#Sams20thbdaycelebration

[juicifeur]

Down By The River (Castiel x Reader)

Another submission for @riversong-sam‘s birthday challenge!

My prompt was Last Goodbye

Warnings: character death, depressed Cass

Word Count: 1.7k A/N: 

Sorry I suck at keeping active 

I’m using the spelling ‘CASS’. I’m warning you because people get triggered for some reason and then they get mad at me

Also, if your URL is crossed off in my tags, it means Tumblr is not allowing me to tag you under that URL anymore. Message me if you still want to be on tags but you want to change your URL

His hand lay under your head, supporting it so it wouldn’t touch the sullied ground. The unclean ground where your body lay nearly motionless. He cradled your torso in his lap and kept you close, warm, as comfortable as he could make you. His beige trenchcoat lay in half in the mud that was close to freezing over for the night in attempt to conserve some of your body heat

  “Guess we won’t be going on that second date huh?” You smiled weakly up at him, finding his other hand with your own, resting on your abdomen. He shook his head.

  “No, I’m afraid not.” He breathed out shakily and tried to smile back.

As per usual, a hunt had gone wrong, but this time it ended with your blood slowly leaking into the dirt. It was hard for Cass to grip what was happening; you’d known him so long, and just recently you were beginning to have feelings for the angel, as weird as that was.

  “Put your coat back on Cass.” You mumbled, trying to focus on his eyes, his lips, anything that could keep you in this world a little longer.

  “I do not get cold, Y/N. I’ll be fine.” His thumb brushed against your cheek gently.

The colour of your face was slowly draining, like your blood, and your lips were turning cold along with your fingers. Cass’ hand ran through your hair gently and you breathed out, calm.

  “Please just let me heal you.” He begged. Angels didn’t really cry, but if they did, you’d guess that Castiel was about as close as they could get. His hands were leaving yours warmer and his voice broke when he managed to speak. The blue in his eyes seemed vibrant when he was most upset. You shook your head slowly.  

  “You’ve saved me...too many times, Castiel.”

  “Then don’t leave me just yet, Y/N, please.” He pressed his cool lips to your forehead and you smiled softly. Both Sam and Dean returned, stopping in their tracks as they saw Castiel kneeling. They’d gone after the demon that had provided you with a nice lethal stab wound. Lucky enough for you, you were on the hellspawn’s list just because you affiliated with the Winchesters.

They decided not to get any closer. Castiel’s shoulders were shuddering above you and your breath was getting shallow.

  “I think it’s time for me to go.” All you could get out was a whisper.

  “I don’t want to watch the love between us die...” Cass muttered, a small teardrop fell from his eye and he breathed softly, the light fog swirling and then disappearing. You were silent. It was forbidden for humans and angels to be together, but Castiel’s current track record showed that he wasn’t exactly keen on following the rules lately.

  “Y/N, please don’t leave me... Wake up.” Cass shook your shoulders gently and his heart pounded softly. He was struck with the fear that he would never again see your smile. Behind the tragic scene, Dean bit his lip and glanced at his brother knowingly, whose head was down in mourning. Losing people was in their job description, but they never thought they would lose you too.

Castiel knelt on the ground with your body early into the cold morning, just stroking your stiff, soft skin. Sam and Dean couldn’t bear it any longer, especially since they couldn’t feel their toes.

  “Cass, buddy. Y/N’s gone... we gotta go.” He didn’t want to pry him away from you; he knew as well as his brother that in the time you’d known each other, Cass felt a certain way about you that was unheard of in angel disposition.  

Rigid, Castiel stood up, holding your limp body bridal style in his arms. His eyes were cold and fixed upon the ground.

  “Cass, you know anything else about- Hey, Cass,” Dean repeated as he looked up from the lore book that lay on the kitchen table.

Castiel was standing near one of the bookshelves with an old shoebox in front of him, a shoebox he kept of your things.

  “Cass?” Sam piped up, which earned them a look from the angel.

  “You okay?” Dean asked. Castiel nodded slowly and glanced back into the box briefly before putting it back on the shelf. Whatever was in his hands, he folded and tucked into one of his coat pockets.

  “Yes, I am okay. What is it you need help with?” He was quick to change the subject.

As Dean explained their newest case file, Castiel’s mind wandered.

It had already been a few months since your death and he still regretted the fact that he hadn’t tried to save you.

His eyes had lost their lustre and his voice had lost its sincerity. He no longer could feel the warmth of your touch or the feeling that sparked inside him whenever he would see your face.

He kept thinking about that godforsaken promise he’d made to you. The promise that you’d proposed all those months back that entailed the angel not to save you if it came down to it. Your rationale was that if you were supposed to die, you were supposed to die. You weren’t going to mess with Fate. It didn’t work out so well last time.

Cass disappeared from the room before the boys realized how tight he was clenching his fists.

Dean let out an exasperated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration.

  “He’s gotta get over this damn wall.” He grumbled. His best friend had been disconnected ever since the accident, and they needed him to be at his best just in case they needed him.

  “C’mon Dean, you can’t blame him, and we can’t just keep asking him to solve our problems,” Sam said softly, uncrossing his arms and walking around the table to his brother.

  “I’m not asking him to solve our problems, I’m just asking him to get his head out of his ass and take one for the team. He’s gotta get over it at some point.”

  “He lost Y/N, you can’t expect him to be...all there.” Brushing a few strands of hair out of his face, Sam sighed.

  “We lost Y/N, too, Sam. You don’t see me crying about it.” Dean glared up at his brother but Sam knew better. Both of the boys were upset that you were dead, but they both processed it differently. Already, Dean had gone overkill on three big baddies. Sam knew he was taking it hard, but still not as hard as Cas was taking it.

Defeated, Sam spoke again.

  “Even angels need time to grieve, Dean. Give him a break.”

  “Hello, Y/N.” Cass’ gravely voice mumbled, his lips curling slightly at the ends. For some reason, he always hoped you would answer him.

The grey headstone looked back at him with the same blank face as always but he still smiled and sat down on the ground in front of it, fighting back his sadness. The old tree that twisted up behind the grave provided shade for the ground that was patched with unique rays sunlight that managed to stream through the leaves overhead. The sun would be setting soon. Cass’ trench coat flapped gently in the quiet wind and he breathed shallowly.

He made sure to bury your body in the most beautiful place he could find, so secluded and peaceful that only he could visit you there and no one could find you by accident. Having a hunter’s funeral for you, like the boys wanted, was out of the question. He could not let his last memory of you to be filled with fire. He only hoped where you were, you could be as at peace as the river was.

   “The stars should be beautiful tonight.” He looked up through the break in the trees at the sky and left himself in silence, imagining you responding to his statement with a fact about constellations or the recent meteor shower. He looked back down at your grave and sighed.

  “I thought of you again today, Y/N.” His fingers pressed to the ground where he clearly remembered laying your body, wrapped in sheets. The river bubbled by the gravesite and he watched the water find it’s way around the rocks. If only it was that easy for him to get around this rock.

  “I never got to say goodbye to you, Y/N.” Cass’ voice broke. The clouds overhead floated by, ill-concerned about whatever was going on down on earth. If any of his brothers or sisters saw him this way, they would be convinced that Earth had corrupted him, somehow made him more human, which they thought of as a bad thing.

  “You gave me more life than you’ll ever know.” A few tears slid down his cheeks and he pulled the folded item from his pocket. He couldn’t ever tell you how he felt. With trembling hands, he unfolded the photograph and stared at your smile. He’d taken a liking to Polaroid cameras just a few months before your death. And even though he wasn’t particularly good with technology, or photogenic for that matter, he found a way to get a picture of the two of you together. It always made him smile.

He quickly wiped his eyes and started digging a small hole in the dirt in front of the grave, where a few wildflowers had begun to grow.

  “I want you to have this. So you can remember us.” He folded the photograph again, into a small square and he set it into the ground, burying it gently. His tears, by now, had started to flow again, and he imagined them being fuel for more flowers.

Slowly, he stood up again and glanced at his surroundings before turning back to your headstone, where he would make sure it would never snow or be damaged. He intended to visit you often to tell you everything that was happening without you, as much as it broke his heart.

  “Goodbye, Y/N.”

With one more look, Castiel pressed a kiss to his fingers and set them on the top of your headstone.

Always Tags: @knightofmischief @potato8queen @sherlock44 @too-much-winchester   @krista200022   @mcdoyle22   @thegameisafootwatson @leiassorganaa @arixky@katestiel @kylorentrsh @trashbutnotforyou @angel-allie-exol-army@thedamnchesters @kickasscas67 @hoe-zier @kyara2015@trustnobodyshootfirst @all-ur-friends-r-dead @rhae-winchester @one-shots-supernatural @spn-imagineers @abigrumple @livelovelike555 @missdestiel67  @lemonadegazeelle @elsatxx @superhero-lover101 @jadepc

Cass tags: @jesuisdabbo

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[fangirlextraordinaire]

Halloween Fun

Summary: The stars aligned for you & Jensen to have all 6 children on Halloween.  Will trick-or-treating be a blast or a disaster?

Pairings: Jensen x reader; JJ, Arrow, & Zeppelin Ackles, Seraphina (OC), Maddox (OC), and Gemma (OC)

Warnings: Fluff

Prompts: Costumes & trick-or-treating with Jensen AND Halloween with Jensen

This is my extremely late entry for Bamby’s First Challenge at @bamby0304. Also written for Sam’s Birthday Challenge at @riversong-sam.  Hope you enjoy!

October 2022

Halloween has always been a big deal to you but this year was shaping up to be the best yet. You and Jensen had the house decorated to perfection, there was plenty of candy to hand out to the neighborhood children, and the crisp Fall air was the perfect backdrop. Most importantly, however, was that this was going to be the first Halloween that your blended family celebrated together. You & Jensen have been married for 2 years with 6 kids between you, 4 girls & 2 boys. You both worked out schedules with your exes to share holidays but they never aligned until now.

Of course, that meant you were going to go all out. The house had been decked out in every Halloween decoration you could get your hands on since 12:01 on October 1st.  You loved all things Fall and Halloween was definitely included in that.  Once you found out that you’d have all the kids together, you immediately started brainstorming ideas for a family costume.  After much deliberation, everyone decided on being The Avengers with this as the lineup:

Jensen: Hawkeye You: Black Widow Seraphina: Falcon JJ: Thor Maddox: Iron Man Gemma: Scarlet Witch Arrow: Captain America Zeppelin: Winter Soldier

You worked hard to gather all the accessories to make everyone look authentic. Why do it if you’re just half-ass, right? Today, it was the day of Halloween and there was a buzz of excitement all throughout your house. Your neighborhood started trick-or-treating at 7 so you gave yourself a couple hours to get everyone dressed and for you to squeeze into the catsuit (having 3 kids gave your body some lovely extra curves that Jensen very much appreciated).

You were especially thankful for the extra time when JJ and Zepp came to you in a panic. Somehow, the plates of his fake Bucky arm got caught in her hair and they tried to resolve it by just pulling. Luckily, it was an easy fix and you sent a prayer of thanks to every deity you could think of that the night was saved.

Finally, it was your turn to get dressed. You had a seamstress friend who was able to sew your Black Widow costume but secretly added a couple areas for breathing room. Bless Thalia, you thought as you shimmied it on. As you were checking to make sure everything looked good, a familiar pair of hands made itself known around your waist.

“Babe, how can we go out with you looking like that? All I wanna do is tear it off you.”

Laughing, you turned in his arms and planted a passion-filled kiss on his lips. Just as things started to get heated, the sounds of 6 pairs of feet came pounding down the hall, screaming for candy.  “To be continued, Mr. Ackles,” you whispered huskily in Jensen’s ear, making him groan.  Knowing he was going to need a minute to calm down, you led everyone downstairs for last-minute costume checks.

Once Jensen came to the living room, you gathered everyone to take a family photo while everyone was still clean.  After it was done, you posted it to Instagram and set out for a night of trick-or-treating fun.

*An hour later*

Whatever possessed you to think it would easy to take 6 kids 12 & under trick-or-treating?! Herding a group of wet, angry cats would be easier than this! First, Arrow & Zepp kept fighting. Then, Maddox was annoying Gemma & JJ by poking them. Seraphina acted like she was too cool to be seen with you guys. Even Jensen was bothering you, not wanting to keep his hands on your ass.  You took a deep breath and reminded yourself that this was about family bonding time and to just go with the flow.

Thankfully, everything went smoothly after that and before you knew you were at the last house.  The Johnsons were empty nesters who always have a huge display for every holiday and are easily the neighborhood favorite.  As you approached, you could see them on the porch dressed as Bob & Linda Belcher and you knew that that had to be influenced by their grandkids.  As soon as she saw everyone, she fussed over you all and playfully demanded a photo to show her kids  since you were her favorite family.

Once you finally left the Johnson (after she loaded the kids up with candy),  you headed home to peel yourself out of your costume and hopefully get the kids to wind down for bed.  The entire walk back was filled with excited conversations and comparisons of candy stashes.  You linked your arms with Jensen, looked at your brood, and whispered to him, “Life doesn’t get any sweeter than this.”

[emoryhemsworth]

Just a Dream

Summary: AU!Dean Winchester is drafted into the Army after Pearl Harbor, leaving the reader behind. Will he make it home?

Characters: AU!1940s Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,088 (excluding lyrics... holy wow!)

Genre: Flangst. ALL flangst.

Warnings: Military-related feels, mentions of depression

Author’s Note: Written for @riversong-sam’s 20th Birthday Challenge, @kittenofdoomage and @saxxxology’s History Challenge, @jayankles’s 1 Year Everything Challenge, and @impalaimagining’s Favorite Seasons GIF Challenge. Phew! My prompts were “Simple Man” by Lynard Skynard and pregnancy, World War II, “I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, FOR A WHOLE YEAR. WHY ARE YOU ON MY FRONT DOORSTEP? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME CRY LIKE THIS? I HATE THAT I LOVE YOU AND WHY DID YOU EVEN HAVE LEAVE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” and a GIF which I have included in the fic. This is by far the longest fic I have ever written, so feedback is greatly appreciated.

This is very loosely based on “Just a Dream” by Carrie Underwood, which you can listen to here.

This was betad by the wonderful @maximumkillshot, and the proposal dialogue is all hers. Thank you for talking through this with me!!!

Tags below the cut.

x

Oh, take your time, don’t live too fast Troubles will come and they will pass You’ll find a woman and you’ll find love And don’t forget, son, there is someone up above And be a simple kind of man Oh, be something you love and understand Baby be a simple kind of man Oh, won’t you do this for me, son, if you can

December 7, 1941

History would remember it as “a day that will live in infamy,” but for Dean Winchester, it started just like any other cold winter day in Lawrence, Kansas. Despite the below-freezing temperatures, he couldn’t help but admire the light dusting of snow and frost that had settled over the pink flowers in his mother’s garden that he never could remember the name of.

In fact, Dean had big plans for today, and he couldn’t help but blow on his hands nervously as he walked out to his black Impala. He was only 26, but 27 was just around the corner and it had him thinking about what he wanted in life. Dean turned on the ignition and felt her purr to life, and he couldn’t help but think about the life he hoped to build with Y/N.

“Y/N, I’m home!” Dean tossed his keys on the table, waiting for his wife’s response.

“In here, honey!” she called from the kitchen. A grin spread across his lips as he heard Y/N’s sweet, melodic voice humming as she dried the last of their plates. Dean wrapped his arms around his wife’s swollen belly. Y/N gasped as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before turning in his arms and smiling up at him.

“How was your day, darling?” she inquired, standing on her tip-toes to give him a kiss.

“It was good, we got several new cars in today that need a lot of work. Should keep us busy for the next few weeks at least,” Dean smiled and met her kiss. “And how’s the little one?”

“She’s fine, kicking up a storm…” Y/N smiled softly, glancing down to look at their unborn child.

Dean kneeled down and kissed her growing baby bump gently. “I can’t wait to meet you, peanut.”

“Hello, Mr. Winchester! How can I help you today?” Garth chimed eagerly, coming out from behind the counter of the small pawn shop.

“Hey, Garth. Well… I’m looking for an engagement ring for Y/N,” Dean trailed off, a light blush coming across his cheeks.

“Oh… Well, I suppose now is a good time. Rumor has it FDR is going to announce a draft any day now,” Garth babbled on like he normally did. Leave it to Garth to be on top of the latest international news.

“Wait, a draft? Why?” Dean could feel his body tense up and his heart sink at the news. He knew he’d be one of the first to be drafted.

“Didn’t you hear? The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. Killed a whole bunch of guys stationed over there,” Garth responded matter-of-factly, almost incredulously, as he pulled out the selection of engagement rings.

Dean could feel the weight of the simple, white gold solitaire in his pocket as he drove home. He planned on proposing to Y/N on Christmas in front of both of their families. Hopefully he wouldn’t be sent to basic training before then…

December 25, 1941

Christmas Day was busy and filled with gift-giving and tons of food. Sam’s girlfriend Jessica had come over mid-morning, and Y/N and her family arrived at the Winchester house just after noon. After enjoying the large meal and desserts prepared by Mary and Y/N’s mom, Dean asked everyone to gather in the Winchester’s living room and had Y/N stand by the tree. When he dropped to his knee, her hand went over her mouth in shock and tears began to stream down her face.

“Y/N, whenever I heard people talk about love at first sight as a kid, I thought they were out of their minds. Then one day in high school at a pep rally, I saw this gorgeous, funny, amazing freshman on the cheerleading squad, and I knew then and there, that I had been wrong for my entire life. I remember being so nervous to talk to her, and a million questions popped into my head, like ‘what if she thinks I’m some weirdo because I’m a junior that’s talking to her?’ and ‘what if she thinks that I’m some ladies’ man?’, and yet... none of that mattered when I finally walked up to her and I saw her smile. That amazing cheerleader, that freshman, she wasn’t just a pretty face. Her face was, and is, the only face that I want to see for the rest of my life. Will you do me the incredible honor of making that happen and being my wife, doll?”

“YES! Yes, of course I will marry you Dean!” Y/N laughed through her tears.

A visible wave of relief came over Dean’s face as he smiled from ear to ear, showing his perfect teeth as he stood up to slide the ring on her left ring finger.

January 15, 1942

Y/N had been dreading this day for the longest time. Today was the day Dean was supposed to leave for basic training, and from there, he was to be deployed overseas. Y/N sat in the back seat of John’s truck with Dean, and he could tell she was doing her best to hold back tears. Not a word was spoken between the two of them as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, Dean is a strong man. He’ll be fine, and be home before you know it,” said John as he looked in the mirror at his soon-to-be daughter in law. He hated seeing her like this, broken. Yet, at the same time everyone in the truck could tell that John wasn’t saying that for comfort, he was saying that to reassure himself that Dean was going to come back. 

Mary set a hand reassuringly on her husband’s thigh. Most people would assume that as a mother, Mary would be the one needing the reassurance, but the unshed tears in John’s eyes let her know that he needed her to be his rock in this moment.

“Promise you’ll write me as much as you can, okay?” Y/N whimpered as they got to the platform he was departing from, finally letting tears fall.

“Of course, baby… I’m gonna miss you so much,” he rested his forehead against hers.

“A-And promise you’ll be safe… don’t try to play the hero, okay? Just—just come home to me…” Y/N’s petite body was trembling as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“I swear, I’ll come back to you as soon as I possibly can, and we’ll get married…” Dean’s candy apple green eyes met Y/N’s and he gently pressed his soft, full lips to hers. The tender moment was cut all too short with the announcement that boarding had begun on Dean’s train.

“I love you, Y/N,” were the last words he spoke to Y/N.

“Let me help you with your bags, son,” John’s gruff voice cut through the deafening silence. Y/N and Mary understood that he needed these last few moments with his son.

“Well, I guess this is it, sir,” Dean reached out to shake his father’s hand.

“You stay safe, son,” John replied, swelling with pride at the man his oldest son had become.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said looking at his father. He never could read his father’s face, but no one could have expected him to hug Dean as tightly as he did.

Y/N and Mary looked on in shock as John pulled his son in for a hug. He was never known for being a particularly affectionate father, especially in public, but knowing that this may very well be the last time he sees his son forced him to put things in perspective.

“Take care of Y/N, dad,” Dean whispered.

“I won’t need to, Dean. You’ll be back.”

July 23, 1944

Y/N hummed as she prepared the lunch her family always had after church on Sundays. Dean had been deployed for 3 ½ years, and she missed him more every day. His letters had been fairly regular when he first left, but they’d become more and more scarce as the months dragged into years. She hadn’t had any since D-Day, and she hoped he was safe, wherever he was.

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door. When she saw who was at the door, her heart felt like it was in her stomach and she felt like she couldn’t even breathe.

“Y/N Y/L/N?” the Army officer looked at her sympathetically.

“Y-yes?”

“I’m Col. Bobby Singer and this is Lt. Turner. We’re here on behalf of the United States Army to express our condolences. We regret to inform you that Staff Sergeant Dean Winchester has been missing in action since June 10.”

Y/N choked back tears and managed to thank them before closing the door and falling to her knees, not even bothering to keep her cries quiet. She thought of all the promises Dean had made to her, how he swore that he would come back to her and they would get married and start their family.

The next ten months passed in a daze for Y/N. Her parents and the Winchesters had tried to be there for her as much as they could, but she was an only child, and naturally John and Mary were grieving themselves. 

They held a small memorial service for Dean, but Y/N couldn’t stand the looks of pity she got from the people of Lawrence. Some of her neighbors had stopped by to bring meals, but Y/N didn’t have an appetite.

May 12, 1945

Even the end of the war in Europe was no solace for the pain Y/N felt. Her once vibrant eyes had dulled, and her skin lost the luster it once had as she fell deeper and deeper into depression.

John and Mary had come to stay with her to make sure she was taking care of herself. Y/N had just sat down at the breakfast table to force herself to eat something when a soft knock grabbed her attention.

When she saw who was at the door, the only thing she could think was that her eyes were playing tricks on her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean smiled weakly.

Y/N backed away slowly, not believing her eyes. “This has to be a dream. Y-You’re dead… T-they gave me the necklace Sammy gave you when you were kids!”

Dean stepped inside, tossing his duffel off to the side. He pulled Y/N into his arms, hoping this would make it sink in that he was real.

“It’s really me, Y/N… I promised I would come back to you, and I always keep my promises doll.”

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD, FOR A WHOLE YEAR. WHY ARE YOU ON MY FRONT DOORSTEP? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME CRY LIKE THIS? I HATE THAT I LOVE YOU. WHY DID YOU EVEN HAVE LEAVE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!” Y/N sobbed into his shoulder.

Y/N and Dean were so lost in each other that they hadn’t even noticed that all the commotion had drawn John and Mary downstairs. Mary dropped the glass of water she had in her hands, and a single tear came down John’s face.

“Dean?”

“Son?”

“Hey, mom. Hey, dad. I’m home,” Dean said through a smile.

October 4, 1946

“Y/N, I’m home!” Dean tossed his keys on the table, waiting for his wife’s response.

“In here, honey!” she called from the kitchen. A grin spread across his lips as he heard Y/N’s sweet, melodic voice humming as she dried the last of their plates. Dean wrapped his arms around his wife’s swollen belly. Y/N gasped as he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder before turning in his arms and smiling up at him.

“How was your day, darling?” she inquired, standing on her tip-toes to give him a kiss.

“It was good, we got several new cars in today that need a lot of work. Should keep us busy for the next few weeks at least,” Dean smiled and met her kiss. “And how’s the little one?”

“She’s fine, kicking up a storm…” Y/N smiled softly, glancing down to look at their unborn child.

Dean kneeled down and kissed her growing baby bump gently. “I can’t wait to meet you, peanut.”

Tags: @winchesterenthusiast @cherrycokegirls1 @lostnliterature @evyiione @littlegirlsdontplaynice @frickfracklesackles @ohmychuckitssamanddean @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @just-another-busy-fangirl

[juicifeur]

Heaven (John x reader)

 This is for @riversong-sam’s birthday challenge! Happy (belated) birthday! ~Lyrics are in italics~

Based on the song: Heaven by Bryan Adams

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks + descriptions of Mary’s death, implied abusive!John, language, mentions of smut but nothing graphic

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N: This is my first ever John fic!! and I got heavy feels while writing the first part, I expect more to come. Feedback would be amazing!!

John sat up, again, in a cold sweat; his chest heaved as his lungs sucked in the cool air of the room he was in. It was how he woke up most of the time.

His clammy hand ran over his forehead, down his cheeks and back up again, through his hair, to soothe the aching in his temples. For once, the oxygen he breathed in didn’t have a tang of old beer or dust, or mold; it was clean air, and he lay on clean sheets.

He looked around the dark room slowly as his eyes adjusted to the low light, and he remembered where he was. To his left, there was a shape under the covers, breathing steadily; and he decided not to wake you, he’d already caused you enough inconvenience. Carefully, he peeled the sheets from over his legs and he set his feet on the cold hardwood floor. Usually a drink would satisfy his body’s need to sleep; maybe paired with a few sleeping pills, and he would finally get a full five or six hours.

He wished he didn’t have to, and the drinking seemed to make his dreams worse, more vivid, but it was the only way he could get those few hours of peace. As he left the room, his hand pulled the door shut, quietly.

The small kitchen down the hall had white cabinets that he avoided looking at during the day, but at night they were tinted grey from the darkness. His calloused, shaky fingers wrapped around the refrigerator handle and he pulled it open with little effort. The beer he’d bought on the way into town seemed to be gone; he’d drank it all within a few nights. With a heavy sigh, he straightened up and closed the fridge door, glancing around the room for something else.

He settled on a bottle of whiskey that was hidden in the back of one of the cupboards. By now he knew all of your hiding spots, much to your dismay. His neck craned until he found the neck of the glass object and he pulled it out, setting it gingerly on the table, the amber liquid making a sloshing sound as it stopped moving. John poured himself a glass, over a few ice cubes of course, and noticed his leather-bound journal laying across the kitchen table, where he’d left it earlier in the day. He paid no mind to the book, and continued on his way into the living room. He switched on the TV, not for any particular reason, but maybe it would occupy his mind for the time being. He sat down in one of the arm chairs that faced the television set, which was casting a low blue light over the room, and he let his head tilt back against the cushion of the headrest, exhaling slowly. He brought the cool glass to his lip and took a long drink of the alcohol, hoping the taste would stay there. Quicker than he’d hoped, he downed the whiskey and his eyes shut as he savoured the burning feeling. His muscles seemed to instantly relax.

John started back down the short hallway to get back to the bedroom. By then it must have been just after one in the morning. And here was no way to tell how long he would stay awake when he couldn’t sleep; hours felt like minutes.

At the end of the hall, his eyes were beginning to succumb to sleep and he pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his thumb and forefinger over his eyes so he could at least make it back to bed without bumping into anything. Once his vision cleared up, his feet carried him all the way to the door and he paused. To his recollection, he had shut the door to the bedroom when he’d left, but it now was sightly ajar; and a glowing orange light was emanating from within.

  “No..” He muttered before he was advancing on the door. He grabbed the handle and threw it open, only to be met with flames, hot and unrelenting, engulfing the ceiling and walls.

He shielded his face with his forearm and subconsciously looked for a crib as the fire crackled loudly, seemingly laughing at his efforts.

  “Sammy, Sam..” He muttered, sweat building on the back of his neck and on his forehead. His legs seemed to stiffen, only allowing for slight movements when he wanted to go as fast as he could. His hands searched the blazing room blindly for his six-month-old son. The shirt he’d worn to bed clung to his body as sweat poured from his skin as the white-orange flames licked at the walls, intending to have the whole room, John included, for themselves.

   “T-take your brother outside..” John called, voice breaking and unsure who he was talking to. Vaguely he thought of his four year old son. His cheeks were flushed from the heat as his fists clenched around the thick air in the room. John could practically taste the smoke on his tongue as he tried to breathe in the little oxygen that was left, the oxygen that hadn’t already consumed by the blaze.

  “John,” Someone called, softly. Freezing in place, his face suddenly pale and terrified, John Winchester looked up at the ceiling and felt his heart lurch, then stop altogether as shock overcame him.

  “No!..” He gasped, knees beginning to buckle beneath him. The heat of the flames laboring his breathing.

Blood seeped from her stomach, staining the pure white nightgown a deep red, and her golden hair reflecting the light of the fire before it singed and turned to blackened dust. Her green eyes were wide with pain, regret, dread; an expression that haunted his subconscious each time his own eyes shut. A strangled cry left her rose-coloured lips as the flames enveloped her limbs, crawled up her torso, and tongued at her unblemished skin, leaving harsh red welts that only spread. He remembered the smell clearly.

John sat up suddenly, drenched in sweat once again. His breathing slowed to normal as he looked around the room. The living room, he’d never made it back to bed. The glass that had held his whiskey was shattered on the floor, clearly dropped from when he’d dozed off. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and running both hands over his face.

  “Fuck...” He mumbled to himself, swiping tears away with the back of  his hand.

The dreams that plagued him only enhanced his need for revenge, an answer; just something that would ease his tormented mind.

By now, the sun was barely up, casting a gentle orange light through the window, sparkling over the frost-covered ground.  It felt like he was serving a sentence, and the only way to get out of that prison was to find whoever, or whatever, took her away from him.  

It had been five years since Mary died.

                              Oh - thinkin' about all our younger years                                       There was only you and me                                  We were young and wild and free

John delicately held a tiny photograph of his wife, her hair yellow as the grass that grew in the fall, as he sipped the black coffee from a mug. It was often that he remembered Mary and their former life together; and he still wore his wedding ring. Sometimes on his left hand, sometimes around his neck on a chain. It would have only been their tenth anniversary earlier this year.

He liked to think of Mary as she was when they were first married; perfect in every way, young, and hopeful. He tried to only remember her this way, but when he was asleep, and drunk, he had no control over his most recent and petrifying memory. Sometimes he thought of his boys, and if they had grown up normally, staying in one place long enough for them to go to school. He thought of how much better it would be if they had a mother around; if he had been fast enough to get her out. Whenever he wasn’t thinking about the way she died, his mind eased and shifted to solace.

Lately, and luckily enough for him, one of the only things that kept him sane was you.

The first time the two of you met, he was covered in blood and scratches from a hunt he’d been on, and he needed help. Unfortunately, you were the only one who would be willing to be up for the task. John Winchester was notorious; but he’d needed a few stitches and a warm place to sleep.

                             Now nothin' can take you away from me                                  We've been down that road before                                      

  “John?” You asked softly, approaching the chair where he sat in your living room, you had no way of knowing how long he’d been there. You saw him tuck something away in his jean pocket and he stood up.

  “Morning.” He smiled softly, unconvincingly.

  “How long have you been up?” You asked, crossing your arms across your chest, attempting to preserve your body heat on this cool October morning. He came closer to you and pressed a warm kiss to your lips. He was firm about it, you could tell he was stressed.

  “Not long.” He finally said, leaving you slightly breathless with the feeling of his stubble on your skin. You knew he was lying. On average he got about four hours of sleep. It was a wonder how he managed to function. He gazed down into your Y/E/C eyes and sighed from deep in his chest.

  “I gotta head out again.” He told you. You expected that, you nodded slowly.

When John stayed with you, it was brief. And usually only consisted of three things: lots of drinks, sex, and home-cooked meals. Then after a few days he was on the road again, and you knew for a fact that what you had with him was only temporary, reoccurring one night stands.

You were no stranger to things that went bump in the night, God knows you’d come across a few in your day, so you helped him with research whenever he needed it, of course, in the company of his favourite whiskey.

There were many nights he showed up at your doorstep, battered and bruised, and he just needed a place to put his frustration; you did your best to help him. You spent hours under the sheets, bodies covered in sweat, muscles tense, hands pulling and grabbing as you gave your body to him, allowed him to do whatever he needed to. Maybe it wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship, but John appreciated every second you had to spare.

In the first couple of years that Mary was gone, he wouldn’t dare dream of sleeping with anyone else, but now that he was hunting full time, it took a toll. And he needed a way to reduce his stress.

                                              But that's over now                                  You keep me comin' back for more

His bag was already packed and near the front door. And as much as you hated to see him leave, he had to go save the world; you would be here when he got back.

  “Well, stay in touch.” You gave him a soft smile. He never did, but you liked to think he at least thought about you while he was away.

  “I’ll try.” He gave you one last nod and he made his way towards the door. You followed, to see him off. As he passed the kitchen, he avoided the white cabinets, pretending to scratch the side of his face. The sleek black car, a ‘67 Chevrolet Impala, sat near the curb as he loaded his bag in the trunk and got into the driver’s seat. As he pulled away, you gave a small wave. He smiled that classic smile of his and he drove down the street.

You hoped he would stop by Bobby Singer’s place to see his kids. On the off chance someone in the area of a case couldn’t, and Bobby didn’t have any cases of his own, John would leave them with him. But if Bobby was busy, John would call you.

Dean was turning ten in January, 1989, and Sam was turning six in May. They were growing fast, and the last time you babysat, you’d noticed bruises on Dean’s forearms and wrist. You’d asked him what happened, and he’d looked down told you that ‘Dad drinks too much sometimes.’ You remembered how your stomach dropped and how you’d knelt in front of him, hoping it wasn’t true. You cared for that boy like he was your own son sometimes.

  “Dad says I need to build work on my aim.” Dean had said in a small voice. Obviously John already had him shooting, training. Even though Dean wasn’t keen on your attention, or your attention on his father particularly, he still knew when something wasn’t right.

That set you on edge a little, and you gave Bobby a call. He was as worried about it as you were, knowing full-well what John intended for the boys.

John did have a tendency to overreact, even about little things, especially when he was drinking, but you didn’t think he would go so far as to hurt his oldest son. It could be a symptom, you thought, with his history in the Marines and what he’d been through, it wouldn’t surprise you in the least.

You tried not to think about it too much, but if it happened again and you were there to notice it, you’d have to say something.

Dean had to be grown up from the minute his father started hunting full-time; Sam needed someone if his father wouldn’t be there.

                             Oh - once in your life you find someone                                    Who will turn your world around                            

Days turned into weeks and you heard nothing from John Winchester, which wasn’t abnormal by any means. So, you went about your daily life as normal, going to work and checking in on other hunters, or providing them with a place to stay if they needed it.

John seemed to show up at your door the minute you were sure he wasn’t coming back.

There was a knock on your door a little after midnight. Your usual reaction was to pick up your shotgun and look through the peephole. When you were met with three sets of eyes, familiar eyes, you tossed your gun back to the closet and flung the door open, something must have been wrong.

His boots tracked small clumps of dirt onto the floor and you supported the older man’s weaker side for him. There was a wide tear in his old flannel shirt, under where his ribs were and blood bubbled out of the wound slowly, his fingers clamping over the sliced skin. Little Sam and Dean were at his flank, looking sleepy, like they had just woken up. As per usual, John had on a brave face for them; and for you.

                             Bring you up when you're feelin' down

  “Boys, why don’t you go to the kitchen, I think there’s a few muffins left.” You swallowed hard and shuttled them in. There was another bruise on Dean’s arm. Sighing, you turned on the TV set to keep them distracted and went back to your front door, where John was leaning. He gave you a weak smile.

  “Always show up in pieces don’t you, John,” You stated, moving under his arm and supporting him all the way down to the end of the hall where the bathroom was, he didn’t bother avoiding the white cabinets this time.

  “Where would the excitement be if I didn’t?” He chuckled, his breath coming out slightly laboured. You sat him down on the edge of the bathtub and quickly pulled your first aid kit from under the sink.

  “What was it this time?” You dared to ask. John chuckled softly, leaning back on his arm a little. He always managed to joke around with you.

  “Rusty saw.” You pulled his flannel off and cut through the shirt he was wearing underneath with a pair of medical scissors so you could access the slice. You pressed an anti-septic wipe to it and his jaw clenched up, his eyes shutting. You sopped up some of the blood with a paper towel.

This must have hurt like a bitch but at least now it wouldn’t get infected.

  “Alright, alright, it was a Shtriga. Almost got Sammy...”

  “What?” You pressed your fingers to the wound firmly and looked up at him in surprise. His muscles tensed under your harsh touch.

  “The boys were with you?” You scolded. John groaned softly again.

  “They were back at the motel. Dean was watching him, but it got back to them before I did...Dean,” He tsked, taking a breath.

“I could blame him. He didn’t pull the trigger when he needed to; but it was my fault. I missed the kill. Shoulda taught him better.”

  “John Winchester, I swear to fucking God. You know one of you could have died right?” You cleaned the wound quickly, causing him to groan, arching away from your hands.

  “Jesus- Y/N! Gentle.” He practically growled, white-knuckling the side of the porcelain tub. His muscles contracted and then relaxed as you began threading your needle with fishing line.

                      Yeah - nothin' could change what you mean to me                                      Oh there's lots that I could say

  “You know I could tell you off, tell you to find someone else to run to when your guts are dragging behind you.” You spat. John scoffed.

  “Go ahead.” He threatened.

  “No.”

  “Why’s that?” He asked as you turned to grab a cotton swab. You doused it with alcohol and ran it over the needle to sterilize it.

  “Because you mean too damn much to this world.” You knelt in front of him, the sharp metal object between your steady fingertips.

To you. He meant too damn much to you, you wanted to say. You’d managed to hold your tongue this long, you weren’t quitting now.

Even if John Winchester managed to cause the end of the world, or if he broke your heart, it wouldn’t change how you felt about him; not in the slightest. And you didn’t know why. It was toxic but you couldn’t deny what you felt.

  “They’ve been staying with the motel manager, going to school like they’re supposed to.” He bit his lip and hissed softly as the needle passed through his skin.

  “Those boys are the only family you got, John. ‘Should be more careful.” You taped gauze over the closed cut and stood up, putting the first aid kit back under the sink. When you straightened, you walked out of the bathroom without another word. He got up, still holding his side, and he followed you.

  “Y/N, just talk to me for a second.” He caught up to you surprisingly quickly and his hand wrapped around your arm, stopping you in the middle of the hall. He had a strong grip and a very authoritative voice.

  “About what, John?” You fired back in a hushed tone, seeing the boys, both sitting on the grey shag carpet in front of the TV. You looked back up into John’s eyes.

  “About the fact that you’d hunt whatever killed your wife, god rest her soul, to the ends of the earth rather than be a decent father? Maybe about your boys How their childhoods are going?” You glared up into his dark eyes, everything that you’d ever thought wrong of him pouring out.

In a way, you understood. He was just trying to protect them, and the only way he could do that was prepare them. But that didn’t make it right. He seemed to be in shock from the weight of your words.

  “I know...” John said, he blinked and kept his eyes shut for a few moments, processing.

  “But I need to do this.” He told you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek gently.

  “I need to find what killed her...if I don’t it’ll eat me alive, it already has been.” He exhaled heavily, you sighed.

Sometimes when he was really wasted, he was just as worried about you being pinned to the ceiling in his nightmares. He didn’t want to see you in that situation, however it might arise. Although he would never admit that.

  “I get it, John, I understand, but you’re endangering your family because of this shit.” You countered, your voice pleading.

  “That shit is what tore my family apart, Y/N. It will not stand by and watch it happen again to someone else.” He told you, making it sound convincing enough, although he made his children sound expendable.

  “It was just a little mistake, just this once.” He went back to talking about the incident with the Shtriga, sighing softly. You nodded, taking a small step back, knowing that your point probably wasn’t getting all the way through his thick skull. You knew he loved those boys, but his judgement was clouded whenever he was hunting. It was like a switch went off in his brain and he was stuck in that moment before it was over.

  “You should eat something...” You decided it would be better to discuss all this later, when everyone had calmed down a little. A small, apologetic smile made its way to your lips before you returned to the kitchen.

                                             But just hold me now                                     Cause our love will light the way...

                                          Baby, you're all that I want                                    When you're lyin' here in my arms

Your back was pressed against John’s chest as you lay in bed, his arms wrapped around your hips. His torso had a thin layer of moisture coating it and he pressed his lips to the top of your head. A shower did him good.

You’d put the boys to bed in the guest room a while ago with full bellies and warm blankets, maybe for once they’d get a decent night’s sleep.

  “I think I might stay here a while...if that’s okay.” He said softly, after minutes of silence. You over and looked at him.

  “I want the boys to go to school for longer than week. This place is still warded from pretty much everything right?” John kept his eyes on the pillow, he was laying on his side; he rarely slept on his back so he avoided looking at the ceiling.

Yes, your home was warded from everything evil, perfectly safe. You nodded, reaching over to cup his cheek and making him look at you.

  “You stay here as long as you want, you got that?” You asked him and he nodded his eyes beginning to droop. The pain-killers were kicking in, not that a big strong hunter like himself needed those, as he told you.

  “Got it.” He ran his fingers through your damp Y/H/C hair. He had to say, he was falling for you, even though he hated to admit it.

                                          I'm findin' it hard to believe                                                  We're in heaven

He felt better when he was with you; like he didn’t have to worry about anything anymore. After a few minutes of silence, John spoke again, pulling you a little closer, maybe the drugs hadn’t taken yet, after all. His fingers were calloused after only a few years of hunting, but they were still soft, gentle when they touched your skin.

  “Y/N, I never thanked you.” He mumbled into your hair as you started to drift. He inhaled softly, you smelled like your coconut shampoo. Your hands wove around his waist a little tighter, getting comfy, and you tucked your head under his stubbled chin. It was hard for him to admit that he felt like he was floating on air for the first time since Mary.

  “I never thought I’d meet another person that I-...that I feel so strongly for.” A blush crept up onto his cheeks. He hadn’t realized that your breathing was shallow, your eyes were shut and you were asleep, but he kept talking. Or maybe he had realized it, and he just wasn’t comfortable pouring his heart out while you were awake.

  “Jim Murphy- um, Pastor Jim, he said that I could leave the boys with him if I needed, but I think this is better. Better for them.” He stroked your hair behind your ear softly, twirling a few strands as he did so and cherishing the feeling of your body against his.

                                          And love is all that I need                                     And I found it there in your heart

  “I want them to have someone like you around. Be there when they get home from school and kiss their bruises...” He smiled softly.

  “I’m not going anywhere anytime soon...”

He lay awake for a while, after pressing a kiss to your temple, his hands running up and down your smooth skin. He was just thinking, and for once not about Mary.

He thought of all the things that would be different had Mary not died. Had she not been killed. He’d set aside a college fund for both his boys when they were born. If he was lucky, or if they were lucky enough to get out, they could go to school and be normal kids. They could get married, have children of their own, have the normal life after that he never got to have. The way he saw it, unless he could find a way to balance keeping his kids safe, and hunting down the evil son of a bitch that took away their mother, there wouldn’t be a future for any of them.

That night when he fell asleep, John finally dreamed of something that wouldn’t keep him up at night. He saw you. It was Christmas morning, and the boys’ eager faces came running into the living room. There was a wedding ring on your left hand as well and he smiled as you tucked yourself into his side.

If he was going to be happy, even just a little bit, then this might be his last shot.

He slept through the night.

                                             It isn't too hard to see                                                  We're in heaven

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