#and i thought of spn here so now you have to too

[purgaytorysupremacy]

oh nuts. a life experience has given me a new layer of perspective on Cas's homosexual declaration of love to Dean.

recently I had occasion to tell a person I had feelings for them knowing full well they didn't feel even a twinge of the same thing for me. while the whole thing was a decidedly unpleasant experience, I kept laughing at myself internally bc I didn't want to say "the happiness is just in saying it" like fucking Castiel over here. (we don't need to talk about it, it's fine.) (I am happier having said it and it's kind of bullshit, but I digress.)

because the thing is, the happiness isn't in just saying it, right? the happiness is in the having. I made a whole TikTok "proving" that the Empty didn't come for Cas when he confessed his love, but rather when he realized Dean loved him back. even for Cas, the happiness was in the having, not in the saying, however brief it was.

and I've always been one of those people who rolled their eyes at the whole concept. why would the happiness be in just being, in just saying it, if it's right there in front of you to have. and then it hit me like a tonne of bricks (as I was washing my kitchen counters).

Cas really didn't think he could have Dean.

at all. in any capacity. he really, truly, and honestly felt to the depths of himself that Dean did not have any twinge of similar feelings, that this really was a Hail Mary shot-in-the-dark. and I think me, personally, really didn't understand that about Cas. that his belief in his love being unrequited was that unshakable.

something else I've been pondering is how audiences have so much more empathy for fictional characters who share traits that IRL they find objectionable and unappealing. but the thing is about fictional characters is that we follow them around in their most private, vulnerable moments. we see Dean mourning Cas when he dies, literally killing himself because he can't live without him, but it's so easy to forget that we're the omniscient ones here.

Cas never knew.

Dean's whole thing was pushing him away, keeping him at arm's length, making it seem like whatever heroic thing he does for Cas he'd do for anyone. he downplays how important it is for Dean to share the Deancave with him, to show him his favourite movies, share his favourite songs. he acts like the things Cas does for him don't mean that much to hide how much they do mean. he uses "we" whenever he even gets in the vicinity of expressing a feeling. "We were worried." "We're glad you're back." "We needed a win." "You're our brother." The audience knew the difference. We saw how he'd clench his jaw or swallow hard or make a face that said "God, I'm being such an idiot". Because we saw him in those little moments. We got to see the cracks in the mask.

but Cas never knew.

the self-hating angel of Thursday was never going to think it was all a way for Dean to protect himself. obviously, that's the delicious tragedy of it all, but what I think I realized at the end of all that is Cas confessing his love to a Dean who didn't love him back wouldn't have worked. Because the happiness really is in the having. If happiness was just in saying it, then The Empty would have come before Cas even finished getting the words out of his mouth.

so Cas's plan wouldn't have worked if Dean didn't love him back.

this is just me yapping on about my own nonsense, but I do think it's really interesting. there's contentment in "just saying it". there's freedom and relief and an unburdening. I think one can argue that it makes being happy in the being easier. there is certainly some joy in telling a person you think that highly of them. but true happiness?

nah.

true happiness is always going to only be in the having. Cas didn't understand the difference until he experienced it, and by then, it was too late.

[elliewithcellie]

Girl, Interrupted

summary: Eddie crashes by your home when you least expected, but everything happens for a reason, right?

wc: 1.8k

cw: PURE SMUT (MDNI 18+), basically no plot, friends to fwb?, oral (f receiving), Eddie is a tease, fairly bold reader lol, fingering, talk of p in v sex, hair pulling, orgasms idk let me know what else

a/n: my bestie bought me slutty pajamas for my birthday, and since I'm a hypothetical whore, this has been on my mind nonstop. Finally took a break from my spn series to write this down. This is the filthiest thing I've written to date but definitely short and sweet

Eddie’s jaw fell slack as the door opened before him. He knew he shouldn’t have shown up to your place uninvited. Sure, you were his best friend, and of course, you had said he could come over whenever, but that never truly meant unannounced. He was already kicking himself for showing up as late as he did when you opened the door.

Your oh so short pajama shorts were the first thing that caught his eye, how your thighs spilled out beneath them, the cotton begging for relief. His eyes trailed higher to your tank top one size too small. The hem rested just above your midriff, the outline of your hips more prominent than he had ever seen. Your face was flush, pinks and reds lining your cheeks. He fought the urge to pinch himself, scared that he was dreaming, scared that he’d wake up to the absence of you and very real feelings emerging.

“Eddie? What are you doing here?” you asked, your arms crossing over your chest. “I thought you had a date.”

Date, what date? Eddie’s mind was going numb. His brain was flatlining at the mere sight of you, more exposed to him than he’d ever seen you. Fight or flight kicked in, debating on whether to say something or just turn around and leave. He was almost sure he was not supposed to see you in this state.

“I—uhh—it didn’t go well, so I cut it short. But I know you love the place, so I figured I’d bring over the leftovers.”

“Oh, sweet. Thank you.”

Eddie hesitated, scared to ask, but his interest piqued. “Is someone—you’re alone right now, right?”

Your eyebrows pinched together. You exhaled a dry laugh. “Please, I’m always alone. Come in. Tell me about your date.”

You ushered Eddie inside and settled into your couch. You pulled a blanket over you, and Eddie released a sigh. He couldn’t believe the hold you suddenly had on him. It was like he was in high school again, ready to combust at the sight of a shoulder. At least with your legs covered, he was less inclined to think about spreading them.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked, drawing Eddie from his thoughts.

“She was just so boring,” Eddie complained. “Like, there’s nothing wrong with her, but it was like we were from different planets! She didn’t know Metallica! How am I supposed to bond with someone when there’s nothing to relate to?”

“Did you think of showing her?”

“Showing her what?”

“Metallica!” you laughed. “Wouldn’t that be kind of romantic, you know, to introduce that to her? Maybe tell her you’re in a band? It’d be like showing her a whole new world. And maybe you’d get a groupie out of it.”

Eddie swatted at the air. “It’s not worth it. We were both bored. And it was clear she wasn’t looking to rock with a guitarist.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.”

“You didn’t meet her. She’s pristine, a Chrissy Cunningham type. Meant to be with a lawyer or some shit.”

You leaned in closer to Eddie, your blanket sliding down your thighs. “Those are the girls who fantasize about guys like you the most. Those girls on the straight and narrow, the ones who seemed destined to be sweet stay-at-home moms or perfect career women, those are the ones who dream of just one night doing something they never thought they could. Something so wild that when they’re taking their kids to soccer practice, or their ‘perfect husband’ is asleep on the recliner while they're doing the dishes, they can think back to that wild night when they fucked a rockstar.”

Eddie’s lip trembled as chills coursed through his body. You leaned back against the couch and shrugged like what you said was nothing. You had to be on something, he decided. Never had you been so frank when the topic of sex came up. Your face was still flushed with color, and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position on the couch, shifting yourself from one side to the other to no specific rhythm. Heat radiated off of you, though you weren’t known to be the furnace between the two of you. Something struck Eddie as so foreign but so familiar as he took you in.

“Would you fuck a rockstar?” Eddie found himself saying.

Heat rose to your cheeks. “Do I seem like one of those straight-and-narrow girls to you?”

“That’s not what I asked,” Eddie said, a newfound confidence overtaking him. “You came up with that way too fast to act like you don’t think of it, too. So, would you fuck a rockstar?”

You bit your lip and shifted in your seat. You huffed into the couch. “Wouldn’t anyone?”

“Why so shy all of a sudden?” Eddie asked, egging you on. “You’ve been squirming since I got here, sweetheart. Is something on your mind?”

Your eyes trailed from his eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Tonight is not the night to ask me that.”

“Why is that?” Eddie chuckled. “Were you in the middle of something? Was something left unfinished when I so rudely interrupted? And now all you can think about is the ache between your legs?”

You shuddered at his words. “Eddie,” you said, your voice shaking.

“I could help you.” Eddie leaned closer, his words almost a whisper. “Because I may not be a rockstar, but I’m sure I could give you the night of your life.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “Don’t tease me. It’s not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Eddie pulled the blanket back, his hands resting on your thighs. Your legs slightly opened on instinct. “What kind of friend would I be, huh? If I didn’t at least offer?”

Eddie didn’t know where this bravado came from, but he didn’t care. All he knew was the longer you looked at him like that, the harder he got.

You grabbed him by his shirt and forced his lips on yours. Nothing soft or sweet came from your lips. You were needy and desperate, clinging to him like he was the air in your lungs.

The urgency shocked Eddie, but he quickly found your rhythm. He smirked against your lips as he pulled his jacket off. His hands snaked from your thighs to your hips to your ass, lifting you onto his lap. You groaned into his mouth as he rolled you against him.

He was sure he was dreaming now. Only there did he ever picture you above him, grinding your hips into his. Only there did he imagine you moaning from his touch. But never were his dreams this vivid, this real, this fucking good.

He pulled you from him and pushed you back onto the couch. You whined at the loss of contact. He’d never seen your eyes so dark, so lustful, so hungry for him.

He slid down to the floor onto his knees and pulled you to the edge of the couch. “You still want my help, sweetheart?”

You nodded emphatically.

“I need to hear you, baby. Say it.”

“Please help me, Eddie. I need you. Please.”

“Atta girl.”

You lifted yourself up as Eddie pulled your shorts down your legs. Eddie’s cock jumped at the sight of you. He bit his lip to maintain what little composure he had left.

“Aww, your poor little pussy’s just as needy as you, isn’t she?” He spread your knees apart, the cold metal on his fingers sending chills up your spine. The throbbing between your legs only intensified, a small whimper escaping your lips.

Eddie couldn’t wait any longer. There was no time for teasing, no time to explore. You needed him, and he was going to deliver.

He dove into your aching pussy like a man starved. You jumped at the contact, your hands flying to his hair. His tongue worked overtime, kitten-licking your clit before diving in for more.

“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he said, smiling against you. You moaned in response, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him closer.

Your sounds turned him on even more, searching for his own release as he rubbed himself against the couch. His mind was in a daze, in utter disbelief that anyone could look so perfect for him with your legs spread and your back arched. Your chest rose and fell to the rhythm of his tongue, and your lips formed a perfect ‘o’. Oh, how Eddie wanted to feel your lips around his cock. How you’d sink down on him, your perfect innocent mouth being completely sinful just for him.

He placed a finger at your entrance and pumped in and out, his thumb now circling your clit. Your head fell back. “God, yes, Eddie. Just like that.”

“I need you to do something for me, baby,” Eddie said as he added a second finger.

“Wha—what’s that?” you asked, breathless.

“I need you to tell me what you think of when you get off. Tell me what you were thinking of before I showed up at your door.”

“I—I oh god,” you shouted as Eddie’s lips found your clit. “I—I thought about you on your fucking date.”

“Oh fuck,” Eddie groaned into your pussy, the vibrations shooting up your spine.

“I pictured you fucking her from behind, her skirt hiked up to her hips, her panties to the side as you fucked her in front of the bathroom mirror.”

“Fucking C—Christ,” Eddie stuttered, his hips rutting into the couch faster. “Keep going.”

“Then it was me you were fucking. You grabbed me by the hair, so I could watch what you were doing to me,” you said, your voice shaking with every word. “Eddie, please. I’m close. Please.”

“Come on, baby. You can do it. Tell me what I was doing to you.” He was past dreaming at this point. He was sure this was heaven. Hearing your words had him reeling. He didn’t want to stop, didn't know how to stop. He just knew he needed to see you come.

Your lip trembled. “Your hands were all over me, playing with my tits, your lips on my neck, and—and your big cock pounding into me over and oh-ver and—and Fuck! Eddie, don’t stop! Please, please, please!”

Your orgasm crashed down on you, expletives and Eddie’s name on your lips. Eddie continued to pump his fingers in and out of you like a madman as he lapped up your cum.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” he moaned against you.

You pushed his head off of you and caught your breath. Eddie took a breath, too, leaning back against his heels. You pulled him back up to you and kissed him, tasting yourself on your lips.

“That… was so hot,” Eddie said, releasing a breath.

“Can it be my turn to help you?” you asked, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

Eddie’s cheeks rouged slightly, his eyes trailing to the growing wet spot on his jeans. “I had a turn already,” he said, guilt painting his words. He leaned in toward you, a devilish smirk joining his features. “But I’m not done with you. Not yet.”

[dotthings]

You know who I feel sad for right now is Misha, because I think he wanted to be able to speak much much earlier than he was able to about Cas’s confession. We know he drafted an essay about Cas’s coming out…and then wound up not publishing it. Misha deserved to be able to talk about it in interviews the way Oliver Stark is able to about Buck. Misha mentioned it on zoom calls, briefly. And then it seems like he got yanked back by the PR machine and the nature of Cas’s confession wasn’t discussed on any SPN PR materials and for a time Misha was restricted on what he could say on CE Con stages.

At first, back then, for a few glorious days, I thought the stigma about queer Cas, about Destiel, had been lifted, finally, and then WB/CW brought the restrictions back down via PR. Oh you can have your confession scene, SPN, but corporate will control the narrative on how it’s spoken about or not.

We saw this thaw over time. (Anyone who claims otherwise or that Misha was always able to be open about it, is lying). Now Misha can speak openly about it and that shift began around the time when Chaos Machine really set up shop and changed a few con policies. So I’m happy for Misha that he can speak only about Cas being queer and what the confession means and Cas coming out, but he still has yet to be able to speak in depth about it in major PR. The openness about it comes out on con stage. At first it was non-CE Cons. Then finally he was more able to speak freely on CE Con stages.

Which leads me to another point, which is that, in fact, any of us who thought Cas was supposed to be in the series finale? We were right all along. The PR Misha filmed meant to mislead and misdirect about his last episode…PR misdirect to cover up so it could be a surprise, which makes sense and is sometimes how PR is run. Remember that the production shutdowns of the pandemic happened during the first days of filming 15.19. We found out eventually Dean and Cas were planned to be seen at the Roadhouse bar in Heaven together.

When they filmed 15.18 everyone thought Cas would at least cameo in 15.20. During the filming of 15.18 nobody directly involved knew how far Cas would be shoved out of the story, the actors didn’t know, the writer didn’t know, the director didn’t know, how far 15.20 would be stripped back, no one knew how reduced even mere mentions would be in 15.20.

I’ve talked about this before but a reminder how screwed the spn creatives who worked on 15.18 were, how screwed over the actors were.

You were right. If you thought that there was going to be at least some satisfaction and closure and Cas was going to have one more appearance before the end and it wouldn’t be able to be loud open canon, but something that implied mutual canon Destiel.

We were right. We were right all along.

Antis on twitter dot com can keep scratching and clawing and harassing and gaslighting and spewing phobic comments, denying what Jensen’s views are and dening that corporate censorship is real and that bi Dean is canonical via queer coding and queer Cas is now loud open canon and Destiel is mutual, via canon queer coding. Won’t change what happened here or that the intent was so, so much better and more than what 15.20 delivered, and the reason it fell apart was the production shutdown gave some parties high up too much time to think and then interfere and cut Cas out.

There is no more room to indulge media illiteracy and malicious denialism and trolling from antis.

[rustys-lodge]

Requested by anon : Can you write a spn fic of dad sam/dean where she texts her dad from her room about needing help because depression gets really bad and she wants to self harm? And dad just helps her ride the wave and comforts her. Thank you

Warnings : Depression, self harm

-------

And without a single warning, the door to your room flew open. And there he was, standing with that empathetic smile on his face.

You'd believe it if you couldn't clearly see the worry glistening in his eyes.

"Is this where my beauty needs help for her sleep ?"

Your lips quivered and a whimper left your lips, causing your dad's shoulders to slump.

Nice try. But the wound is too deep to close up with a simple joke. And the joke is not funny. But your dad got the memo, since he flew to your bed and sat himself beside you.

"Scooch" He commanded before bringing your upper half over his chest. So you layed diagonally on the bed, with your back up to his chest, giving him scape to wrap his arms completely around your neck.

You needed that. Badly. And when your whimpers got louder, your dad hugged you tighter.

"It's bad, dad..." You choked on a sob.

"I know...kid...i know" Your father planted a kiss on your head. And his hands let you go....discreetly traveling down your arms.

He was checking to see if you'd flinch...that would mean you did it again. And you know this move because you've been through this as well.

Him randomly touching your arms, squeezing from time to time to see if it hurts you. At first you pretended like it didn't. But at some point, you realized there's no need to pretend. He knows.

"I didn't do it." You informed him and a slight sigh of relief hit your ear.

"That's my girl." Another kiss fell on the back of your back of your head. "Give me those hands."

You complied and your dad criss-crossed your arms and set your hands on your opposite shoulders, before bringing his own arms over yours.

"I'm here now, kid."

And as weird and narrow as it may have seemed. You were wrapped in a loving embrace.

And although your drowning thoughts were not ceasing, warmth flooded your body and your muscles tensed down...you hadn't slept in a while. It's been hard..Really hard.

With his arms still wrapped around your chest, your dad sung to you, considerably low, guiding you to sleep.

-----

Sorry for the never-changing ending. It seems that comfy fics cannot end any other way. Anyways, hope this helps someone on a lonely night !! ❤️❤️❤️⚘️⚘️⚘️

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: The pie thief has struck again. You know who it is but how to prove it? The answer is on the tip of his tongue.

Words: ~900

A/N: So this is SPN fic number two. The idea of Dean being such a pie fiend that he would steal someone else's pie from the fridge and deny it afterwards, really amused me. I obviously didn't get the desire to kiss him out of my system after the first SPN fic I wrote so here's another one 😂 It's not smut but there is mild adult themes which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is as generic as I can make but I have referenced as female. I hope you enjoy, and as always, I value your feedback and comments 💖

Warnings: kissing, mild violence, bad language as standard. Dean is an asshole. Reader is a bit of an asshole too. They're probably made for each other.

*** Minors do not read or interact ***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His arrogance, his smug superiority, the way he always acts like he’s untouchable… his goddamn pretty mouth.  Ugh!  Asshole!

You didn’t always hate him – you had known him for years, one hunter to another – but, since you had been forced to stay with both he and Sam in the bunker these last couple of months, he had really grated on your nerves. 

After your hunt of a large nest of vampires had gone wrong, you had become the hunted.  Your home decimated, your family too precious to put at risk by you staying with them; you had needed help.

Sam had insisted, so you agreed to stay with them until your vamp problem could be solved.  Only the nest turned out to be much bigger and far wider spread than you had first thought, and it was taking time for even the infamous Winchester brothers to put an end to.

The light in the refrigerator is stark as you stare inside.  It’s gone.  You slam the door, raging internally.  Why can you not have anything to yourself in this goddamn place?

“DEAN!”  You shout angrily at the top of your lungs, knowing he can hear you from his room down the hall, even with his music playing.

He won’t respond to you.  He never does.  Why should he?  You’re just some girl he’s got to put up with for a while.  Some girl he made a pass at that first week you were here, but you shut him down and he’s been an asshole to you ever since.

You storm up to his door and bray your fist against the wood as hard as you can.  “I know you’re in there!  Get your ass out here now!”  You shout and hammer your fist against the door until you hear him moving inside.

The door clunks as he unlocks it, and it swings open to reveal him stood in the doorway in a navy blue robe and slippers.  The light from his lamp is dim but warm, his music a moderate volume for the late hour.  He looks irritated that you’ve disturbed him, that quizzical frown and pout are a dead giveaway.  Good.

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”  He smirks at you.

“You!”  You push past him, and he doesn’t try to block you.

“What now?”

This isn’t the first time you’ve had this argument and it probably won’t be the last.  Whenever Sam isn’t around, Dean always does something to piss you off, like he’s trying to bait you.

“You ate my pie!  AGAIN!”

His expression is schooled into that self-righteous assuredness it always is when you confront him.  His hands go to his hips – which looks ridiculous because of the robe – and he shifts his weight onto his other foot.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”  He says with a frown, and it’s entirely plausible that you’ve made a mistake, except it’s just the two of you here and you didn’t eat the damn pie.  “I haven’t seen any damn pie.”

“Oh yeah?!”  You square up to him, looking up into his eyes, unblinking, unphased.

“Yeah!”  He doubles down, firmly meeting your stare, leaning closer as if you would be intimidated by that.

It’s a short distance you need to cover and he is unprepared.  You expect him to push you away but he flounders, arms flailing and uncoordinated when you grip the lapels of his robe and pull him towards you.

When your lips meet he puckers up and blinks in shock, but you don’t give him time to realise what’s happening.  You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him tight as you slip your tongue between his lips, plundering his mouth.

It takes a beat, but he responds by gripping your hips and holding you against him, moaning into your mouth as he opens up to you.  The heat of his response takes you by surprise, but it shouldn’t have, really.  He’d wanted this since the first few days you were here.  Wanted you.

You ravage his mouth, your hands in his hair, making it messy as you practically melt into his arms.  His tongue plays perfectly with yours, his lips soft and yielding.  Dean Winchester is an exceptional kisser.  This fact makes you hate him even more.

As you pull back, breathless, Dean grins at you.  He looks happy and care-free, like the cat that got the cream.  Your face, however, holds a scowl.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?”  His expression changes to concern.

You lick your lips and it’s just as you thought, the sweet buttery goodness of pie crust and the pleasant tartness of sour cherry.  You slap him across the face – not hard but just enough to get his attention – and stride to the door leaving him confused.

“What the hell?!”  He rounds on you, his arousal tenting his robe.

“Don’t you dare eat my pie again.”

You leave your warning hanging in the air along with his frustration.  A smirk playing on your lips at the sight you had just left behind you; Dean Winchester with kiss-swollen lips and a hard-on for you.  It isn’t the worst thing you’ve seen but you still hate him, even if there’s now something else there along side it. 

[jasmines-library]

Hey. Could you please do a Winchester!sister reader fic like the mystery spot episode where Dean dies over and over but can you have the reader be the one who dies over and over again while the boys watch

Groundhog Day

Note: Once again apologising for my lateness but here we are! I actually also wrote this yesterday but I thought it was only fitting to release this on a Tuesday.

warnings: death *and lots of it, It's mystery spot*, grief kinda, time loops, swearing.

Word count: 3.5k

⛤ SPN MASTERLIST ⛤

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother who was surprisingly already up and raring to go, having made his bed which he was now perching on as he laced together his boots. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep.

“Rise and shine, Sammy.”

“Dude.” Sam blinked, swiping his hair from his eyes. “Asia?”

“Come on. You love this song and you know it.”

Sam rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, and if i hear it again, I’m going to kill myself.”

“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once. 

Dean took a break from trying his shoes to reach over and turn the dial on the radio. The song blasted louder from the speakers. He raised his voice with a grin “What? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you.”

Sam let out a light chuckle, still bleary with sleep as you sighed and sat up. Dean was still grinning at you before he began to mouth along to the words of the song. You shook your head at him before hauling yourself up and making your way to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

~

Dean had decided that he was going to be annoying today. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to go on the hunt and he was trying to delay it or something or if it was simply because he was being Dean. You decided on the latter because his keenness to be up and ready this morning was unusual. It started with the gurgling when he was brushing his teeth. Then, just as the three of you were about to leave, despite being up before either of you he had forgotten his pistol leaving you and your other brother standing impatiently by the door while he rooted around the motel room for it. He was irritating in the car too and you were itching to jump out of the Impala, praying for the day to end. 

The diner was hardly busy when Dean pulled into the driveway. There were only a few cars belonging to passers by occupying the spaces. After securing your pistol in the pocket of your jacket the three of you headed inside. You decided to stick close to Sam; you had an odd feeling about this hunt and weren’t entirely sure what it was but something just wasn’t sitting right with you. Your brothers entered one of the booths and you slid down beside Dean who let out a content sigh as he scanned the menu. 

“Hey, tuesday. Pig in a poke.” he read, gesturing to the sign.

“Do you even know what that is?” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

The eldest brother opened his mouth to answer only to fall short of his words. Sam gave him a smug look and then pair fell into some sort of childish bickering that you weren’t really paying attention to. You were too busy scanning every inch of the room still unable to shake that uneasy feeling from your mind. Something just wasn’t right. Everything seems so…perfect. It made your skin crawl and you bit your lip.

“Hey.” Sam nudged you under the table with his knee, he had noted the way that you had gone silent and that you were fiddling with your hands restlessly. He knew almost straight away that something was up. You twisted to face him. “You okay?”

“Yeah. yeah.” You muttered. “Sorry.”

You nearly let out a sigh of relief when the waitress came over and distracted your brother's attention away from you. You hated the way that they stared when they were concerned about you. The three of you rattled off your orders before Dean leaned back in the chair, stretching his arm back behind you to lounge about as you all discussed the plan, only interrupted once by the waitress bringing your food and accidentally spilling a bottle of hot sauce which tumbled to the floor and smashed into tiny pieces.

The rest of the day passed by quickly after that.

~

You did not like the look of the so-called ‘mystery spot’. It was all overly commercialised, filled to the brim with strange and amusing objects that stuck out at odd angles or were glued to the ceiling. The darkness of the room mixed with the obscurity of the place made it come across as quite disorientating. You supposed that was the point. Your strange feeling from this morning was still lingering. You and Dean moved around with flashlights as Sam waved around the EMF. But it was silent. 

“Find anything?” You asked.

Sam shook his head.

“Do you have any idea what you’re looking for?” Dean said rather loudly. He was still set on the idea that this hunt was a complete waste of time and had decided to make it everyone else's problem. 

“Uh… yeah.” Sam shrugged until you gave him a look and he dropped his shoulders. “No.”

It wasn’t long after you set off to explore again that Dean’s gun was being cocked. Somehow someone had managed to catch you off guard, causing the three of you to whip around alarmed when his shaky voice boomed through the room. 

“What the hell are you doing here?!” He demanded. The man was small and scrawny and would normally be no match against Winchesters, but he was wielding a gun that he didn’t seem to know how to use and his unstable finger was hovering dangerously close to the trigger. 

“Woah. We can explain.” Dean started, raising his gun in surrender and gesturing for the two of you to follow suit. 

The man moved his weapon uncertainly. “You robbing me?”

“No.” You told him. “Nobody’s robbing you, calm down.”

Dean began to lower his gun, but this only wound the man up more.

“Don’t move!” He demanded. “Don’t!”

“I’m just putting the gun down.” Dean tried to reassure him, but the man was having none of it. 

He raised his gun, but before he fired he spotted you moving out of the corner of his eye. 

Sam, as worrying of a brother as ever, gestured with a tilt of his head for you to move toward him. He knew that you were perfectly capable of protecting yourself, but it made him feel ten times better to know that you were hidden behind his lumbering frame, especially given the recent circumstances that had resulted in so much loss between the three of you. Your movement however, combined with Dean’s haste to put down his gun startled the man and with a fast flick of his arm he had pulled the trigger. 

No one had any time to think before your pained scream filled the room. It was quick and short as the bullet lodged itself within your chest and you collapsed to the ground, writhing with an agony so intense that it made white spots dance in your vision like little stars. 

“Y/N!” Sam cried out, moving quickly to bridge the short distance to your side where you lay in pain on the cold ground. Sam slid an arm around your back as your other brother dropped to his knees next to you, hovering his hand over your chest where blood had already begun to pool through and seep into your shirt. He was frozen with terror unsure what to do at the sight of your pained expression or the way that your hands clutched feebly at the hem of Sammy’s jacket. 

“Call 911.” Sam demanded, turning to face the man who stood there white as a sheet. 

“I-I didn’t mean-” 

“Now!” Dean yelled.

You whimpered at the yelling. It cuts through your already pounding head adding to the concoction of your agony. You couldn’t see straight, couldn’t hear properly, couldn’t feel anything besides the burning fire in your chest that spread through your lungs like a disease. Your head lolled back against Sam’s arm as you began to taste metallic copper in your mouth, slowly drowning on your own blood that had filled your lungs. 

“No. No” Sam said as you writhed in his arms, glancing up bleary eyed at him. Dean pressed down firmly on the wound, and it hurt more than anything but you couldn’t bring yourself to even whine at the contact.

“Come on sweetheart.” Dean pleaded. “Not like this.”

You could see his lips moving but it sounded like he was underwater as your body began to grow numb and your vision slowly faded. You tried to blink away the spots that consumed your vision, but it was no use and your eyes ended up fluttering shut just as your ragged breaths slowed before stopping altogether until you lay morbid limp in your big brother's arms.

~

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he turned to his brother. He had been here before. He realised suddenly, but this time his older brother was not lacing his boots. Instead he was stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the space beside Sam. He felt the blankets shift around him as you tried to bury yourself into the mattress, bringing the covers over your head to try and block out some of the noise and fall back to sleep. Sam stared at you, startled. He could have sworn that just a moment ago you were-

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean said, with much less enthusiasm as he had before. His little brother furrowed his brows.

“Dean…?”

“I know. Is it just me or are you getting a serious sense of deja-vu?”

He nodded in agreement. 

“Be quiet.” You murmured from behind the sheets, squeezing your eyes shut and rolling over. You knew it wasn’t going to happen but you were trying to cling onto the idea of getting more than 4 hours of sleep for once. 

The Winchesters shared a look. Man, something strange was happening and whatever it was, you clearly weren’t feeling the same thing they were. 

~

The diner was exactly the same as it had been the last time the two brothers were here. You were still looking around with the same uncertainty as you were before and you even ordered the same thing as you did before and so did Dean. Tuesday’s special. Pig in a poke.

“It’s tuesday?” He said uncertainly to himself.

You stared at him blankly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world “Yeah.”

Sam eyed you strangely and you raised a brow.

“You okay?” 

“Peachy.” He replied, leaning across the table. “Are you?”

Narrowing your eyes at the pair of boys you asked. “Okay. What’s going on with you two?”

“What?”

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

“You don’t…you don’t remember any of this?” Sam asked you 

“Remember what?”

“This. Today. Like it’s happened before.” Dean.

“You mean like Deja Vu?” You frowned.

“No like it’s really happened before.” Sam stressed. “If it feels like we’re living yesterday all over again.”

“Deja Vu.”

“No. Forget about that. Its-

The conversation was once again cut off by the waitress who was delivering the food. And once again she sent the hot sauce toppling. But this time, Sam caught it before it could hit the ground. 

You gave him a charismatic grin. “Nice reflexes.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that.

Your brothers were trying to explain the situation to you, while theorising themselves. It was safe to say that at first you were completely lost, but were halfway to believing them when it happened.  

The car came from nowhere, speeding around the corner. It collided harshly with your unsuspecting body sending you skidding across the asphalt. By the time your brothers had reached you, a trail of blood trickled down your face from the wounds that were opened as your skin ran across the floor. Dean nearly choked on the sight of your pained and bloodied face as he reached you but you were dead before he had even lifted you into his arms. 

And then, there it was again. That wretched song, screaming from the radio. 

‘Heat of the moment-’

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room and muttered one single phrase.

“Son of a bitch.”

The rest of the day did not pass by quickly after that. In fact, it never seemed to end. 

~

Sam was getting angry now. No. That's not really the right word to describe it. He was frustrated. Tired. Scared. Dean was angry. And growing impatient. But both of them could not bear to live another tuesday. They couldn’t bear to see you fine one second and then dying the next. They had lived through at least a hundred tuesdays, had scanned every inch of the diner, the town, the mystery spot, they had followed the people from the diner and had even tried to keep you in the motel room but no matter how hard they tried they were forced to watch you die again.

The worst part was that you were clueless.  Sam and Dean had to re-explain the ordeal to you everytime they woke up to that stupid song again, leaving you back at square one. They had lived through the day so many times that it had gotten to the point where they could both predict your sentences word for word and while it freaked you out, their patience was wearing thin. 

Until finally, something changed. Dean had asked the woman he kept bumping into to see her flyer. They finally had a lead. So, the next time Tuesday morning rolled around, they felt hopeful as they filed off the information to you. 

“When’d you get time to do all that research?” you asked through a mouthful of food.

Dean did not have the energy to answer, so he just stood, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go. We’re wasting time here.”

That was when Sam spotted it. The sticky, pink syrup sat in the dispenser next to the half eaten pancake. He frowned, stopping suddenly. When you noticed his absence you turned and asked him what was wrong.

Sam watched the man leave through the slats in the blinds. “That guy has maple syrup for the last 100 tuesdays, now all of a sudden he’s having strawberry?

“It’s a free country, Sammy. A man can’t choose his own syrup now? What have we become?”

“Not in this diner.” Sam shook his head. “Not today.”

“Nothing in this place ever changes. Ever. “ Dean told you. “Except us.”

~

The two brothers nearly lost their shit when they woke up again, but by the time they had suffered through the morning routine and had reached the diner they had come up with a plan. 

There were no conversations during breakfast. The pair left you to ponder over your own thoughts after mentioning the idea of a time loop. Any of your questions went unanswered as they stared down the man, jumping into action when he rose, pushing the stool out with an ear splitting squeal and making his way to the parking lot. 

Dean gripped the man firmly, forcing him against the fence by the scruff of his neck and silencing his protests. “We know who you are. Or should I say what?”

You watched very confused from the side.

“Oh my god-” the man begged, wide eyed. “Please don’t kill me!”

“Uh, Boys-”

“It took us a hell of a long time, but we got it.” Sam seethed. 

“What?!”

“It’s your M.O that gave you away.” He continued. “Going after pompous jerks, giving them their just deserts. Your kind loves that, don’t they?”

“Yeah. Sure. Okay! Just put the stake down!” He pleaded, side eyeing the weapon that Sam pressed to his neck. Sam refused to move.

“Sammy, maybe you should-”

“No!” He yelled at you. The tone of his voice was so unexpected for Sam that you recoiled. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing. Making reality out of nothing, sticking people in time loops- In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a god.”

“You’d have to be a trickster.” Dean spat.

“Misters…” The man pleaded shakily with tears in his eyes “My name is Ed Coleman. My wife’s name is Amelia- I’ve got two kids! For crying out loud I sell ad space!”

“Don’t lie to me! I know what you are!” Sam shouted into his face. 

“We’ve killed one of your kind before.”

There was a heavy paused before the grey hair and wrinkles on the man before you morphed into the all familiar face of the trickster you and your brothers had run into not too long ago. 

He smirked and your brothers’ faces dropped. “Actually, you didn’t.”

“Why are you doing this? Why her!?” Sam pressed, digging the stake into his neck. 

“You’re kidding?” The trickster replied “You all tried to kill me last time. Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make you three suffer.”

“So this is funny to you? Killing her over and over again?” Dean gritted his teeth.

“One- yes, it is fun. And two -this is so not about killing Y/N. This joke is on you two. I mean… come on. How great has it been to watch you to see her being torn apart again and again. Watching your sister die everyday. Forever.”

“You son of a bitch.”

The trickster smiled. “How long will it take you to realise you can’t save your sister, no matter what.”

“Oh yeah? We kill you, this ends now.” Sam growled.

“Woah. Okay, look. I was just playing around. You can’t take a joke, fine. You’re out of it. Tomorrow you’ll wake up and it’ll be wednesday. I swear.”

“You're lying. “

He shrugged. “If I am, you know where to find me.”

~

“But you better promise me, I’ll be back in time-”

Sam sat up abruptly, awoken by the sudden racket that filled the room. After sitting up groggily and allowing his eyes to adjust to the light he glanced at the clock, hardly noting the time before he… made a double take. The small three letter panel now read ‘WED’

Sam couldn’t contain the gasp that fell from his lips. “It’s wednesday!”

“Yeah…?” You said from across the room where you were rummaging though your bag. “Which usually comes after Tuesday. Turn that crap off, would you?” you asked him.

“No. Leave it on.” Dean interjected. He agreed with Sam. If he heard Asia one more time he was going to kill himself. “Isn’t that the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”

“...No. Jesus, how many Tuesdays did you guys have?”

“You don’t wanna know.” Dean sighed. “Wait..what do you remember.”

“I remember you two being pretty whacked out yesterday. And then i remember running into the trickster. S’bout it really.”

“Right. Whatever. Lets get out of here.” Sam said as he pulled on a shirt.

“What? No breakfast?” You asked, slightly upset that you were going to miss out on the diner food you had quite enjoyed yesterday. 

“No breakfast.”

~

Sam and Dean were still inside when they heard it. The unmistakable pop of a gun being fired. You were outside loading the last of your things into Baby and-

Sam's heart sank.

“Y/N!” He cried, dropping what he was doing and racing down the stairs towards you.

The offender fled the moment the gunshot had sounded and your two brothers could see him rounding the corner, but their concern was on you, sprawled out across the floor in a pool of your own blood.

They shook you, crying out your name but you didn’t move. Your heart had stopped beating. 

“No. This isn’t supposed to happen today.” Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, only to nearly cry when he opened them again and you were still lying lifelessly in his brothers clutch. “We’re supposed to wake up.”

And then, he began to cry.

Part 2 may be coming…I’ll add it to my to do list

[tteotlma]

Brewing Emotions

- tension and unspoken feelings finally come to a head.

Sam Winchester/Reader 2.1kw

a/n: i wrote this after finishing spn over the summer. can u tell i love tension.

tw: mild violence mention, mild sexual content (kissing), emotional distress

The drive back from Wheeling, Illinois to the Bunker was an excruciatingly silent drive. It seemed as though everyone was steeping in their misery, and it was gonna be hard to shake off.

A family of Djinn’s were plaguing the city with missing persons for the past three weeks, and by the time the three of you showed up – there was more bloodshed than expected. Turns out the Djinn were running this operation for way longer and tens of lives were lost.

The three of you tried to save the remaining five survivors but because they were so weak, not all of them could be saved. Much to Sam and Dean’s dismay, only two walked away.

Of course, you were devastated as well but having been a solo hunter far longer than teaming up with the boys – you learned the hard way that losses were inevitable.

You were also less emotionally constipated than the other two, so you knew the better way to feel better was to surround yourself with things that bring you joy. But tweedle dee and tweedle dum here like to sit and stew in silence.

You were able to get them to talk here and there for the first few hours but your efforts ultimately fell short and silence took over. Exhaustion took over and you just let the silence be. During the car ride, you stared at the back of Sam’s head trying to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him in some way. Especially running your hands through his hair. You didn’t know if it was because of your feelings for the man, or because the act of petting lowered stress levels but whenever you found yourself feeling troubled you always found your hands in the man's hair, and vice versa.

Sure the science article was about animals but – potato, potato.

Instead you just crossed your arms and tucked your hands into your armpits, closing your eyes to try and get some shut eye.

The first person to say something was Dean, when the car pulled up to the Bunker.

“I’m gonna wash up.” He huffed, as his leather jacket squeaked against the leather seat while shimmying out of the car.

Perfect, you and Sam could prepare a meal while Dean washes up. You were about to reach out to Sam when he sprung out of the car.

“Hey Sam-” you rushed, following his steps in unloading the car. “Why don’t we-”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little grimy so I’m just gonna wash up too.” He mumbled, lugging the duffel bag over his shoulder, and walking away.

“Oh, okay.” you whispered, trying not to sound dejected. You entered the bunker and everyone made a B-line for their bedrooms.

Throwing your backpack onto the ground, you started undressing wanting nothing more than to just step under hot water and let it burn the tension away from your shoulders.

—

By the time you were done, you were already feeling much better. Your pajamas felt softer and cleaner than the stale outfit you had been wearing for the past two days. Your hair no longer felt stringy and greasy, and your skin felt exfoliated. Now to top it all off with a nice warm cup of tea.

You startled, seeing Sam standing in the kitchen.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna see you until tomorrow.” You said, giving him a soft smile as you walked up to him.

“Uh, well we hadn’t eaten anything since that rest stop about seven hours back.” He returned the same smile, before beginning to chop vegetables. You nodded, placing a swift hand on his shoulder blade as you passed him, to let him know you were walking behind.

He cleared his throat, and a small smile spread on your lips.

“I’m making tea,” You started, “would you like some?” Opening the drawer in front of you, an array of colored boxes splayed out before you.

“Sure, I’ll just take a cup of whatever you’re having.”

You took the small red box out the drawer, placed it on the counter and opened the cabinet above you to get your mugs. You grabbed your favorite, and when you went to grab Sam’s you realized it wasn’t in the usual spot next to yours. Pushing around the mugs, all that could be heard was the ceramic clinking together.

“You need help there?” A small scoff escaped his mouth.

“Your mug isn’t here.” Ceramic still clinking, standing on your tippy toes to try and get a better look.

“That’s okay just grab any other one.” He said, throwing the chopped vegetables in a large bowl.

“But you like that mug,” He turned to look at you. “I swear I put it here when I did the dishes.”

“Maybe someone used it.” He obviously wasn’t convincing you that another cup could be used so he put down the knife with a chuckle and walked towards you.

You could feel his presence loom over you as he stood behind you – barely able to feel his warmth on your back. You tried not to move a muscle.

“Yeah look it’s right here,” He said, reaching into the only shelf you couldn’t reach, and behind a large bowl he pulled out a dark blue mug. He looks down at you as you turn to grab the mug.

“Well, that’s not where I put it.” you mumble, taking the mug from his hands.

Inspecting the mug, to make sure it’s clean you notice Sam falls silent. You look up at him and catch him looking at you – quite intently.

Heat rushes up the back of your neck, and you give him a little smile hoping to god this tension building up isn’t just your imagination.

“Are you okay?” You ask under your breath. Sam blinks and shakes his head clearing his throat.

“Uh, yeah, yes I am.” He spits out, and he steps away. The cool air swooping in and taking place where he previously stood. He goes back to chopping vegetables in silence. His kurt answer leaves you thrown off, so rather than respond you choose to join in the silence and fall into a sort of rhythm beside Sam as he preps the salad he’s been working on as you work on the tea you offered.

As Sam shakes the bowl to mix the dressing, you could feel his warmth and you wanted nothing more than to step closer, under the impression that maybe his warmth could take away these remaining forlorn feelings.

"How'd you like your tea?" you ask, steeping the leaves.

"Like I said, whatever you're having." He puts down the bowl and turns to look at you. You shift your eyes towards him, then away when you feel his gaze boring into you.

As you grab the honey and a spoon, you turn to get some oatmilk from the fridge. Suddenly, you realize Sam is no longer behind you but beside you, his chest at eye level. You startle and look up.

"You okay?" His eyes never leave your face.

"Yeah," is all he says, his gaze unwavering.

Shifting uncomfortably, you begin to look anywhere but at him. An unbearable longing aches within you to touch him—to feel the rough texture of his shirt beneath your trembling fingers, to inhale the faint scent of his cologne mingling with his skin's warmth. You yearn to be enveloped in his embrace, to feel his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close until his steady heartbeat thrums against your chest. Every fiber of your being screams for that connection, that solace, that undeniable closeness.

Your hands clench and unclench at your sides as you look down, the weight of his gaze becoming too intense.

"What is it?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, afraid to break whatever spell he might be under.

He remains silent. Instead, he steps closer, fingers trailing lightly along the hem of your shirt. He moves even nearer until his chest is mere inches from your face. His hand circles around to your lower back, slowly pulling you in. The movement is so gradual you're barely sure you're moving at all. It's not until you feel Sam begin to lean in, his arm wrapping fully around your waist, that you realize he's been wanting to touch you just as badly as you've been wanting to touch him.

Your breath catches in your throat as Sam's arm tightens around you. Your already small world narrows even more to just the two of you—the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, the faint thrum of his heartbeat. You finally allow yourself to raise your hands, letting them rest tentatively on his chest. You slowly look up at him.

"I-I'm sorry, for brushing you off earlier," he says, a glint of remorse in his eyes.

Your hands move to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "It's okay," you whisper, maintaining the intimate atmosphere between you. "You don't have to apologize."

You watch as Sam presses further into your hands, his eyes closing. A breath of relief leaves his lips, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. The vulnerability in this moment strikes you, making your heart swell with affection.

Studying his face, your hands glide into his hair, gently pulling him close. As if by instinct, Sam buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His hands, initially at the middle of your back, slide down to your hips. He tries to bring you closer, but you're already pressed against him. Instead, your hips align more firmly with his as he holds you there.

The sound of your shaky breaths mingles with the scent of his cologne. The warmth of his body envelops you, and the gentle tickle of his breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. Time seems to slow, each sensation heightened in this intimate embrace. It all feels like a dream—a long-awaited, exquisitely real dream.

Sam's fingers flex slightly at your hips, as if reassuring himself that you're truly there. You respond by carding your fingers through his hair, relishing the softness beneath your touch. The world outside fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection that you've both longed for.

Sam pulls away to look at you, his eyes searching your face. You lightly tug at the hair entwined in your fingers, a silent gesture of affection. Without a word, Sam begins to lean in. His lips brush against yours, feather-light and questioning. Your stillness is all the encouragement he needs.

Years of unspoken feelings finally come crashing down as Sam captures your lips in a proper kiss. He pulls you impossibly closer, one hand cradling the back of your head as if afraid you might slip away. His lips part slightly, and you seize the moment to nip gently at his bottom lip. Sam responds by deepening the kiss, and you meet him willingly, your mouths moving in perfect harmony.

A soft noise escapes him, echoed by your contented sigh. The kiss grows more passionate, your shared breaths becoming ragged. Sam's hands, which haven't left your body, slide down until his fingers find the bare skin at your hips. He kneads the flesh there, his touch both tender and desperate.

The intensity builds with each passing second. Sam's kisses grow more insistent, more passionate, mirroring the longing you both have harbored for so long. The forgotten tea steeps on the counter, the abandoned salad wilts - neither of you notices or cares. There's only this moment, this long-awaited connection, consuming you both entirely.

"Hey, did you guys make any—" Dean's words cut off abruptly as he entered the kitchen. "Well, alright Sammy!"

You and Sam spring apart, both flushed and breathing heavily. Dean stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise before a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"About damn time," he chuckles, shaking his head. "Don't let me interrupt. I'll just grab a beer and go."

As Dean rummages in the fridge, you and Sam exchange sheepish glances, a mix of embarrassment and barely contained laughter in your eyes. The spell of the moment is broken, but the warmth of it lingers.

Dean grabs his beer and heads out, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder. "You might want to take this somewhere more private next time. And Y/n? Your tea's probably over-steeped by now." He chuckles.

As Dean's footsteps fade down the hall, you and Sam look at each other trying not to laugh, the tension dissipating. Sam reaches out, taking your hand in his.

"So," he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "about that tea..."

You squeeze his hand, your heart light despite the interruption. "I think we might need to start over," you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face.

As you move to prepare fresh tea, Sam's arm wraps around your waist, unwilling to let you go just yet. You lean into him, savoring the closeness. The night may not have gone as planned, but it's ended better than you could have imagined.

—————

pls leave comments/feedback! i luv hearing ur thoughts!

[greenhorn-art]

All The King's Horses | As You Are Now, So Once Was I by @samwpmarleau (grumkinsnark)

All The King's Horses [LiveJournal ch1] [Fanfiction.net ch1]

As You Are Now, So Once Was I [LiveJournal ch1] [Fanfiction.net ch1]

Fandom: Supernatural, Criminal Minds

Rating: Teen | PG-13

Category: Gen

Words: ~36,192

All The King's Horses: Protect and Serve. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity. To what lengths would you go to uphold those oaths? When it comes to a particularly brutal and unsolvable case, the BAU just may have to resort to some more unorthodox methods. SPN/Criminal Minds crossover.

As You Are Now, So Once Was I: Sequel to "All the King's Horses." When Dean catches J.J.'s press conference on the news about a current case and notices a few...inconsistencies, he realizes the BAU is definitely going to need his help. Again. ON HIATUS

About the Book

FORMAT: Letter quarto, flatback bradel binding, french link stitch, no tapes

FONTS: EB Garamond [via Google Fonts], Supernatural Knight [via DaFont], D-Din [via Font Squirrel], Daniel [via DaFont], Permanent Marker [via Google Fonts], Arial

IMAGES: Seal of the FBI [via Wikipedia], Dean's handprint scar [by greenhorn-art]

MATERIALS: 24lb Xerox Bold Digital paper (8.5"x11"), 80pt binder's board (~2mm), 30/3 size waxed linen thread, embroidery floss (DMC #721), 1.9mm cording, brown cardstock, black Cialux bookcloth, gold foil transfer sheet (came with We R Memory Keepers hot foil pen)

PROGRAMS USED: Fic exported with FicHub, word doc compiled in LibreOffice Writer, Typeset in Affinity Publisher, imposed with Bookbinder-JS, title pages designed in Affinity Designer/Photo

.

I first read these stories on LiveJournal back in 2013, some time after I first encountered Tumblr, Supernatural, and the wider world of online fandom. Once I discovered SPNxCriminal Minds crossovers I devoured so many of them. Something about POV Outsider on the Winchesters, the existing connections with investigating monster vs human-crazy cases, and run-ins with the FBI... it's just works so well.

Of all the SPNxCM fics I read and enjoyed, All The King's Horses is among those that bookmarked themselves in my brain. Since it's been living there all these years, I thought it deserved a place on my bookshelf too.

(Rambling below)

Sourcing the Fic

I used FicHub to download the fics off of Fanfiction.net as HTML. Then I pasted them into LibreOffice Writer and created rich text documents of each fic, so I could Place them into Affinity Publisher.

The stories were crossposted, first on LiveJournal and then Fanfiction. I included the metadata from both sites in the appendices.

(It's fascinating to see the differences in the same work between platforms. FFN requires genres, so if the author doesn't add them on LJ then by default there's more info on FFN. But FFN limits listed characters to 2, so authors have to pick and choose the most important. Then there's the author's amusing disclaimers and spoiler warnings for these fics, which are only included in the LJ version)

Shoutout to the author for how they linked/listed their accounts on other platforms! Thanks to that I was easily able to track down all the tags/metadata for the fics, and find them here to express my appreciation for their stories!

Typesetting

Fonts

EB Garamond is my new favourite body font, 11pt as per my usual.

The title page is entirely Arial: 1) it was the closest match I have to the case file prop I was copying, and 2) if it was a government doc they wouldn't be using anything but the most basic fonts.

Headings and the the bullets bracketing the page numbers are set it Supernatural Knight, a free font in the style of Supernatural's title.

The location segments are in D-DIN, the closest free match to the font Criminal Minds uses (which is probably DIN).

Daniel is used for Dean's 'rushed but legible' note.

Permanent Marker for the 'thick black Sharpie' case file labels.

Artwork

Title pages designed as FBI case files, copied from a prop found online (specifically Etsy's propfictionstudios', but it's all over the web so no idea who actually created it). I had fun plugging in all the fanfic/bookbinding meta!

The ID# above the author's name is the FFN story ID, and the date is the date originally posted on LJ.

The handprint used in the headings of ATKH is Dean's scar. I traced off of a screenshot from s4e01 Lazarus Rising. I chose to use the handprint instead of the anti-possession tattoo or a Devil's Trap as my SPN art element because 1) it's specific to Dean, and 2) indicates/reminds that the story is not set during the season 3 Agent Henriksen/FBI arc.

Grabbed the FBI seal off of Wikipedia.

Construction

Both fics typeset and printed separately, then sewn together into one book. Title page for the sequel was tipped in like an endpaper prior to sewing.

Endbands sewn with orange embroidery floss (DMC 721) around 1.9mm cording. I chose orange because Dean's being in jail brought to mind the orange prison jumpsuits Sam and Dean wore in s1e19 Folsom Prison Blues.

Black bookcloth for the cover, like the Winchesters' beloved black '67 Chevy Impala. (I'd wanted a Supernatural reference to balance out the Criminal Minds-ness of the FBI case files).

I'd originally planned to make lineart of the front of the car, and have it stretch across the bottom of the cover (maybe even wrap around to the back). Even found a useful reference to trace [from here], but it didn't look as good as I'd hoped. Instead I reused the FBI seal and swapped out its text with the titles.

(The effect of shiny foiled FBI symbol on small black book reminds me of one of those FBI badge wallets!)

The foiling process was an unnecessarily long and gruelling affair. My laptop served as a massive power bank for the hot foil pen as I spent 2hrs ever so slowly tracing the image, and then 15mins on the author name and touch-ups. Did it need to take so long? Moving slowly, pushing down hard, going over everything at least three times? I'm sure it didn't. BUT I did not want to chance peeling up the foil to check how I was doing and risk shifting it. It was worth it in my books (haha) ‒ I feel giddy and kick my feet like a schoolgirl whenever I see it!

New Things

Used 24lb paper for the first time, and I love it! It's a little thicker and heavier then regular 20lb printer paper, feels more substantial.

The page numbers & running/section headers are along the outer margin, instead of in the header/footer. This was my way around Affinity's buggy-ness regarding pinning things inline in master pages. (More about that below). If I had been thinking, I could have formatted them like the tabs on a file folder and cut the textblock to match. Oh well, the things you notice once it's printed 😔

This time I also started new chapters/sections using text flow & paragraph spacing settings, instead of using a master. As always, there are pros and cons.

Pro: much faster and less involved. (find chapter start, apply paragraph style VS working from the end cutting text, inserting a frame break, unlinking frames, inserting new pages with master, relinking, pasting, and adding chapter title to a different text box)

Con: images need to be added manually (whether by adding image directly, or by applying a master with the image). I forgot to do this for the second fic, so only ATKH have Dean's handprint scar.

Difficulties Encountered

Affinity Publisher is fighting me on pinning things inline on master pages. They like to disappear on regular pages I've applied the master to. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, sometimes it only works on some of the pages. Idk what's up. (The bullet character only faces one way so I had use textboxes, flip/mirror one, and pin them inline to the page number).

So instead of having page numbers in the footer, bookended left and right by text boxes with Supernatural Knight's bullet, I put it vertically down the side.

Updated Publisher and all my paragraph styles' fonts changed/went funny. Something to do with the update's variable font support, I think. What was previously 'EB Garamond' regular, was now something along the lines of 'EBGaramond-Regular' which isn't a font. Issue seems to have ironed itself out in my original (near-complete) doc while I was busy remaking it. 😐

On the bright side, the update brought QR code generation to Affinity!

[thebiggerbear]

Follow Me Into the Dark - One - Never Thought I'd See You Again

Summary: The last person you expected shows up on one of the worst days of your life. Why on earth is Dean Winchester here and why is he asking you about your connections to the deceased?

A/N: Here we are. Part 1. This was what I originally intended for the "Sleep. I"ll keep you safe" prompt response but I ended up changing it because this felt too long to simply be a prompt response or even a one shot and I couldn't bear to cut it down to try to make it fit. It felt like the more it took form as I wrote, the more it deserved a proper fleshing out. So, alas, a short story. It's just an idea that I really had to explore. Not gonna lie, this might get a little dark. Hope this is alright.

This would be taking place during season 15.

All unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: implied familicide; implied deaths of children; angst; heartbreak; grief; language (I guess?)

Word Count: 4814

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @rieleatiel

Series Taglist: @globetrotter28; @roseblue373

Dean Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions

SPN Taglist: @just-levyy

You sat in the pristine living room and stared at the coffee table as people milled around you. You could hear the hushed whispers of mourning for them, pity for you, and worst of all, judgment and condemnation of him. If you could, you’d throw each and every one of them out of this house right now. But it wouldn’t change the fact that they were gone. Every single one of them…gone.

You glanced up and caught sight of a framed picture of your niece holding onto her baby brother, smiling wide for the camera. You would never get to hold either of them again, chase Thea around the house and hear her squeals of laughter, tickle Tanner’s belly to hear those happy gurgles that only a baby could make — never again. A tear slipped from your eye that you quickly wiped away. 

You were just about to get up and head into the kitchen to try to escape the harpy on your right, loudly whispering about how she’d always known something was off, when two tall men wearing suits entered your vision. Your eyes widened when you recognized one of them, and his expression mirrored your shocked one.

“Dean?” You asked in disbelief. You felt as if you had been sucker punched. Of course, on the absolute worst day of your life, he would show back up. The universe clearly had it in for you and wanted to destroy whatever little piece of you that was left. It had already brought you to your knees but that wasn’t enough. As if you weren’t already hollow inside…it wanted to finish the job.

The taller man to Dean’s left glanced back and forth between you. “Uh, do you two know each other?”

Dean looked at a loss for words for a moment but managed to answer with “You might say that.”

Seeing your face, Dean immediately looked apologetic. No, you couldn’t do this. Not today of all days. Not here, not now. “Right,” you muttered before making a hasty retreat to the kitchen as you’d planned to do prior to their arrival. You didn’t even bother looking back. Hopefully, Dean and his friend would just leave.

You busied yourself with doing the dishes; you figured you’d get a head start on them now. A kindly neighbor had offered to do them but you shook your head and took over, not saying a word. Thankfully, whoever had been in the room had vacated it, giving you your space. You were grateful because you weren’t sure if you could take one more “I’m so sorry, dear” or “Did you have any idea?” You threw yourself into the mundane chore, opting not to use the dishwasher next to you. You needed the distraction, to focus on something other than how you were broken inside. You did your best not to cry when you came across the coffee cup your sister-in-law had helped Thea to make for Father’s Day this year. It was similar to the “Best Aunt Ever” one they’d sent you for your birthday.

Several dishes later, you heard a quiet throat clearing behind you but you refused to turn around to look or stop what you were doing. You knew who it was; you’d practically felt him walk into the room.

“Listen, Y/N, I’m sorry if—”

“Why are you here?”

That question seemed to throw him off guard. Good. “I wanted to say I’m—”

“No,” You cut him off before he could finish saying the two words you now hated with a passion. God knows he’d said it enough to you before he’d left you in the dust back in Sedona. “Why are you here?”

“We— I mean, my brother and I, we were in town and—”

You spun around, your eyes wide. “That was Sam?”

He gave you a nervous yet proud smile. “Uh, yeah. That’s Sammy.”

After a moment, you nodded and went back to doing the dishes. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed that Dean had moved closer, looking unsure and slightly fidgeting. 

“So you… You knew the family?”

You stopped for a moment, thinking maybe you didn’t want to have this conversation that he seemed intent on having. You’d closed the book on him years ago and there was no reason to rehash any of it. It was the same old story anyway: girl meets boy; girl has incredible sex with boy; girl spends a few weeks holed up with boy; girl falls hard for boy and makes the mistake of telling him; boy immediately breaks her heart by telling her he doesn’t feel the same and then leaves girl behind to deal with the fallout of a shattered heart alone. Definitely nothing to rehash there. “You never answered my question. Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in town and we just happened to see an article online about what happened.”

You huffed out a snort as you slipped another wet dish into the drying rack. “Article online about what happened…” 

“I meant that we—”

The anger that had been simmering all day suddenly started coming to the surface as you replayed his words over and over in your head. “Is that what you and Sam do? Look around for funerals to crash and poke around because you and your brother have some morbid curiosity you need to satisfy? To set up your next true crime podcast or YouTube channel? What?” 

“What? Podcast? No. That’s not what I—”

“You know what, Dean, I don’t even care. Just take your brother and get out. I have enough to deal with today without you screwing up my life yet again.” How dare he? He was definitely not the man you remembered. Or maybe he was; maybe he was the man who had used you and left you behind without once looking back.

He laid a gentle hand on your shoulder but that was it. “Y/N, I didn’t mean—”

You shirked his hand off. “Just go,” you yelled, feeling a sudden rush of fury charge through you. “That’s what you’re good at! Just leave, Dean, and don’t look back!” At the same time, the glass in your grip suddenly shattered, making you gasp as red rivulets began to run down your palm.

Dean was suddenly there with a dish towel, gently cradling your hand as he slowly pulled a small shard of glass out, making you hiss in pain. He then ran your hand under the water, eliciting another pained hiss, before wrapping the towel tightly around your hand. “There a first aid kit here somewhere?”

“In the bathroom, I think.”

Dean glanced over to where you gestured and nodded. “Alright, hold this tight and take a seat. I’ll be right back.” You did as he instructed, quietly thinking over what just happened. Dean was incredibly focused and on it, no hesitation, but that wasn’t what gave you pause. Where did that spike of anger come from? And more disturbingly, why did you have the strongest urge to throw that glass at him before it actually broke in your hand? You weren’t a violent person by any means; you never put your hands on another person, never had the urge to. Sure, you’d imagined slapping a guy that deserved it when he got too handsy while being an arrogant jerk one time but you never actually felt the burning impulse that you felt just before. You glanced over at the photo mug in the drying rack and tears sprang to your eyes as you felt your heart break yet again (how was there anything left to break at this point?) when you realized maybe you actually were that type of person after all. The very worst sort of person that had some darkness or bad inside them that was lying dormant waiting for the right victim to come along so you could unleash it on them.

You tried to shake the hopeless thoughts from your head. You knew that was your shock, grief, and misery speaking. Instead, you changed the lens to a logical one and began to explain away what had happened. Perhaps it had been Dean’s words or his very appearance. Or it could be what had happened and why you were here today. Or maybe it was even a combination of everything. The glass you had broken hadn’t been light, sure, but perhaps there had been a crack in it before that you hadn’t noticed. And it absolutely made sense that you were lashing out at Dean. He had shown up out of nowhere and began asking questions because of an article he’d read online, not even one of them being a simple ‘how are you?’. He hadn’t seen you in years and while he might not have known exactly who you were in relation to this situation, you were here for a funeral and you were washing dishes, everyone was trying to give you their condolences and watching you with pity — didn’t that account for something in his mind?

You didn’t have much more time to think on it when Dean suddenly reappeared with the first aid kit in hand. He laid it down on the table in front of you and slipped his jacket off, throwing it over the back of an empty chair. He quickly rolled up his shirt sleeves and took the seat next to you, gently taking your hand and carefully unfurling your fingers. “Alright, let’s see what we’ve got.”

You watched as he studied the slice in your palm. “Not too deep,” he approved. He then began checking your skin for any other glass fragments or cuts. When he determined you were good, he began to soak a cotton ball with peroxide before turning a wide smile on you. “Did you hear the one about the priest and the cop?”

Your brows furrowed. He was now trying to make jokes? Seriously? Not to mention, no, you’d never heard of that one nor did you want to. “The priest and the—” You let out a loud hiss and you dug your teeth into your bottom lip. “Fuck,” you painfully whispered. 

You moved your gaze from the cotton ball being dabbed against your broken skin to Dean who was watching you intently. He gave you an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“It’s fine,” you forced out as he continued to clean you up.

“So you didn’t tell me how you knew the family.” It was obvious he was trying to distract you from the painful stings of the ointment he was using but it also set your teeth on edge that he was still trying to get answers out of you that he wasn’t entitled to. 

When you didn’t respond, he glanced up at you expectantly.

Fine. Whatever. Let him judge along with all the others. I don’t care. It’s not like he matters to me anymore. “He was my brother,” you whispered.

Sure enough, his green eyes opened wide in surprise. “He was your brother?”

You gave a reluctant nod, choosing to glance around the room rather than look at him. 

“So the kids, they were…”

Your vision blurred slightly and you were unable to speak due to the lump that had been in your throat all day, making it hard to swallow. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from crying. You were resolved that you would not cry in front of anyone today, and you definitely would not cry in front of Dean Winchester. He’d seen enough of your tears back in Arizona.

You felt the movements on your hand cease altogether and you turned back to see the pity you’d been getting all day staring back at you. You hated it. “I’m so sorry.”

You nodded as if on autopilot and dropped your gaze back to your hand, waiting for him to finish so you could get out of here, away from him, away from the pity and the judgment that was sure to follow. He resumed the bandaging a moment later and you both spent the rest of the time in silence.

His brother’s appearance broke it. “Everything okay in here?”

Dean glanced up at you before looking at Sam. “Uh, yeah. Just a little accident but she’s good as new.” You saw him wince slightly at the words though he tried to hide it. That ticked your irritation a little higher though you had no idea why.

“May I?” Sam asked you, pulling out one of the empty chairs. At your subtle nod, he took a seat. You knew you should introduce yourself, finally officially meet the younger brother you’d heard so much about years ago, but you didn’t have it in you. You also weren’t surprised when Dean didn’t move to introduce you or that it was painfully obvious that he had never told Sam about you which just made you feel worse. It didn’t hurt, not in the way it would have back then, but it was like someone scratched a nail lightly along a long healed scar you had which would make you flinch slightly, hoping the nail would go away and forever leave the injury site untouched. Like a crater in the earth from a small asteroid; best to just leave it be and let nature take its course.

You flexed your hand as Dean put the dressings back into the kit. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Sam offered.

Feeling that autopilot mode come back into play, you mumbled, “Thank you.”

“I can’t imagine how tough this has been on you and your family.” You nearly snorted; what family? Perhaps they hadn’t noticed but you were it. “But if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple of questions about Scott and Leah.”

You briefly closed your eyes in pain at hearing their names, but not before you saw Dean’s head snap up to give Sam a look. “Not now.” He spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. 

Sam’s brows furrowed in confusion and he tilted his head questioningly, but remained silent.

You decided you’d had more than enough and you slowly got to your feet. Dean stood up as well, his hands reaching out to you as if to steady you, hanging in the air and unsure. You simply stared at him until he lowered his arms and compulsively swallowed. You spared a glance over at Sam and then turned to leave.

“Y/N.”

You stopped in your tracks but didn’t turn around. 

“Is there anything we can do? Anything you need?” Dean softly asked.

Anything they could do…anything you needed… You needed your family back, you needed to turn back the hands of time and get here sooner when Leah had called you out of the blue last week and begged you to come talk to Scott, saying he wasn’t acting like himself and she was worried. But since that didn’t appear to be an option, you simply shook your head and quietly answered, “Thank you for coming.” You then continued your trek out of the room, past the people who continued to offer you empty condolences or mutter statements like “They seemed like such a happy family”, and headed up the stairs, not caring in the least that you had a house full of people expecting you to be present so they could offer meaningless sympathies to someone. You ran to the bathroom and shut yourself inside it, sinking down behind the door and burying your face into your arms, hiding until everyone left and you could be alone again. You may have let out a few tears, a few quiet sobs, but no one would ever know.

“Dean, we can’t just leave her,” Sam tried to reason with his brother as they passed the crowd slowly making their way out of the home and headed towards the Impala. “We don’t even know what we’re dealing with yet.”

Dean pulled his keys out of his pocket, opening the back door of Baby to toss his jacket into. After you’d gone upstairs, he’d finished the dishes so you wouldn’t have to. He wouldn’t admit it to Sam but seeing the glass sticking out of your skin, you bleeding — it bothered him tremendously. It might have been a simple cut that had been easily patched up but it was you. It didn’t sit right with him just like this whole case hadn’t from the get go. 

He certainly hadn’t been expecting to see you after all of this time, while he was on a case of all things. He had hoped you were off living your life somewhere, happy as could be, in love, maybe have a kid or two — whatever you’d wanted. He had wanted you to have a normal life, a life untainted by the things that go bump in the night, something he would never get to experience himself. That was why he’d done the impossible and left you back in Sedona all those years ago. Granted, he’d been young and untethered and idiotic but those weeks he spent with you, those he would never forget. You were gorgeous, funny as hell, great in bed, you had a killer smile, and oh did you have one hell of a kind heart. You were a good girl with a wild streak who for some reason picked him though you could have had any number of guys knocking at your door. How could he not have fallen head over heels for you? And when you told him you loved him, being the first to say it between you, he’d felt something he never had before. When he was sixteen, he thought he knew what love was but boy had he been wrong.

Dean had wanted to stay with you back then, to hunker down and see where things went between you. After all, what would it hurt to put down roots for a little bit and not have to travel from motel room to motel room? To not have to sleep in the Impala for once? Besides, if Sam got to go to college and live his life, why couldn’t Dean do the same for a little while? It’s not like he would be quitting hunting or abandoning his dad to it alone, so why not? He may have only been 23 but he wanted to experience something he had always dreamed about but was told he would never have, and he wanted to experience it with you. Hell, you didn’t even need to stay in Sedona; you could settle down in Phoenix or Mesa or Tucson — or even travel to a different state. As long as he had you, he didn’t care where the two of you settled.

But of course, that had only been a dream, a momentary fantasy that felt real enough to almost touch before it was snatched out of his reach. John had called and demanded that he haul ass to Las Cruces to help him on a werewolf hunt, reminding him that he had an obligation to the family. Especially now that they were one man down thanks to Sammy’s big college adventure. Dean had tried to tell his father about you and the plan you both came up with, he really did, but John wouldn’t hear of it. The older man insisted it was infatuation, not the real thing, that he was too young to think about settling down, not to mention he was a hunter. And his dad scoffed when Dean mentioned that the way he felt about you reminded him of the stories John used to tell him and Sam about their parents meeting when they were young. He even proudly mentioned that you knew the words to every one of his favorite Led Zeppelin songs; he’d checked. He just knew John would love you if he’d be willing to meet you.

John then hit him with the truth that Dean had kept buried deep down and refused to acknowledge. If he stayed with you, you would never be safe. Even if he left hunting to be with you, you’d forever have a target on your back from every nasty evil thing he’d ever hunted. Just look at what happened to his Mary after she’d left hunting for a normal life. It followed her right up to Sammy’s nursery that night back in 1983 and killed her in front of his eyes. Dean’s own eyes had misted up as John’s words registered and from the silence, John knew he had been heard.

“Do what you have to do, son. I’ll see you in the morning.” The line clicked and Dean stared at the phone, a tear slipping down his cheek.

Needless to say, Dean had broken it off with you that very day, determined to ignore your tears and heartbroken pleas, knowing he was doing the right thing by you. He said what he knew you needed to hear, though it cut him up inside to say it. 

“I love you, Dean. Please,” you’d tearfully begged him. “Don’t leave.”

“I have to. I didn’t realize this was getting serious. I mean, we holed up together for a few weeks, we had some great sex, we had some laughs, some drinks, and a good time together, but that’s all it was ever going to be. You had to know that going into this, when you took me home from the bar that night. I’m pretty sure I even told you that I was only looking for a fun time while I was waiting for my next job. No strings attached because I’m just rolling through, remember?” 

As he watched the heartbreak play upon your face, he cowardly looked away as he rolled up his spare pairs of jeans and threw them into his duffel. If he looked at you, you’d see just how much you meant to him and just how much this was hurting him to have to do this to both of you.

“I’m 23 for Christ’s sake. I’m not looking to settle down, move in with a girlfriend, or get married and start cranking out kids. I want to live my life before I even start thinking about any of that crap.”

“But you said that you wanted to find a place together. You said you wanted to be with me. You said—” You whispered brokenly.

Dean’s jaw hardened and he turned away from you under the guise of grabbing his t-shirts and Henleys from the dresser drawer, shutting his eyes tightly. “It was just all talk. You know, us talking about what we’d do if our lives were different, what we’d want, like in a fantasy future. That kind of thing. I never actually meant any of it.” He heard the tiny gasp behind him and his fingers clenched around the material in his hands. Just get it done already. You’ve got work to do. The thought had been in John’s voice but Dean knew the thought was his own. He had to do this. He didn’t want to hurt you but he didn’t have any other choice. He couldn’t tell you why he had to leave and why he had to go without you. He couldn’t tell you that he was breaking your heart to keep you safe. He couldn’t admit that he was breaking his own so you could go and live a normal life, something he would never get to experience himself, so you could be happy after you forgot about him and dismissed him as a fun and wild lay that one time when you were young. That thought cut deeply into his chest and his resolve strengthened. No more drawing this out. You needed to let him go and move on; it was the only way to keep what he hunted in the shadows from ever touching you. 

“I didn’t think you did, either,” he forced out. Though he heard the beginning of a sob behind him in response, he made himself open his eyes and turned around to pack the rest of his stuff. He never allowed himself to look over at you to see the pain he’d inflicted on you; he heard it well enough.

Even when he threw his bags in the backseat of Baby and slammed the door shut, he refused to meet your wet gaze. He kept his hands glued to his sides, clenched in fists, because they itched to pull you into his arms for one last hug, for one last kiss to your head, but he wouldn’t allow himself to. He didn’t deserve it. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.” Without waiting for your response, he got into the Impala and started her up, revving the engine before pulling away from you for good.   

He would never forget the devastated look on your face in his side view mirror as he drove away from you, how you’d hugged yourself and brokenly turned to go back into the motel room the two of you had shared. It wasn’t any consolation but he was glad he’d handled the bill earlier and he’d even charged another week to one of the cards he had so this way you wouldn’t have to worry about a thing. You could take a little time to figure out where to go from there. Sure, if his dad knew, he’d tear him a new one, but he never intended on telling John or anyone about you. You’d be better protected that way. No demon or witch could mine that information. And since he himself didn’t know where you’d go, they wouldn’t be able to get it out of him either. Not to mention, he told himself over and over that he didn’t love you until he began to believe it. That you two wouldn’t have worked out and you had just about run your course before John had called him. Who was to say that you two would have even been able to settle on an apartment or house to move into together? You barely knew each other. Plus, you were both young and you would change as you got older, as people do, and your dreams, desires, and needs would change. Either hunting would have taken a toll on the relationship or you would have grown apart. So, though it had been harsh, he had actually done you both a favor. He spared you both heartache later on by causing you a little at that moment. Dean was very good about compartmentalizing things when it suited him. You were safe and that was all that mattered. So yes, he made himself forget about you and how he felt about you, and he didn’t look back. That look of yours, though, that destroyed and heartbroken look…it had haunted him for months. But he told himself that if that was the price of protecting you, he’d gladly pay it. With enough alcohol, hunts, and faceless women, the memory of the look all but faded into the distance of the past. 

Eventually, time passed and then of course, Cassie had come along. He’d learned from what had happened with you and he’d been up front with Cassie about who he really was and that didn’t end well. Not to mention his time with Lisa and Ben. But over this period of time, he had also finally convinced himself that you had probably gotten over him and found somebody else who could give you the life he never could, the life you deserved. He wanted that for you and yet it seemed that no matter how hard he’d tried to give it to you in his own way all those years ago, the supernatural and all the pain and devastation it brought seemed to have found you anyway. 

“We’re not leaving her,” Dean assured his brother after breaking himself out of his reverie. Ignoring Sam’s confused expression at Dean opening the driver side door, he glanced up towards the upper level of the house, knowing you were hiding away somewhere beyond those walls. An elderly neighbor had assured him that she and her husband would stay in the home for the next hour or so in case you needed anything.

He slipped into the driver seat, followed by Sam getting in on the passenger side, and started Baby up. He put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb, intent on getting to the motel to change and ready himself for the conversation he knew he needed to have with you now. Truthfully, it was a conversation he should have had with you a long time ago. It was time to give you the talk. He’d left you alone back in that motel room all of those years ago; he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

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[fanfictionalraven]

Dream Warriors Chapter 5

Title: Dream Warriors Chapter 5

Summary: Things begin to get more clear for the reader, in more ways than one.

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, other original characters, other SPN characters

Word Count: 3,172

Warnings: Infidelity, a car crash?

Author’s Note: Let me know what you think!! Enjoy!!

Read Chapter 4 here.

It was still too early, around 4:00 in the morning. You knew Dean wasn’t going to be up for another couple of hours so you stay in the bed and consider a few things. You think about the previous night’s events, the moment you’d shared with Dean. He did know you, better than anyone. You think about the dream where you’d made love to Dean once again. Everything was suddenly so clear you begin to wonder how you’d ever missed it. Your decision was already made as you climb out of the bed.

Quickly and quietly, you move about the room, getting dressed. You slip into your own jeans and a tank top before going into Dean’s closet. You find your favorite of his flannels and pull it on, knowing Dean won’t mind. In fact, you already knew he loved seeing you in his clothes. He’d said so, after all.

Tiptoeing through the hall past the guest room Dean was sound asleep in, you move into the kitchen. Coffee is the first thing you start about, making a whole pot so that Dean can have some as well when he gets up. You reach into his cabinet and pull down what you know is his favorite mug. World’s Best Godfather. You’d gotten it for him shortly after Ella had been born. You run your fingers over the lettering and bite your lip before setting it on the counter next to the coffee maker.

After finding a decent sized travel mug, you fill it up and set it aside to cool off just enough. You find a notepad and pen before writing out a quick note to Dean.

I’ll be back this afternoon with Ella. Have a good day! Y/N

You leave the note under the edge of his mug before starting for the door. It was still early but you knew one particular early bird who would be up and ready to listen to you. You make the short drive to your parents’ house and, sure enough, the porch and kitchen lights are already on. Your mother was always up before the sun, a trait you didn’t normally share.

Making your way up to the door, you decide that knocking would probably scare her less than just walking in at this hour, so you rap at the door gently, just loud enough for her to hear. A moment later, you can see your mother peeking through the window of the door. It opens and she smiles at you warmly.

“Ready to talk?” She asks. You let out a small laugh and nod your head in response. She opens the door completely, allowing you in. The two of you move into the kitchen together. “Hungry? She asks.

“No thanks,” you tell her as you take a seat at the counter. She pulls herself onto the stool next to you and waits patiently for you to begin. You look at your hands, realizing for the first time that you hadn’t bothered to put on your rings this morning. “I’m leaving Jackson.”

“Why?” She asks. You look at her, confused. That wasn’t the jubilant cheer you’d expected. Her face is emotionless, impossible for you to read.

“He’s been having an affair with one of his students,” you tell her. A laugh breaks from her and you stare at her, even more confused. She wasn’t reacting at all like you’d expect.

“He’s been having an affair and Dean’s let him live this long?” She asks. You smile a little and shrug.

“I think he realizes he couldn’t take care of us from prison too well,” you joke. That earns another laugh and your smile grows a little more. Your mother’s hand reaches over, clasping yours.

“You’re handling this well,” she says. You shake your head, looking down at your hands in hers.

“I didn’t at first. I blamed myself, thought I wasn’t good enough for him or that I had done something wrong. But last night, with Dean…and then I had this dream…” You trail off and look back up at your mother now. “I don’t love Jackson like I thought I did. Honestly, I’ve been wracking my brain trying to remember why I even married him.” She smiles a little sadly and reaches up, pushing your hair behind your ear.

“You did love him. I saw that. But something changed. Before you were even married, you didn’t look at him the same way. Of course, you never looked at him the way you look at…” She stops and bites her lip.

“Dean,” you finish for her, nodding. “It’s always been Dean. I can’t believe I was too stupid to realize it.”

“Stupid’s a strong word,” she says, touching your cheek gently. You laugh a little and shrug. A cry from upstairs draws your attention and you break into a wide smile.

“I’ll get her,” you tell your mother before rising to your feet. You make your way up the stairs and to your old bedroom that had been converted back into a nursery after your brother’s son was born. Ella’s standing up in the crib, reaching for you when you walk through the door.

You take your daughter into your arms and hold her to you, swaying back and forth slowly. After calming down, she looks up at you and giggles, her hand coming to rest on your cheek. You press a kiss to her tiny palm as you take in those beautiful green eyes, shining up at you. The two of you go back down to the kitchen where your mother is still waiting. While you were gone, she fixed some baby cereal for Ella. You return to your stool and set her in your lap, feeding her breakfast to her.

“Can I make a confession?” You ask, looking up at your mother. She laughs and nods, running a hand over Ella’s soft curls. “You remember when Jackson and I had that huge fight and I called off the wedding?”

“Only to put the whole thing back on a week later? Rings a bell,” she teases. You nod and look down at Ella.

“Well…the night of the fight…I ended up at Dean’s,” you tell her. You glance up at her, a blush creeping into your cheeks. Her eyes widen in realization.

“Oh. I see. And you still went back to Jackson?” She asks. You sigh and shrug your shoulders.

“He went back to Lisa. I just thought…we agreed it was a one-time thing, ya know?” You tell her, wiping some stray cereal from Ella’s cheek. Your mother nods and smiles at Ella widely when she looks up at her grandmother, giggling. It only takes a moment for the next realization to hit her with a gasp.

“Ella…” She says, causing you both to look at her. You bite your lip and nod. “I always thought she favored him.” Ella giggles and slaps at the counter joyously. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Jackson was always so meticulously careful. I almost wasn’t sure he’d believe me when I told him,” you say. Your mother frowns and nods as she processes this new information.

“Why lie to him? Why not be with Dean?” She asks. You sigh and shake your head slightly.

“By the time I found out, he was with Lisa again,” you explain. She rises from her stool and makes her way around the counter to begin cooking breakfast.

“Does Dean know?” She asks, pulling some eggs from the fridge. You feed another spoonful of cereal to Ella.

“I think he suspects. Maybe even hopes. But I haven’t told him,” you tell her. “I think I will tonight.”

“He’ll be over the moon. To have both of you,” she says, smiling over at you widely. You bite your lip, nervously.

“I hope so,” you say. Your mother laughs at that and shakes her head.

“That boy has been in love with you for as long as I can remember,” she says. You can’t help the blush that creeps into your cheeks as you look down at Ella again.

“Okay. Can you keep her for a few more hours? I’m gonna go see a lawyer and Jackson. Then I’ll pick her up and take her to Dean’s with me,” you explain. Your mother nods as she lays some bacon out on a pan.

After giving her a quick kiss on the cheek, you set Ella in the playpen in the corner of the room and leave the house. There’s still some time to kill before any lawyer is going to be in their office so you decide to head to the house instead. You mentally prepare yourself to confront Jackson, however, upon arriving you discover that his car isn’t at the house. You check your phone for the first time and find a text from him, something had come up and he’d had to pull an all-nighter at the office.

Rolling your eyes, you make your way into the house. You spend the next few hours packing yours and Ella’s things into plastic crates you find in the attic. After you get as much as you can loaded into your car, you drive across town to the office for a lawyer you remembered a friend using in her divorce. You explain the situation to her and she agrees to help you. You leave her office and drive straight to the campus to deliver the news to Jackson personally. You park your car in the small lot and stare at the building in front of you.

“Just march in there and tell him,” you tell yourself before getting out of the car. Your march becomes more confident as you get closer to his office. You pause outside his door when you hear a distinctly female giggle before bursting into the room.

Chrissy, the gorgeous blonde from the texts, is sat on his desk, her shirt open and hanging off her shoulders. Jackson stands between her knees sucking a fairly substantial hickey onto her neck. They both jump and Jackson falls into his chair at the sight of you. Chrissy slowly pulls her shirt back on, eyeing you cautiously.

“Y/N,” Jackson says, standing from his chair. You shake your head and hold up a hand.

“Chrissy, isn’t it?” You ask, looking at the younger girl. Her eyes widen and she nods slightly. You give her a patient smile. “Would you mind giving me a minute with my husband?” She glances at Jackson once before picking her bag up and leaving the office quickly.

“Let me explain,” Jackson says, taking a cautious step forward. You let out a laugh and shake your head.

“There’s nothing to explain, Jackson. I’ve already packed mine and Ella’s things. We’re going to stay with Dean. You should be hearing from my lawyer soon,” you tell him. He nods slightly and you stare at him, incredulously. “You aren’t even going to fight to keep us, are you?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “This just…this isn’t what I wanted. What I thought I was getting. I never wanted kids for one thing.” His words wash over you and, while you had remained calm to this point, the anger begins to build instantly.

“You’re blaming this on Ella?” You ask, your voice strained. He shrugs his shoulders again. You nod and glance around the office. There wasn’t a single picture of you or her to be seen. “Well…good thing she isn’t yours then,” you snap. His eyes widen immediately.

“I knew it!! I knew you slept with him!!” He shouts, almost victoriously. “I hope you weren’t expecting child support.” You roll your eyes, turning for the door.

“I’m not. Don’t worry. Her real father, the one actually loves her, will take care of her,” you tell him before closing the door behind you. You run your hands over your face as you make your way back out to the car. Your phone rings in your back pocket and you pull it out. Dean. You can’t help but smile as you put the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, Gorgeous! Hadn’t heard from you all morning, except for your note. Wanted to make sure you were okay,” he says. You can hear the concern in his voice as you climb in to the driver’s seat of your car.

“I’m great. I talked to Mom. Talked to a lawyer. Caught Jackson in the act in his office,” you tell him, turning the key in the ignition.

“You caught him?? With the girl?? Do I need to help you hide the bodies?” He asks. You laugh and shake your head as you back out of the parking lot.

“No. I didn’t kill them, don’t worry. He tried to blame Ella though,” you say. Dean’s quiet for a moment and you instantly regret telling him that.

“He did what?” He asks, flatly. You sigh as you pull onto the main road.

“He blamed his cheating on the fact that he never wanted kids. I told him it was…” You stop and bite your lip. “Wasn’t her fault.”

“Damn straight it’s not her fault. Or your fault. He better hope we don’t run into each other,” he says, anger in his words. You smile a little and shake your head.

“It’s fine, Dean. It’s over. I don’t even want anything from him. Alimony or child support…nothing. As long as he just signs the papers, I couldn’t care less,” you tell him. There’s another pause on the other end of the line before Dean speaks again.

“So, you and Ella are both staying tonight?” He asks. You could swear you heard a hopeful note in his voice, and you laugh lightly.

“We are. If that’s okay,” you say. You can practically see him rolling his eyes.

“Of course. You two can stay as long as you want,” he says. “You can share my bed. I’ll stay in the guest room again.”

“We’ll discuss sleeping arrangements later,” you tell him. A rush of exhaustion washes over you and you shake your head quickly to stay awake.

“Oh?” He asks, that hopeful note back. You blink a few times to refocus on the road.

“Y/N,” Dean’s voice says. But it doesn’t come from the phone. It seems to come from somewhere further away.

“Oh no,” you mumble, feeling your eye lids grow heavy. “No, no, no.”

“Y/N,” Dean says again. This time you aren’t sure which Dean says it, the one from the phone or the one from your dream. Your head slumps forward.

Everything happens so fast.

You bolt upright in the motel bed, still naked under the sheets. Dean’s standing at the edge of the bed, a bit bloody from the hunt but smiling.

“Case closed,” he says, dusting off his jacket. You stare at him and his face falls slowly as you feel something warn on your head. “Y/N?” He asks. You reach up and press your fingers to your forehead. When you pull them away, you find them covered in blood. “Sam!!” Dean calls out, rushing to your side. You let out a blood-curdling scream as pain shoots through various points in your body; your head, your ribs, your left leg. You fall into Dean’s arms as you slip out of consciousness.

For the first time in a long time, everything goes completely dark. You can feel the pain from your injuries but it isn’t as bad. In the distance, you can hear several sounds breaking through the darkness. They’re all muddled and you can barely make them out. Dean’s voice, frantically calling your name. Sam’s voice, asking questions. Another voice, a woman you don’t recognize shouting orders. There are other sounds, background noises, machines going crazy.

As soon as it starts, everything stops again. The sounds die down except for one. The steady rhythm of a heart monitor. You slowly manage to open your eyes and take in the room you’re in now. A hospital room, plainly decorated. You’re by yourself, none of the people you’d heard speaking previously are there.

The door to your room opens and you look over quickly to find Dean, relief clear on his face when he sees you.

“Thank God. I was worried sick,” he says. “She’s awake,” he calls out to someone in the hall. He sighs as he steps into the room, rushing to your side. You nod slightly, trying to think, trying to remember. Which you are you?

“What happened?” You ask, trying to clear things up. Dean sighs and shrugs.

“You fell asleep behind the wheel. Ran off into a ditch. You’ve got a concussion, few broken ribs, and a pretty nasty gash in your leg,” he says. Behind the wheel.

Just then, the door opens again. People begin to file into the room. Your parents with Ella, Dean’s parents, Sam and Jessica, and a woman who seems vaguely familiar but out of place. She’s petite and blonde with green and blue streaks in her hair. She comes to Dean’s side, wrapping her arms around one of his.

“Thanks for coming,” he says, smiling down at her. She smiles back at him and nods before looking over at you.

“How are you feeling?” The strange woman asks. You shake your head slightly, trying to place where you know her from.

“Confused, I guess. Head hurts a bit,” you tell him. A hand comes to rest on your forearm and you look over at Sam, Jessica’s hand held tightly in his own.

“That’s the concussion, I’m sure,” he says. You nod and look over as the doctor comes into the room.

“Alright, let’s give her some room to breathe,” he announces. “Let me look her over and you can come back in. A few at a time.” Everyone gives you a worried smile before starting to file back out of the room. The woman turns to Dean and kisses his cheek.

“I have to get back to work,” she tells him. He nods and watches as she leaves the room. You frown slightly, looking between them, then reach out and catch Dean’s hand.

“Who was that?” You ask when he looks back at you. He frowns as he takes a step back, squeezing your hand.

“It hasn’t been that long, Sweetheart,” he says. You frown at him. “I mean, she was your best friend for years.”

“Dean,” you say, shaking your head.

“That was Lisa, Y/N,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief, trying to reconcile this Lisa with the one in your mind. You recalled Lisa as a tall, brunette not a short blonde with colorful streaks.

It hits you like a flash of lightening. Memories of Dean and Lisa. When he’d gone back to see her and found out about Ben. Ben. Her son. Dean had lived with them for a year while he thought Sam was gone. Sam had been in Hell.

Hell…not Stanford.

Hell is real. Demons are real. Monsters are real.

This isn’t real. And you know exactly who’s behind it all.

Read Chapter 6 here.

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @call-me-mrs-winchester

Dream Warriors: @aylacavebear @winharry @djs8891 @suckitands33 @rickgrimeswifeu @deans-spinster-witch @jackles010378 @foxyjwls007 @alisyacsa @cutiesarah @urinternetmom @justrealizedimmascifygurl @kr804573 @thej2report @just-levyy @snowayumi @deans-baby-momma @demons-eats-pie-too @brightlilith

[justwhisperingfantasies]

Memories Part 1

Characters: Dean Winchester x Female Reader, Sam Winchester, Castiel. Mention of other SPN characters.

Warnings: near-death experience, language, angst (kind of), cute dean, fluff (kind of) not exactly cannon.

A/N: This is my first ever fic post. Please go easy on me. Hope you enjoy

Summary: You've had your memory wiped and sent off to your death. Sam, Dean, and Cas save you just before it is too late. the guys struggle with being strangers to you after all the years you have shared. You are forced into a life-altering dilemma.

Word count: 3,142 words

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This is it. This is how I die. You thought to yourself.

After all the hunts, all the monsters, all the bullshit. 

You hear the door being kicked down as you think about everything you would have done differently.

"CAS! Get over there she needs you!"

You feel arms wrap around you and then lift you as you slip into the darkness.

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You wake in a panic on a strange bed. Sitting up to examine your wounds, but there's none to be found. What the hell?! I should be dead. Was it all a nightmare? It couldn't have been, It felt so real! Where the hell am I? You scan the room and notice there is a small writing desk in the far left corner. A sink with a mirror above in the far right corner. A  door that was halfway open in the middle. Nothing fancy.

"(y/n)"

You turn your head in the direction of the voice. Your eyes find a man with dark messy hair, a lighthearted expression, and the bluest eyes you've ever seen.

"(y/n), Everything is alright. Don't freak out. My name is Castiel. I'm here to help. We are lucky we found you when we did."

"Umm.." just as you were about to blurt out every question that came to mind his cell phone started ringing. He gave you a soft smile and answered it.

"Dean..... Yes, she's alive... Yes, I healed them all…..  She seems to be okay. Maybe a bit confused... Sitting in the spare bedroom looking at me like I have 3 heads..... Well, I haven't gotten a chance to explain everything.... okay, see you soon."

All these thoughts and questions are swirling in your head, but you've lost the ability to talk.

"Before we get into it, do you need anything? Thirsty? Hungry? Bathroom?" Castiel asked, putting his phone away.

You Shook your head no, still at a loss for words.

"Alright then, like I said. My name is Castiel. I'm an angel..."

You laugh out loud at the world angel. "You're an angel?! Like an angel of the lord?"

"Well yes, but exactly." 

"You're an angel? And you came to save me?"

"Yes. As I was saying, we are here to help you."

"We?"

"My friends and I."

"Let me guess they are angels too." You say rolling your eyes. "Look, bud, I've seen some crazy shit in my life, but angels?!"

"With all the crazy shit you've seen in your life.." He mocked you. "Why are angels so hard to believe?" He asked with a smile on his face.

"One, I have no idea why this is so amusing to you. Two, if you are an angel of the Lord." You mocked him right back. "Then where is he? What kind of god would let there be so much evil and unnecessary death in the world?"

He chuckled "I didn't say he was a good person or that he even cares, but I know he does exist."

"Then he's not much of a god now, is he?" you were starting to get very annoyed. "okay, I believe you or whatever, can we just get to the point? Why am I here? How did I get here? Where is here? And how do I get home?"

"Well, I could have started explaining everything  if I didn't get interrupted." He stated. You couldn't tell if he was being an ass or if he didn't banter well. You made the gesture of zipping your lips. You probably wouldn't believe anything this psycho said. but you might get another good laugh. "You see (y/n) we have met before. we had this same conversation already."

"Wha.."

"Ah, I thought you zipped it?" He teased smiling 

RUN!! Your mind screamed at you but found yourself compelled to keep listening.

“Three months ago you were captured by the British men of letters,” The confusion must have shown on your face. “It's a hunting organization. They conducted a brainwash memory wipe experiment on you. Then forced you to work for them. We spent countless hours searching and trying to track you, but with your brains and their technology, it was impossible.” 

You looked up to find guilt in his eyes. You quickly looked back down as you crossed your legs and started fidgeting with your hoodie sleeve. 

“You started asking too many questions. They decided you weren't worth the risk. So they mind-wiped you once more, then sent you to your death.”

“The vampire nest,” you interrupted, an apologetic grin on your face.

“Yes. There weren't just 6 vampires living in that nest. There was about 20. You are an excellent hunter, but you couldn't handle 20 vamps that also had a heads up.”

“But how did you find me?” 

“We got a call from one of them, he explained everything and gave us your GPS information.” He explained. “Do you remember anything before the vampire nest mission?”

“Sort of. I know that I had been working for them for a while, but I don't remember the group name or any of the individuals’ names. I didn't even question it. It's like I just knew I had a mission and it had to be completed. Seems pretty damn stupid now.” you confessed as you got on your feet and started pacing near the bed. 

“y/n, you were brainwashed you can't blame yourself. They programmed you to listen not to question things.” 

“Yeah, I guess. Still, I feel so stupid. But why me? Why am I so special? Why does an angel and his friends care so much? Why would a British hunting organization come for me?” you were a good hunter sure, but not the greatest.

He was just about to answer when the sound of a familiar voice made you stop in your tracks.

“CAS?!” You had heard it earlier just before you passed out. 

“In Here” Castiel yelled back with a smile 

You heard heavy boots rush down the hall. 

You jumped at the door slamming against the wall as two brawny men bursts in. Relief washed over their faces the second they saw you.

The shorter of the two looked at Castiel for reassurance. 

“Dean. She's alright, Just confused, and maybe a bit nervous.” He had noticed your telltales signs. 

Dean looked back at you raising his eyebrows like he was waiting for your confirmation.

“Very confused, but physically I feel fine.” 

He rushed over to you, and before you could react, you were in his embrace. You were resistant at first, but the feeling of his arms wrapped around you made you feel at peace. You inhaled deeply as the sandalwood, vanilla musk that had a hint of leather and gunpowder swirled around you. It's like you could feel the anxiety drain out of you. And you couldn't help but hug him back,

“I'm sorry," he said as he untightened his arms. “I'm just really glad that you’re okay.” a touch of pink on his cheeks as he stepped back a little. 

“It's alright” you smiled at him. You were more mad that it ended rather than it happened, but there's no way you would admit it. “So Castiel, an angel of the lord. (you pointed at Cas) Dean is a strange guy who likes to hug. (you then pointed at Dean) And?.” you pointed at the towering man. You saw the hurt in their eyes even though they all tried to hide it with a smile.

‘I’m Sam.” he introduced himself. “The giant with great hair.” his smile got a little bigger. 

“Gotcha” you giggled. Your laughter eased the tension in the air a little bit.

“You got to be hungry. Let's go find something to eat,” Sam said, gesturing to the door.

“I am starving. Lead the way, Bunyan.” your lips twisted into a teasing smile. This whole situation was so weird. You actually trusted these 3 strangers. Well, they did just save your life you argued inside your head. There was more to it than that. You could feel the love and care they had for you.

He chuckled as you guys walked out the door.

Dean walked over and shut the door. “Well, it's nice she still has her banter, huh,” he said, smiling.

“Yes. although it does hurt when she looks at you like a stranger…” Castiel's words stung, but Dean knew they were so freaking true.

“We are going to fix all that. I talked to Mick on the way over. He was getting on a plane. He said he would call when They landed. That was about an hour ago. So I guess we just hang out and get tortured until he gets here.”

“Sounds great,” Castiel said sarcastically. “Dean, I don't mean to be the “Debbie downer”, but with all the crazy she's been through do you think there's a chance she doesn't want it fixed?”

Dean shot Cas a bewildered glance.

“Think about it. If you got rid of all your bad memories and bullshit, would you want it Fixed?” The sadness showed in Dean's eyes. “I'm not trying to be an asshole. Just looking At the situation and all the options.” Castiel explained. 

“Yes! I would fix it in a fucking heartbeat. I wouldn't trade my Good memories for anything.” Dean exclaimed. He couldn't help but feel hurt. He and (y/n) had some great memories. It would kill him if she chose never to get them back. “I'm gonna grab her some clean clothes. Betcha Sammie is gonna make her favorite,” he said walking towards the door.

************************************************************************

You followed Sam into the hallway. It was brighter out here with a blueish tile halfway up the wall. The upper half was a painted white drywall. All the doorways were accented with a pretty white brick.

“What the heck is this place?” you have never seen anything like it.

“Did Castiel get to the men of letters?”

“Yeah, well, the British ones.” 

“ Well, there was an American chapter too.”

“Was?”

“From What I read, back in 1958, some experiments they were doing went wrong and killed most of them The survivors were never seen again. This was their bunker. Dean and I are legacies Apparently.”

He led through a doorway that opened Into a big, beautiful library. Your eyes went wide. So many books, So much lore, and kick-ass swords on display. 

“Yeah, you always did like this room .” He said with a smile. 

“It's beautiful! I get to borrow all your books right? “

he chuckled, “I'm Pretty sure you've read most of them. 

You laughed “Too bad I can't remember any of it.”

“Shit, I'm sorry. “ he said as he closed his eyes and shook his head

“Don't worry about it, big guy. I'm just giving you shit.”

He started walking in the direction of another doorway.

“So I was thinking of making your favorite, but I can make something quicker. I'm sure Dean and Cas wouldn't mind going out even if that's what you want.”

“I can…”

“You can let me make you something.” he cut you off in a teasing tone.

You rolled your eyes “ Fine, Just whatever is easier for you. Although it would be easier if we just went out.” You had a tough time with letting people take care of you. 

You have a look around the kitchen. It was nice, very spacious. A bit dull compared to the library though. No cabinets, they had a decent-sized island with shelves under it. A baker's rack on the far side. They had a walk-in pantry and tons of fridge space. Okay, this kitchen was pretty badass you admit to yourself. The best part was the coffee machine. A Bella Pro Series Combo. It Makes a pot of coffee on one side and espresso drinks on the other. You always took coffee seriously, but you would never have thought that these guys would. 

“Do you mind if make a cup?” you asked as you walked up to the machine. 

He smiled. “Should have known. Have at it, But just a heads up you will probably be making more than one.”

“Eh, I'm okay with that. Do you want one?”

“Oh my God, yes!!” 

His reaction made you chuckle “I wouldn't peg you guys as serious coffee people.”

“We aren't really. Dean bought that for you a couple of years ago. He said he got tired of you complaining about the old one.” He smiled.  “Dean and Cas are probably gonna want one too. It's been a while since we had your coffee.”

You look up to see Dean walking in. You make eye contact and he grins from ear to ear. His bright green eyes filled with love. Your knees go weak and you can't help but mirror his smile. 

“Hey, bab…. err (y/n) I got you some clothes so you can clean up,” he said still smiling. You traded him the clothes for his coffee. Which he immediately put to his lips and sipped. “Mmmm. God I missed this.”

“So (y/n) how does (your favorite food) sound?” Sam asked. You didn't want to burden him but he just seemed so excited to make it for you. 

“That sounds amazing.” You smiled 

“Dean can show you around and I'll get started.” He said pulling food out of the fridge. 

You turned to Dean. He pointed at the extra coffee sitting on the counter “Cas.? You nodded. He picked it up then nudged his head toward the doorway and started walking. You followed. 

“How ya feelin?” He asked as you guys walked into the library. 

“ I told you I'm feeling Fine. Nothing hurts, no holes.” 

You guys walked over to Castiel. He was sitting at the first of two long wooden tables. He had a laptop in front of him and books open on both sides.

“Here bud.”  Dean handed the coffee over. 

Castiel looked up from the book in his hands. His eyes flashed to you then back to Dean. Dean smiled and nodded his head.

The excitement showed on Castile's face. “Thank you!!”  you grinned. 

Dean started walking again. You followed him into the next room. There was an open staircase on the opposite side and a huge table in the middle. As you pass the table you notice the top is a screen-like world map. He noticed you looking at it. “Sam seems to think it's some kind of radar. We can't figure out how to get the damn thing on though.” you nod as he leads you up the stairs.

“Well I'm glad Cas got you healed up, but I wasn’t asking about your physical state. You almost died, had everything healed, met an angel, and were told that you have a past life you can't remember. On top of that, you have two creepy guys smiling at you and telling you they're so glad you're back.”

“Eh, another day in the life.” you joked trying to avoid your emotions.

He could read through your bullshit. “ Seriously, I know I'm a stranger in your mind, but I’m here if you need to talk.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it. All of it.” you gave him a half smile.

Topping the stairs he pointed to a door. “And here you will find an exit on your right” he gave you his best flight attendant voice.  Of course, you laugh. How could you not? He was so adorable.

He turned around still pointing “Down there's the uh dungeon slash storage.” he turned back and started walking “Our room is this way.”

“Our room?!” you raised your eyebrows

His body stiffened a little “ roomsss. I said our rooms.”

“Oh. my bad.” 

You continue down the hallway. “Here is the infirmary. We mainly use it for storage. You walk a little ways more. “Sammy's room”  he was sorta distant now. Was he really that offended that you misheard him? Right after Sam's room, there's a doorway. “ At the end of the hall, there's a stairwell” Little ways more. “This is my room.” he clenched his jaw after he said it. The hall continues but there's also a hallway on the right. He pointed down the hall you are in “man cave, another bedroom.”

“Man cave, No girls allowed?”

“Ehh usually not, but I guess you're cool enough” Finally some of the tension eased. And he turned down the other hall. There was a door on the left. “This one is yours”.

You walk up to the door and hesitantly open it. As you turn the light on your jaw drops. It's a totally different vibe than the rest of the bunker. the floor was a wooden panel. The walls a soft white with a clock on one and art on the other, a King-size bed in the middle that had white bedding with navy blue sheets and accent pillows. There were two nightstands on each side.  A navy blue dresser sat on the same wall as the door with picture frames all along the top of it. You walked over to look at them. You picked one up, it was a young couple holding a newborn baby in the hospital. You didn't recognize them. 

“That's your folks and you.” Dean was watching you while leaning on the doorframe 

“They look happy” You picked up the next one a young couple standing with arms around each other, next to a black car. It kinda looked like you and Dean. You looked up at him asking the question with your eyes.

“Yeah, that's us when we were 17,” he reassured you as he walked over “and this is us about 2 years ago.” he pointed to a picture of him kissing you on the cheek. He pointed at another. “This one is right after you. me. and Sam finished our first hunt together. We were 22. Sam was 18.” you were in the middle of them, blood splatters all over the 3 of you. You blinked back tears. “I took this one not too long ago.” it was of you and Cas making silly faces. He pointed to one of you and an older man. “This is Bobby Singer. He was a great man. Kinda a father figure to all of us.” the last one was a group shot. Cas, Sam, Dean, (with his arm around you) Bobby the man Dean just told you about, but he was in a wheelchair, and two blondes you did recognize. You pointed at the older blonde woman and looked up at Dean. “That's Ellen, she was like your crazy cool aunt, and Jo (he pointed at the younger one.)  was like your little sister.” A tear had managed its way down your cheek. Dean wiped it away. “It's gonna be ok. We have a way to fix your memory if that's what you want.”

************************************************************************

[dotthings]

Oh, this moment on the Jensen and Rob panel at Jib14 made me so happy.

Jensen: If every time they hurt Dean, they hit his heart, they hit his chest?…Oh like a heart attack? Gosh I’ve never thought about that. That’s a really interesting like…pick up. Maybe. That’s a writer question, that’s a good question. That was never something that was conveyed to me, that was never something that was told to me, that we’re going to attack Dean’s heart the most and it’s because he’s got the biggest heart. But it’s a really good kind of perception or perspective on the story and I think it might have been one of those happy accidents that it happened that way, maybe subconsciously to the writers and probably subconsciously to me, if you want to get Dean, that’s where you get him. And it makes sense….thank you…now I’m going to think about that for the rest of the day! Thanks a lot! Rob: That was like poetry. Jensen: That was beautiful.

Although, I doubt it wasn't on purpose on the part of the writers--we've seen the symmetry on spn, we've seen how it rhymes. Although I'm sure there are a few things where they'd do it the first time, and then realize how that came across symbolically, and then keep leaning into it, because that's how creative process sometimes work. (Just saying, fandom leans way too hard into the assumption everything good on spn was accidental instead of understanding, no it wasn't, but accidents are part of the creative process, too). There's deliberate reasons Death went for Dean's heart in 15.18, for example.

Anyway I appreciate Jensen's comment here and the fan's analysis and Jensen's appreciation of their analysis and Jensen's idea that it was subconsciously in his own mind even if he didn't think about it that way himself before. Because Dean has a really big heart, and "if you want to get to Dean, that's where you get him." Bingo.

LOL poor Jensen caught Dean feelings. His faux grumpiness about it absolutely sent me. Yes, same Jensen. We do this to each other in fandom all the time. Now I've caught Dean feelings too, thanks a lot Jensen, now I'm going to think about this for the rest of the evening!!! And I'm going to spread the Dean feelings just by making this post!!! Jensen has to suffer Dean feelings, so do we!!!

[rustys-lodge]

Requested by anon : Hey could I request a spn fic? With Dean and Sam and a little sister reader, and it’s during one of their big fights (like one where they ended up parting ways for a while, like when they fight about John in season 1, or about how to kill Lilith later in the show, or whichever one you want), and they have to make her pick who she goes with? And she’s like super upset cuz she doesn’t want to pick between them.

Warnings : just angst

-----

After a lot of ear-deafening yelling, Dean and Sam decided to split ways. One could not stand the other anymore. But who could both of them stand ? You.

So there you were, in the dead of night, ONCE again, in the middle of a family breakup.

"Come on, baby. You know i'll--i'll take better care of you." Sam took a pleading step towards you, to which you responded with a step back.

You couldn't do this anymore. Each one of them using their "kindness" towards as leverage.

"I won't come home drunk to you, every night." He shot a deadly look to Dean. Ouch.

Overwehlmed. And devastated. You huffed.

Your brothers are fighting, again. And they're both trying to get you to come with them. You'd be flattered, but they're fighting over you. And it's getting somehow claustrophobic. And you're close to fuming.

"You know that i won't leave you...Come with me." Sam sounded more convincing than Dean, who...hasn't said a word in a while. That is until Sam spoke again, causing a scoff to break Dean's silence.

"You won't leave her, you mean like the first time...Oh wait ! the second too. And the th-"

"I'm here you ffuckers." A sudden shout erupted from your throat and your eyes furiously dart from one boy to the other.

"He-"

"Oh shut up, Dean. Now's not the time to play big brother, alright ?" You grimace and Dean drops his eyes to the floor, nodding to himself.

And before it fully quieted down, Dean spoke.

"You know what, kid ?"

Your heart skipped a beat at the sudden change in your brother's voice. Not that he yelled or anything. But a sudden seriousness laced his voice. A sudden acknowledgement of the situation, if you may say.

He sounded done.

"I got it ! We're both fuckups and you're not sure which fuckup to choose." Dean lifted his head slightly, heading for his pre-prepared bag. He "You want to go with me ? fine. You want him ? Fine as well. You want to go alone ? Might as well do that." He raised his chin in disappointment.

"I'll be at the bar, and if you're not there in an hour. I'm gone, Y/n." Dean looked you straight in the eyes. "Gone." Before marching towards the door, not one single peek back.

You staggered back until you plumped on the bed, bouncing on the latter as your back hit the covers.

you took a deep breath in, because there you were, suddenly drowning in a sea of thoughts. Because who would you choose ??

------

Short and angsty because we love short and angsty ! Who would you choose ? ❤️❤️❤️⚘️⚘️⚘️

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Blood Red Blooms (Supernatural Drabble)

Crowley x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: You've had a great day and are just happy to see your love.

Fic type: absolute fluff

SPN: @wereallbrokenangels @nervoussystemss (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"Hello Pumpkin," came the dulcet tones of your beloved as he opened the door for you. "You know that I know that you have keys to our humble little abode here, darling, so I've got to ask... Ringing the doorbell now, are we?"

You could barely contain your glee for another moment and whipped the bouquet of blood-red roses out from behind your back and directly in front of Crowley's face.

Crowley blinked once. Twice. His eyes crossed slightly to take in the large, red blooms about a quarter of an inch in front of his nose. You watched his gaze soften even further over your romantic surprise.

"For me?" He asked, swinging the door wider and allowing you to press the flowers into his hand and walk inside. You shrugged your coat and shoes off, kicking them against the wall. You ignored the light thud and the definite track of mud that was now painted against the wall and turned back to your partner. The mud was a tomorrow problem. Tonight's problem was dinner, television and some love-making, In that order, too.

"So thoughtful, darling," Crowley widened into a smile. Well, it was more a smirk than anything else, but for Crowley, it was a loving smile nonetheless. "Good day at work, I take it? You know, I really can't fathom why you want to keep working. I'm the King of Hell. You could have anything you could possibly wish for."

You reached forward and pulled him into a soft cuddle, leaning up to press a big, smacking kiss onto his cheek which he only half-heatedly fended.

"We've been over this, Kingsley. I like to work. Well, only sometimes. But yes, it was a very good day." You tilted the roses towards your nose and sniffed. "And you are wearing your apron. Does this mean there's a dinner involved with tonights affairs?"

Crowley kissed you on the forehead and led you towards your kitchen, pouring you a glass of his favourite wine as he did so. He was usually more of a scotch kind of demon, but he liked wine on some occasions.

"There sure is, darling. Here, sit. I'll get you a plate and you can catch me up on the day's adventures, hmm?"

God, that sounded like the perfect plan to you.

[shaunashipman]

I'm a new 9-1-1 viewer (binge watched the first 6 seasons like two weeks before the new one came out and been watching season 7 as it comes out) and I'm so glad I found your blog because it annoys me how most of the conversation around the show is always about b*ddie and I really needed to find people who weren't b*ddie shippers. Like, I get why people ship it even if I don't particularly see it or agree with it but they're always trying to prove how this plot point or the other points at them becoming canon next episode and it's so annoying? Especially now that Tommy is in the picture because I think he's such a great LI for Buck and has so much endgame potential but they're all talking about him being a "stepping stone" for their ship and completely ignoring how this is a chance for him to be in a loving, stable relationship in the long run, something he absolutely deserves.

Honestly sometimes I feel like b*ddie shippers don't even care or like Eddie and Buck, they just want them to kiss onscreen and ignore their well written arcs just because they don't end up in them being canon (which honestly after seven seasons of the same clownery they should have learnt by now that maybe it's just not happening and that's okay! they're well thought out, fully fleshed characters that don't need to be involved romantically to have a satisfying storyline!)

welcome to the fandom, and my blog 👋👋👋

it is unfortunate that the show has so many great characters and dynamics that get consistently drowned out by a single fanon ship. i get it if you're just here for b*ddie, but to make a big fuss over losing a single scene in another couple's big episode? when you still got something? sometimes you need a reality check that the show is actually about other people too

fandom is not about hunting for hints that your ship is going canon. like, i have never seen a fandom that seems to spend more time "proving" their ship is gonna go canon than actually, you know, doing fandom stuff. (i was not in spn/destiel, idk what nonsense went on there) we're supposed to ignore what the TPTB say while we play with our dolls because it doesn't matter, not ignore what they say because clearly they're lying and misdirecting and building up to do what they have have said, as explicitly as they can in tv world, won't be happening. this obsession with "going canon" is, frankly, weird in fandom.

my blood pressure goes up when i read the phrase "stepping stone". even if bucktommy doesn't last, they will never have been a stepping stone. one, because it is a relationship, and relationships can't be stepping stones, that is such a cynical way to look at things and really makes me wonder about some of these people's real life relationships (yeah i know it's fiction, but y'all take it too far in your vitriol for it not to be invading your personal lives) and two, because b*ddie is not happening, so it can't be a stepping stone to it.

they have done everything they can except saying "b*ddie isn't happening" because in tvland ambiguity is your best friend. but ryan calling eddie heterosexual twice is not ambiguous. and i've already said, but ignoring what ryan has said about the coming out scene because it doesn't fit your headcanon is extremely disrespectful. it is fiction, but it is fiction made by people drawing from real life experiences and y'all are shitting on that

and tommy does have such potential!! they like to shit on us for saying that, "oh he's only been there for 4 eps, we don't even know anything about him", and, ignoring that we actually do know some stuff about tommy, more than we've gotten for other LI's, that's why we say potential. we are looking at possible future storylines and seeing how tommy could fit. we are looking at what was lacking in prev LI's (not in a deficient way, just in a compatibility way) and seeing how tommy can fill the spaces they couldn't.

we're basing our theories of him at least sticking around for a bit, not on wardrobe hints and coded gazes and what actors post on their socials, but by what we've seen on-screen, what has been said in interviews in black&white no hidden meaning, and by simple knowledge of story pacing.

and we could be completely wrong. that's part of it being a theory; the acknowledgement that it is not guaranteed . once you start insisting something is 100% going to happen, it's no longer a theory

wow this got long 🫣 sorry for making you read all that, if you're still here lmao. but conciseness is not my strong suit, so enjoy my babbling if you stick around, and feel free to drop in my inbox anytime

[elliewithcellie]

Long Cool Woman - Chapter 5

chapter summary: You head into Day Two with much more trepidation, unprepared to handle this hunt, and scared out of your mind for the pageant tomorrow. Sam does his best to comfort you.

wc: 4.4k

cw: body insecurity, heavy scar talk, shirtless!Sam, you show each other your scars, heavy angst, mention of deaths, Sam comfort, gentle touches, nothing sexual but i'd say slight nudity (it'll make sense I swear), condom mention again lol oops, blood, spn canon violence

a/n: Nothing better than some good ole Sam comfort. Find the rest of the story here

You, Sam, and Dean got ready for the day, an extra sense of dread looming over you. Sam and Dean suited up to return to square one, and you prepared for Day Two. As nervous as you were yesterday, it paled in comparison to what you feared awaited you in the hotel lobby.

The boys walked you to the entrance again, much quieter than the day before. Sam was the first to speak up upon arrival.

“Don’t worry too much today, ok? Just do what you did yesterday, and you should be fine. We should be back by the time you’re done.”

“And if we aren’t,” Dean said, “stay in the hotel room, alone, until we get back.”

You huffed over his specification but nodded anyway.

“If anything does happen, don’t hesitate to call. We’ll be right there,” Sam said.

“I’ll let you know,” you said. “Just, be safe and be smart, you guys.”

The two boys nodded, wearing grim looks before heading out the doors.

“Wait,” you called out. “Sam, your flannel.”

Sam smiled. “It’s ok. Just keep it warm for me until I get back.”

You smiled back at him, his comment oddly enough to comfort you.

You found your seat in the lobby with the other contestants and kept to yourself. You watched as Nancy Roshambo announced the day’s schedule, but you had difficulty focusing. You tried to remain calm, but anyone in this room could be the demon. You scanned the room hoping to find anyone who seemed a little off. Your eyes found James. He smiled and gave a subtle wave. Your heart fluttered. You sent a small smile back and continued your search. You weren’t going to let yourself become distracted by him again. The Winchesters were counting on you. As you searched around, you noticed Tod Larkins, the older man on staff, standing right in front of the window where you had found the sulfur pile. His lips moved as if to mutter something, but you couldn’t make out what.

“Hey! Did you talk to him?” Tanya asked you, shaking you from your thoughts.

“Hmm? Oh, James? Yeah, he asked me to dinner,” you said still a bit distracted.

“Well?” she asked. “How was it?”

You couldn’t help but blush at the question, the memories resurfacing. “It was really good. We talked all through dinner, and” —you lowered your voice— “he’s a really good kisser.”

“Oh my god! That’s what I’m talking about! I’m so proud of you! And jealous, honestly. Anyone would kill to have a piece of him.”

You chuckled at her words, still bashful over the interaction. Before long, the contestants were ushered into the ballroom for practice.

Over the next few hours, you and the contestants counted your steps and practiced your routines. But you had a harder time following directions today. Your mind was elsewhere, nervous that too much focus on the routine would have you missing vital clues to this hunt. You watched Tod approach James in the back of the room. Tod was emotive with big hand movements, while James looked cross, cold, something you had never seen from him. Their argument grew, their muffled voices traveling to the stage before Tod stormed off.

“Alright, ladies!” Nancy began, interrupting the drama. “We are now going to practice the question round! Line up in the same order as before. When it is your turn, stand in the center of the stage. The person up next will wait at the marker to the left. When you have finished your questions, you are free to leave.”

Unfortunately, the contestants lined up alphabetically in order of state, leaving only five girls behind you. Your long day had only gotten longer. Your feet dragged to each marker, your will to continue withering away. Each woman answered the first question the same way.

“What is one thing you wish for this world?”

“World peace,” each of them said. You weren’t sure if this was a shorthand for rehearsal or if they all felt that to be the right answer. Scared for the former, you tried to come up with a real response to the question.

Nearly two hours later, only five girls remained in front of you. You would have fallen asleep standing up if you could have. Something crackled above you, drawing your eyes to the ceiling. Everything looked how it did before. The flags gently waved against the air conditioning, and the stars dazzled in the stage light.

One by one, the contestants answered their questions. And one by one, you inched closer to your turn, your stomach in knots. Finally, you were up next, Miss Utah dead center stage. Crackling caught your attention again. The sound grew louder and louder, pops bursting from the ceiling. The shimmering star directly above Miss Utah jolted as each cable snapped one by one. You rushed to Miss Utah and pushed her to the side as the last cable popped, sending the star crashing into the stage.

Screams erupted within the ballroom. The stage was destroyed. The star lodged itself into the wood perfectly on the center-stage marker. Half the people in the auditorium scrambled to find help, frantic commotion and accusations bouncing off the walls. Others stood there motionless, the weight of what almost happened leaving them speechless.

You kneeled next to Miss Utah. “Are you hurt?” you asked, examining her for any breaks or scrapes. Tears streamed down her face, and her breathing accelerated, short and shallow, as blood drained from her face.

“Hey, you’re ok. Just breathe. Just breathe.” You took her hand and mimed steady breathing hoping she would follow suit. “What’s your name?”

“L—London. I almost died. I could have died!”

“Listen, you’re ok, London. Ok? Look. I’m shaking, too. It’s ok to be shaken up. But you’re ok.”

You showed her your shaking hand. You suddenly weren’t sure how that was supposed to reassure her, but her breathing calmed anyway.

“Can someone call for an ambulance?” you shouted. A couple of people ran up to you both and ensured that help was on the way. Once you knew that she was in good hands, you left to call the boys.

“What happened?” Dean answered.

“A girl almost died. I—I watched it happen,” you stuttered.

“Is she hurt?” you heard Sam ask.

“Are you hurt?” Dean repeated.

“I’m fine. I’m ok.”

“She’s ok,” Dean said.

“You guys need to come back as soon as you can. Something’s going on.”

“We’re on our way. Head straight to the room. Don’t leave, and don’t open the door for anyone. We’ll talk when we’re back.”

“Please hurry,” you said, your voice shaking.

You hung up and headed straight to your room. You shut the door behind you and latched every lock the door had to offer. You turned on all the lights and closed the blinds, unable to shake the feeling that you were being watched. That they knew you were onto them.

You grabbed your book of Latin and settled back into Sam’s bed. You kept your back against the headrest to keep your line of sight completely unobstructed. Your heart thudded beneath your skin as you memorized the exorcism. Your mind was fuzzy. It resorted to thoughts of the old man from earlier muttering things under his breath by the window and the fight with James in the ballroom. It had to be him. No one would suspect an old man. Tod Larkins was off; you were sure of it.

A knock on the door pulled a gasp from your lungs. You covered your mouth with your hand. You stilled every muscle in your body. They knocked again, harder this time.

“Y/N, I know you’re in there,” you heard James say through the door. “I just wanted to check in and see if you were ok, after this afternoon.”

Your heart longed to talk to him. You could feel his pull through the door, his yearning for you, and you had ignored him all day. It pained you to blow him off. You didn’t know what to do.

“Is it something I did?” he asked. You could hear the hurt in his voice.

“No, no,” you said, walking to the door. “You didn’t do anything. It was just a lot today, you know?”

“Could I come in? We could talk about it. I’d hate to leave you to deal with this on your own. It must’ve terrified you.”

You nodded, knowing he couldn’t see your response. “As much as I’d appreciate it, I just need some time to myself. To focus on my questions for tomorrow.”

“Are you sure?”

You weren’t sure at all. What you would give to let him in and distract you from the dangers of today. The rush he gave you was mind-altering, rewiring your brain to become an adrenaline junkie. But you had to be smart. You couldn’t afford to lose logic and your willpower.

“I’m sure,” you croaked, every muscle fighting against you.

“Oh. Alright then. I’ll see you tomorrow then.” His footsteps faded in the distance until the sound of silence replaced them.

You let out a shaky breath. Tears struck your eyes and threatened to fall. You hated this. Why couldn’t you have a normal life? Why did you have to push away a man who cared about you? And if you thought about it too hard, it could have been you under the star. Or worse, what if you weren’t quick enough to save Miss Utah? There could have been another death, now on your hands. You curled back in bed, a sick feeling drowning your senses. Your thoughts motivated you to continue practicing the exorcism, demanding yourself to perfect it.

The door clicked open, catching on the latch. “Hey, it’s us,” Dean said.

“Password.”

“Sandra Bullock.”

You got up and unlocked the door. The boys plowed through the door straight to you. “You’re sure you’re ok?” Sam asked checking over you.

“I’m fine. Just spooked.”

“We saw what happened,” Dean said. “Super lucky no one was hurt. We talked to the girl in the ambulance, but she wasn’t much help.”

“I’m just glad I got to her in time,” you said.

“You saved her?” Sam asked, his voice soft.

“It all happened so fast. The cables snapped, and there was no time to think. I just pushed her. Did you see the damage?”

“We did,” Dean said, his voice low. The room filled with the weight of your near-death experience.

“Just so we’re checking all boxes,” Dean said, “how do we know this isn’t just some shoddy workmanship?”

You shook your head. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see what I saw today. And I think I know who caused it.”

The brothers glanced at each other before returning their attention to you. “Tell us everything. Start from the beginning.”

After explaining every minute detail, every strange Tod Larkins occurrence, to the boys, Dean stood up and started pacing the room.

“Yeah, all that adds up, but something isn’t sitting right with me.”

“Me, too,” Sam said. “Because if this guy was smart, he’d wait until tomorrow to cause the most destruction. If chaos is what he wants, a live broadcast would be the perfect way to cause panic. So, what was the point of today’s mishap? If that girl died, they would have postponed the pageant at the very least, and what good does that serve him?”

“Do you think he’s thinking that far?” you asked. “Like I said, he looked angry. What if it was a spur-of-the-moment practice round before the big day?”

Dean shook his head. “Regardless, it’s clear he’s waiting for his big number tomorrow. So, you’ll need to let us know where he is so we can end him.”

“That’s all?” you asked.

“Should be,” Dean said. “All you need to worry about is looking pretty for the judges, and we’ll tell you when it’s handled.”

You scoffed at him and rolled your eyes. But you hid a deeper emotion. You had been going through the motions of this pageant, practically forgetting that this wasn’t make-believe. The reality that you really had to follow through with modeling in front of thousands of people began to set in. The thought you had pushed to the back of your mind had come back swinging, making you nauseous.

“It’s getting late. You guys get food without me. I’ve got some interrogations to pursue.”

“Interro—Dean, what?” Sam said.

Dean pulled the number he got from one of the contestants out of his pocket and smiled.

“Gross,” Sam said, his voice monotone.

Dean headed toward the door, only to stop in his tracks. “Hey, uh, Sam? You don’t happen to have that condom I gave Y/N, do you?”

Sam’s face shaded a deep red. Your interest was piqued. You were so nervous about your misdeeds this morning that you hadn’t even considered how he spent his night. It wasn’t your business, just like what you did wasn’t his. Still, you waited with bated breath. He rummaged through his duffle bag and pulled the wrapper out of the jeans he wore the night before. You exhaled as he threw it to Dean.

“Thanks, Sammy. You two have fun now.” Dean winked and shut the door behind him.

“I hate him, sometimes,” said Sam, breaking the silence.

You laughed. “Come on. Let’s order a pizza or something.”

You joined Sam on his bed as you ate pizza and watched a movie. You both sat with your backs against the headboard and your legs straight ahead, though your toes didn’t reach his shins. Sam’s laugh wasn’t something you heard often, but it was always something you welcomed. And tonight was no exception. The two of you laughed in tandem with the antics playing on the screen. There was no urgency. Nothing compelled you to talk over the movie. No desire to impress or convey a certain side of you felt needed.

As the sun cast more and more shadows across your room, the day had turned to night. You had inched closer to Sam, his warmth a gentle lure. His arm rested against yours, a tender reminder of his presence. The TV-lit room reminded you of the long day you’d had. And Sam’s shoulder felt like an open invitation. Nothing but courage could describe the reasoning behind your action. You laid your head on his shoulder, your heart stopping when he moved. He lifted the arm against yours up and over, pulling you closer to him. You settled in against his chest, a sigh escaping your lips, and continued to watch the movie.

Once the movie ended, you collected yourself and the anxiety that came with you. You remained quiet as the two of you got ready for bed. Your body tensed over what tomorrow had in store for you.

With Dean gone for the night, you climbed into his bed. You pulled at the covers and found yourself staring at your scars. Heat rose to your cheeks, embarrassed to be tattered up like this, and terrified to be on full display for everyone in the crowd to judge.

“Y/N?” Sam asked pulling you from your daze. You found concern in his eyes, and his eyebrows furrowed as if trying to find an answer in yours. “Are you ok?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I’m ok,” you said as you pulled the covers up.

Sam stretched to turn on the light between you. “Are you sure? You seem a bit tense.”

Since you’d met him, Sam had learned to read you like a book. You hated how much your face gave away, how he always understood the truth without your words. Nothing was left a secret between you. Maybe that was ok.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said.

“It does to me if it does to you.”

You huffed into your pillow. “It’s the pageant tomorrow. I can’t do it. I mean, of course, I’m going to. But I’m scared out of my mind.”

 “What’s scaring you?” he asked, moving to sit across from you.

“My scars.” Your lip trembled. “My scars are going to be broadcast across the nation for everyone to see tomorrow. The dresses are bad enough, but the swimsuit will destroy me.”

“But your scars aren’t bad,” Sam said. “I can barely see them from here, much less—”

You sighed and stood from your bed and closed the space between you, almost wedged between his legs. You carefully lifted your shirt to your chest. Scars of old gashes and wounds tarnished your stomach in disarray and one thick vertical scar traced your sternum past where you held your shirt in place.

Sam didn’t say a word. His eyes stayed glued to your figure. He reached his hand out toward you but hesitated, opting to return his hand to his lap.

“It’s from the car accident,” you said. “They said it was a miracle I survived.” You forced out a bitter laugh. “My whole family died, but it’s a miracle I survived. I woke up with my brother’s heart in my chest, but it’s a miracle I survived. I was relocated to live with a stranger who told me monsters are real, but it’s a miracle I survived. Was it a miracle that those demons didn’t kill me last year? Was it a miracle I didn’t die today? What I don’t get is why I’m still here. Why was I the one chosen to live? Why am I the one who has to carry the burden of all the loss in my life?”

Sam said nothing. He stood above you. He turned around and took his shirt off completely. His entire back was marked with slashes and cuts, scar tissue covering most of it. Above his left shoulder blade was a thick, striated scar. It looked lethal. You found your hand hovering over it.

“You can touch it,” he said softly.

It was similar to yours, rigid and rough, protruding from the smoother skin around it. He took your hand and slid it down over his heart as he turned around. Your hand brushed over a matching wound above his beating heart. Your own heart pounded in your chest as you put the pieces together.

“I was stabbed,” he said. “I was supposed to die. I did die. But Dean did something he shouldn’t have. I was supposed to be dead. And it wasn’t by some miracle I lived. It was a deal with a demon. The truth haunts me. It sits with me everywhere I go, that I shouldn’t be alive.”

You watched his every word as he towered over you, never letting go of your hand.

“But I fight every day to make sure that my being alive is worth it. Our scars are nightmare fuel, I know it. It’s the constant reminder of the pain we carry on the inside. But it’s also proof that we made it. So, tomorrow, when you do this stupid fucking swimsuit part of the show, I want you to stand there with confidence. Because it shows your bravery, your resilience, and your will to continue when the odds were stacked against you. It wasn’t a miracle. It was you. It was all you.”

Your breath was heavy with each inhale and exhale. Sam’s chest rose and fell to the beat of his heart. Your eyes stayed locked on his, something staying left unsaid. You took his hand from his chest and rested it at the bottom of your scar. You felt chills run up his arm.

“Is this ok?” you asked.

He nodded. You guided his hand to follow it along your sternum. The pads of his fingers, though rough, delicately feathered your skin. Warmth exuded from his hand as he pressed his palm against you. You leaned into his touch, longing to be wrapped in his arms. You felt the heavy breaths of your secret wash away. Relief spread through you as you looked into Sam’s hazel eyes.

“Thank you for being someone I can share this with,” you said. “It’s easier to hold when I know I’m not alone.”

“I feel the same way,” Sam said.

You released his hand and your shirt and reached your arms around Sam for a hug. He held you close, a hand in your hair as you rested against his chest.

You didn’t want to lose his touch, but Sam broke the silence. “We should get some sleep,” he said in an exhale.

You nodded against him and returned to your bed. You faced Sam, now much too far away.

“Sweet dreams only, tonight. Ok?” Sam said as his shirtless form stretched to turn the light off.

“I’ll do my best. Goodnight, Sam.”

“Goodnight.”

You awoke to the alarm you had set. You quickly turned it off, hoping to let Sam rest a little longer. You glimpsed at him, his serenity evident in his soft snores. You sighed and headed toward your duffle bag.

Today was the day. You gathered everything you needed and took residence in the bathroom. You had a long routine ahead of you.

The first and easiest step was to shower. You handled it with ease. Your mind only wandered a couple of times. You decided to let your hair air dry a little before styling, not wanting to stir the boys with the sound of the blow dryer. So, your second step became makeup. You planned in ample time with the intent of multiple revisions if needed. But as you finished the step-by-step cheat sheet the lady at Sephora had made you, you were pleased with the outcome. Maybe you were born with it.

Hair was the hardest step, and you were glad for your extra time. You blow-dried your hair while the curling iron heated. You followed a tutorial on Sam’s computer, but with every strand, you burned yourself. Whether it be your hand or your scalp, you couldn’t help the expletives that left your mouth.

When you finally finished, you dressed in your long gown. You took a long look in the mirror, the tip of your scar peeking above the neckline. Confidence, you reminded yourself.

You opened the door to the bathroom to the boys on their feet. Sam slid into the flannel you wore the day before, and Dean loaded a knife into a holster on his ankle. Dean noticed you first.

“Woah,” he said. He looked at Sam. “Sam.”

Sam looked up at Dean who nodded toward you. “Woah.”

“Be honest,” you said. “Is there anything I should fix? I’m kind of freaking out.”

“I wouldn’t fix a thing, sweetheart,” Dean said, an endearing grin growing on his face.

Sam took a step toward you. “You look beautiful. You’re gonna kill it up there.”

You smiled up at him, bashful over his words.

Dean pulled his phone out. “Say cheese.”

“Come on. Are you serious?” You laughed.

“It’s just in case we miss it. Now, smile.”

You smiled and gave two thumbs up.

“Perfect, now do a spin.”

You rolled your eyes and indulged him this time, letting your dress flow around you.

“That’s so awesome,” Dean said. “It’s like Prom or something.”

“I have to go now,” you dragged the phrase.

“Wait,” Sam said. “It’s the back of your dress again. Turn around.”

You did as you were told and flipped your hair over your shoulder. His hands found your back as he adjusted your dress, just as he did before. But something had changed since then. There was no sense of trepidation, no longer the sense of embarrassment. He was there for you when you needed him, and you trusted him. There were no more barriers between you. You knew you were safe with him.

“There you go. You’re all set.” Sam released his hold, and you faced him again. “Now, go rock the judges’ socks off, Miss Vermont.”

You smiled and headed for the door. As you stepped out, you paused and turned back to the boys. “Please, be careful.”

Sam nodded.

“You, too,” said Dean.

You arrived at the makeshift dressing room and dropped your duffle bag in your labeled seat. The rest of the contestants finished up their looks in the lit mirrors set up in the room. You could not believe the difference professional help made. Everyone’s hair and makeup was more polished than you could have dreamed of, and you were sure these dresses were made custom just for them. You suddenly felt like the discount rack in comparison.

“Hey!” You turned to find Tanya all dolled up, revealing a bright smile.

“Hey, are you ready?” you asked, nudging her arm.

“I’m so ready!” She threw her fist in the air. “But I really gotta pee, so I’ll see you later. See if your man is nearby.” She winked and ran to the restrooms. You smiled to yourself and shook your head as she bolted. You turned to your mirror and found James in the reflection.

“Wow,” he said.

“Don’t you have a show to run?” you asked, a smirk growing on your lips.

“I just had to see you before I left for work,” he said. He pulled you from your chair and spun you around. A blush spread across your features.

“You look unbelievable, you know that?”

“Thank you,” you said feeling bashful. “That really means a lot. I—”

A shrill scream echoed into the dressing room. You jumped at the sound and looked at James before heading toward the sound. You found Tanya sitting on the restroom floor with tears streaming down her face.

“Tanya! What happened? Are you hurt?” You rushed to her side.

She said nothing. She raised a finger and pointed to the end bathroom stall.

You stood slowly and walked toward the stall, your heart pounding against your chest. You opened the door. Tod Larkins laid on the floor, his once white suit now seeping red. A pool of blood grew beneath him. His eyes stayed open, but nothing behind them remained. He was dead.

You staggered backward against the sinks. The freshness of it all twisted your stomach inside out. “We have to, we have to get out. It’s not safe.”

You turned to face Tanya, now on her feet. Her tears had stopped, the streaks in her makeup the only evidence she had cried at all. James stepped into the room and locked the door behind him.

Everything suddenly clicked together. But it was all too late.

chapter 6