#Pond S14 Weekly Challenge

[spnfanficpond]

Pond Writing Challenges

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Writer's Block Challenge:

One

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Perfect

A/N: I actually wrote something!! Hallelujah!! Special thanks to @negans-lucille-library for beta reading and putting up with all of my questions!!

Summary: Life with Dean is perfect.

Pairing: Dean x reader (I believe this reader is pretty gender neutral, so I hope some guys out there get to read this and enjoy it, too!)

Warnings: None, really. Mostly fluff. Bit of angst.

Word count: 3497 words

Prompt: For the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 19. I used one prompt. It will be bolded. Not listing it here because spoilers.

Two machetes swung in unison, lopping off two vampire heads and leaving you looking at the proud face of your husband as the bodies fell between you. A beam of sunlight burst through a broken board in the roof of the barn and lit up dust motes in the air around Dean’s head, making him look positively resplendent. You grinned at each other before each of you motioned over the other’s shoulder, and then both spun away, taking down two more vampires with almost synchronized movements. It was always like a dance, fighting with Dean. The two of you had fought together for so long now, you were one unit, just taking down monster after monster in fights that almost looked choreographed.

When the last vampire head hit the ground with a satisfying thump and the corresponding body slumped after it, you both heaved a satisfied sigh and smiled at each other. With a quiet nod, you separated, making sure the barn was completely clear of monsters, inside and out, then met again in the middle with a quick, chaste, kiss.

“I’d do better, but you have a little something right… about...” –you gestured at his cheek, then really all over his face– “well, everywhere, really,” you said with a grimace. “Don’t feel like turning into a vampire just because I wanted to kiss my husband.”

Dean pretended to try and kiss you messily, laughing when you pushed him away. “You mean, it’s not worth two days of puking your guts up with the vampire cure to give your hot-as-hell husband a proper kiss?” Letting you go, he wiped his machete off on the shirt of one of the headless bodies and then headed toward the water pump just outside the barn doors. “I must be losing my touch!” he joked as he began pumping to fill the trough below the faucet.

You joined him in cleaning both your weapons and yourselves, enjoying the clear spring air and bright sunshine warming your back, and soon you were able to safely risk showing your affection. As did every other part of you, your lips fit together perfectly. Dean kissed you so well, you wondered how you ever thought anyone else was any good at it. He took over all your senses, making little happy noises when your tongue slid against his, surrounding you with his arms, filling your nose with the scent of his aftershave and sweat, and leaving the taste of the pie he’d had with breakfast in your mouth. You finally came up for air, still trading little nibbly kisses until you both accepted that the hunt wasn’t done, yet, and you needed to finish it. You stayed in his arms an extra moment, foreheads touching, both reaffirming that you were still here - still alive - and uninjured after the fight.

“Love you,” you whispered, looking through your lashes at the bright green of Dean’s eyes. They always seemed greener in the spring, somehow.

“Ditto,” he whispered back, before landing one last peck on your lips and smacking your ass playfully.

“You’re lucky I love you, or I would have told Sam how you watched that movie, and enjoyed it, a long time ago!” you teased as the two of you split up to head to Baby’s trunk and get cleaning supplies.

Walking ahead of you with those long legs, Dean turned around, walking backward for a step, and gasped loudly. “You wouldn’t!” he cried with eyes wide and his mouth turned into a pout, clearly knowing that you really wouldn’t, but playing your game, anyway.

“That’s right, I wouldn’t because I love you. Now, aren’t you lucky?” you scolded while still grinning.

He stopped you, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, yet again. “Luckiest man in the world,” he echoed, before turning away and unlocking the trunk.

While Dean was digging through the trunk to find a matchbook to go with the can of gas you were holding, you saw something move out of the corner of your eye. Years of hunter awareness sent the hair on the back of your neck standing up while you searched the nearby tree line for another sign of movement. The barn was in the back forty of a farm abandoned at least a decade earlier, so wildlife of all kinds had taken over. The tree line was nothing more than just that: a line of trees that marked the edge of the farm. Over the years, bushes and smaller trees had filled in the gaps between the larger trees, making it a more formidable barrier. Where you guessed you might have been able to see through it years ago, now, it was overgrown and impenetrable. Except for the driveway the vampires had tamed, the grass in the surrounding fields was all knee-high and waving in the breeze. Figuring it was either one of the taller weeds in the grass or an animal, you convinced yourself to let it go as Dean slammed Baby’s trunk lid shut.

The barn had plenty of hay for kindling, but much of it had gotten wet from the holes in the roof. Dean was hauling bales and generally kicking up dust when you inhaled a bit and started sneezing uncontrollably.

“Head outside, honey, and I’ll finish up here,” Dean urged while you continued sniffling and sneezing. “Go use up some of those tissues you keep stashing in my car when you think I’m not looking!”

Not able to speak, you just nodded and headed back out into the sunshine, which started another round of sneezes. You were blowing your nose when you saw another bit of movement by the tree line. Keeping your eyes trained on the grass and bushes that had moved, you finished with the tissues and grabbed your gun from the holster on the back of your belt.

Gun trained in front of you, safety off, you slinked towards the tree line, keeping your eyes moving left to right, looking for another anomaly in the swaying of the grass and weeds. When you reached where you’d seen the movement, there were signs that someone had been standing there all around. Trampled grass, broken branches in the trees and bushes, and then footprints in the mud drew you further into the miniature jungle. You were almost out and on the other side when you were grabbed from behind, a hand put over your mouth to dampen your screams.

Whoever it was pulled you backward, knocking you off your feet so you stumbled. The body behind you spun you and pushed you up against a tree, knocking the gun from your hand in the process. You tried to shove an elbow back into their ribs, but it was caught, and you were pinned. Your mind swirled, going through the intel you’d gathered with Dean before the hunt. Both of you had been sure of the headcount, but obviously, you were wrong. One of them must have been away for a few days, but now they were home and pissed.

“Calm down, kiddo, I’m not a monster,” said a very familiar voice as you were pulled away from the tree, but still held tightly. “Just take a breath and relax and we can talk.”

A deep breath, a subtle shift in your body, and the picture in your mind became something almost like your husband, but not. Your muscles relaxed, trusting Dean no matter what was happening, even though your mind still whirled. Through the leaves of the trees and bushes, you saw your husband walk out of the barn, looking for something. Maybe looking for you.

“Of all the things I thought I might see when I walked into your dream, I really didn’t expect to see me.” The arms around you loosened and you whipped around to see a carbon copy of your husband standing there.

Well, almost a carbon copy. Different flannel. Different jeans. Fewer laugh lines around the mouth. Less unadulterated love and affection in the eyes.

“Dream?” you asked stupidly, looking back at your husband as he began searching for you around the barn. You didn’t want to believe it, but as you watched your husband in the distance, you saw the differences, the unreality. That didn’t stop your heart and mind from clinging to him, wanting nothing more than to go back to him.

The Dean next to you sighed. “Yeah, kiddo. I’m sorry, but it’s a dream. You got nabbed by a djinn. Sam’s off getting ingredients for the antidote, but I couldn’t just sit by and watch you dying, so I took some dream root.”

Your husband looked absolutely panicked as he ran towards another part of the tree line, searching for you. The sight pulled at your heart. How he missed your trail through the tall grass was a mystery. You’d have to tease him on his lack of tracking skills later when you got home, after the panic was over.

“I need to go let him know that I’m okay,” you whimpered, taking a step towards where your husband was beating back bushes looking for evidence of you.

Dean gently grabbed your elbow and stopped you. “No, kiddo, you really don’t. He’s not real.” With some effort, he turned you around so you were looking at him, this man who was so close, but not quite your husband. “I’m real, you’re real, and the crappy motel we’re asleep in out there in the real world, that’s real. But this is all crap. You can walk away from it all and come back to what’s real.”

Silent tears dripped down your cheeks. Your mind fought against it, but once the magic trick was revealed, you couldn’t go back to believing. Memories of working beside Dean for years, loving him quietly while he fought and died and came back and fought and died again… they rushed back in and overwhelmed you. Memories of a quiet confession of love, a small wedding, and a shared bed quickly took on the sepia tones of a fading dream. A sob ripped from your throat, and you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle it.

“So,” you croaked, sniffling through the tears, “everything… with him,” you nodded at your husband, still literally beating the bushes to find you, “all the…,” a sob stopped you until you could swallow it down, “all the everything with him, it was all a dream?” Turning back to the Dean in front of you, your heart ripped in two. “Just a stupid fucking dream?” His face twisted as he looked down to avoid your eyes, but he still nodded. “And now you’re telling me that I have to leave?” He nodded again, his eyes still on the ground instead of on you.

Your husband was getting closer. He’d see you in a minute. He’d hold you, and comfort you, and love you the way this Dean never would. You could go home with him, go back to the Bunker, where Sam and Eileen were teaching hunter classes to Jody’s girls and a few other new recruits. Jack and Cas were fixing Heaven but always visited for Sunday dinner. Eileen was pregnant, and you were going to be a godparent, and Dean had already built the crib and bought the biggest stuffed unicorn you’d ever seen. You could go home with him and live an entire lifetime with him and your family until the djinn poison took you.

“No,” you declared. “I don’t have to leave. It’s my choice. I can stay if I want. Even if I know it’s a dream, I can stay here.” Looking at the real man your husband was based on, you shook your head and stepped away from him. “Maybe it’s just a dream, but it’s my dream, and I’m staying.”

Your husband crashed through the bushes and finally caught sight of you, with another Dean holding your elbow in one hand. His gun came up, the safety clicked off, and you stepped in front of the real Dean. The move stopped him from firing but didn’t quell his confusion.

“What’s going on, babe? You know that’s not me, right?”

You nodded, tears still streaming down your face. “I know, but don’t shoot. Please don’t hurt him,” you begged. “Just trust me, okay?”

Pushing Dean’s hand from your arm, you walked toward your husband, arms outstretched. He pulled you close and hugged you tightly, gun still pointed somewhat at the other Dean, murmuring about how worried he’d been when he couldn’t find you.

“Who is this guy, anyway? What’s going on?” he asked you, talking into your hair as he held your head against his shoulder with one hand and continued watching his prey suspiciously.

You’d never felt as safe and loved as you did in Dean’s arms. It didn’t matter where in the world you were, or what was happening around you, in Dean’s embrace was your happy place. You’d do anything to stay there. Even die.

“Nothing you need to worry about, honey,” you reassured him, pulling away so you could look him in the eye. “He’s leaving and I’m staying with you. Till death parts us, and then beyond, like I promised.” Cupping his head with your hands, you kissed him, promising to uphold your vows with every fiber of your being.

“Even if it’s only a dream?” your husband asked, his eyes closed as he touched his forehead to yours.

The surprise that he would acknowledge it rocked you, but your decision stayed the same. Nodding, you glanced back at the other Dean – the real Dean – meaning to say goodbye. What you saw there made you pause: pain reflected in glassy eyes.

“It doesn’t have to be a dream,” he said, almost too quietly for you to hear.

You and your husband froze. “What did you say?” you replied, feeling your thoughts move too slowly to fully understand everything that was happening.

“I said,” Dean answered, taking a deep breath, “It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

Your husband felt you pulling away and tightened his hold on you, tugging your chin so you were looking him in the eye. “I love you, honey, and I love our life and we’re gonna live whatever the badass version of ‘happily ever after’ is, remember?” Tears blurred your view of your husband, but you could see the future with him so clearly. “Sammy and Eileen are gonna have their baby, and we’re gonna have the cutest damn niece or nephew ever, and Claire and Kaia are gonna get married, and we’re gonna do the robot at the reception and embarrass the crap outta them, and we’re gonna keep killing monsters until my knees get creaky and your back gives out, and then we’re gonna retire and help Garth with his monster rehab and teach hunter classes in the bunker, right? Maybe get a little house nearby with a porch we can sit on in the evenings and watch the sunset from our rocking chairs. That’s the plan, right?”

Foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, you both sniffled and nodded in agreement.

“Look, I can’t give you a niece or nephew, or a fancy wedding for the girls, or monster rehab and hunter classes,” Dean said from behind you, “but I can give you nights on Baby’s hood watching the stars, and bad jokes while I stitch you up, and the best bottom-shelf bourbon with a side of diner food after a bad hunt.”

Pulling away from your husband a little, you turned your head to hear Dean’s words.

“I can’t promise we’ll get a little house with a porch and a pair of rocking chairs, but I’ll chase the sunset with you in Baby any night you want. Or, if you want to stay in, we can cuddle on my memory foam and watch movies.”

The arms around you loosened, allowing you to turn around, and you could finally see the emotion in Dean’s eyes.

“I’ve wanted to be with you for so long, I can’t even tell you when it started. All I know is that I’ve always thought you deserved the best, and that’s not me.” He waved at your husband, who had let go of all of you except your hand. “He’s better than me, this world is better than me, and if he were real, if this were real, I’d let you go off and live this life without a single regret.” He shook his head, heaved a deep breath, and shrugged. “But it isn’t real – he isn’t real – and you’re not going to live happily ever after, you’re going to die, and I can’t do it. I can’t let you die if there’s anything I can do to stop it. So, this is me, asking for what I want: a future with you. A future where nothing is certain except that I’ll always do whatever I can to make you happy.”

The last link to the dream faded as you dropped your dream husband’s hand and stepped towards Dean. The world around you changed somehow, the colors turning once again to the sepia tones of the dream that it was.

“I always thought you didn’t think of me that way,” you said, your voice trembling with nerves.

“I’ve always thought of you that way,” Dean replied. “But you were so out of my league, I didn’t think you’d ever think of me like that!”

Staring into each other’s eyes, you both chuckled and then reached out towards each other, clasping your hands and moving closer together. Dean had the beginnings of a goofy smile, and you felt it matched on your own face.

“You really mean it? You really want to be with me?” you asked, needing to hear it just one more time.

“How about you shake off this dream and I show you for real?” Dean suggested, bending over, pulling your trusty knife from your boot, and handing it to you.

Holding the knife in your hand, you felt the rightness of it click into place. Dean had given you this knife shortly after you’d met. He’d picked it out with everything about you in mind. It had engravings on the blade and handle that you thought were beautiful, and the handle was a perfect size and shape for your hand. Looking at it, you marveled at how it was so perfectly you, perfectly Dean, and just all-around perfect. Dean had always loved you, and everything about the knife proved it.

“What do I need to do?”

Dean gestured towards his double standing opposite you.

The other Dean – your dream husband – began backing away. “Honey, no! It’s me! We can fix this! It will feel like a lifetime, but you’ll be safe here! No monsters can kill you here! Eileen’s gonna have a girl and that little warrior princess is gonna wrap me and Sammy around her little finger! There are gonna be tea parties! Don’t you want to see all of that?”

In his rambling, he slowed just enough that you were able to catch up to him and slam the knife into his gut. He doubled over, falling to the ground in a heap. As he bled out, still babbling about how life would have been perfect with him, the dream faded to black.

You woke with a gasp, Dean waking in a similar manner at the same time next to you. You both sat up, looking around the room and patting yourselves down. When your breathing settled, all the aches and pains from being strung up by the djinn slammed into you and you groaned.

“Oh, God, that hurts,” you complained, holding your neck where the thick gauze bandage was covering your wound. Looking down at yourself, you saw the dirty clothes and felt the skunky funk that came from being held captive in a dank basement for most of a day.

Gesturing to yourself in all your post-captivity glory, you commented to Dean, “Are you sure you still want to be with me? I mean, I’m not much of a prize.” Although you were supposedly joking, deep down you were giving Dean an out. Just in case he’d only said what he’d said to save your life, and not because he’d meant it.

Dean shifted on the bed until he was sitting right next to you and then carefully cupped your head with his hands so you could only see him.

“I will always want to be with you,” he said, solemnly looking into your eyes so you would see the truth of his words. “You are the best prize. Better than the prize in any cereal box.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t as flawlessly perfect as the kisses you had in your dream – your teeth clashed a little in the beginning, and Dean tasted a little like the chili lime beef jerky you didn’t like – but it was perfect for you.

[risingphoenix761]

Original Prankster

Summary: Your favorite fictional hunter turns up in your kitchen, and your boyfriend knows more about it than he's letting on

Word count: 2,572

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Gabriel

Warnings: Pure crack not to be taken seriously. And let's not kid ourselves. There's nothing in here you won't find on the show.

A/N: written for @letsby’s 500 Freestyle Challenge, @bamby0304’s 4k Fourth Wall Smash, and @spnfanficpond’s S14 Weekly Challenge, weeks 14 and 15 (also tagging @mrswhozeewhatsis as instructed). Also filling my Gabriel square for @heavenandhellbingo and my “Piano Man” square for @spnsongchallengebingo. Various prompts are bolded throughout. Unbetaed, so I'm taking all the blame for this nonsense. Enjoy!

###

I've always had a soft spot for Sam Winchester. Such a serious, straitlaced stick-in-the-mud with a stick up his ass, and pushing his buttons never gets old. I've tried to get him to loosen up over the years and he never seemed to appreciate it, and I guess I can't blame him. Entirely, that is. The universe at large, and my relatives in particular, seem hard up to raise hell and somehow or other the Winchesters always get involved.

Martyr complexes, if you ask me.

It took long enough, believe me, but I finally got him to crack. Lighten up. Live a little. And who'd'a thunk it, but that stick in the mud actually has a sense of humor! I know, right? Not only that, but he apparently has a history of hijinks with his big bro. My kind of hijinks. So not only did I discover Sammy Boy's humor, I also discovered a partner-in-crime. A trickster-in-training, if you will.

Because the only thing better than screwing with Sam? That, boys and girls, would be screwing with Dean.

***

Dean woke up on the bathroom floor, a little too close to the toilet for his liking. That he'd passed out wasn't a surprise, given how much he'd been drinking the night before, but how the hell he managed to squeeze himself between the commode and the bathtub to sleep was beyond him. His head pounded, and there was a sour taste in his mouth that told him he probably puked recently.

Slowly getting to his feet, groaning and cursing as tired muscles and cramped joints stretched, he scrubbed a hand over his face and stumbled to the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water, and it wasn't until he turned off the faucet that it occurred to him...motel bathrooms didn't have sinks in the bathroom. This was someone's house.

Moving quietly, wincing as movement made his head spin, he opened the bathroom door--

And you were stuck. What happened next was as much a mystery to you as to potential readers.

Tapping the end of your pen on the table, you stared at the page and hoped words would appear on it. You had a deadline to stick to. Several, in fact, and you had vented enough about all of them to enough people that your pride more or less hinged on pulling through. That all of your deadlines were for fan fiction? You may or may not have kept that part to yourself…

You were almost too spaced out to hear the soft footsteps down the hall, pausing on the creaky floorboard, and you jolted out of your reverie in a heartbeat, pulse kicking up several notches. There was no one else in the house...right? Unless it was a burglar?

There was movement in the kitchen doorway, where you sat at the counter, and a man stepped into the room. Pretty tall, pretty bowlegged, and just plain pretty, with a chiseled jawline, a scattering of freckles, and eyes a very particular shade of green… Fanfiction green, one might say…

Dean frigging Winchester was standing in your kitchen.

You sat gaping at him while he didn't look terribly fazed--terribly hungover, but not fazed. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked a few times before speaking. “Morning.”

“Good--good morning,” you replied, gobsmacked.

He looked at you for a moment or two, then said, “Sorry, but I don't think I remember your name…”

“Y/N,” you answered. “I...uh...I...can't believe you're...here?”

“What, you think I'd cut and run at dawn?”

“Well, um…” Discreetly, you gathered up the pages you had been working on and turned them facedown where he couldn't read them, offering, “Do you want some coffee?”

“God, that'd be awesome,” he groaned, sitting down at the kitchen table and massaging his temples.

“Aspirin?”

“Please…”

You poured him a cup of coffee, then hurried down the hallway to the bathroom, mind flung into a tailspin. What the hell was going on? What was Dean Winchester doing in your kitchen? Taking a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet, you returned to the kitchen, and the fictional monster hunter seated at your table.

Damn, he sure was handsome, you found yourself thinking as you handed him the aspirin. “Here. Help yourself.” He downed a few pills and you sat down again, still as clueless what to do about this. “So, um, what do you remember about last night?”

“The bar,” he replied. “My brother told me about this joint that just opened up in town. The music sucked, but the drinks were on another level. And the food…” His eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a moan of appreciation that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise. “The food was awesome.”

“That's...that's cool…”

“Wait a second.” His gaze suddenly focused on your purse sitting at the far end of the table. You always carried a book with you, which rarely fit completely inside, which meant the spine often stuck out in clear view, as it did now. And with the sun beaming in through the windows, the title was plain to see.

Supernatural: The Devil You Know

Your eyes widened and you looked from Dean to the book and back again. He heaved a sigh and said, “You're into Supernatural?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered. “Ever since the first book was published.”

“You've...you've read all of them?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

He nodded and became doubly interested in the coffee, and you wondered if he was feeling awkward about the details of his life being known, even if he didn't know none of it was real. You knew you'd be embarrassed if you were him, all the horrible things he'd been through set out in black and white for the world's entertainment. Not to mention everything else Carver Edlund wrote… Like Dean told Sam in The Monster At The End Of This Book, he was full frontal in there.

“Do you...remember how you got here?” you asked, thinking of all the possible explanations. This was like a weird reverse of Changing Channels!

He shrugged. “I remember walking into the bathroom,” he said. “I felt a lot more wasted than I should have, I hadn't had that much by my standards, so I asked the bartender and apparently, it was double shot night.”

You groaned at the idea.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “I headed to the can after that, and I remember pushing the door open, and after that?” He spread his hands as if to say what can you do? “Best drinks I ever had, though.”

“Oh, well, that's...good, I guess.”

The sound of the front door opening carried through the house and Dean was on alert in a heartbeat, but you explained, “It's cool. It's just my boyfriend.”

He froze, looking more wary than ever. “Boyfriend?”

“Honey, I'm home!” a voice sang out from the hallway.

“He's a bartender,” you added. “How's that for irony? He goes jogging after work, but he's back a little late this morning.”

Cheery whistling sounded out along with the jingling of keys and he appeared, thick dark blond hair windblown from exercise, glasses sliding down the bridge of his long nose, and scruffy beard slightly scruffier than usual. You smiled at him and greeted, “Morning, babe,” then turned back to Dean.

Green eyes were wide with shock and disbelief as he stared at the newcomer, mouth hanging slightly open. He was dumbstruck for a moment, then he burst out, “You?”

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He ignored you, still staring. “I don't believe it,” he said. “I thought you were dead!”

The man looked from Dean to you, confused. “Honey, who is this?” he asked.

“This is Dean,” you answered. “Dean, this is my boyfriend, Rich.”

“Hi, Dean, nice to meet you,” he replied, extending his hand to shake.

Dean's shock slowly turned to a look of indignation and he glanced at the offered hand as if it offended him. “Are you frigging kidding me?” he demanded. “Rich? I'm not buying the crap, pal! You better tell me what's going on!”

Rich drew back, looking askance. “Whoa, calm down, man--”

“Why don't you shove it up your ass? Have you just been hiding out this whole time while we've been dealing with apocalypses and angel wars and whatever other load of bull the universe decides to dump on us?”

“Dean, are you drunk?”

“It was double shot night!” He paused in his outburst, brow furrowed in sudden thought. “Wait a sec...you were the bartender last night. It was dark, but I thought you looked familiar.”

“Yeah,” Rich agreed slowly, “I work as a bartender…”

“But that doesn't make sense!”

You and Dean froze, having said it at once. “He can't have been your bartender,” you reasoned, “he's--”

“An angel,” Dean interrupted.

“Well, I agree, but it's not possible.”

“No, really, he's an angel, but he's supposed to be dead!”

“You don't understand!”

Both of you spoke at once again, and Dean tried again. “Listen, sweetheart, whatever this guy's told you, he's not who you think he is.”

“Who do you think he is?” you asked.

“Gabriel, the archangel.”

You looked from Dean to Rich, who merely shrugged and twirled a finger in a circle at his temple. Crazy.

“He didn't have a beard or glasses,” Dean went on, “but that's him. Lucifer killed him, or so we thought.”

“In Hammer of the Gods?” you asked.

Dean turned back to you, gears clearly whirling in his head. He reached across the table and took the book out of your purse, reading the summary on the back cover. “Chuck kept publishing?” he muttered to himself.

“Who is Chuck?” Rich asked.

“Carver Edlund's real name,” you answered. “He wrote a self-insert and made himself a prophet, it was kinda wild.”

“Are you talking about Supernatural again?”

“Well…” You heaved a sigh. “This is going to sound crazy…”

“Oh, trust me, he knows,” Dean chimed in.

“This is Dean Winchester,” you went on, ignoring him. “As in, actually Dean Winchester.”

Rich paused for a moment, silent, then pointed at the book in Dean's hand. “That Dean Winchester?”

“Yep. That one.”

“Uh huh…”

“I'm not crazy,” you insisted.

“Well, we all go a little mad sometimes…”

“You don't believe me?”

“Can it, already!” Dean snapped at him. “I'm sick of your crap, you son of a bitch, now tell me what the hell kind of game you're playing this time!”

“Now, listen,” Rich shot back, starting to sound annoyed, “I'm telling you, Dean, I have no idea what you're talking about, now if we can't remain civil, then you can skedaddle.”

“He can't, honey,” you replied. “He's fictional. He belongs in another reality.”

Dean pointed at you in agreement. “Whatever you've done, put it back right now,” he demanded. “And face up to your crap while you're at it. You think Kali would be cool with you hiding all this time?”

Rich heaved a sigh and took off his glasses, looking exasperated. “Dean, why did you have to bring her up?” he asked, snapping his fingers. In an instant, he was clean-shaven, and he seemed to carry himself differently, not quite as laid back but still at ease, with a cool confidence and an easy manner but with an aura of power surrounding him.

Your jaw dropped and you stared at him. “It's...it's true?” you sputtered. “Gabriel? Like, that Gabriel?” You pointed at the book in Dean's hand, as Rich himself had done--no, Gabriel, archangel Gabriel, who was also the Mystery Spot trickster who dropped the Winchesters into several television universes and died trying to stop Lucifer...and had a fling with Kali the goddess.

What the hell was going on here?

“It's kind of a lot to take in at once,” he conceded.

“Kind of?” you burst out, flabbergasted. “You're not real! Neither of you! What are you doing in my kitchen? Am I crazy? This is a dream, right? I'm making this whole thing up?”

“Reality is highly subjective,” he replied. “The human world is a mess, you know. You all tend to believe whatever you want, or whatever anyone can convince you of. So, who is to say what's real and what's not?”

You stared at him, and so did Dean. He rolled his eyes and said, “Dude, whatever. Just tell me what you're doing here and why I'm here.”

Gabriel heaved a sigh. “It was supposed to be fun, and you ruined it,” he said. “You guys stopped the apocalypse! You didn't need me! I was on sabbatical in a world where all of that was just your imagination. I met Y/N. I had a normal job. It was great!”

“You told me you moved to the city to get away from family problems!” you said. “The problem was the apocalypse?”

He shrugged. “You met me at a very strange time in my life.”

Understating, much? You sat listening, still trying to process all of it, then asked, “So, how did Dean get here?”

“That's where I think I screwed up. Sam and I thought he needed to cut loose and--”

“Wait,” Dean interrupted, “Sam knew you were alive?”

“I thought you'd get a kick out of meeting your favorite hero,” Gabriel went on, “so I made sure he had fun and brought him here afterwards.”

“What do you mean, fun?” Dean asked.

Gabriel took his phone out of his pocket and opened a video, then handed the phone to you. You hit play and Dean leaned over your shoulder to watch.

Dean was standing behind a mic, a drink in one hand and a monitor reading out lyrics nearby, and by the look of him, it was definitely double shot night.

“I did karaoke?” he said, sounding shocked.

“He says son, can you play me a memory?” he belted out in the video, slurring his words slightly. “I'm not really sure how it goes…”

You glanced at Dean, not sure what to make of what you were seeing, and he once again looked indignant. “Billy Joel?” he said. “Everything I could have gone with, and I picked Billy Joel?”

“Don't knock him because you butchered his song,” Gabriel chided.

“I thought my performance was quite magnificent,” he replied defensively.

“But if it makes you feel better, I picked the song.”

“After that story I wrote?” you asked, suddenly curious.

“Bingo,” Gabriel confirmed. “That drunken excursion sounded exactly like what our boy needed.”

“How far along in the story did you get him?”

“Oh, he went all the way, baby.”

“Wait, what?” Dean broke in, looking anxious. “What story? What excursion? What happened?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You got trashed and did bad karaoke,” Gabriel answered. “But hey, you won the contest that night!”

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What else?”

“You, uh,” you said, trying to phrase it as carefully as possible, “you lost a bet with a bunch of bikers and almost got arrested paying up.”

“Paying up, how?”

“A little public indecency, a little vandalism,” Gabriel replied, “harmless, run-of-the-mill stuff.”

Dean nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “What else?”

“That's it,” you said. “The end of the story.”

“For real?”

“Every word of it, sir, is the Gospel truth,” you lied.

He'd find the tattoo on his own, eventually.

[fanfic-from-a-67-impala]

Grudges

Characters: Sam x reader, Mary, Castiel, Kipling

Word Count: 3406

Summary: Based on this imagine by @spn-imagines-nation (yes, I ran away with yet another one of your imagines. Sorry? They’re just... so inspiring?): Sam telling his mother that he is ready to do anything to save you, his lover, regardless of what she may think of you

Warnings: 14.01 spoilers! angst, canon-typical violence, probably too many characters, Mary positive (if you don't like it, don't read it!)

A/N: For @spnfanficpond‘s SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge: Week Three! Prompt #3 is bolded. @mrswhozeewhatsis

“Got something!”

A voice rings through the buzzing war room from behind a computer screen.

“What do you got?” you ask, walking up behind one of the guys from the apocalypse world, who sits at the laptop.

In the corner of your eye, Sam looks over his shoulder, too, but keeps his distance from you. You can almost hear the tension in the space between you, alive and pulsing like a heartbeat.

“A surge of crop circles, cattle deaths, all in southern Michigan, near Detroit,” he says.

“Demons,” Mary muses from across the table.

You stay silent for a moment, waiting for someone to claim it. When no one does, you glance in Sam’s direction, accidentally meeting his eyes before looking away quickly.

“I’ll take it,” you say.

Instinctively, you pause a beat for Sam to offer to go with you, like he always does. Instead, he bites his lip and nods, returning to his place readying weapons at the map table.

Mary opens her mouth but closes it again, not looking up at you. She doesn’t trust you, but she would be glad to have you out of the bunker for a few days.

You didn’t get off to a great start with Mary. Your first interaction when she arrived at the bunker forced you into a standoff with her until Dean told you who she was. Shortly after, you were with the boys before they were captured and imprisoned for six weeks, although you suspect you blamed yourself more than she did.

And finally, you supported Dean’s decision to let Michael possess him.

She has every right to hold it against you—and so does Sam—so you don’t say anything. Instead, you pack a bag and start driving.

That was a week ago. Maybe longer. You lost track.

Now you sit slumped against the wall of a walk-in refrigerator, empty except for you, the power cut off. Only a square of light filters in from the small window on the door, illuminating a part of the concrete floor splattered with your blood.

There were more demons than you expected. A whole barful more.

For the first few days, you fought hard, and you fought dirty. You made clever, violent attempts to escape, leaving a few demons dead, but two more appeared with each kill, it seemed.

The door squeals open, letting light invade the room and sting your eyes.

The leader of the demons, who calls himself Kip, saunters in. You want to stand up and back into the opposite wall, to get as far from him as you can, but you don’t have the energy anymore.

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head at your bruised, limp form.

You glare at him through a curtain of tangled hair.

“You could save yourself a lot of pain and just tell me what I need to know. I’ll settle for a phone number,” he says. “I won’t even kill you afterwards. What do you say?”

You say nothing.

He sighs. “You’re going to put us both through this yet again?”

When you only cross your arms in response, he turns his head to the side and blows a short whistle.

Two demons lumber through the door. One of them pulls you up by the shoulder and pushes you against the wall, battering the already sore back of your head into the metal. He holds you up with an arm across your chest.

Kip purses his lips at you, an entertained gleam in his eye. “Where can I find Sam and Dean Winchester?”

You only scoff at him.

The other demon turns to Kip, who nods, giving him permission.

He throws a punch into your jaw, spraying blood onto the wall beside you.

Hours pass. Fresh blood washes the dried red flakes away. New bruises form, turning yesterday’s green-ish ones into angry shades of violet again.

“You disappoint me more and more by the day, (Y/N),” Kip says. “I thought you’d be smarter than that.”

You groan, your head lolling to the side.

He snaps his fingers at the demons. “We’re done for today.”

The one holding you against the wall drops you without warning, sending you collapsing to the unforgiving concrete. They both follow Kip out the door.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early,” he calls over his shoulder.

He disappears around the corner, leaving the door ajar.

You try to right yourself and prop your back up against the wall, but your arms are too weak and your body is too tender to hold you up for even a second. Defeated, you sink to your aching side again.

“Ca…” The whispered plea dissipates into a weak cough, and you start again. “Cas?”

You call out with your mind, willing your every thought to the angel in the slight hope that one will reach him.

“Castiel?” you pant, stronger now. “Please, I need your help.”

You keep his name in your mind until you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

Rough hands grip your arms and yank you off the ground, pulling you out of your slumber. You throw a punch, and it hits a demon’s face, causing him to stumble backward. The burst of energy, though, lives only as long as it takes you to realize where you are and how much your body aches.

Another demon restrains you, forcing you to face Kip. He wears a dark smile that gives you a terrible pit in your stomach.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he says. “Big day today. Got a surprise for you.”

You groan. What more could he possibly do to you?

“Oh, don’t look at me like I’m giving you a pop quiz. It’s a good surprise.”

The demon you punched glares at you, fully recovered, as he and the other one follow Kip outside, dragging you between them. You pass through a kitchen, its gleaming steel tables bare and its atmosphere quiet. After Kip strolls through a door at the other end of the room, they shove you through it.

“Lookie what I got for you,” Kip says.

Sam is always the first thing you see when you walk into a room, and this time is no exception. Although, when you see the horror on his face when his gaze meets your battered form, you almost wish you didn’t. He looks unharmed, though, like he arrived not long ago.

When you see Cas chained to a chair, the sight lights a spark in you. Dark bruises paint either of his eyes. Blood runs from his nose and from a cut on his cheek onto the collar of his white shirt.

With another surge of energy, you escape from the demons’ grasps and send your elbow into one’s teeth. The other grabs your shoulder. You whip toward him and thrust your knee up into his stomach.

You raise a fist to deliver another blow, but a hand seizes yours in the air and wrenches your wrist behind your back. You let out a pained yelp, watching three new demons surround you.

Castiel’s chains rattle softly as he tenses against them.

“(Y/N), I’m fine,” he says.

You consider fighting off the guards before thinking better of it. You’re injured, unarmed, and outnumbered, and those odds give you pause.

“Sorry about the bodyguards,” Kip says. “I know it puts a damper on the reunion, but you are, as they say, a flight risk.” He winks at you. “Can’t have you going anywhere. You understand.”

He roams over to Cas and points a finger at you.

“After all, I have you to thank for bringing—” he claps a hand on Cas’ shoulder— “this one to me.”

You cast a puzzled glance at Cas. Did he hear you?

“See, Castiel never got your message, but I did,” Kip continues. “That prayer thing—that was cute, by the way.”

He brushes off your questioning stare. “Door was open, I overheard. Don’t be too hard on yourself—easy mistake,” he explains. “From then, it was easy enough to get Sam here to show. Unlike you, the angel cooperated. Or rather, his cell phone did the talking. Which leads us to…”

He makes his way toward the front of the room, toward Sam.

“So, what do you say, darling?” he asks him. “Do we have a deal?”

Sam glances at you. If you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t have noticed, but there’s a question in his eye, like he’s looking for confirmation of what he already knows you would say.

Quickly, imperceptibly, you shake your head.

“No,” Sam answers.

Kip draws back, surprised. “Are you sure? Because I know all sorts of things.”

“Yeah,” Sam scoffs. “So do I.”

“Like?”

The doors slam open with a crash. Mary and Bobby burst into the bar, armed with guns and blades, firing round after round at the group of demons.

The distraction allows you the opportunity to slip from your captors’ grip again.

“(Y/N)!” Sam shouts, tossing you an angel blade.

Barely grasping the hilt in the air, you take out the first demon easily, then the second. But as you pull the blade out of its chest, the third grabs your hair and slams your head onto the bartop. She pries the blade from your hand, wrestles you to the ground, and slams the blade down to your chest.

You twist and turn so that it misses your heart, piercing a hole through your right shoulder. The demon growls in frustration, but before she can try again, a force knocks her to the side.

You take gasping breaths, the blade still sticking out of your shoulder. Gritting your teeth, you grip the handle and pull it out with a cry.

In the corner of your eye, you see the demon’s body flash orange before toppling to the ground.

Mary stands over him, her own blade coated with red. She turns to you and offers a hand, which you take.

You can hear blood rushing to your head. You see three of Mary, and the room spins.

Movement over her shoulder snaps you out of it.

“Duck,” you say.

Her eyes go wide, and she drops to the side in time for you to jab your blade through the demon’s throat.

You ride with Cas in the backseat of Bobby’s truck, Mary riding shotgun. Sam stayed behind with Jack and Maggie to clean up the scene. You were only glad to get out of that place and into fresh air for the first time in days.

The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving your wounds throbbing. Cut upon bruise from day after day of torture litters your body. They all feel like pinches, though, overshadowed by the gaping, bleeding hole in your shoulder. Pain pounds through the injury, and every bump in the road tears another spurt of agony through you.

At one particularly jarring pothole, you hiss in surprise.

“Let me heal you,” Cas says.

You shake your head. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” he insists, raising his hand to your head.

You catch his hand in the air and pull it back down. “Really, it’s okay. Will you please just work on getting yourself better?”

He doesn’t respond to this, only looks down at his lap, where his hand now rests.

The blood on his face has dried, but the stains on his white shirt have set. New bruises are forming at his jaw while the ones below his eyes darken.

“Cas, I’m so sorry,” you whisper.

He peers over at you with his brows furrowed.

“If I had known he was listening, I never would have… I can’t believe I didn’t notice.”

“You couldn’t have known,” he says, almost without thinking.

You frown. “You could’ve gotten killed. You and Sam and everyone there today could’ve—”

“And we didn’t,” he interrupts. “We are all alive. And Kipling is dead. My only regret is that you didn’t reach out sooner.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you spend the rest of the ride in silence.

The bleeding has stopped by the time you reach the bunker. The cold air of the truck numbed the pain, but by the time you’ve reached the bathroom, it becomes almost unbearable again.

Sitting on the counter inches away from the mirror, you pull a length of fishing line through a needle, part of a makeshift first aid kit you stored in this room for nights like tonight.

Each stitch twinges painfully. Your arm complains with each movement, pounding, begging you to stop. You keep silent, but you can’t help the whimper that escapes you.

“(Y/N)?”

Mary’s voice calls softly from behind the door in a way you have never heard her address you before.

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” you say.

You expect her to walk away from the door, but she pauses. “Sh-should I get Sam?”

“No!” Your hand jerks with your answer, and you take a sharp gasp.

“Can I come in?”

When you don’t answer, the door cracks open, and she enters hesitantly. You don’t know why you thought the bloody scene would faze her, but it doesn’t. She’s a hunter, after all.

“May I?” She nods to the needle in your trembling hand.

Still too shocked to say anything, you hand it to her. You shut your eyes and brace yourself for the stinging pierce, but she has a better angle and makes quick work of the remaining stitches.

When she starts working on the back of your shoulder, you finally gather the nerve to speak again.

“You, uh, don’t have to do this,” you stumble. “So, why…”

She meets your eyes in the mirror, studying you for a moment, considering.

“The way he looked for you these past few days…” she trails off. “I know he cares for you. You must have been through a lot together.”

You nod. “We have.”

The words pull you back to memories of earlier times, simpler ones, with Sam before angels and alternate worlds and kings of Hell. Before you can help it, you laugh softly at the irony.

“What is it?” Mary asks.

“Sam and me,” you begin, “we bonded over our parents’ deaths.”

She catches your gaze in the mirror again with a look you can’t quite read. You think you may have overstepped, but her lips curl into a smile until she’s laughing with you.

When the bout comes to an end, her face grows somber again. “I’m sorry to hear about your family. How did they die?”

“The short version?” you say. “It was a demon attack.”

“And the long version?”

You bite your lip in hesitation.

“I’m sorry. That’s none of my business,” she apologizes.

“No, it’s okay. It’s just…” You turn away from her as you think of what to say. “It was Azazel. The yellow-eyed demon who…”

You feel her hands tense on the back of your shoulder only for a moment before continuing to press the needle through your skin.

“Were you one of the children—the ones he took—like Sam?” she asks.

“No, I’m nowhere near that fascinating,” you answer. “My parents were good friends with John. They hunted together sometimes, switched off watching the kids—us.” You smile at the images that rise in your mind, ones you haven’t thought of in a while. “When I was twenty-four, John had started to close in on the demon, and he asked my parents for help.”

She stares at you, as if waiting for you to confirm what she knows is the ending.

“It found them.” You can’t look back up at her, too afraid of the expression you’ll find, until you brighten your tone. “But then I started hunting with the boys on and off. Spent thirteen years with them and only got killed twice.”

Her eyes widen, but you hold out a hand.

“It sounds bad, but really it’s a damn miracle,” you assure her.

She joins you in another round of laughter. It’s lighter this time, more genuine. You like the way you sound together.

“I understand it now—the… animosity,” she says, finishing the last stitch. “I’d feel the same way if my family were killed for someone else’s revenge.”

You turn around to face her. Her eyes look sad, laced with guilt over something she didn’t do, and you realize you may have held her on the same charge.

“Well, I’ve given you a fair share of grudges to hold against me,” you admit. “It’s probably for the best. I don’t think you’re the only one who doesn’t want me here.”

She reaches out to place a hand on your good shoulder. “If I get a vote, I’m Team Stick Together.” She says it almost like a question and flashes you an inquiring glance.

You nod. “We’re good.”

By the time you’ve washed the blood and grime off you and changed into fresh clothes, the light to Sam’s room floods through the gap at the bottom of the door.

You run a hand down your face. Weeks have passed since you’ve really talked with him, and the prospect alone is exhausting.

Still, you find the courage to tap your knuckles against the door.

He doesn’t look surprised when he finds you on the other side. Neither of you say a word as he closes the door behind you and leads you to the edge of the bed. You sit side by side until anything seems better than silence.

“Long drive?” you ask.

He takes a deep breath. “Can we not do this? The small talk?”

“Okay.” You fold your hands over each other again and again in your lap.

“(Y/N), I…” he begins.

You dart your eyes up to him expectantly. His expression is so heavy it adds weight to your heart.

“I don’t have the words to tell you how sorry I am,” he says.

“Sam, you don’t need to,” you say. “I know. You didn’t see this coming. No one could have.”

“I should’ve known something like this would happen. He was after me,” he argues.

“If it wasn’t me, it could have been anyone else in this bunker.”

“Everyone else in this bunker isn’t you,” he says. “If things had gone just a little more sideways, I could’ve lost you.”

“Sam, I know that. I do. But our lives are full of close calls, and I’m here, in front of you, in one piece.” You reach out to take his hands in yours. “So, let’s not pretend that’s all this is about.”

His eyes snap up to meet yours, questioning.

“I hated the way we left things, too. And I never want that to happen to us again, not if we can avoid it.”

He nods. “Agreed.”

You swallow before continuing. “Pitting Michael against Lucifer in Dean's body—I thought it was the best idea at the time, and I still think it was. But I know you didn't.”

He turns his eyes down.

You breathe a deep sigh. “Look, it's been a rough week, but that doesn't mean I expect you to forgive me for backing Dean’s choice.”

Sam watches you while you speak, like he’s in deep consideration of what you say.

“I don't know if I'll ever be okay with watching my brother get taken over like that,” he says after a while. “I don't know if this is what was meant to happen. But I do know the Devil is dead. You're here, and Mom's here, Bobby, Jack. There's no other team I'd bet on to get Dean back here.”

“What are you saying?” you ask.

“I’m saying I love you, no matter what,” he says. “The rest, we can figure out in the morning. Let’s get a good night’s sleep and go from there.”

You nod. “I’d like that.”

He opens up the covers, ones you haven’t seen in too long, and the two of you slip into them. You fall into the natural motions you’ve grown accustomed to with him, grateful to be alive for another round, another sleep, another night wrapped lovingly, unconditionally in his arms.

Tags: @ellie-andthemachine @caswinchester2000 @gaybrieljax@electraphyng @emerald-watermelon-199

[revwinchester]

Kids These Days

Summary: Dean overhears a conversation about the Impala.

Author: @revwinchester

Pairing: Nothing specific.  Dean mentions a boyfriend but it’s up to you to decide if he’s telling the truth or not.

Rating: PG? PG-13?  Warnings: some cursing, a little bit of homophobic bullying, a touch of misogyny (but Dean stands against both)

Word Count: 555

A/N: This is my entry for the Week 4 SPN weekly writing challenge that’s being hosted by the @spnfanficpond (@mrswhozeewhatsis).  The Pond is open to anyone who wants to join so go and give them a look if you’re a SPN fic writer!

Kids These Days -

“He’s gotta get this thing detailed at least once a month.”

“Yeah, man, it’s a beautiful car.  I bet he’s super rich, too.”

“He must have awesome insurance.”

“Dude, what? You’ve got this gorgeous car in front of you and you’re thinking about insurance?  You gay or something?”

“What? I… I… No!”

“Lay off, Reese.  It doesn’t matter if Drew likes dudes.  What matters is he’d never date you because you’re an asshole and Drew has better taste than that.  And since we’re on the subject of bigoted assholes, why are you all assuming her owner’s gotta be a man?  Maybe she is super wealthy and has great insurance.”

“Girls don’t like cars, Melissa.”

There was an awkward pause as the full extent of that sentence sunk in with all six of the teens that were talking. ��Finally one of the boys spoke up again.

“I’ll bet he’s got a hot girlfriend.  Or, at least, he’s getting laid all the time.”

“Nah, man.  He’s totally ancient like this thing.  It’s a beautiful car but it’s gotta be, like, 40 years old.”

Dean had come out of the gas and sip to find a group of teenagers surrounding the Impala.  They weren’t touching his baby, just admiring her, so he’d stopped to listen.  He began walking towards the group again, now.  “Actually, she’s in her 50s,” he corrected the last boy who spoke.  

All of the kids turned around at the sound of his voice.  Some looked guilty and ready to bolt but two of them - Melissa and Drew, he surmised - had wide, interested eyes.

Melissa, the only girl in the group, recovered the fastest.  “1967, right? Chevrolet Impala.”

Dean was impressed.  These kids couldn’t be older than 17 but at least one of them seemed to know her stuff.  “Yeah, nice one,” Dean replied.  “You all could learn a thing or two from… Melissa, right?” he paused to ask.

The girl nodded.

“You so could learn a thing or two from Melissa,” Dean repeated, specifically using the girl's name as he spoke.  He then fixed each of the kids in his gaze as he responded to their earlier comments.

“I’m not any kind of rich; she was my dad’s first.  He taught me everything I know about cars and I do all the maintenance myself - me and my brother.  That makes the insurance, uh, really manageable.”  He loved talking about his car but that last part was a complete lie.  Dad had let the insurance lapse a few decades ago - around the time he had started running credit card scams to keep them afloat - and Dean had never really worried about it after that.  

“Girls definitely like cars,” he continued.  “Melissa here proves that and my mom loves this old girl almost more than I do.  And, honestly, so does my boyfriend who, for the record, is super hot.”  Dean closed his little monologue with a wink in Drew’s direction.

Dean climbed into the driver’s seat and turned the key, revving the engine to show off a bit before he rolled down the window.  “You kids have a good night and stay safe.”

He pulled out the the gas station with a new determination.  He and Sam were going to get whatever monster was snatching kids in this town.  Melissa and Drew deserved that much.

ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @gallifreyansass @hexparker @thinkwritexpress-official @atc74 @thewhiterabbit42 @nobodys-baby-now @mouselovesmusic @nanika67 @smdzone @doctor-zyre @proserpinadante @lonely-potatolookingforbooks @hunterswearingplaid

[crashdevlin]

Now’s The Time

Author’s Note: Written for @spnfanficpond‘s Season 14 Weekly Writing Challenge: Week Two! I chose the prompt of “A little of this, a little of that… hmm… too much of that.” Unbeta’ed cause I have no beta. I’m sorry, in advance for the angst. 

Summary: Y/n should have waited. Dean shouldn’t have.

Pairing(s): Dean x Reader 

Word Count: 1447

Story Warnings: Angst, regrets, character death

The redhead fluttered around her temporary altar set up on one of the library tables in the bunker. Of course, all of Rowena’s altars were temporary. She never stayed in one place long enough to need a permanent one.

“A little of this, a little of that…” She muttered, Scottish accent a bit sing-song as she poured ingredients from bottles into a large copper bowl. “Hmm. Too much of that. We’ll have to compensate with more…”

“Rowena, concentrate, goddamnit!” Dean growled.

“Don’t bark at me. That’s not helping!”

Dean rubbed a shaky hand across his mouth and slumped in his chair. From your place at the top of the spiral staircase, he looked deflated. To think that this was the great Dean Winchester crying silent tears was almost shocking.

“She’s not going to be able to save me, is she?” You whispered, biting the inside of your cheek.

“No.” A figure sat beside you on the top step, surveying the scene before the two of you. Rowena still twittered around the first library table, but Sam, Dean and Cas all sat around the map table, either staring at, or avoiding staring at, you. You… laid out on the table, arms folded over your chest, looking for all the world like you were just in a deep sleep. The only indication of anything wrong was the blue of your lips, the black of your fingertips, and if someone were paying attention (and your friends were) they’d notice your breathing coming in more shallow with each inhale.

“How long?”

“You could come now, if you wanted.” The dark-skinned Reaper-turned-Death who came to retrieve you patted your back, soothingly. “But I understand if you wanna stay a while.”

“How could she be so stupid?” The older Winchester growled, suddenly.

“Dean, stop.” Sam said, quietly.

“No, man, come on!” Dean stood, the chair screeching as it slid backward, teetering but not toppling over from the force. “We told her to wait! We were two states away and we told her to wait! She shoulda had someone there to watch her back and she didn’t, and now look at her!”

Sam stood, a somber look on his face as he put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I know, Dean.” He said, softly.

“Sam, look a-at her.” You closed your eyes at the pain in Dean’s voice as it broke. “I can’t lose her, Sam. I can’t lose her, not when I haven’t even had a chance to tell her.”

“Dean, she’ll… we’ll fix this. You’ll have a chance to-to tell her.” Sam said, softly.

“I’d speak now, Dean.” Billie’s voice was a slow drawl as she stood, and you could tell by the way every set of eyes flew to her as she descended the staircase that she’d made herself visible to them… and you could tell by their expressions that they all knew what her presence meant.

“No.” Dean immediately denied it, shaking his head.

“She’s listening, Dean. If you have something you need y/n to hear… now’s the time.”

“Billie, isn’t there some way we could-” Sam started.

“It’s her time. As soon as she opened the door to that bookstore, she wiped every other book off her shelf, every ending… except this one. In four minutes, she stops breathing… and I take her. So, if you got something to say, you got four minutes to say it.”

Dean broke down then, tears rolling down his face as he dropped heavy into the chair next to your body. You wanted to rush to him, embrace him, wipe his tears, apologize for being stupid, for being the reason he had to live on without another one of his friends… but you didn’t. You walked slowly down the steps to stand next to the map table, next to your dying body.

“I’m so fuckin’ stupid. I should’ve fuckin’ told you. I thought about it every fuckin’ day an-and I kept givin’ these fucktarded excuses on why, why I couldn’t just tell you I loved you.” Your eyes went wide at Dean’s words. You’d never even considered he might feel anything more than friendship for you. “I told myself that you’d make a move if you felt the same, that if I let it show it’d ruin our friendship, that I’d chase away the best thing in my life. And now, it’s too late. It’s too late to tell you… to see your face when you hear me say ‘I love you’.”

Dean wiped at the tears rolling down his chin and shook his head. “Damn it, y/n! Why didn’t you wait for us?!”

“I’m sorry, Dean.” You whispered… but he didn’t hear you.

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t wait, though. I mean, how we met, savin’ our asses from Crowley by distracting his hounds, putting yourself on the line for two dudes you never met before. I knew you were crazy that night… and I knew I was fallin’ for you two months later when we did those vamps. You just looked so amazing covered in blood and dirt and sweat and you looked so damn happy to be there, to be hunting, to be helping…” A sob tore from his throat. “God, y/n… I’ve loved you for years and I should have said. I should have told you how your smile makes my day, how I get lost in your eyes, how watching you headbang to Bohemian Rhapsody makes it seem like there’s nothing heavy weighin’ me down. I should have made that move back in February when Sam told me you were interested. I should have- and now I-”

He reached over and grabbed your hand, pulling it to his lips and kissing your knuckles. You ran your hand through your hair, sadness pulling at your features. “Will you tell him I love him, too?” You looked over at Death. “Please, Billie.” You begged.

Billie gave you an indecipherable look, then turned to Dean. “She wants you to know she loved you, too.”

Another sob pulled from him and you knelt down in front of him, trying to see his eyes in his downturned face. “I wish you could hear me… see me… I’d tell you all about how your eyes make me feel like I can fly, how I never liked Zeppelin ‘til I heard you sing Ramble On… I’d tell you how sorry I am that I’m the cause of this sadness in you. Dean, I wish I had waited before walking into that shop… and I wish you hadn’t waited to tell me how you feel. This is so fucking tragic… and you’re the one who has to live with this tragedy and I’m so sorry.” You shook your head. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

Your eyes moved to your body, to your chest which had stopped moving. “Oh, God.”

“That’s four.” Billie said, stepping toward you.

“Please, don’t.” Dean begged. You could see him squeezing your hand tighter. “Please don’t take her, Billie.”

“I have to, Dean. She can’t cheat Death.” Billie put her hand on your shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

“Is he going to be okay?” You asked, standing.

Death smiled. “She’s worried about you, Dean.”

“She’s dying and she’s worried about me?” Dean asked, wonder in his voice. “I’ll be all right, y/n. Next time I’m in Heaven, I’ll look you up, huh?” He tried to hide his pain, but it didn’t work.

“I’m looking forward to it, Dean.”

Dean smiled, sadly. “Said she’s lookin’ forward to it, didn’t she?”

“Maybe you’ll see this as incentive to stay on the other side next time.” Billie said, as she walked you toward the stairs. As you approached the bright white light, you couldn’t help but look back at Dean, whose eyes hadn’t left Billie. “Come on. You’ll see him again.”

You took a deep breath, swallowed, and walked into the light.

You blinked into the sun, looking away with a smile as the first notes of a song filtered through the Impala’s speakers. “Leaves are fallin’ all around. Time I was on my way. Thanks to you, I’m much obliged for such a pleasant stay. But now it’s time for me to go. The autumn moon lights my way. Come on, y/n, you know the words.” Dean smiled as he drove, picking the song back up. “-smell the rain, and with it pain, and it’s headed my way. Ah, sometimes I grow so tired. But I know I’ve got one thing I got to do.”

You smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder. “Ramble on! And now’s the time, the time is now, to sing my song!” You sang along, happily.

Supernatural Tags- @mrswhozeewhatsis, @adoptdontshoppets, @letsby

[cas-backwards-tie]

As Things Go On

 OC!Julie Winchester 

Summary: As your family leaves to evaluate the evidence in Duluth, Julie gets left behind with Castiel, Nick, and Jack. When Jack asks Julie for a favor, things get dicey upon his return. Julie is confronted with the reality of things.

Prompt: “A little of this, a little of that… hmm… too much of that.”

Words: 2,250

Warnings: Spoilers/Plot for 14x02, Negligence, Fighting/Yelling, General Angst.

Author’s Note: Me? Using food as the header for a story? What? No.... Also, why both times I’ve written for the weekly challenge, I forget to put the prompt in the writing until half-way through? omfg. @spnfanficpond @mrswhozeewhatsis 

Taking a sip from your glass of water, you flip onto the next page of the book you’re currently reading. Trying to drown out the conversation brewing in the library of the bunker, Mary and Bobby talk about what to do next in terms of finding Uncle Dean.

“Well, angels ain’t known for their veracity.” Castiel awkwardly walks in, making a face at what Bobby had said.

Leaning to your right, you whisper, “what’s veracity?” Your dad smiles down at you for a moment before focusing on his laptop.

“It’s like the truth,” he states in a hushed tone. Quietly huffing out a laugh through your nose, you understand Castiel’s reaction. Mary hands your father a pistol before questioning the images on the laptop. Dad explains.

“So I’ve been searching through police reports in Duluth. Cops just turned up a pile of corpses that was dumped near some train tracks just north of town, and their eyes were burnt out.”

“Angels?” Simultaneously sliding your bookmark into place, you close it to join the conversation.

Nervousness inches underneath your skin at dad slamming his laptop shut. “We should go. Now.” Remaining seated, thoughts cross your mind of what it must be like for your uncle. Heart dropping, the odds of getting Dean back are slim.

Observing the conversation unfolding before you, hopes of acquiring possible important information wither with Castiel's next words. “And... you need me to stay here and babysit Nick, Jack, and Julie.”

“It’s not babysitting, Cas.” You scoff at your father’s words. It most definitely is babysitting.

“Sure,” you comment sarcastically. Raising from your seat, you stuff the book under your arm in preparation to leave. Your presence doesn't seem needed considering your absence on the mission.

“but they both have to be supervised. Jack is, lost without his grace, and Nick is...” Castiel’s expression makes you chuckle. “he’s just a mess.”

“Why do I have to stay here then? I don’t need supervision.” Glaring at the taller man beside you, Castiel joins in, expectantly waiting for an answer. Both of you seem to have a guess as to what he'll say.

“Not now, Julie,” he gives you a warning look; the look you know means that he doesn’t want to start a fight right now. “Well, i-it’s not... his fault. Cas, Nick was housing. You know, he deserves a shot at rebuilding his life.”

“And yet, every time I look at him, all I can see is the supreme agent of evil.” Rolling your eyes at your dad’s response toward you, something catches your eye. Sighing, you know Jack has heard their words.

“You talking about my dad again?” He stands at the end of the table alone, looking saddened. Listening to Jack’s words about himself makes your heart hurt for him. How can he think such hurtful things about himself?

As Mary tells Jack why they don’t want him to tag along, your dad puts a hand on your shoulder while doing the same. “It’s not that I don’t want you to come. Or even that I don’t think you can't handle it, Jules. We already have three, and... four FBI agents would be too many. Don’t want to make people suspicious, do we?” He winks at you, making your lips curl into an understanding grimace. There is no way that the fact of ‘we have too many people’ is the sole reason he doesn’t want you to go. “Plus, Cas might need help. You never know.”

His words are light, but you know that something darker resides within your father’s mind. Sighing, you nod in understanding. “Okay.” As the conversation comes to a close and Jack seems to be alright with staying behind, your family rolls into action.

Deciding to take some time to watch tv, you head back to your room down the hall. “If you need anything, let me know,” calling back toward Castiel who still stands in the library, he nods toward you. Finding Jack’s gaze, you speak up. “You too,” a simple offer; something you hope he will take you up on.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Having gotten bored quickly, you realize that you’ve been scrolling through Pinterest for a while. Deciding to make something for when everyone got back, you get up and head toward the kitchen.

Passing the library, you try to ignore the tense feeling that comes from whatever conversation Castiel and Jack are having. Stepping into the tiled kitchen, you open the cupboard and pull out a box of brownie mix. "Perfect," you smile at the thought of doing something nice.

Laying the box on the wooden counter, you reach for a few bowls underneath the table. Grabbing a few spoons, the clanking and clashing of the equipment disrupting the silence within the air. Finding the measuring cups you lay them on the counter before pulling a stool up to the table. Taking a seat, you figure out how much of the ingredients you need.

“Nick!” Castiel’s voice rings out from the library; eyes widening, you hurriedly make your way out of the kitchen. Nick passes you in a rush: head down, book tucked possessively underneath his arm. Watching Nick leave, you turn toward Castiel with a questioning expression. “It’s fine. Nick is... dealing with the loss of his family.”

“You’re just letting him leave?”

“He needs to deal with this on his own. He has been persistent in his efforts and would leave regardless of my attempt to hold him here.” Taking Cas’s words into consideration, you bite your lip.

“Okay. I guess it’ll be okay. Just make sure you know where he’s going.”

“Pike Creek, Delaware. I’m handling this, Julie. There is no need to worry yourself.”

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cracking the eggs into the bowl, you toss the shells into the trash. “A little of this, a little of that... hmm... too much of that.” Tasting the brownie batter, you added a little too much cocoa powder.

“Hi,” Jack’s voice grabs your attention, drawing your eyes to his. “I need your help.” Finally, you think. Jack took your offer for once. Motioning for him to come join you and pull up a stool, Jack follows suit.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You hope you don’t seem to over-enthusiastic as Jack always seems to elicit a smile from you. Lying your elbow on the counter, you lay your head in your palm while facing him. He’s nervous, why is he nervous? You wait for him to speak up.

“I’m going somewhere. There’s something I have to do, Julie.” His hands fumble with one another; gathering the courage to look at you, he raises his head. Confused, you urge him on. “You can’t tell Castiel I’m gone.” Your lips smack as your mouth forms an ‘Oh’. Taking a moment to contemplate the possible risks, you know there’s something you’re missing.

“Well if I’m gonna cover for you, I should at least get to know where you’re going,” you tease him. Jack huffs; you can see the gears turning in his head as he debates within himself. His lips purse as he seems as though he’s finally going to say something.

“Fine,” he relinquishes, eyes desperate in a way you haven’t seen before. “I need to go visit my grandparents. I need to see them.” His words cause a whirlwind of questions and thoughts to flitter through your mind. “I won’t be gone long,” he reassures; eyes searching your own as he reads the dumbstruck look upon your face. “I need to. I have to, Julie. Please,” he begs.

“Okay... just, be safe, okay?” Deciding to give him a few weapons out of precaution, you head into the war room to grab the spares. “Take these. You’ll never know if you’ll need them.” Giving him one last hopeful look, you give him a quick hug before watching him leave. You hope Jack will find whatever he’s looking for.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

While waiting for the brownies to bake in the oven, you play games on your phone. Loud stomping is heard approaching and you only pray that it’s not... “JULIE!” Castiel. Rolling your eyes, you look across the counter at his enraged face. “Where. Is. Jack?” he punctuates each syllable.

“I don’t know? I mean- oh crap! We were playing hide-and-seek and I guess I forgot to go seeking,” you joke. Your gut curls into itself upon noticing the glare Castiel sends your way. “I really don’t know, Cas.”

His jaw clenches as he thinks. “I suppose Jack might not tell you anything if he left. However, I did hear you both in here earlier.”

Brow furrowing at his statement, you feel a little let down that Jack isn’t as close to you as you might wish. “Yeah, well he came in and asked what I was doing, so I showed him how to make brownies.” It isn’t completely a lie. Contemplating whether or not Castiel will call your dad about this, you speak up. “If he did leave, he couldn’t have gone far, and he’ll be back soon. Jack wouldn’t just up and leave when he’s this vulnerable... at least, I hope not.” You really, really hope that Jack’s okay. If he’s not okay... the thought crosses your mind; you try to shake it away and yet, the thought plagues you: if he gets hurt, it’s all your fault.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

As the bunker door closes, you hear Castiel’s stomps heading toward the door. Jack already knows he’s in for it, most likely due to the expression on Castiel’s face. Following both of them in hopes to calm Castiel down and hear about Jack’s trip, you rush to catch up.

“Jack, you have been on the radar of every angel and demon and power broker in creation since the day you were born, and I’m sorry, but you’re not exactly yourself.” Castiel lectures.

“Weak and defenseless, you mean? I wasn’t. Julie gave me a gun and two knives,” Jack explains as he pulls the weapons out of his pockets, laying them on the table. Eyes widening, your face pales as Castiel turns toward you.

Receiving a nasty look from the angel, you know he’s hurt and disappointed. Castiel shakes his head as he returns to his conversation with Jack. You know fully well that this conversation is far from over, yet Castiel still has no idea where Jack was.

“I thought that the next best thing would be for me to meet the only real family I have left.” Jack’s words cause your heart to sink. Did he not think of all of you as family? Apparently not.

“Well, did it help?” Castiel asks, to which Jack nods his head.

“What happened?”  You ask as he begins to speak of his visit.

As the conversation lightens, you’re happy that Jack got to spend time with his grandparents. Smiling sympathetically, you understand why he wouldn't want to tell them about their daughter's death.

“What you did, you did... from a place of kindness. I suppose there are worse ways to be human than to be kind.” Castiel gives you a side-eye; looking down at your feet, you know what you did was wrong in hindsight. Castiel can be very protective and ornery at times.

“Have you heard from Sam? Did they find Michael?”

“Yes, they think so.”

“So they’re gonna try and kill him?”

“Uh... no. No, the-the plan is to subdue him with using angel cuffs and spell work. They have to get Michael out of Dean.” About to speak up, Castiel beat you to it, explaining the plan better than you would have.

“And if he doesn’t leave?”

“Then they’ll have to drive him out.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” You can tell Jack is getting upset with this plan. Everyone else is on the same page though. “Cas, Michael has to be stopped.”

“And we will stop him!” You interject. Jack looks at you for a moment before his focus returns to Castiel.

“No, Dean doesn’t matter.” Baffled by Jack’s words, you shake your head at the detached words coming from his mouth. How can he care so little for your uncle? You think you see a flicker of emotion behind Jack's eyes but soon enough he stands, stoic expression on his face.

As the conversation progresses, you feel stunned by Jack’s words. “J-Jack...” you don’t know how to respond. The words: ‘that’s not okay,’ come to your mind, however, you also know that Jack is right. Dean would rather save us all than himself any day. Deciding to excuse yourself from the conversation, you head back to your room. There’s much more to think about; you’ve been trying to avoid thinking of the serious consequences Michael has set upon your family, yet, even if you want the world to stop spinning, it won’t.

[spnfanficpond]

SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge Week 20 Masterpost - Moriah

CLICK HERE FOR THE CHALLENGE DETAILS!

Prompts:

“She thinks it’s dangerous and insane, but she’s in.”

“I’m sleeping with your wife.”  “I know. I’m kinda into it.”

“I can’t believe you taped it!”  “I thought it was hot!”

“I am the stapler queen!”

“I’ll stop talking.”  “Probably a good idea.”

Submissions:

Soft by @mrswhozeewhatsis​ 

Keep writing and tagging, and we’ll keep adding your fics to this list!!

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Soft

A/N: This is for both the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 20, and also this month's Alpha Reader Program with @deanwinchesterswitch! Kym is a great Alpha reader, putting up with so much babbling of ideas with me!!

Summary: Chuck is depowered, Jack de-poofed Eileen and Y/N, and they all rescued Cas from the Empty. (The finale never happened fight me.) Now, with no more Big Bads on the horizon, Dean needs to figure out what his happily ever after looks like. Once he does, then he needs to go get it.

Pairing: Destiel x reader

Warnings: Pining. Idjits in love. Canon-divergent after 15x19. Fluff.

Word count: 4311 words

Prompt: "I'll stop talking." "Probably a good idea."

Dean watches her throw her arms around Cas’s waist and really snuggle into his embrace. It’s done. Chuck is depowered, Jack is in charge, Y/N is back, and now Cas is back. Everything is as it should be. Dean pats Cas on the shoulder, meeting his gaze with a smile he can feel is strained, locks eyes for a second with Y/N, and heads towards his room via the drink trolley. A little time resting in the only soft thing he’s ever been allowed to keep is definitely in order.

Sitting on his bed, back propped against the headboard and whiskey bottle in hand, he forces himself to consider everything he’s been trying not to think about for far too long. Cas will want to talk at some point, and Dean knows he can’t get it wrong. Well, no, he actually could get it all very disastrously wrong, but this time, he doesn’t want to.

And he has so very much to think about if he wants any chance to get this right. First, he needs to decide what “right” looks like.

If you’d asked him a few years ago what a good life looked like, he would have denied Cas’s place in it. There were just so many reasons why Cas couldn’t be a part of any picture he’d have painted back then. That was before, though. Before Cas told him, unequivocally, that he loved Dean in a way he thought he couldn’t have.

Maybe a year ago, if Cas had said those same words, Dean would have jumped into his arms and kissed the hell out of him. At that point, he’d finally admitted to himself that Cas was more to him. That Cas meant more than Dean’s fear of someone thinking he liked dick. Cas meant more than his hang-ups about how sex worked with a dude. Cas was more than a guy, and not simply because he wasn’t human. Angel or not, Cas was Dean’s person.

That was before, though. Before Mary died. Before Chuck had his little hissy fit. Before Dean acted like an ass… again. Before Y/N.

Now, Dean sits on his bed, not drinking the whiskey in his hand because he knows it won’t help. He needs to think clearly. He needs to decide how he feels. He’s loved Cas for years. But he’s beginning to think that maybe he loves her, too.

She appeared with the army of hunters that had arrived when Chuck opened Hell. She was relatively new to hunting, so when her partner died early on, she needed an experienced partner. With Dean barely speaking to him, Cas needed something to focus on, and he took her under his wing, so to speak. Which meant Dean barely spoke to her, either, outside of barking orders.

He was just so angry at the time, and it spilled onto her. Dean didn’t want Cas around him, but then he didn’t want Cas focusing on her, either. Or giving her that squinty head tilt. Hugging her while she grieved her partner. Talking to her about lore and weapons and sigils.

With Jack and Rowena dead, Y/N filled the fourth seat in the Impala just a little too quickly for Dean’s liking. And it had nothing to do with how fondly Cas looked at her when she fell asleep on his shoulder. Yeah, he understood that she needed training and experience, but there were a million other hunters fighting ghosts and zombies with them that she could have joined.

Dean was so mad, Cas left. And she went with him. And no, Dean did not spend several sleepless nights wondering about the sexual orientation of angels.

She and Cas were hunting partners for a while, but then Cas went to Heaven, so she moved into the bunker and never left. Dean tried not to dump his shit on her, knowing that it was his shit and not hers and he was being a dick, but she was everywhere—cooking in the kitchen, beating up the heavy bag in the gym, shooting curse words into the paper targets in the range. Dean didn’t want to laugh when she slapped one on his chest that read “DICK” as she walked out the door. He also didn’t want to deck Fancypants Dean from the other world when he asked her to go with them to Rio and then kissed her, dipped her like a 50’s heroine and everything, right in front of him!

And he definitely didn’t want to miss her when she left again with Cas. They were gone, again. Alone. Soon, he realized that he missed the smell of her cooking. He stared at the taped-over hole she left in the heavy bag when she tried attacking it while wearing heels. He tried to forget how lethal she was in the gun range. He failed to stop wondering how many beds were in the motel room they were sharing each night.

He got better about not being a dick to her when they returned. He even shared his pie. The first time she gave him one of her hundred-watt smiles, he nearly melted. She offered to help wash Baby, and he accepted. Not being a dick got easier as they became friends.

Then Chuck killed her. Just poofed her into nothing. A finger snap and Dean felt like he was back on the rack, a knife slicing into his heart. Why? Watching Cas mourn her was almost as hard as admitting that he felt the same way. He shouldn’t feel this way. They were friends. But the pain and grief in Cas’s eyes were mirrored in his chest. Not that he could say that to anyone. She was Cas’s… something.

Yet, before the Shadow swallowed him and Billie whole, Cas still said that his moment of complete happiness was loving Dean.

After Cas was gone, Dean sat on the floor in the dungeon and wondered at the complete lack of black goo anywhere. It had seemed to be everywhere but had left no trace. His mind bounced against the image of Cas getting swallowed whole and ricocheted into the image of Y/N poofing into thin air. Sam’s face when he picked up Eileen’s car keys, phone, and wallet. Jack’s face burning brightly when Chuck killed him in the graveyard. Mom’s face when he wrapped a shroud around the body that wasn’t hers. Charlie’s face as she lay in that awful motel bathtub. Bobby’s face as he called them idjits one last time. Dad’s face when the doctors tried to revive him, but he was already long gone.

Dean went on autopilot. He got up from the floor, drove to Sam and Jack, and then, he … did what needed to be done. On the drive away from Chuck’s defeat, Dean tried to imagine the life ahead of him without Chuck’s influence. Just him and Sam and Jack. He pictured them in the bunker, all in black and white like the old photos of the Men of Letters in the archives. Nothing big to fight, only little hunts. Maybe there would be the occasional trip to Hell to visit Rowena. Maybe Rowena could use a hand down there? Hell sounded nice, this time of year. You know, when everyone else is dead….

Dean didn’t let himself complete that thought. He still had Sam.

Then Jack brought back Y/N and Eileen. Color returned to Dean’s world. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than Heaven or Hell. With Y/N in his arms, all he could think about was Cas. Dean needed Cas back, even if it meant watching them ride off into the sunset together. When Jack said he couldn’t get Cas as easily as he’d gotten Y/N and Eileen, she ended up crying in Dean’s arms, letting him comfort her. She comforted him. They comforted each other.

Before the big rescue, Dean decided that if Cas and Y/N chose to go off and live a happy life together, he’d wish them well, even if it meant drowning himself in whiskey.

But now they’re both here. When their departure was hypothetical, it was easy to convince himself that he could be supportive. Now that he was up against the reality of it, he could barely breathe. Yes, the two of them alive and happy together without him is better than the two of them dead, but….

Dean puts down the whiskey and grabs an open bottle of what is probably very stale water off his desk. He drinks it down and then stares at the whiskey bottle. He tries to breathe through the pain in his chest caused by the prospect of visiting Cas and Y/N in their little country cottage with the white picket fence and beehives in the backyard. Oh, how he wants to drink something stronger than water and make this pain stop.

No. He needs to say this to himself completely sober.

“I want them,” he announces to the room, quietly enough that no one outside could hear, but the words still echo in his ears. “No, I don’t just want them. I want a bacon double cheeseburger with extra onions and a slice of apple pie with a scoop of ice cream on top. I need them. I need Cas, and I need her, and I need to stop acting like I don’t.”

Picturing the little country cottage once more, he shakes his head. “I have to try. Cas said he loved me. Y/N at least doesn’t think I’m a dick. I can’t do nothing, anymore. I have to try. I have to tell them both and at least ask them to give me a chance.”

Dean pulls at his hair and sighs. “But that’s not how the world works. I can’t have them both. I need to decide who to talk to first. I need to choose.”

The angel that literally saved him from Hell but wears a vessel Dean doesn’t know how to handle, or the woman who would be the complete package if he weren’t already in love with Cas.

“How do I choose?”

And that’s all assuming that either of them even (still) wants him. Cas may have changed his mind after Dean stood there stupidly and said freaking nothing while the Empty swallowed him whole. And she’s never really indicated that she wanted anyone but Cas. And Cas has always seemed perfectly happy to indulge her attentions. Hell, maybe they will go off together to that cottage in the country and leave him alone. After the way he’s acted, it’s the least he deserves.

“If I even have a choice, I can’t choose.”

Pacing the room, he kneads the problem in his mind like a baker would knead dough. After only a couple of minutes, he tires of rolling around a thousand “what ifs” in his head and stops in front of his bedroom door, hand almost grabbing the knob to turn it.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks himself, trying to give himself the courage to move. “They both say they don’t want me, they only want each other, and I’m left alone, like I’ve always been. Nothing changes for me.”

Swallowing down the blast of grief that idea causes, he takes a deep breath and watches from outside of his body as he turns the doorknob and walks down the hallway.

He hears her voice coming from her room long before he reaches it, but he’s almost in the doorway before he can make out the words she’s saying. She’s chattering in that way she does when she’s excited or nervous about something, and his heart clenches as he wonders what’s got her so jittery.

“It’s just that there’s so much to consider and so many possibilities and I’ve been waiting until now to think about it and oh god now I’m rambling and we really need to come up with a better phrase for that now that Chuck’s not in power andfuckinghellIthinkI’llstoptalking.”

Dean watches her put a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words and can’t stop his smile. She’s adorable.

Cas sees Dean in the doorway, gives her a gentle smile, and says, “That’s probably a good idea.” He nods his head towards Dean, and she turns to look at him. They’re both sitting on the side of the bed, one of her hands is encased in both of his, and Dean feels his heart wrench at what that might mean.

He tries to read their expressions, get a feel for what’s happening in the room, but his own feelings are overwhelming him. They’re both right here, staring at him, while he’s staring at them, and no one is saying anything!

“Uh,” he starts —oh, you’re doing great there, Dean, so eloquent— before clearing his throat and taking a steadying breath, “I don’t want to interrupt you guys?”

Cas smiles, but Y/N gulps and shakes her head.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in that way that always makes Dean feel warm inside. “It’s okay. What do you need?”

Dean tries again to read their expressions, but all he can feel is tension. Is it coming from him? “I, uh, need you,” he says to both of them, bouncing his gaze back and forth between them.

Cas stands up, letting go of Y/N’s hands, and pats her on the shoulder. “I’ll let you guys have some time alone. We can finish this later, right?”

Y/N nods, but Dean stops Cas from leaving the room with a hand on his arm. “No, Cas, I mean both of you.” Wishing that he could simply snap his fingers and have both of them automatically understand, he stares into Cas’s eyes like he’s done so many times before, trying to will his jumble of thoughts into the angel’s head.

Cas must only get static, though, because he smiles his same old fond smile, puts his hand on Dean’s left shoulder like he always does, and replies, “Of course, Dean. I’m always here when you need me. How can I help?”

Dean groans, wiping down his face with his hand while his shoulders droop. “Fuck, this is hard,” he mutters, then leads Cas back to where he’d been sitting on the bed, drags over the desk chair, and sits facing them both. “Look, I don’t do chick flick stuff, and you guys both know that, so bear with me, okay?”

Cas and Y/N both nod, and Dean wishes he had the whiskey bottle with him. Maybe a little in vino veritas would help him get through this. Staring at the two of them, he doesn’t even know where to start. He looks back and forth at each of them again, noting that they’re holding hands once more, and focuses on that.

“Look, guys, I know you two are,” he waves a hand around trying to indicate what he means, “together? Involved? Whatever you want to call it since we’re not in high school and we’ve all worked to derail an apocalypse or two. And I don’t want to mess with that. Well, not exactly. Wait, that’s not what I meant.” He takes a steadying breath and mutters, “Fuck, this is hard,” yet again.

He looks up and finally notices that both Cas and Y/N are now considerably less relaxed than they were a minute ago. Both sit stiff-backed, trying to look at anything but each other, and their hands are no longer linked.

“Wait, you guys are together, right?” Dean asks, suddenly questioning every moment he’s ever seen between them.

Y/N clears her throat and replies, “Well, that’s kind of what I was trying to talk to Cas about when you came in.” Her eyes bounce between Cas and Dean nervously and she shifts her position on the bed a little so she’s facing towards Cas a little more. “Cas, part of what I was trying to say is that I have, you know, feelings for you, that are, well, more than friendship.” Her words rush faster and faster until she gets to the end. “I held it in for so long, and then I was dead, and you were dead, and it was all awful, but now we’re back, and we’re here, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel.” She ends with a small gasp of much-needed air and then stares fearfully at the angel while she carefully exhales.

Cas tilts his head and squints, and Y/N slowly deflates a little bit more with every moment Cas takes to reply. Dean had no idea what he was walking into but somehow feels a little better knowing he’s not the only one feeling the need to put things on the table. The only concern now is that he might be watching the two people he wants so very much get together right in front of him, without him. Well, I’ll always have Sammy and visits to Rowena in Hell, he thinks.

“Cas? Please say something,” Y/N pleads, the panic becoming clear to Dean as her breathing quickens and her hands fumble in her lap.

“I thought you were in love with Dean?” Cas blurts out, leaving all three of them exchanging looks between them.

Dean sits up straighter and glances between Cas and Y/N, but focuses more on Y/N. “Really?” He can’t stop the word from leaving his mouth. He’s too excited by the possibility. Doing the math in his head, his heart starts to race happily. Half a chance Cas really loves him like he said, half a chance Y/N loves him like Cas said, that equals a whole chance he might actually get at least half of what he wants.

Completely ignorant to the social graces surrounding admitting other people’s feelings for other people to those other people, Cas just keeps going, turning to Dean. “Yes. I’ve noticed her engaging in some of the social actions that usually indicate romantic affection towards you. I assumed that meant she had feelings for you.”

Dean looks at Cas, then throws his hands up in the air. “Well, I’ve been watching the two of you cuddle up together all the time like two peas in a damn pod, so I knew she had feelings for you! And you’ve been cuddling right back, so I figured that meant the two of you were a thing, no matter what you said!”

Face glowing a bright red, Y/N interrupted the staring contest between the two men. “Well, I’ve been watching all the eye-fucking between you two since day one, so I thought you two were a thing! I mean, seriously, you two need to kiss or fuck or something so the rest of us can breathe clear air, again!”

Both Dean and Cas turn to stare at Y/N.

“What? You two had no problem talking about my feelings! Turnabout’s fair play!”

Cas takes hold of Y/N’s hand to ground her and says, “So, you have romantic feelings for both of us, then?”

Fear washes over her face as she nods, nervously glancing between the two of them.

Cas smiles. “And I have romantic feelings for both of you,” he states. The two of them smile at each other for a moment and then turn to Dean in unison. Their hands are clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

With two pairs of striking eyes staring at him, Dean squirms.

“Dean, we would very much appreciate you telling us what you’re thinking and feeling, right now,” Cas said, using his calmest and most caring voice. “I believe the phrase is, ‘this is a safe space.’”

Dean takes a steadying breath, looks at each of them individually, and decides there’s no use running now. He’s here. He knows there will be a soft landing when he jumps. He’s jumped into worse with less and come out winning. He can do this.

Dean takes Y/N’s free hand in one of his and squeezes it while he decides what words to use. She relaxes, her shoulders dropping, but Dean notices Cas stiffen out of the corner of his eye. Dean stiffens right along with him, bringing his eyes up just in time to see the flash of disappointment in Cas’s eyes before it disappears.

Fuck, he’s screwing this all up, already.

Words are still foreign things he can’t seem to grasp, so he decides to act instead. Still holding Y/N’s hand, he reaches with his other hand to grasp Cas’s neck and pull him in.

The kiss is awkward as hell. Cas’s eyes are wide open when Dean closes his, and then teeth clash, and Cas stays frozen while Dean tries to gently kiss some life into him. Right before Dean is about to pull away and question all his life choices, Cas melts. Cas’s hand is suddenly in Dean’s hair, pulling Dean closer as the kiss turns into the warmest, loveliest kiss Dean’s ever experienced. Cas’s lips are as soft as Dean ever imagined, the little bit of rough stubble a new but not awful feeling, and Dean’s pretty sure he could do this for hours and never come up for air. Maybe it would kill him, but he’d be okay dying this way.

Eventually, the kiss turns to little nibbles, and then they simply sit there for a moment, foreheads together and eyes closed, feeling the warmth of each other.

“I didn’t think you could feel what I feel,” Dean whispered. “And then you said you could, and you did, and then you were gone, and it was too late.” He shifts only enough to press his lips to Cas’s again one more time. “You can have everything you want, angel,” he says, pulling back enough to look Cas in the eyes.

Cas’s smile is as wide and happy as Dean’s ever seen it. They stare at each other for another one of those long moments where Dean swears Cas must be able to freeze time. Cas’s eyes shift away from Dean, and he’s reminded that he’s staring at only half of his happiness.

The other half is still holding his hand, watching him and Cas with wide eyes and a shy smile. With nothing left to lose, Dean leans in and feels the rest of his world click into place as his lips settle perfectly on hers. The kiss with her is different, and yet also the same in how right it feels. She opens her mouth a little, and their tongues slide together like they’ve done this a hundred times before. When they finally break apart, he doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets his smile loose. She smiles back, and he knows she understands.

Everything in him wants to keep going back and forth, kissing them both, but there’s always that little voice inside his head —which sounds a bit like Chuck, these days— that tells him that this isn’t real. It makes him slow down a bit, lean back in his chair, and enjoy looking at the two people in front of him. He watches the two of them kiss and is surprised when his gut doesn’t churn with jealousy this time.

Each time he had imagined what they did behind closed doors, he was miserable. Yet, here he is, watching them kiss, feeling happy. The part of him that was jealous and hurt now knows that they both want him, too. He’s not on the outside looking in, anymore.

The little voice that sounds like Chuck gets a little louder. ‘What is this, a three-way roll in the hay like with the Doublemint twins back before Hell, or those triplets with Lee? Yeah, this isn’t how real life works, pal.’

Cas and Y/N finally pull away from each other but continue to stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Now, Dean knows how other people have felt while he’s stared at Cas in the past. Part of him wants to laugh at that, but that evil little voice has convinced him that this is temporary. They’re all holding hands, now, like some kind of hippie prayer circle or Zen meditation thing, grinning like idiots at each other, and it can’t last.

Dean’s smile falters, and he looks down at their hands, trying to memorize this moment before it all comes crashing down. Before he has to choose. Before they have to choose. Before he loses everything.

Cas lets go of his hand and uses it to lift Dean’s chin so he sees Cas’s face again. “You can have this, Dean. We can have this, exactly like this. We don’t have to choose. It won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is, right?” Cas’s hand drops down and grasps his hand, again. “Polyamory is not unheard of and is accepted in many cultures.”

Dean looks back and forth between Cas and Y/N, gauging their feelings about this from their expressions.

Y/N giggles and shrugs when Dean looks at her, questions in his eyes. “I’m game to try if you are. I’m guessing it’s going to involve a lot of honesty and talking, but I could never choose between you.”

Dean’s shoulders relax and he takes what feels like the first deep breath of his life. He’s fallen, hard and fast, expecting the pain of a crash landing, but found a safety net instead. It’s thrilling, it’s scary, and his heart wants to burst out of his chest, but it’s all good.

Squeezing both of their hands, he grins. “Let’s do this, then.”

Later, when he and Y/N are curled into Cas in bed, who’s reading a book because he doesn’t sleep, Dean squeezes her hand on the broad chest between them and smiles when she squeezes back. When he’s asleep and dreaming about hunts and fights and beating the Devil, for the first time, when he falls, he lands softly.

[fanfic-from-a-67-impala]

The Blackbird Motel

Characters: Charlie x reader, Castiel, Rowena

Word Count: 1671

Summary: Reader insert rewrite of the ending of 10.21. Guest appearances by love, angst, and more.

Warnings: angst, canon-typical violence, death

A/N: In support of @ladiesfromsupernatural‘s Charlie Bradbury Appreciation Week!

Also for @spnfanficpond‘s SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge: Week Eight (I’m way behind on this)! Prompt #1 is bolded. @mrswhozeewhatsis

“Castiel, man, just spring me for two hours—one hour.”

You catch bits of Charlie’s conversation with Castiel. At the table next to you, Rowena hums something about how the company was better in the Grand Coven.

Somehow, Sam roped you into Operation: Remove Mark of Cain. Since the boys are off hunting down the Stynes, you hope Dean won’t notice your absence from the bunker, at least while Charlie is involved. You aren’t much of a fighter anyway, not anymore.

“Anyplace quiet,” Charlie begs. “(Y/N)’ll go with me.”

“(Y/N)’ll do what?” you say, not so much a question as a dismissal, as you join them in the corner.

“Come on. Please?” she tries again. “I just need some time to think without her—” she jabs a finger at Rowena— “breathing down my neck.”

“Charlie, you stole a prehistoric book from a family who thinks it’s theirs,” you say. “There are some dangerous people after you.”

“That’s what you’ll be there for,” she says.

“Yeah?” you scoff. “And what’s that going to do besides get us both killed?”

Charlie sighs, looking between you and Castiel. “Dean is my buddy, and I cannot screw this up, but my mind… it’s a wad of gummy worms.”

“Don’t have to listen to them, Angel,” Rowena’s voice rings through the room. “Couple of prima donnas, if you ask me.”

Charlie crosses her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows at you.

You sigh. “Cas, keep an eye on the witch. We’ll be a few hours, tops.”

You and Charlie check into the nearest motel, and you don’t let her leave your sight for a second, even as her concentrating eyes dart across the screen so many times it makes your own head hurt.

“You know, Dean’s not going anywhere, and neither is the Mark,” you say after a while. “We can go back at the brewery, take a break. You don’t have to cram it all in at once. Don’t say it,” you add when you see her eyes light up like she’s about to make the obvious joke.

Her refusal is followed by a string of NO MATCH beeps from her computer, despite her typing away and talking through the problems in technobabble you don’t understand.

“A-ha!” she laughs.

“You got it?”

“I got it,” she nods, a beaming smile on her face.

“Good. Let’s get out of here,” you say.

“(Y/N), I think we can take a second to celebrate,” she remarks. “After all, I might be a genius.”

“We both know you’re definitely a genius. We can celebrate when we get back to—”

A pounding at the door cuts off your words. You and Charlie glance at each other before turning your heads to the door.

You flinch at the voice that pierces through it.

“I know you’re in here, Ms. Asimov.”

Your blood runs cold. You know that southern drawl. Eldon Styne.

“You have it. I want it,” he calls, following with another round of pounding so loud you think he might break down the door.

“Bathroom,” you shout in a hushed voice. “Now.”

Charlie scoops her tablet and phone into her arms before darting across the room.

You dig through her backpack until you find her knife and follow her toward the bathroom to shove the hilt in her hands.

“Close the door, and don’t come out, no matter what,” you command.

“Wh-what about you?” she stammers, her voice quivering.

All the triumph has left her tone, all the lightness faded away. Her hands tremble as they clutch her screens and the knife.

You grasp the back of her neck and kiss her. It’s rushed and clumsy and teeth-clashing. It’s not your best work, but you get the feeling it’ll have to be.

The Styne continues to pound at the door.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you promise.

The look in her eye tells you she knows you’re lying.

The closed bathroom door muffles the sound of Eldon Styne pounding on the one outside, but Charlie can still hear it.

She stands where you left her as she goes back and forth in her mind. She wants to help you, but every instinct she has tells her to curl up in the corner and wait this out.

And, she reasons, maybe you can win.

You haven’t been a fighter for as long as she’s known you, but in the Supernatural books, you had been raised as a hunter, and you were good at it. When Charlie asked you one day about why you stopped, why you were in the books instead of on the hunts, you grew quiet. Then, you changed the subject as if she hadn’t said anything.

The boys told her later that, on your last hunt, you killed someone you were sure was a werewolf, who turned out to be human, and you haven’t picked up a gun since then.

Truth is, it could’ve been any one of us, Sam said, but I guess it just got to her.

The pounding stops with a crack of broken wood. Slow footsteps land through the doorway.

Charlie sets to work. She dials Sam’s number and opens her tablet on the toilet seat cover. As she sputters out the name of the motel, she drags a file, everything Sam would need to decode the codex, and uploads it to an email.

Over Sam’s voice, she can hear a crash from the room outside, rustling sounds.

Dean is yelling at her now to give them anything she has.

Punches land. The man grunts.

“I can’t do that, Dean.”

Uploading Complete.

You cry out. More punches, then another crash. Then, nothing.

Charlie doesn’t hear anything after that. She sends the email and smashes her screen against the sink.

Footsteps sound outside, growing closer to her door.

It’s you. It has to be.

She grabs her knife, backing away from the door.

The knob creaks as it turns. The door inches open to reveal a man with his left arm severed below the elbow, tattered into a bloody stub. Parts of his shirt are ripped, and his eye is mangled beyond recognition.

Behind him, Charlie sees your figure lying on the floor. She wills you to move, to groan, anything that would let her know you’re alive.

Please, she begs you.

“You’re gonna give me what’s mine,” Eldon says, spitting blood. “Mine and my family’s.”

She holds out her knife.

He lunges at her, and she stabs the blade into his chest. She looks up at him, expecting to see the life flicker out of his eyes, but instead he only smiles.

He snatches her wrist, pulling out the knife, which clatters to the ground. He shoves her against the wall, his arm at her throat. Her head hits the drywall so hard she sees black for a moment.

“Where’s the Book?” he asks.

She can’t get air into her lungs, couldn’t answer him if she wanted to. She kicks at him, pushes him away with her arms, but he doesn’t budge.

Her vision begins to darken before he releases her and throws her to the ground.

She gasps for air as she feels him kick at her side. She curls her knees up, covering her head with her hands, but she still feels the bruising jolts.

Suddenly, they stop.

Charlie hears him grunt and turns around.

You stand in front of him, her knife in your hand. Cuts and bruises litter your face, blood pours out of a gash on your forehead, and your wrist, the one not holding the knife, is bent at an awkward angle.

But you’re alive.

You dodge a punch he throws. You send a knee into his stomach, and Charlie swears she hears a rib crack.

He doubles over, and you stab him up his throat and through his brain. He topples to the ground, his body limp.

Blood stains your hands.

It trickled down the knife from his throat, and now it collects in your palm.

You must have collapsed because you’re on your knees, his body in front of you. Blood pools on the tile where his neck landed.

You felt nothing but hatred for him and his family, but he was still a person, a human. And now he’s gone.

How could you let this happen, after you swore you’d never kill anything ever again?

Charlie crawls into your vision from behind you, and you flinch away. Hurt flashes on her face, but only for a moment. She reaches over to pry the knife from your grip. You didn’t realize you were still holding it.

She stands up and holds out a hand to you. Tentatively, you take it. Your hand coats hers with blood, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

She leads you to the sink and sits you on the toilet cover while she dampens a washcloth and gingerly wipes your face. You can’t tell how much blood there is, but by the time she’s done, the once-white cloth is almost completely red.

You realize it slowly, while you’re staring at her as she cleans you up—why you went into battle after so many years of sitting quietly on the sidelines. It was for her.

And she, you decide, is reason enough.

“I’m sorry,” she says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“What?” you ask. “For what?”

She holds her arms out and drops them to her sides. “For dragging you out here. For bringing you into all of this again.”

You stand up to meet her. “Charlie, all that matters to me is that you’re okay. All right?”

She nods.

You wrap your arms around her, and you feel all the guilt melt away. Here, tonight, in this motel bathroom, she’s alive, and so are you.

It could have been much worse.

I don’t want to say this is a “fuck you” to the writers because it isn’t. Except I do and it is.

Tags: @ellie-andthemachine @gaybrieljax @emerald-watermelon-199 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife​

[spnfanficpond]

SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge Week 19 Masterpost - Jack in the Box

CLICK HERE FOR THE CHALLENGE DETAILS!

Prompts:

“I’m not my first choice, either, but here we are.”

“I came here to tell you something. Something important.”

“People are hungry for the truth.”

“It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

You have to do way better than that, buddy.”

Submissions:

Perfect by @mrswhozeewhatsis​ 

Keep writing and tagging, and we’ll keep adding your fics to this list!!

[spnfanficpond]

SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge

Each new episode, we get new material from the show we all love, so let’s channel that into new stories! Each week that there’s a new episode, we’ll throw up a prompt from the episode. (For the international folks and those who just can’t watch live, we’ll try to keep these prompts as spoiler-free as possible, so nothing that will hint to major plot points.) Pick a prompt, write a thing, post it, tag us, and we’ll add it to the masterpost for that week. No need to send us an ask or sign up, just do it or don’t do it as you have time.

Here’s the nitty-gritty:

You have to be a member of the Pond to have your story added to the masterpost.

Everything is welcome in the Pond, so anything goes! Ships, reader insert, angst, smut, crack, fluff, whatever floats your boat, make it SAIL.

If your story is over 500 words, please use a Keep Reading cut! Also, even if your story isn’t over 500 words, be nice and put your tags under a cut!

Because tags are notoriously sketchy, please tag BOTH @spnfanficpond AND @mrswhozeewhatsis as well as using the tag #Pond S14 Weekly Challenge. Hopefully, tagging all three will mean Tumblr will get at least one right.

Deadline: No pressure! Do it as and when you can!

Feel free to post your fics on AO3 and add them to the Collection HERE.

Any questions? Send us an ASK! (Prompts and masterposts for each week listed below the cut.)

WEEK ONE

Prompts:

“You’re… Oh, God.” “People keep calling me that.”

“Really? That’s very Hallmark Channel.”

“You are my Beyoncé!”

“It’s a magic egg.”

“You know how to use that, right?” “Stab them with the pointy end?”

WEEK TWO

Prompts:

“A little of this, a little of that… hmm… too much of that.”

“Who goes to Duluth in October?”

“Last time I sucked when it mattered.”

“What’s it like in your hometown?” “Empty, wind-swept, dead bodies lying around….”

“Very elegant! But, then again, so are you.”

WEEK THREE

Prompts:

“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. It’s always just there… watching.”

“I didn’t mean to be a dick.”

“If I get a vote, I’m Team Stick Together.”

“It’s marked ‘gross stuff’.”

“I’m dreading those consequences.”

WEEK FOUR

Prompts:

“So handsome. So angry.“

“Which is not cool. And is weirdly, creepily specific.”

“He must have awesome insurance.”

“Time to slice and dice!”

“I like it when they run.”

WEEK FIVE

Prompts:

“We all need our beauty sleep.”

“This house? You’re sure?”

“That thing that I killed died weird.”

“Thank God for benzos.”

“That’s what everyone says. Except him.”

WEEK SIX

Prompts:

“What, goo?“  “Goo.”

“That’s the thing you do before the sex.”

“Congrats, Mighty Mouse.”

“It’s weird. I’m weird.“  “It’s fine. I think.”

“Stupid magic.”

WEEK SEVEN

Prompts:

“I hate that it feels so good.”

“People say things in the heat of the moment.”

“It doesn’t quiet fit. It’s delicate.”

“We’re takin’ Baby for some for some exercise.“

“I’m passionately peripatetic.”

WEEK EIGHT

Prompts:

“You don’t have to cram it all in at once.”

“After about whiskey #5, it hit me.”

“We met him. Major dick.”

“That lady’s a peach.”

“Pushing pencils, damning souls. Tough work.”

WEEK NINE

Prompts:

“The secret password is Cookietacular.”

“I guess that’s what she meant by ‘volunteer’.”

“Certified Priority Express”

“I guess I’m just fired up.”

“It’s lighter than I expected.”

WEEK TEN

Prompts:

“Wet one out there, eh?”

“It’s a big trunk.”

“We have shifts, now, because you mess up so, so many things.”

“And I want you to know you have my full emotional support.”

“Kill a ghoul, get a beer!”

WEEK ELEVEN

Prompts:

“You want to hop in? Help out?”

“Glad it satisfied.”

“First name Eat, last name Me.”

“If you do this, we’re done. You walk.”

“Say it. I can see you want to.”

WEEK TWELVE

Prompts:

“I don’t need to get shaky on this thing.”

“The woman has a remarkable command of profanity.”

“I killed him… it… whatever.”

“Thinking? Highly overrated.”

“Well, nobody’s perfect.”

WEEK THIRTEEN

Prompts:

“He’s a spoiled little jerk but I love him.”

“I took a vow.”

“This is like the best worst thing to happen to you.”

“Well, that’s one for the record books.”

“God bless kale, am I right?”

WEEK FOURTEEN

Prompts:

“Well, that’s not sustainable.”

“This is like an AV Club presentation.”

“I let his mother ride the jet ski ONE time!”

“I thought my performance was quite magnificent.”

“Must be all that finally waking up from centuries of misogynistic oppression.”

WEEK FIFTEEN

Prompts:

“I look at them, sometimes, after you fall asleep at night.”

“I’m Justin Smith and this is my foxy wife, Cindy!”

“Next time try to be a little less apt.”

“I’m gonna make some bacon.”

“If we can’t remain civil, then you can skedaddle.”

WEEK SIXTEEN

Prompts:

“Porn? Sex tapes? Nip slips?”

“My mission is shopping?”

“Their whole place must smell like beer, Kleenex, and Old Spice.”

“We should probably do what he says.”  “Definitely.”

“If you two are gonna kiss, can you go in the other room?”

WEEK SEVENTEEN

Prompts:

“Hold your haystacks, I’m coming!”

“This whole damn town’s a dead zone.”

“They are lightly cursed.”

“Are you insane? This is Mulberry silk!”

“I mean….”  “’I mean’??? What do you mean, “I mean’???”

WEEK EIGHTEEN

Prompts:

“Kind of sounds like you’re bummed about it.”

“Together? Alone?”

“Are you still afraid of me?”

“Things got complicated. I got complicated.”

“Disposition affects execution.”

WEEK NINETEEN

Prompts:

“I’m not my first choice, either, but here we are.”

“I came here to tell you something. Something important.”

“People are hungry for the truth.”

“It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

You have to do way better than that, buddy.”

WEEK TWENTY

Prompts:

“She thinks it’s dangerous and insane, but she’s in.”

“I’m sleeping with your wife.”  “I know. I’m kinda into it.”

“I can’t believe you taped it!”  “I thought it was hot!”

“I am the stapler queen!”

“I’ll stop talking.”  “Probably a good idea.”

[spnfanficpond]

A/N: Holy moly, I WROTE SOMETHING!! And then @littlegreenplasticsoldier​ and @manawhaat​ made it into something worth reading. That’s not hyperbole.

Summary: Y/N takes on a spell to save Sam.

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: I really don’t want to put the only spoiler this thing has in the warnings, and I don’t think it’s really that bad of a warning, so I’m just gonna tag it at the end of the tags, okay?

Word count: 4163 words

Prompt: For the @spnfanficpond​‘s S14 Weekly Episode Challenge Week 18. (So, I’m a little late. No biggie, right?) I used two of the prompts: #2. “Together? Alone?” and #3. “Are you still afraid of me?”

The plan was simple. The Winchesters would keep the witch busy while you found and freed the victims. It was a simple plan that had worked dozens of times. You were the less experienced hunter, and they were the freaking Winchesters, so it only made sense. Time after time, the plan worked. They huffed and they puffed and kept all the focus on them while you snuck around like a mouse finding the cheese.

Until today.

Today, you decided to change the plan. Every other hunt before today, you had listened with one ear while the monster of the week monologued. They’d talk about how they would peel the skin from the Winchesters’ bones and then make soup with the remains. Dean would joke he’d rather be pie than soup, keeping the focus on him, while Sam set up the killing blow. Threats of torture, killing everyone they’ve ever loved, burning down the world… each one was met with a sarcastic comment or two, quickly followed by the monster’s demise. You’d learned long ago to let the threats go, like water off a duck’s back. There wasn’t anything any monster could threaten that would scare the Winchesters, and therefore you. As Sam had once said, he’d been tortured by the Devil, himself. What could anything on earth ever do to top that?

The witch held Sam with a tight grip on his hair, while Dean hung from the usual invisible force on the wall across the room. The cords in Sam’s neck were standing out while he tried to shake the woman’s hold, but her fingers were well tangled in his ad-worthy luscious locks. Basically, everything was going according to plan.

Keep Reading

[spnfanficpond]

SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge Week 18 Masterpost - Absence

CLICK HERE FOR THE CHALLENGE DETAILS!

Prompts:

“Kind of sounds like you’re bummed about it.”

“Together? Alone?”

“Are you still afraid of me?”

“Things got complicated. I got complicated.”

“Disposition affects execution.”

Submissions:

Yours Or Mine by @mrswhozeewhatsis​ 

Keep writing and tagging, and we’ll keep adding your fics to this list!!

[spnfanficpond]

SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge Week 20 - Moriah

Each new episode, we get new material from the show we all love, so let’s channel that into new stories! After each new episode airs, we’ll throw up a few prompts from the episode. (For the international folks and those who just can’t watch live, we’ll try to keep these prompts as spoiler-free as possible, so nothing that will hint to major plot points.) Pick a prompt, write a thing, post it, tag us, and we’ll add it to a masterpost. No need to send us an ask or sign up, just do it or don’t do it as you have time.

HERE’S THE NITTY-GRITTY:

You have to be a member of the Pond to have your story reblogged and added to the masterpost.

Everything is welcome in the Pond, so anything goes! Ships, reader insert, angst, smut, crack, fluff, whatever floats your boat, make it SAIL.

If your story is over 500 words, please use a Keep Reading cut! Also, even if your story isn’t over 500 words, be nice and put your tags under a cut!

Because tags are notoriously sketchy, please tag BOTH @spnfanficpond AND @mrswhozeewhatsis as well as using the tag #Pond S14 Weekly Challenge. Hopefully, tagging all three will mean Tumblr will get at least one right.

Deadline: No pressure! Do it as and when you can!

Feel free to post your fics on AO3 and add them to the Collection HERE.

The maserpost of masterposts is HERE!

Any questions? Send us an ASK!

This week’s prompts are:

“She thinks it’s dangerous and insane, but she’s in.”

“I’m sleeping with your wife.”  “I know. I’m kinda into it.”

“I can’t believe you taped it!”  “I thought it was hot!”

“I am the stapler queen!”

“I’ll stop talking.”  “Probably a good idea.”

Remember, there’s NO DEADLINE on these! Write them whenever you want, and they’ll still be added!!

[spnfanficpond]

SPN Season 14 Weekly Episode Writing Challenge Week 19 - Jack in the Box

Each new episode, we get new material from the show we all love, so let’s channel that into new stories! After each new episode airs, we’ll throw up a few prompts from the episode. (For the international folks and those who just can’t watch live, we’ll try to keep these prompts as spoiler-free as possible, so nothing that will hint to major plot points.) Pick a prompt, write a thing, post it, tag us, and we’ll add it to a masterpost. No need to send us an ask or sign up, just do it or don’t do it as you have time.

HERE’S THE NITTY-GRITTY:

You have to be a member of the Pond to have your story reblogged and added to the masterpost.

Everything is welcome in the Pond, so anything goes! Ships, reader insert, angst, smut, crack, fluff, whatever floats your boat, make it SAIL.

If your story is over 500 words, please use a Keep Reading cut! Also, even if your story isn’t over 500 words, be nice and put your tags under a cut!

Because tags are notoriously sketchy, please tag BOTH @spnfanficpond AND @mrswhozeewhatsis as well as using the tag #Pond S14 Weekly Challenge. Hopefully, tagging all three will mean Tumblr will get at least one right.

Deadline: No pressure! Do it as and when you can!

Feel free to post your fics on AO3 and add them to the Collection HERE.

The maserpost of masterposts is HERE!

Any questions? Send us an ASK!

This week’s prompts are:

“I’m not my first choice, either, but here we are.”

“I came here to tell you something. Something important.”

“People are hungry for the truth.”

“It doesn’t have to be a dream.”

You have to do way better than that, buddy.”

Remember, there’s NO DEADLINE on these! Write them whenever you want, and they’ll still be added!!