knit together, " see a lot has happened. the whole thing sam got me caught up in. it went south just as fast as it began. cas let out some freaks who wanted to hungry hungry hippos the world. " he rambled on as he leans back against the frame of his bed, he had let her take it prior. another nightmare awoke lisa which were getting easier to handle, but he couldn't to think this all began during and after he had left her, her and ben. the road to his time in purgatory started there, " so me and sam we had to stop them. then we lost bobby soon after that. and so i swore i'd kill ever last son of a bitch. " the wounds had healed yet it was still like the nerves were and still are raw, he and sam helped bobby pass on, and had accepted and got a chance to say goodbye to the their father figure. unlike john. deep hazel eyed gaze meets the ground as if this, " and so we fought the levithens. and i killed their leader, guy was a real dick...but apparently killing him was a one way ticket to, purgatory. " and part of the elder winchester recalls his time there. how much he truly felt at home in a place of endless monster free-for-all, but it has an ending he had always resigned himself too. a fight til the death. a bloody and brutal ending is what met most hunters he has known and cared about, " ..it's where all things monsters go when they die. a free-for-all that never ends, never turns to night, and it's like all time was standing still. It was bloody. messy. 31 flavors of bottom dwelling nasties." cas left him and so did sam. it was far from the whole story, but it was brief and only up til the moment he got transported to purgatory. it would give lisa time to fully digest the sheer craziness of his story. the clanking of glass can be heard as he slips out a set of beers, and setting on up behind him on the bed. twisting off the lid taking a swig, and all of that within the year since he left the braedens in that hospital room. unaware of who he was and the injuries of lisa under a false guise. a sore subject all around even more so now.

[spnregular]

the idea that any winchester is neurotypical is so funny to me. those people are canonically Weird and Off-putting.

[phaeton-flier]

The Boeing Whistleblowers Weren't Assassinated

Anyone who looks into this past a few memes and headlines realizes that it's not actually much of a conspiracy.

The first whistleblower, John Barnett, did his whistleblowing back in 2017. The legal proceedings he was in before he died were related to a defamation case against Boeing, who "he claimed deliberately hurt his career and reputation because of allegations he’d made of grave safety breaches on the aircraft company’s production line."

He was suffering from PTSD and Anxiety Attacks from the length of the case, which shows the unjust levels of stress you get form being a whistleblower, but which also are not surprising comorbidities from suicide. Add to the fact that his wife had died a little over a year before, and it's a lot less suspicious that he would kill himself.

He did not tell his family "If I die, it wasn't suicide". The alleged witness was a friend of his mom who claimed he said it. That's not something we should treat as solid evidence.

The second whistleblower, Joshua Dean, got the Flu, then pneumonia from the Flu, then got MRSA in the hospital. These are very common diseases that also have C-grade death rates: Only ~30% of patients die of it, so it hardly makes sense as an assassination weapon.

Boeing has 32 whistleblower complaints, which is shocking but if they're going around killing whistleblowers they sure seem to be behind the fucking curve on it.

In both cases these deaths came long after the initial complaints, such that killing them doesn't get rid of the complaints, and given the 32 other cases it sure doesn't seem like they're trying to scare off new ones.

And beyond that, killing off whistleblowers is a strategy that only makes sense if you think of Boeing as a single organism and not an abstraction made of thousands of people. Yes, it's theoretically better for Boeing's bottom line if whistleblowers die, but the executives responsible for the fuck-ups these whistleblowers are pointing out? Won't go to jail for them. They will go to jail if they're caught hiring an assassin, something they would have zero practice doing and would be highly likely to fuck up like they did the company if they tried, and that risk isn't worth a little extra bonus on your stock options or whatever.

I really do not want this "Boeing killed the whistleblowers OMG" shit to stick around because it's blatantly unsupported and it will scare off future whistleblowers if this becomes common bullshit wisdom.

[huggybearsunshine]

Fewer Things Part 3

[Part 3] The gang summon the empty.

“If things go wrong, just… get them out of here.”

It was Dean’s only concern after ‘get Cas out,’ but everything had to be perfect. It had to work, because he owed Cas that much at least. He was all focus, all soldier, and it did not go unnoticed.

“Always so determined when it comes to getting that broken Angel back,” Chuck’s eyes narrowed in on the elder Winchester as his head lifted from where it went slack, “It was always ‘We’ve lost everything, we lost Cas! Bring him back!’”

“Stop,” Sam tried, but Dean held a hand up.

“No,“ he shook his head, “Ignore him. We have too much riding on this.”

“It’s always too much when it’s him, isn’t it, Dean?” Chuck continued.

“Come on,” he looked to Rowena, “Help me with this…”

But she didn’t move.

“Go on, Rowena,” Chuck had her frozen in place, “You gotta help him get his Angel.”

“Rowena,” Dean spoke more harshly, and something seemed to snap in her.

“That’s our Angel, you sniveling runt,” she hissed before joining Dean at his side, “What can I do?”

“That’s my question,” he finished rubbing his face, “What do you got in case this thing goes for anyone else?”

“Hi Sam,” the younger Winchester looked over to find himself now the sole object of Chuck’s attention, “How’s the shoulder been?”

“Sam,” Dean grabbed his arm, having approached unnoticed, “Wanna help Rowena?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded, glancing toward the old god before moving to cross the room.

“Do you do anything but run your mouth?” the elder brother turned to Chuck before his avoidance got the best of him.

“I’m getting somewhere though, aren’t I?” the bound man grinned maliciously, “‘Cause you can barely seem to look at me.”

“I’ve just got more important things to worry about than you,” Dean brushed him off, knowing full well that he was right.

“Oh that you do,” he smirked back.

“Dean?” a delicate hand gripped his forearm and he turned to see Eileen’s eyes softening as they met with his, “We’re ready.”

He turned to find the other two eyes on him as well.

“Yeah, okay,” he finally nodded and crossed to them, “Let’s do this.”

He grabbed a knife and a familiar green jacket off of a table behind them, handling it like it were precious before scraping a few flakes from the handprint on its sleeve into the bowl.

Then he heard it before he saw it, that awful wet squelching noise.

He was instantly back to that day, watching it swallow him. Watching him disappear.

But what he didn’t expect was for Cas to be the one walking out of the goo.

“Hello, Dean,” but it wasn’t him.

It instantly felt so wrong it made the hunter’s skin crawl.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he recoiled back.

“I thought this would be a welcome visage,” it grinned, “My true form has a tendency to melt people’s minds.”

He didn’t realize he was shaking until Sam’s hand gripped him.

“Why am I here?” the shadow wearing Cas’ face asked, quickly growing impatient.

“I’ve got a deal for you, since you seem to like those so much,” Dean ground out through his teeth, “You give Cas back-“

“Not happening hunter, I’m having way too much fun with that one,” it practically laughed in glee.

“And we give you him,” Dean insisted on finishing.

The shadow’s eyes were on the bound man instantly and predatorily, “Oh, yes… I would like to have him.”

But before another word could be spoken, black tendrils shot out and claimed the old God much the same way it had claimed Cas.

“Wait,” Dean realized too late that he was retreating, “Hey, wait!”

He dove forward, but it was no use. The entity was gone. Chuck was gone. And Cas was nowhere to be seen.

“Cas!” his voice screamed, “Castiel!”

Then it was silent. A hollow sort of silence because it didn’t work.

He sank into himself and into his grief, this time fully lost of hope.

His hands reached up to cover his face and the sound that came out was more animal than man.

It didn’t work.

“Dean?” Sam stepped toward him, but Rowena’s hand caught his arm.

She shook her head, and he would almost swear he saw a mist to her eye.

She tugged and he let her walk him out of the room. Eileen got the message and also left to let Dean mourn without having to feel exposed.

But he was exposed nonetheless.

There were thoughts he couldn’t explain to himself, or maybe he could, but what did it matter anymore. Cas was really gone.

Cas was really dead.

Cas was… dead, leaving behind nothing but the voice in Dean’s head.

“Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being.”

“Garth,” Sam answered his persistently ringing phone as he was herded into the kitchen by the others, “Garth, I really can’t talk right now…”

“Sam, it’s important…” the other voice shook as much as his.

Eileen snatched the phone from his hand and hit the FaceTime button, waiting for the image to appear on screen, “Talk to me.”

But Sam couldn’t focus on any of it. Dean was going to be worse than ever after all of this. He was going to go even further over the edge than he was and Sam didn’t know what that would look like. He didn’t know if Dean would make it through this time, and that thought had his mind reeling.

“Sam,” Eileen’s voice pulled him back, but the eyes that met hers were desperate and lost.

“Garth,” he seemed to have to remind himself.

“He needs help,” she nodded, signing the words as she said them, “Dean needs you here. So, I’m taking care of this.”

Sam couldn’t even formulate a response but the look on his face must’ve given away his concern because Rowena stepped forward with a knowing look.

“I’ll help,” she offered and Sam’s eyes turned toward her gratefully.

Eileen simply shrugged with the hint of a smirk threatening her lip.

“It’ll be like a girl’s trip,” she looked between them, then a dip took her brow, “I’ve never had one of those.”

Dean pulled himself up to his feet as the walls closed in around him. But it wasn’t the walls. It was as if his own skin was too tight. His bones too big. His breath too heavy.

He looked around for any kind of relief, but found none.

But his feet carried him away, needing distance.

Needing to board that room up and never look at it again, but he didn’t have the strength. All he wanted in that moment was to fall to the ground.

Instead, he found himself in his room, jacket held tight in his hand.

He sat on his bed without looking where he was going, just looking at it.

The handprint. The only piece of him he had left.

He had to go.

But as he neared the garage he could hear the others’ voices and chickened out, choosing instead to duck into Cas’ room and sit in the rubble he created.

He’d been there for a while, long enough for his eyes to sting from crying, when he saw something beneath the bed.

The corner of a box, exposed in the destruction of the room.

He reached for it and tugged it toward him, flicking the lid off and looking at it like it might explode.

But there was no bomb inside, no literal bomb at least, however, the contents hit Dean like one nonetheless.

Inside was a scattering of things the two men had shared throughout the years.

A photo of Dean in his cowboy hat, the mixed tape, the FBI badge he’d made for Cas, and to his surprise, the amulet- or Samulet as that one girl who wrote the musical about their lives had called it. A few things from Claire and Jack were also among the items, but the most of it was him. He had kept these in a seemingly special place.

He did make himself at home, but he felt he had to hide it, and Dean wasn’t sure which was worse.

————————

@spuffy-destiel @destieliscanon5nov

[zepskies]

Series Masterlist - Take Me Home

Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader 

Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you both have a past you’re running from. 

AN: Welcome to my first ever Big Sky series! This is set towards the beginning of season 3.

Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) Angst and grief/trauma, PTSD, canon murder mystery, eventual smut.

🎵 Listen While You Read: The TMH Music Playlist (YouTube)

Chapters:

Part 1: All of Her Days

Part 2: It's Not Right, But It's Okay

Part 3: Welcome Home

Part 4: A Past & Future Thing

Part 5: Not That Simple

Part 6: A Man or a Coward

Part 7: On the Edge of a Knife

Part 8: Take Me Home

Part 9: A Choice to Make

Series complete!

Bonus One-Shots:

A Good Man Is Hard to Find** When Beau starts pulling away from you and Emily during a very difficult case, will the pressure make or break your relationship?

A Crime of Passion** When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.

S.I.N.G.** Beau wishes you’d take this self-defense lesson a little more seriously.

Echoes Beau has another rough night, but you help him face a harder truth.

Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[scoobydoodean]

dean would be the most dedicated boyfriend/husband & i hate the way people talk about him like he’s a player who could “never settle down”.. please he just needs a moment of affection 🥲

People love to rewrite literally every single fucking thing that happened with the Braedens into various made up stories passed on as fact, but when Dean was with the Braedens, he treated Ben like a son. He taught him how to work on cars. He cooked Lisa and Ben breakfast every morning. He contributed to the household. They specifically wrote a scene where a pretty waitress passed her number to Dean while he was out with a neighbor and Dean disposed of it without a second thought (6.01). He didn't leave the Braedens so he could go fuck someone else. He left because his presence put Lisa and Ben in danger and then soulless Sam (who had ulterior motives) convinced him he was going to ruin their lives and probably get them murdered and his PTSD went haywire and 6.01, 6.02, 6.05, and finally 6.21 reinforced all his fears about them being hurt because of The Curse Of Loving Dean Winchester, and it left him feeling so upset and scared of them being hurt that he thought it was better for their safety if he cut ties.

Long before all that, Dean was so in love with Cassie that he told her about hunting after just a couple of months and then he was heartbroken when she rejected him and he was willing to be vulnerable enough to tell her so directly. The idea of Dean as some kind of suave playboy who could never settle down because he likes to fuck and suck too much is just ???? Like quite arguably, Dean seeks out casual sex as a substitute for the affection he wishes he could share with a life partner, but liking sex and having casual hookups isn't a crime and doesn't preclude a person from being interested in a long-term relationship and/or a stable home (something we know Dean was actively aching for at various points from episodes like 1.13, 2.20, 3.10, 5.12, 5.17). It was that he felt he couldn't have those things because of the circumstances of his life, and the narrative repeatedly reinforced that belief, and Dean eventually settled into peace with the fact that he has a family anyway despite everything!! It just isn't a traditional family. And he also gets a stable home and his own room!!! It's just underground and warded so he feels safe and cosy. People not recognizing that Dean DOES have a family and a home carry the same confusion as John in 14.13 (who also—btw—always knew that Dean wanted a home THE MOST).

JOHN My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you – you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you. I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would… get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family. DEAN I have a family.

HE HAS A FAMILY. It just isn't the traditional family!!! And Dean is very loyal to that family and he takes care of that family he is the hearth of the house!!!

[jasmines-library]

Could u pls do a Winchester sister fic like (season 10 ep. 15) but instead of the parasite going into cole it goes into the sister and Dean tries to shock it out like in the episode but then she almost dies and they have to try and find another way

The Things They Carried

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Word Count: 2284 (wow look at me go)

Warnings: Uhhh not sure how to phrase it. Overall gore, kinda throwing up?

⛧ SPN MASTERLIST ⛧

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The woman had vanished without a trace. Well, at least at first. Her body was found strung upside down in the storage room of a remote part of the city Feyetteville, North Carolina. Perhaps one of the most perplexing parts of the victims disappearance, was that not only was she an Army Private, trained in Krav Maga and Jiu-Jitsu, but her organs had been drained, along with the bone marrow sucked out of her body. This is what had caught Dean’s attention. He now sat in front of you and Sam, the article pulled up on his ipad.

Sam raised his eyebrows, his forehead wrinkling as he studied the article once more before handing it off to you. “So…cannibalism. You thinking a Rugaru?”

“Or a God. Maybe.” Dean agreed. A second later he was up on his feet, ready to go. Sam tried to protest. Ever since Dean got the mark of Cain Sam has been solely focused on trying to find a way to remove it. He was constantly on edge and you had to admit you were too. It seemed that no amount of research seemed to give enough answers on the mark. Eventually, with a look from his older brother and a defeated sigh, Sam let up and not even 10 minutes later, the three of you were speeding down the road.

Much to your disappointment, when you arrived in the city the first thing the three of you were told was that the local police had closed the case. However, they had given you a name, and the incriminating evidence. The sheriff; an elderly man, perhaps late 60s with white, thinning hair, had also told you that the offender had also committed suicide before the feds could lock him up. He also told you that this was the third suicide the city had seen in the last 6 months. A pattern. This was definitely something supernatural, if that wasn’t already clear. However, when Sam asked about the body, the sheriff informed the three of you that there were no bite marks, and that the victim had been killed with a bowie knife. That ruled out a Rugaru, leaving your trail dry.

The next step of the hunt was to speak to Beth, the offender's widow. She was rather distraught as she bounced her baby softly in her arms. When she glanced away from it, you could see the pain in her eyes; the dark circles that rim them. 

“Rick was a kind soul.” She insisted sadly, glancing down at the floor. The way she spoke of her late husband was filled with awe, but woven thick was pain that choked up her voice. You could tell that she still hadn’t processed her husband’s recent change in personality. 

“Did you ever notice anything strange?” Sam asked gently, his fingers clasped together as he leaned against the countertop. “Violent mood swings?”

“Weird smells?” You added.

“No….” The woman frowned. “But Rick was- he was-” she stuttered, unable to word what she wanted to say correctly, almost as if she didn’t really believe it or understand it herself. “He was thirsty.”

You tilted your head at her, her words catching your interest. “Thirsty for what?”

Her answer surprised you. “Water. He’d spend half the day drinking from the garden hose. And then, when I told him to stop it was like he couldn’t even hear me. And his skin; it got so dry it bled.”

Your older brothers watched intently. “Did he see a doctor?” Dean questioned gruffly.

The poor woman shook her head. There were now soft tears rolling down her face, mingling with the ghosts of the ones there before. “He just got put on a list to be put on a list. And then he stopped talking. He just wasn't himself–” she sniffled, shifting her baby in her arms. “I thought….maybe it was just PTSD.”

No one said anything for a moment before you broke the silence tenderly. “We’re very sorry.”

“You said that Rick had been recently deployed.” Dean said. “Do you have any idea where?”

“No.” She answered rather bluntly. “That stuff’s classified. They don’t even let the wives in on it.”

And the trail runs cold again. 

But then, just as you were about to leave and Sam left your number, Beth stopped you again. 

“There’s one other thing.” she added. “I ran into my friend Jemma at the supermarket. She’s married to Kit Verson. A guy from Rick’s team. She thinks Kit came back different this time. Kind of felt like we were dealing with the same thing.”

The trail picks up again.

After a little while running around after Kit Verson, discovering that he murdered someone else the same way that his friend did, the three of you ended up in an old shack that his wife believed he might have fled to. It was dark. Eerily so. However not as eerie as the trail of dead mice on the floor. Machetties in hand and guns in holsters, the three of your crept through the darkness of the hut. You found him hunched over in the back room of the house. His breathing was rough and ragged as though he might have run a mile at top speed. When you reached out to touch his shoulder, his head whipped around, bloodshot eyes boring into you. His mouth and face was splattered with blood and dirt, and his movements were erratic as he stood up to face you. He gripped you tight, cold fingers like icicles against your skin as he pushed you back against the wall. And then his eyes were pleading with you. The harsh crease between his eyebrows softened for just a moment as he used his body weight to keep you pinned up against the wood panelling. 

“I’m sorry,” he grunted out, wrestling with you to keep you in his grasp. “I can’t stop.”

And then, you were on the floor, dirty ground rising to meet you fast as he made you lose your footing. And then, as you struggled beneath him he made this awful gagging noise as the creature slithered out of his throat and forced its way into you. You coughed, gagging yourself as your brothers rushed into the room. They were on Kit in seconds, but he was strong, throwing your brothers around before dashing out of the door. Quick on his feet, Dean followed, leaving you staggering for breath on the floor with Sam.

“Are you alright?!” Sam asked, alarmed as he rushed to your side, helping you up off the floor.

You coughed. “Some-something’s inside of me–” a grimace spread across your face as you felt it move. “It’s alive–”

“It what?” Sam blinked. “What did it look like? Do you know what it was?”

“Khan worm.” Dean answered, catching on to the end of the conversation. “At Least i think it is. Why? Did you see it?”

You groaned in pain, so Sam answered for you. “It crawled inside her.”

Dean froze, his eyes going wide. “What?”

Sam nodded grimly. 

“Did you see what it was? Dean asked worriedly. 

You coughed, hands flying to your mouth. “Khan worm.”

“Shit.” Dean cursed aloud, running his hands through his hair. 

“We have two options.” You said, trying to hide the grimace on your face as you felt the worm moving, ,crawling under your skin. Neither of the two options were very pleasant at all. You and your brothers had worked a case with Khan worms a few years ago and there were two ways that you discovered the worms could be killed. And while these worms seemed slightly different to the first ones you discovered, you figured that they were similar enough that the same rules would apply. The first option was probably the most forward one, but it also involved certain death; a headshot to the infected person that would cause the worm to flee the body where it would then be crushed by Sam or Dean. Option one was very clearly off the table. The second was far more painful, but it also harboured greater chances of survival. 

Dean began to protest immediately. “No. No no. there’s got to be another way.” 

“You know we dont-”

“Kid….” Sam started. 

“Just do it. We have no other choice.”

Dean sighed, turning away and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright.”

~

Dean had managed to find two batteries hidden in the small cabin. He placed them grimly on the table with a thud before connecting two of the jump wires that Sam had gone and collected from Baby’s trunk. You were sitting in the armchair, fingers gripping the leather as you waited anxiously. Sam tried to give you some comforting words, but you weren’t sure who he was trying to comfort more; you or himself. 

“Alright.” Dean said, his voice laced thick with an anxiousness and guilt he was yet to shake. He brought the cables over to you as you took a deep breath, placing a wooden spoon between your mouth to keep you from biting through your tongue. 

Settling back in the chair, you took a moment to collect yourself. To prepare for the agony you were about to put yourself through. And then, you gave him a brief nod 

The sudden pain when Dean pressed the jump cables to your skin was overwhelming. Unbearable. A million agonies all combined to one as the electricity raced through your veins. You screamed, crying out as your teeth bit down on the wood of the spoon, which helped to muffle the sound. Both of your brothers winced at the sound of your agony as you twisted and writhed. Sam had to look away and Dean had to force himself to keep the cables against your skin though he yearned to take away your pain. But nothing happened. As soon as your brother removed the cables, you were panting for breath, trying to recover quickly from the pain. You couldn’t help but notice the looks on your brother’s faces.

“Anything?”

Sam shook his head dismally. The parasite was still in you. 

“Go again.”

Dean startled. “What? Are you crazy?”

“Go again.” You strained. 

Dean collected himself, and then; the same pain. But still as you writhed. Fists clenching and nails digging into your palms the worm remained inside you. And your brothers were growing increasingly concerned. Your movements began to slow as you grew quieter and your eyes fluttered, drooping with a sudden heaviness. Dean pulled the cables away immediately and you slumped back against the chair. Your head lolled forwards against your chest and your breathing was concerningly slow and laboured. 

“Okay….okay…” Sam said gently, slipping an arm behind your back to help support you.You whimpered slightly at the movement. “ Shh. You’re alright sweetheart.” he glanced up at Dean, fear and worry evident in the creases on his forehead. They would have to find a different way to get the worm out.

~

You were sweating. Gods….you’d never been hotter. Your body still ached as you sat in the armchair of the cabin. The old leather was flaking off and was practically covered in a sheen of your own sweat. Sam and Dean had pushed it towards the fire, leaving you to sweat against the heat. They had figured that as the parasite needed water, if they could make you sweat it all out…then the creature would leave. But now you were practically slumped in a chair, dark veins crawling up your neck as you tried to rid the worm from your body. You coughed a little, your throat dry, with no way to soothe it. Thirst…..that was the only thing that consumed your mind…you were so. damn. thirsty. Your body craved it. Anything you could get you would take….even your own brothers’ blood. The parasite yearned for something. You could feel it, squirming around inside you. Uncomfortable, you whined before coughing a little, doubling over on yourself. 

Sam placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hang in there, Sweetheart. You have to sweat it out.”

“Can’t–” You coughed. 

“Yes you can.” Dean shut you down quickly. “You can’t give up. Winchesters don’t quit.”

Reluctantly, you nodded. Your head spun. You felt sick. But you knew you couldn’t give up. You were in for a long waiting game. 

It wasn’t until a few hours later, when you were on the verge of breaking down that you began to feel it slithering up your throat. You gagged, coughing as you tried to expel the creature from your body. 

Sam and Dean were by your side in seconds, both trying to coax you through it, ready to stomp on the worm as soon as it made an appearance. Sure enough you managed to cough it up uncomfortably. It splattered on the floor, squealing as it writhed and trying to slither off to infect someone else. It didn’t make it far before Dean slammed a heavy boot over it. And once more for good measure. It squelched under his shoe, peeling off from it as it stuck to the floor. He grimaced at the sight before moving to crouch beside you, checking on you.

You wiped the string of saliva from your mouth with a grimace before gratefully taking the water bottle Sam offered you and wasting no time before drinking it to quench your impossible thirst.

“That's it. Easy, Sweetheart.” Dean cooed. “It’s over now.”

“You did it, kiddo.” Sam said, guiding you to lean back in the chair more. “We knew you could do it. We’re proud of you.”

(A bit of a rubbish ending! I'm sorry i wasn't sure what to do)

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SPN TAGS:

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[saintsenara]

honestly is there a single competent teacher at Hogwarts? Any teacher I can think of with more than 10 lines of dialogue is a pedagogical disaster. Very shippable disasters though, for which I am grateful because your page has made me giggle all week.

maybe Sprout.

honestly, anon? no.

that school is a basket case and the older i get the more my sympathy for cornelius fudge increases. imagine getting the call where dumbledore says "heyyyyy... so, i hired what i thought was an ex-auror who was retired from the service because of serious ptsd, gave him no teacher training, let him perform illegal curses on children for fun, and then it turns out he was an escaped convict trying to resurrect the dark lord all along. lmao."

i'd have devoted myself to trying to discredit him too.

and so, for fun and profit, i think it's only fair for us to establish an official competency ranking of the teaching staff at hogwarts during the period 1991-1998... points on for having a basic grasp of the material, points off for anyone who nearly dies in your class.

1. wilhelmina grubbly-plank, care of magical creatures

genuinely, professor grubbly-plank is the only person we meet in all seven books who seems to be an uncomplicatedly good teacher. she's got a series of well-defined lesson plans which feature a mixture of guided and independent study and which work in a tangible way towards exams, she has clear authority in the classroom but is never unreasonable or cruel, she's demonstrably able to lead a practical class which involves wild animals which might behave dangerously or unpredictably without there ever being any concerns about student safety, she takes an active pastoral role [such as when she helps heal hedwig's injured wing, reassuring harry enormously], she's collegial [she shares her lessons plans with hagrid in goblet of fire, and she refuses to criticise his teaching to umbridge], and she's admired by all of her pupils except harry [who is nonetheless begrudgingly forced to admit that she's incredibly good at her job].

plus, her aesthetic is iconic.

=2. filius flitwick, charms; pomona sprout, herbology

in joint second place, we have these two.

both sprout and flitwick spend canon seeming to be pretty good at their jobs - they have interesting lesson plans which seem to balance theoretical and practical work well and which prepare their pupils properly for exams, their pupils like them and enjoy their lessons, they're both excellent at the pastoral side of their jobs [sprout's gentle encouragement of neville is really lovely], and they're adored by their colleagues.

they lose marks for lax classroom discipline. harry, ron, and hermione are constantly yapping away in both charms and herbology - with harry and ron frequently failing to understand what they're supposed to be learning because they were too busy have a chat.

=4. remus lupin, defence against the dark arts; septima vector, arithmancy

two teachers here who earn their placement on the list by having one pupil who considers them life-alteringly inspiring.

for lupin, this is dean thomas - whose constant state of readiness to throw hands to defend his honour is one of his greatest character traits. for vector, it's hermione.

obviously, they're both well-qualified, well-prepared, engaging, and [at least in lupin's case, but i can't see why it wouldn't also be the case for vector] well-regarded by their colleagues.

they don't rank higher because lupin loses marks for endangering his students by not disclosing his knowledge that the presumed-to-be-a-death-eater sirius has a means of entering hogwarts without detection [i understand why he does this from a characterisation point of view, but it's inexcusable from a safeguarding one] and because vector teaches an elective subject which is implied to only attract bright, engaged pupils - and therefore has an easier time in the classroom than someone trying to get a student like crabbe through their exams.

5. minerva mcgonagall, transfiguration

in comes minnie mac at number five.

unsurprisingly, her solid curriculum, excellent classroom discipline, high-regard among her colleagues and pupils, support of student extracurricular activities, and investment in helping her pupils pursue the careers they want all give her points.

she loses marks, however, for the fact that she is so casually disdainful of pupils who aren't instinctively good at her subject - which suggests that she doesn't know how to adapt her material so it can be understood by every student she teaches. like dumbledore, she seems to have an identifiable favouritism for brilliant students - who she seems to permit to get away with much more than students she considers average or dull - which probably doesn't endear her to anyone who doesn't get that treatment.

on her pastoral approach, though, i don't think that it matters too much that she's not particularly nurturing - even though she's a head of house. she seems to be good at responding to genuine distress and managing genuine crises with empathy, and the "pull yourself together" vibes she takes in response to more trivial dramas is because she's a presbyterian scotswoman.

6. severus snape, potions & defence against the dark arts

the one on this list that i imagine will be controversial...

because snape is a dick in the classroom - not denying that - but he's also, in terms of his pupils' exam performance, clearly the most successful teacher in the entire school. he can fill his newt-level classes despite only admitting those with outstanding grades, and he expects every pupil he teaches to pass owl-level potions and seems not to be disappointed. hermione reveals that he does teach the theory of potions and the discipline's wider application - harry and ron just don't listen - and that she thinks his lessons are interesting.

snape loses marks - obviously - for his general vibe, although i think he should be allowed some leeway for his dickhead behaviour since potions is clearly a subject in which not paying attention and not being able to follow instructions properly is dangerous [hence why i've been a trevor hater since day one].

i suppose he should also be allowed some leeway because it's a genre requirement for a school story to have a theatrically evil teacher. but he's not getting it - since he clearly enjoys the role so much.

7. horace slughorn, potions

marks on for encouraging independent thinking and for clearly being able to hold a classroom's attention. marks off for not learning the names of pupils he's indifferent to, getting his favourite pupils drunk, and for having no follow-up questions to "hello, sir. i'd like to commit some murders."

8. charity burbage, muggle studies

entirely because i think it's genuinely admirable - and, indeed, far more admirable than the fact that the order of the phoenix all happily keep working for the state following voldemort's takeover - that she publishes an article in the daily prophet, to which her real name is attached, explicitly refuting blood-supremacist rhetoric when she must know that a blood-supremacist government is about to come into power.

marks off because the fact that even wizards who've taken her class appear to know fuck all about muggle society means that she can't be particularly good at her job.

9. firenze, divination

marks on because his pupils love him, marks off because that's a tremendously low bar to clear given... trelawney.

him telling his classes that divination is a bullshit, made-up subject is iconic, though.

10. "alastor moody", defence against the dark arts

i think it's genuinely impressive that he manages to go from being imprisoned under the imperius curse for a decade straight into planning a full year's lesson plans [which his pupils love] and doesn't have a breakdown.

marks off because of literally everything else.

=11. all the miscellaneous teachers: aurora sinistra, astronomy; silvanus kettleburn, care of magical creatures; bathsheba babbling, ancient runes

they seem fine.

14. rolanda hooch, flying

full respect to her for managing to wangle a full-time salary out of an annual workload made up of teaching one lesson [badly] and refereeing six quidditch matches.

15. quirinus quirrell, defence against the dark arts

all the proof those of us who hate professor riddle stories need that voldemort would have been a dogshit teacher, if he can't even get his meat-puppet to inspire a room full of eager eleven-year-olds in a subject which is about the coolest ways possible to kill people.

=16. cuthbert binns, history of magic; sybill trelawney, divination

they're terrible, obviously, but the fact that they remain in their jobs despite being so clearly incompetent is entirely dumbledore's fault. are you not giving the staff performance reviews, albus? come on now.

18. dolores umbridge, defence against the dark arts

umbridge deserves to be in prison, but she did at least bother to plan out a curriculum.

=19. gilderoy lockhart, defence against the dark arts; rubeus hagrid, care of magical creatures

both victims of dumbledore's "lol this will be so funny" era of hiring practices. both deservedly regarded as completely fucking incompetent by all but one defiant brownnoser. both possessing jazzy taste in textbooks.

21. amycus carrow, defence against the dark arts

he beats his sister simply because his pupils do appear to know how to perform the unforgivable curses correctly.

22. alecto carrow, muggle studies

literally nothing positive can be said.