#and it would’ve been much better just like every other part of spn

[harbingerofsoup]

oh so when any other iffy character choice gets made on supernatural it’s the writers fault and we can accept it, but when mary winchester—

[waywardimpalawriter]

hi! i really love your writing, and was really hoping you could do another dean winchester x f! plus size reader. possibly were they are best friends and she is pining for someone else. so before she can make her move on someone else he stops her and confess his love for her. idk maybe some angst/fluff/smut?? you don’t have to if u don’t want to, it’s totally up to you. like no pressure at all! but seriously, i do really love all your writing and i wanted to say thank you for everything u write and do!! <3 once again no pressure at all with this ask, but overall thank you!!<3

Just one good reason

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus Size Female Reader

SPN mixed Bingo Square: Hurt/Comfort Square

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester,

Setting: mid season 11

Rating: E (explicit), NSFW, 18+ only please

Warnings: angst, smut, yearning, grumpy and sweet Dean (yes they need a warning),

Word count: 12,805 (Truly Was suppose to be this long. I blame Dean for this.)

Summary: He’s given a million reasons, damaged goods, blood on his hands, nightmares, scared in so many ways. But most of all that he’s not good enough. Just when you’re ready to walk out that door he gives you one good reason to stay.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this request, I love writing for Dean so very much and to add a plus size gal in as well that just makes my day. I do hope you’ll enjoy this story. The song “Million Reasons” both version’s by Lady Gaga and Briana Buckmaster are inspiration for this story.

Tag list: Is open for all character’s and series I write for.

@spnmixedbingo

Dean Winchester list: @akshi8278

Just one good reason list: @chickensarentcheap

@impala1967dwinchester, @lilacprincessofrecovery, @superavengerpotterstar @jbbarnesgirl @sofreddie  @slightlyobsessedwithissues  

Ancient hinges creak wearily, firm hand pushing to hold open the heavy door letting you and Sam pass by. Fatigued sigh leaves slightly chapped lips, “It’s good to be home.” Taking the stairs down two at a time, tossing duffle bags towards the war table.

“Going soft on us old man?” Teasing quip tugging a smile from your lips as you drop down into the nearest chair. “Getting use to having that soft bed under your ass now huh?”

Scoffing, whiskey flecked green eyes settling on your plush frame, “Woman you forget we’re the same age first off.” Playfully stocking towards you, hands placed on the back of your chair to cage you in. “Second damn right that bed is magical, memory form baby, it remembers me,” poking your side, giggle leaving your lips body squirming in the seat.

“Stop,” pleading tone entering your voice, trying to evaded his questing hands trailing along your curvy sides. “Please,” puppy eyes begging for mercy, his hands aren’t willing to give. Though you can’t bring yourself to care seeing the weight, even for a moment, disappear from his countenance. Or the fact your sides aren’t the ticklish spot on your body, moving in the seat purely for show.

“Say your sorry for calling me old,” brow lifting watching you squirm under his hands. Wishing and not for the first time, he could have your soft body slotted against his harder frame. Knowing how well you fit just in a different way, one that hasn’t been enough for a long time.

Giggles burst from your lips, hands flat against the hard plains of his chest tugging on the dark blue t-shirt to distract from his plans. Pushing him away which had as much of an effect as a toy bulldozer did against a real brick wall. “Okay, okay I’m sorry, promise I’m sorry,” gasping for breath giving a hard tap to his shoulder.

“Now who’s giving up too soon?” Hands pause as his eyes catch yours for a long moment. Smiling face beaming up at him, heart beating triple time and not from assaulting you with his hands. Unable to resist the urge to touch your soft skin. Callused fingers come up to barely graze just under your left eye carefully capturing the eyelash on the tip of his forefinger from your cheek, “Make a wish.”

Leaning forward to place your lips close to the offered digit, eyes closed to blow a cold stream, eyelash fluttering away unseen. Keeping your libs lowered for a bit longer torn between what you truly desire and what’s within your grasp. Whiskey roughened voice breaking through your thoughts, sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“What you wish for?” Swallowing hard, beloved eyes flutter open to ensnare his in there depths. Catching something simmering just below but disappears quicker than a jack rabbit running from a coyote.

Clearing yours throat, “Can’t tell ya Deano won’t come true if I do.” Giving a smile, pressing him backwards to raise and grab your duffle bag. Cell phone signaling an incoming text message making you pull the the black case wrapped piece of tech out of your front jeans pocket. Bright smile pulling your lips higher seeing just who’s messaged you. “Catch y’all later.”

“Someone good?” Sam speaks for the first time since coming home. Watching the scene between his brother and best friend. Wanting to strangle the both of you for not seeing what’s right in front of you.

Head snapping up from buried in your phone to stare wide eyed at Sam, “Yes, no I mean it’s nothing but could be something.”

“Will again?” Peripheral catching the dark scowl pass over Dean’s features before disappearing behind a mask of indifference.

Humming sweetly, sparkle lighting your eyes that go back to your phone for a moment. “He’s asking if we can meet up tomorrow for lunch, trying to choose where to eat.”

“What about,” clearing his throat to unclog the emotions choking off the air to breath. “That little diner in town? It’s your favorite and serves the best pie aside yours of course.”

Trapping and tugging your bottom lip between nibbling teeth, head shaking in the negative. “Nope he’s not fond of greasy foods.”

‘Plus that’s our spot,’ unbridled thought slides into your mind and you want to look over at Dean to remind him. But push those thoughts aside with a wave, heading towards the bedrooms carefully making sure not to bump into a wall while responding.

Green eyes follow till you round the corner, heart catching in his throat cursing himself for mentioning your diner. Knowing better yet wanting confirmation without asking if the spot is still special.

“You’re an idiot Dean,” shaggy brown head shaking as he to snaps up his duffle bag to head towards his room. “The foundation is already there start building before it cracks.”

“Thanks Riddler, just cause I’m Batman doesn’t mean you have to be so fucking vague.” Left with his thoughts and the growing feeling he’s loosing you to another man. Dean leaves his stuff lay where it landed glancing over the chair you vacated not five minutes ago then heading towards the kitchen. In need of something harder than beer but settling for the dark brew being the only alcohol in the bunker.

Opening the fridge door, grabbing a brew his fingers brush against the clear plastic container holding a single slice of pecan pie. Eyes unseeing, drifting back into memories when the Mark of Cain still burned into his skin.

2015

Charlie’s dead, beaten, murdered and left in a pool of her own blood. Every time his eyes close she’s there, expressionless sea green eyes staring blankly into his own. Never hearing her snarky retorts, sassy ways or those hugs she gave. Staring into cold brown sludge, hands gripping the mug a little too tightly. Not sure why he chose to come here of all places. When he could’ve started out on his hunt for the Styne’s. Deep down though he knows the reason right as the little bell signals someone’s entered the small family owned diner. Knowing exactly who and trying to ready himself for your present.

Never ready for how your soft fingers brush along his temple, settling on his shoulder for a moment while you slide into the worn pleather covered booth. Trailing those gentle fingers down his black and grey plaid covered arm. Tugging one hand from around the ceramic cup to intertwine your fingers. Head coming to rest on his shoulder, no words just comfort in a time when he needs it most.

“You shouldn’t be here,” dark with hints of gravel and kissed with pain in the tone. Whiskey flicked green obits focus, for the first time on something besides the cup in his hands, landing on the top of your head.

Shrugging, “Where else should I be Dean?” Looking up at him sorrowful eyes meeting right when your other palm comes up to brush moisture from his cheek. Unnoticed tears sliding down cool cheeks, “You’re my best friend there’s no place I’d rather be then right here helping you.”

“You could get killed,” the very through twists his heart till almost bursting. Brings bile to rise in the back of his throat, slithering through his system to settle unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach. It’s one thing to loose Charlie a heavy casualty. But you, Dean isn’t sure he’d come back from the dark path he’d follow for vengeance.

Soft sad smile turns your lips barely upward, “Not gonna happen I have my knight in shining Impala to keep me safe.”

“I couldn’t keep Charlie safe how can I…”

Shaking your head, finger placed over his kissable lips, “You’ve given me a million reasons already Dean Winchester and I don’t believe a single one of them.” Resting your foreheads together a moment, tenderness skating across your veins for the man beside you, “You might not believe it but your a good man.”

Pie filled plate slides across scared formica table top, metal fork clattering against the ceramic pushed in front. “More coffee,” sweet feminine voice floats from beside you.

Nodding, “Please, sugar and cream too.” Giving her a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes feeling Dean stir beside you.

“Black like my soul you know that sweetheart,” slightly chapped lips brush your cheek. A simple thank you for this act of kindness he feels undeserving of. If he hadn’t already been head over heels in love with you this sweet gesture would’ve sealed the deal.

Breathless gasp parts your lips as you turn finding Dean closer almost invading your space. Leather, motor oil and Irish Spring tickle your nose, eyes locking with those agony drenched obits, making another gasp exist your lungs. Heartache rocketing through your body, colliding with anger directed at the Styne’s.

“Eat your pie Winchester we’ll talk about that soul of yours later after dealing with the Styne’s.”

Heart freezing at the mention of the murdering family, “No,” rougher than intended, Dean grabs your chin twisting your face towards his. Rage hot and potent flaring through those beautiful greens. “No you will stay with Sam I’ll deal with them myself…”

“Dean you can’t be serious…” grabbing his wrist, pleading in your eyes for him to listen. Loosing Charlie splintered your heart, counting her as the sister you’ve never had. Her blood demanding revenge for the grievous act. But loosing Dean would kill you, knowing you never would come back from that agony.

“I am, deadly so. You try and sneak along I’ll toss that sexy ass outta Baby faster than you can pray to Castiel.”

Snorting, pulling your chin from his grasp, “You couldn’t lift me Winchester and you can’t stop me…” but the look he gives you does. Any farther flow of words halt in there bid to tumble out of your mouth.

“No I can’t,” callused palms cup your cheeks keeping you in place. Searching your eyes and making sure you understood, “I don’t want you to come with me Y/N. If there’s anytime to listen its now. I’ve lost one sister I didn’t want.” Bitting those words out to keep from speaking the others which threaten to pour from his being. “I can’t loose you,” resting your foreheads together again.

Nodding, trying to keep yourself from rubbing your cheek into his palm or worse press your lips against his. Lying to yourself isn’t something you normally do and you wouldn’t start now with the realization you were in love with your best friend and worried your going to loose him to the all consuming darkness.

You're giving me a million reasons to let you go

You're giving me a million reasons to quit the show

You're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

Downing the last of his long neck, drawing patterns over the hardwood table underneath with the condensation from the bottle. Eyes trained on that single slice of pie you’d bought him weeks ago.

“I wouldn’t eat that if I were you D,” mirth filled voice floats towards him before you reach his side in body.

Hand coming into view grabbing for the container to toss it out. But Dean’s quicker, “If you value your life, you’ll unhand my pie,” thick fingers circle your wrist pulling your plush body down beside him. “It’s not nice to steal a man’s pie woman,” keeping his tone light, playful and away from the looming fate he knows will visit upon his person once you figure out Will is the man you truly want. Deserving of your light, and laughter, the sweetness, of your beauty that Dean only hopes the other man will appreciate.

Gasping in mock outrage, “Who me?” Hand to heart trying to keep the laughter from your tone. “I would never deprive you of pie Deano. But I would that slice since I think it’s become a science experiment.”

Narrowing his eyes towards the offending sweet dessert, “It is not.” Poking twice before pulling the pie forward for a closer inspection. Musical laughter meeting his ears, smothering the smirk threatening to bloom over his lips. “Okay so maybe your right,” turning his pouting face towards you.

“Course I am,” giving him a wink then standing to toss the ruined sweets out. Pausing by the panty, you peek in unaware Dean’s watching you from his seat.

Teasing sway to your generous hips has his eyes tracking every movement. Bitting the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning at how temping you look. Thick thighs encased in blue denim jeans feet bare from wearing those steal toed Dr. Martins during hunts. Body stretching upwards, soft cotton baby blue tank top riding up to bare a silver of delicate skin to his eyes. Your fingers barely snag the sugar container’s edge, pulling it down to clasp against your ample chest.

Chastising himself for the erotic thoughts flipping through his mind on a single film reel. “What exactly are you doing sweetheart?” Carefully keeping his lower half away from your line of sight. Lest you find out the problem currently tenting his jeans, teeth gritting to stop himself from acting on all those thoughts.

“Never you mind Dean Winchester,” tossing over your shoulder, checking for vanilla extract, light syrup, and butter from the fridge. Last stop the freezer mentally trying to remember if you there's a pie shell left or would need to make one. Hoping for at least a single, since checking the flour stock and coming up almost empty. “Start a list for me please and put flour on it,” setting the three ingredients in your hands down. Turning back to open the metal door to peer into the freeze, swaying slighting to a song running through your head. A triumphant “Yes,” exists your lips, a little dance of excitement upon finding the last shell.

Damn near swallowing his tongue so entranced by your movements gulping different words back down to keep from making a total fool of himself. As he utters, “Not till I know exactly what your making over there Betty Crocker.”

“Resorting to blackmail now?” Brow arched, unconsciously licking your lips slowly. Unaware of Dean watching the path it takes across your pump bottom lip, tucking it between indenting teeth.

For distraction purposes, Dean pulls his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. Bringing up the list app a suggestion to simplify things you gave him months back. Forcing himself to focus on the small screen in his hands instead of the woman currently dancing around the kitchen. Pulling bowls, pots and pans out, one chance glance has an inaudible groan vibrating through his chest at the sight of your plush ass. Bent over shifting through sheet pans knowing which you look for as arousal flares to life so potent Dean turns quickly hiding his reacting. Planting his face in the palms of his hands, elbows bent to catch the weight. Fingers digging into eye sockets to use the pain and banish the thoughts from reappearing.

Frowning at his actions you come over after putting the pan on the counter. Fingers running through his hair, scraping the scalp with short nails. Pleased smile at the groan you pull from his lips as he rubs his head into your palm like a little puppy. “Something wrong Dean?” Worry dancing through the cadence of your voice other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

“Fine,” head popping up, forcing your fingers to slide out of his hair. Taking a chance to glance up into your worried eyes. Underserving of your soft touch searing his skin. An itch to run from our presence skitters across his veins. “I’m fine sweetheart just tired.”

Searching his face, those whiskey flecked green eyes so unlike the blue-greens of Will’s, catching something hiding in those deep depths he’s trying to hide. Never fooled by words, always inspecting his actions and those little tells partially concealed though you know them all too well. “You’re covering something up Winchester I’ll get it out of you one way or another,” patting his cheek and stepping away.

‘I don’t want you to go on that date,’ on the tip of his tongue poised to leave his lips he keeps smashed together burying those feelings to not ruin this chance you have at an apple pie life. The very thought tears his heart, rendering another hole in the punched out organ. Though it’s his own fault for giving you a million reasons to keep that boundary line in place. Tip toeing almost across a few times, but always toeing the line keeping himself in check. Head snapping around when something hard hits the back of his head, scowl in place though it’s more playful than menacing. “Did you just…” glancing towards the floor to find a lone pecan on the ground behind him. Head tilted to the side, eyes narrowed on your face, which is the total opposite of his holding a sweetly innocent look concealing the trouble he knows you’ll cause. “Seriously a pecan? That could’ve done damage Babe Ruth.”

Eyes rolling, snort issuing from your up turned lips, “I don’t know what you speak of Dean I’m just here making a pie minding my own business. Can’t help it if a pecan has it out for you.”

“Possessed it must be,” voice pitched in a poor imitation of Master Yoda, getting a boo hiss from your general direction. “Though something tells me a certain someone threw the poor helpless nut.”

Shrugging, face neutral a picture of indifference with hands on your wide hips ingredients spread out over the counter. “Stop calling yourself names Dean it’s not nice.” Bottom lip trapped for a second to keep from giggling at the way he’s looking towards you.

Enjoying this moment of normalcy you’ve managed to capture in these dark and dangerous times. Thoughts skittering towards Will, if he’s able to put up with the hunters life style? Former Marine, Will knows so little of what truly goes bump in the night making you worry he wouldn’t feel at ease. It’s the reason you’ve hesitated each time he’s asked you out. Not wanting to drag someone else into a life of blood and death. Persistence and patience paid off when you finally agreed on a dinner date for tomorrow night. One your actually looking forward to.

But then you glance towards Dean, seeing the smile grace those soft looking lips, shinning in his whiskey flecked green orbs for the first time in months and you hesitate. Would you want to leave this life for a man who wouldn’t understand you not fully anyway? Or stay and remain the best friend till a hunt takes one of you out? Could you truly leave your home with the Winchesters, with Dean?

His voice breaks through the your thoughts, ruthful chuckle echoing through the room, “Haha sweetheart stop trying to be John Candy it ain’t workin for ya,” bending to scoop up the tossed nut a memory filters through his mind. Opening a wound he thought long since closed over soaked in whiskey and women who’s names he’s forgotten. Shaking the thought away to ask, “You gonna chunk a nut at your boyfriend tomorrow night too? Or is that reserved for me?”

Not sure why he’s even asking or teasing you about it or the fact there’s a bite to the tone. He shouldn’t care about a simple date, yet the thought twists his gut smile slipping from his lips as he looks down at the pecan in hand. Unwillingly letting those images fill and play before his eyes.

If I had a highway, I would run for the hills

If you could find a dry way, I'd forever be still

But you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

December 2011

Run down two room shack a nicer way of putting it truly, you think while pulling up outside next to Baby’s sleek black side. Hands gripping the steer wheel till knuckles hurt and you can focus again through the haze of tears spilling down your cold cheeks. Still trying to grasp the fact Bobby Singer legendary hunter, go to lore man, and surrogate father, dead by a bullet from Dick Roman’s gun. Itching for vengeance you try to quell for another time when you can let all the anger out. For right now you knew he needed you more than any strategy planning or revenge thought.

Remembering Sam’s voice shaking, laced with pain, peppered with rage but above all coated in sadness you could hear over the phone lines. Never hesitating to drop the case — for now — breaking speed limit in the need to reunite with your boys. You’d do anything for family even those who weren’t by blood. Learning a long time ago that family doesn’t end with the DNA flowing through your veins.

Shaking those thoughts from your mind and existing the car only to lean back in and grab the bags from the passenger side. Standing to full height to peer over the top locking eyes with those anger clouded greens. “No I didn’t bring you anything Winchester so don’t bother asking.” Trying to lighten the situation with poorly used humor.

Words fail to leave thinned lips as you pass by, hand holding the creaking barely held together door open for you. Following behind his voice scratchy from no use, “Sam call you?”

“Of course silly why wouldn’t he?” Placing the bags on what could pass for a pile of rubble instead of an island countertop. Turning to face him cataloging each feature, the stone set of his jaw, shoulders tight with tension, eyes those beautiful normally vibrate whiskey flecked greens mute with anguish he tries to hide.

Shrugging, shoulders dropping forward with no will to keep them up, “He shouldn’t have your needed else where Y/N.”

“Bullshit Winchester,” moving with purpose to stand in his personal space. “Bobby was just as much a father to me as to you. There’s no other place I’d rather be than here, for a different reason yes but I’m not leaving so suck it up buttercup.”

Catching the flash of anger tinging the deep greens whether directed at you or himself you’re not sure. “We already salted and burned his body, there’s no reason for you to stay.” Turning away from your softening eyes knowing your going to try and reason with him. Make him see he’s not responsible for what happened.

“I know,” two simple words make him pause and turn back. “I didn’t come to say goodbye to Bobby, I came for you.” Taking one step closer arms wrapping around his slumped shoulders bringing him into the shelter of your embrace. Steady hands running the length of his stiff back, imparting your warm, trying to give comfort knowing he’s unaccepting of such sympathies.

Brows furrowing, frown tipping his lips downward, fists clinching at his sides, Dean tries to keep himself from giving into the solace he so easily could find in your embrace. Warmth sinking into his skin through the layers of clothing he wears, tingling his skin, quickening his pulse.“Why?”

“You need me, your not listening to Sam or Castiel talking about going off to track Roman down yourself,” spitting the Leviathan’s name out like chewed to long gum. Head resting against his strong chest feeling the slightly erratic beat of his heart against your ear.

Back stiffening, “I don’t need you to tell me what to do Y/N I can make that decision on my own.” Low growl rattling through his chest as he pulls from your arms and steps from the warmth evaporating from his body. “You should leave.”

“And get yourself killed?” Hands slamming to your wide hips glaring daggers at your best friend. “What happened wasn’t your fault Dean. Any one of us could’ve taken that bullet, Bobby knew the risks of the mission, accepted them and died…” swallowing the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. “A hero,” ignoring his last words, reaching out to try and take his hand only to have him pull away like you’ve burned him.

“Don’t, don’t try to reason this with me I know better,” turning his back to head for the wall covered in papers trying to figure out just what Dick Roman’s up too.

Shaking your head knowing he’s hurting but not wanting to voice those feelings, to make him appear weak. With a sigh leaving your frowning lips you move silently beside him looking over the wall of weird trying to piece together how everything connects. Brushing your hand against his, pinkie trailing to catch what you think is his forefinger. Wrapping the little finger tightly around his you lean over, “I’m right here when you’re ready Dean, I’m not leaving nor letting go.”

“You should,” not bothering to turn and face you. Memories of Lisa and Ben filter through his thoughts along with Bobby, his father and what he can remember of his mother. “I’m poison and get everyone around me killed.” He doesn’t want to add you to the growing list. Rather wanting you to leave and find a different path for your life.

Tugging on his finger to wrap the middle and forefinger with your ring and pinkie fingers, “Then Sam and I are the antidote to your poison.” Giving a soft sad smile to his side profile, wrapping him up into your arms. Resting your head on his shoulder, voice a gentle whisper of breath upon his cheek and neck,“Those reasons keep tallying up Winchester we’ll hit a million before long.”

Reminding you both of a long ago discussion between the two of you in Bobby’s junk yard while still teenagers. Before angels and demons, vampires thought long dead and ancient Leviathan brought back from the pit of purgatory. When you made the packed to never fall for each other and always remain best friends. To never let go no matter how dire the situation, you’d have each other’s back.

Evaporating memories of long ago, you speak softly still resting your head on his shoulder. “You work on this mosaic of papers you have plastered over the walls. I have a pie to bake,” not giving it much thought you quickly press a kiss to his stubbled cheek then turn to head back towards the passable kitchen area.

Tingles dance over his skin for longer than he wishes, wanting to suppress those feelings bubbling up to try and consume him. Thinking he could bury them under the mounting pain and self hated. Yet, the warmth of your arms, soft press of your lips, your words register and sink into his brain Dean turns to watch you work unable stop a few of those feelings from dancing around his heart. Single thought shocking him in its stark contradiction to his current state of mind, Dean Winchester self proclaimed ladies man has fallen in love with his best friend. A sucker punch to the gut making him gasp and reel that silent declaration in. Stuffing it under the right full emotions of anger and pain. Letting them tap dance through his veins instead, something much safer for the both of them. Something he could understand and deal with.

I bow down to pray

I try to make the worst seem better

Lord, show me the way

To cut through all his worn out leather

I've got a hundred million reasons to walk away

But, baby, I just need one good one to stay

Head stuck in a cycle, I look off and I stare

It's like that I've stopped breathing, but completely aware

'Cause you're giving me a million reasons

Give me a million reasons

Giving me a million reasons

About a million reasons

Present

“He’s not my boyfriend yet Dean,” eyes rolling as you turn to melt the butter in a small sauce pan. Though there is a part of you wishing he could one day fill the role unless a single good reason can change your mind comes your way.

“But you want him too?” Words muttered through presses together teeth. Hating the fact he’s letting something so trivial effect him in such a way. You’ve had other boyfriends, one night stands he’s had to sit through yet this one feels different. As if he could truly loose you this time and those thoughts scare the shit outta him the most. Because yes you’re his best friend for longer than he can remember but above that you’re the woman who gets him, argues with him, sets his ass straight when he’s being stupid and above all or so he hopes, loves him warts and all.

Hands pause at his question looking into the melting golden liquid bubbling silently remembering to flick the tiny knob and turn the heat off. While your head screams to say yes but it’s a little small voice beating quickly beneath your ribcage making you pause. Clearing your throat to gather what thoughts you could from their scattered places. You’ve always spoke with honesty to Dean, unless circumstances dictated other wise, and you weren’t about to change now. Through you wouldn’t turn to face him when you did wanting to keep from seeing his eyes. Finding the reason for his questions in those green depths you’ve fallen for though never spoken the feelings. “Yes, he could…” swallowing to coat your dry throat to spit out the words rotting your stomach. “I could have a chance at happiness with Will, Dean. Why do you even ask?”

“I don’t want to loose you,” ‘Because I love you,’ on the tip of his tongue to tell you, give voice and life to his true feelings. Wanting you to stay and forget about those million other reasons he’s let slip between the cracks in your relationship.

Frozen in place, hands gripping the countertop beside the stove. “You wouldn’t loose me Dean I’d still go on hunts with you, I’d stick around,” lies tasting bitter on your tongue, heart beating triple time wondering if he’ll pick up on the dishonesty your speaking. Always feeling he’d never see you as anything other than his best friend. Never the type of woman to draw his attention, too soft and plush in places most men wouldn’t want and you didn’t pine for a man who’s given you a million reasons to walk away. So you shoved those feelings, the love you held back trying to make it work with other men. To find the one who’d surpass Dean destroying your feelings for the green eyed hunter, giving you the one reason to stay and belong. So why now did he have to put doubts in your mind? Why ask these questions when in years past he’d brush other men away as nothing more than a passing fancy?

Silently Dean stands slowly making his way towards you, taking in the ridged stance of your plush form. Hands itch to wrap around your thick waist and haul you against his chest. Pausing right beside you, brushing his fingers against yours too hook what he thinks is your forefinger with his pinkie. “You and I both know things wouldn’t stay the same between us sweetheart. He’d find a way to take you away from me,” praying you won’t pull away Dean turns to stare at your profile. Taking in the beauty he’s catalogued thousands of times, the curve of your lips when you smile, slope of your nose, eyes bright with laughter or spiting fire when angry usually at him. Softness of your cheeks under his palms the times he’s actually got to cup and caress the skin.

“We’ll remain best friends Dean that’ll never change,” gathering the courage to turn and look into his eyes. Catching the sadness coating those beloved greens making your heart ache. Tongue slipping out to tug back your bottom lip between your teeth indented them to keep from asking the question your heart demands.

Of its own accord Dean’s free hand comes up to brush over your cheek, cupping the soft skin, fingers spread from apple to jaw wanting so badly to draw you in and kiss those tempting lips. “I want you happy Y/N and if it’s possible out of this life, been wanting that for you since Bobby,” sliding his hand to your chin to pinch the end with his thumb and forefinger tipping your face up to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “I’ll miss you sweetheart.”

Eyes lock with stormy greens after he pulls back, soft gasp parting your lips at the simple touch, words sounding like a goodbye instead of their usual see ya later. Grappling for words to say, questions to ask, trying to figure out what’s going on, and why now. But he’s gone before your brain can catch up with your mouth, and your turning to rush after, seeing his back disappear around the corner.

Feet finally responding to command as you quickly follow stopping at the doorway, “Give me one good reason.” Praying he’ll listen and stop, hoping it’s not too late. “Stop giving me all these reasons to leave.”

Back ridged but his mind a flurry of thoughts and answers, more questions than he could shake a stick at. Only one reason comes to mind, “Good reason to what?”

Traveling the short distance to take his hand intertwining your fingers with his, needing him to turn around and look at you. Needing the connection while stating, “Give me a good reason to stay Dean to not go tomorrow night.”

“I can’t,” partly wanting to flinch from your touch, to tug his hand free, and partly wanting to sink into your familiar embrace. Soak in the peace he always finds in your arms, to bath in your warmth and possibly bask in your love. But Dean wouldn’t be selfish he’d let you go even if it meant killing his own heart and soul.

The urge to punch him grows strong but your refrain from using violence, “Why not? Too scared? Or you just don’t care?”

The warmth of your hand disappears from searing into his palm, tingling those long nimble fingers, his eyes close knowing you’re walking away because of that millionth reason. Till the first brush of soft fingers tender in there touch upon his cheek. He gives in to the urge and rubs his slightly stubbled cheek into your palm. “If that’s you Sam, I’m gonna kick your ass dude,” ignoring your questions in favor of basking in your touch instead. Hearing the soft giggle from your lips brings a smile to his own. Eyes finally opening too stare into yours, almost doing a doubt take at what he sees in those beloved depths. “I don’t deserve you Y/N.”

“Stop giving me a million reasons Dean and give me the one that’ll make me stay,” imploring him with your touch, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw. Tracing his plush bottom lip with the pad of your thumb, “I just need one good reason.”

He’d find the situation funny if it’s anyone else standing in front asking the same question. Even Sam would get a chuckle from his lips, but you, his breath freezes, heart thumping wildly in equal measures of terror and excitement. The very thoughts running unrestrained in his mind scare the shit out of him, but only one truly feels right. Snaking an arm around your thick waist pulling you against his strong chest, fitting like missing puzzle pieces. His free hand coming up to cup your cheek, “I love you.”

Tears slip from their ducts barely held back till those three simple words spill from his mouth jump starting your heart and sending your emotions swirling. Warm palms cradle your wet cheeks, gun callused thumbs brush hot tears away, you spy the worry and fear your non response sparks. “Do you mean it?” Wanting clarification before handing your heart over to the very man who’s held it for so long.

Knowing what your asking Dean stops waiting and lowers his mouth to yours. That first touch of lips electricity shoots through you veins. Body responding quicker with arms going around his neck to pull him firmly against you not a wisp of space between your bodies. Fingers tangling in the short hairs at the back of his head while you slot your lips against his. Demanding and deep, a tangled dance of tongues. Clashing of teeth, a melding mouths and finding the right angles to draw those delicious moans from each of you. Till air becomes necessary and you break apart panting, “That answer your question sweetheart?”

“No,” smirking when his eyes narrow, “I wanna hear it again.”

No hesitation in speaking those three words, “I love you.” Groaning when your lips smash back to his. Stealing breath from his lungs and a moan from his chest, Dean walks you backward till your pressed against the cool tile wall. Lower pelvis holding your soft body in place so his hands can dance over your cotton covered plush form. Palm’s flat against your thick waist, slowly dragging them around and down to cup your generous ass. Squeezing firmly and making you gasp.

Using the opening as a way to work his tongue back into your mouth, delving in for another taste of your sweetness. Low groan existing when rearranging his mouth to fit differently and snag a gulp of air. Stubble abrading your chin in the most spectacular of ways. Pooling heat low in your belly and making your mind wander in other more salacious directions. Brought back from teetering on the deliciously desirable edge by a sharp bite, his teeth nabbing your bottom lip to tug, letting go with a wet pop. Breath fanning out over your heated cheeks. Eyes once closed now open and locked with yours a pleading undertone to the desire darkened greens.

Knowing what he wants to hear and unable to wait along, “I love you too Dean.” Heart bursting with unrestrained joy flooding your system and making you love drunk.

“Thank fucking God,” groaning, resting your foreheads together still trying to reign in the wild thumping of his heart. Your admission only serves to make the largest muscle spasm quicker. All his pent up emotions, desires and needs flowing to the surface, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from rushing into something too fast. Remembering it’s still fresh and new between the two of you a different path to the relationship already established in friendship.

Giggling softly, you cup both his cheeks, thumbs brushing along his skin, three days worth of stubble abrading your palms. “So,” teasing smirk pulling at your lips, “I better call Will huh?”

“For?” Trying to keep the bitter growl from escaping and giving away his feelings on the sore subject. Tugging your soft body back in place from your wiggles to side free, not ready to let you go just yet.

Sliding one hand down his chest to rest where you know his anti-possession tattoo resides. Tracing the edges with the tip of your finger over the black t-shirt he’s wearing, locking eyes with his, “Seems I’m a taken woman. Wouldn’t want to lead the poor guy on now would I?” Watching how those whiskey flecked greens darken, pushing his lower body deeper into your plush form. Barely heard as you try not to give away the whimper of need his body produces in your own, with his pressed so tightly. Cool concrete keeping you body temp from over heating for the moment.

“No,” clearing his throat leaning in to draw his nose over your jawline. Touring towards your ear, catching the lobe between his front teeth to tug. Low desire filled growl leaving his lips, followed by, “Tomorrow is another day sweetheart and right now you’ve got better things to do.”

Heading tipping over granting access to the parts of your neck he wants, trying to keep the shiver from rolling over your body. Heat flooding your veins sparking a need you’ve never felt with any of the other men you’d previously had relations with. “What,” licking your parched lips, “what better things Dean?” Praying it’s the same idea rolling around your head for the longest time.

Pausing in his mapping of your neck and shoulder with his lips, Dean raises his head to spear you with a heated look. “Me for starters sweetheart, that is of course…” uneasiness has him trailing off the first time in his life. The bitter taste of uncertainty coating his thoughts for a fraction of a second before your lips land back on his.

Teasingly soft presses, little ghost touches of your tongue, playfully dotting his cheeks, chin and forehead with your lips before brushing close to his ear. “Hey Dean,” smiling against his skin, tenderly pressing your lips just south of his ear. Nibbling the found patch of sensitive skin behind committing the spot to memory for later. Breath puffing out quicker feeling him shiver, knowing what the next words would invoke in Dean and his love for the movie. “You big stud. Take me to bed or lose me forever,” sultry tone added to the cadence.

His eyes close for a moment, heart swelling as you recite the words to one of his favorite movies. Marveling at the fact you’ve remembered the lines perfectly and Dean falls deeper in love with you if that’s possible.

The gentle caresses of your lips against his skin setting fire to his nerve endings, room in his jeans becoming a hot commodity as his shaft thickens and throbs. Finding the distraction almost too much while trying to recall the next line. Teasing giggles reach his ears that he replies to with a deep chuckle. Words coming back to him, “Show me the way home, honey.”

Reaching down to tug one hand from your ass, chuckling with a shake of your head when it doesn’t budge but squeezes the generous globe. Notching himself tighter into your body, smirk appearing as your eyes widen, gasp issuing from parted lips. Bitting the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling before the words can escape. “Is that a pickle in your pocket or you just happy to see me?”

“Oh sweetheart it’s a great big dill I can show ya,” flashing a smirk, both of you trying hard not to laugh.

“Preferably,” deep voice tinged with slight offense but liberally coated in amusement. “In your own room so the both of you aren’t bare ass naked in the hallway bumping like bunnies,” having rounded the corner towards the kitchen and catching the intimate embrace. “A vision I don’t want branded into my skull thank you very much,” Sam paused arms crossed in annoyance. Golden dotted green eyes dancing with mirth, catching the playfully scandalous expression cross your features. Glancing towards Dean who buries his face in your neck getting a deep chuckle from his brother.

Try as you might to keep from busting out laughing they just rolled out of your mouth as your eyes lock with Sam’s. Acting stoic but the smile tugging at his lips and the teasing flash through his eyes speak a different story. Only thing holding you up is Dean’s body still pressed heavily against your. The man in question glancing up first to look at you then over his shoulder towards Sam. “Don’t even start Sammy,” grumbling good-naturedly giving him a middle finger salute and the opening you need to slip from between his hard body and the wall. Teasing growl rumbling through his chest at the loss of your warmth. Dean reaches out to snag your arm but you manage to dance out of his reach, giggles echoing off the walls trailing behind your disappearing form.

“Wouldn’t dream of it Dean but Cas owes me fifty bucks,” patent Sam Winchester smirk sliding over his lips. Brow raised at his scoff, “Can’t believe I had a betting pot going?”

Watching you run off happy grin tipping his mouth upward, he looks back at Sam grin still in place. “Just can’t believe it’s with Cas. Rowena maybe, Jody, Claire, Alex and Donna fuck yes but Cas,” incredulous look stealing over his features for a few moments.

“Who say’s the bet’s not bigger than you think,” broad shoulders shrugging same smirk in place, Sam enters the kitchen on that note leaving Dean to stare wide eyed after his baby brother. “Matter of time, always just a matter of time,” laughter tinged voice exists the kitchen, unseen shake of his head at the mess left behind.

Stock still for a fraction of a second till soft giggles echo quietly down the hall, grin turning into full blown smile. Need rushing back through his veins in remembrance of your position just a few short moments ago. Low curse existing his mouth, Dean turns racing off to find which room you’re hiding in.

Nerves tingled through your body, worry interrupting thoughts/memories of short minutes ago. Hard press of his body against yours, warm moist breath fanning out over your skin sending tingles of a different kind to skitter across your veins. But now standing in Dean’s room trying to figure out where to lay or stand that would invoke images of sensuality. You look down at your bare feet toes wiggling against cold concrete. Up wards to thick jeans clad thighs, a baby blue tank top covering your torso, self consciousness went out the window decades ago. After the first serious injuries you suffered at the hands of a vengeful spirit had you damn near stripped naked in front of Dean. Confidence in face of adversity knowing he’s the only one for miles around to patch you up.

Now though is different, same confidence but wishing for sexier clothing something to entice and tease. Small snort issues from the depths of your body knowing damn well you had nothing of the sort in your possession. Flannels, tank tops, t-shirts and jeans hunter’s required staples along with the functional under garments you groan at remembering are mismatched at the present.

“Beautiful even in those rumpled clothing,” deep voice breaking through thoughts and making a squeak sound as you quickly turn to face the lazily leaning against the door jam hunter. Arms crossed over muscular chest, biceps straining the black t-shirt’s sleeves, “I meant what I said before Sammy interrupted us.”

Tugging your bottom lip back under indented top teeth turning to face him fully, “Which part?” Barely keeping the mirth from bubbling over, “That I should show you the way home or you have a big dill?” Easy going banter calming your nerves even the part about feeling ill-prepared clothing wise.

Tender infused whiskey fleck green eyes turn molten with each sweep of your body. “I love you,” words escape as eyes stay locked, Dean pushing away from the doorway. Booted foot catching the hardwood door and slamming it shut behind him. Stocking towards you as a lion would his prey, licking parched lips wanting to devour you. Hands fisting at his side though to keep from reaching out and doing just that incase it’s something your not ready for.

His breath froze upon seeing you walking around his room, something akin to relief floods his veins along with a sense of rightness. Sure you’ve come in hundreds of times to wake him from a nightmare or mornings, to barrow music and to talk. Yet, this time feels different giving your relationship changed moments ago. Catching the indecision clearly written in those beloved eyes that don’t focus on one place too long. For a moment Dean wishes he could read your thoughts but then having hunted and lived together for decades he picked up the situation and cues without having to know your thoughts.

Pleased hum breaks Dean from the wondering trail his thoughts took him on to spy the sweet smile gracing your lips. Hands positioned on your hips one cocked to the side as you stand there waiting expectedly. Restraining himself, Dean opens his palms to bring them up and cup your cheeks dragging you against him. Lips meeting in the tenderest of kisses that he keeps in place while speaking, “You want this, want me?”

Recognizing his vulnerability and what he’s asking with those simple words, arms wrap around his back fisting the shirt tightly to press the two of you together. Love saturated eyes burn into those greens you could drown in, “That’s my question Winchester stop stealing my lines.” Flattening one palm to slide up and into his hair. Pressing another kiss to his soft lips you’ve only imaged kissing till now. The reality so much better than any fantasy you ever came up with.

“Calling me a thief now sweetheart?” Using jokes to cover the fact he’s searching for the right words. Flustered and frustration slither through his veins in a combination Dean’s not accustom, words stammering of unintelligible nature tumble from his mouth. The feel of your blunt nails sending pleasurable shivers down his spine.

Nodding, craning your neck back a few inches but keeping your eyes locked, “You stole my lines and my heart Dean so yes that would make you a thief.” Hand sliding over his back now and settling into the back pocket of his jeans, “I also meant what I said back there.” Catching the cocked brow you elaborate, “Take me to bed Dean I’m tired of waiting, I want to know how it feels to have you inside me.”

Soft groan issues from parted lips. Wanting to act on your words so damn badly his body vibrates with barely contained desire. Forehead coming to rest against yours, strong hands sliding too loosely wrap around and caress your neck. “You know I’m not great at relationships. I could seriously fuck things up.”

“I know but then so could I,” any doubts or insecurities evaporating into the ether with every look.

Callused fingers brush over your bare shoulders sending sensual shivers cascading down your body. Rubbing your thighs together for added friction with the heated look Dean’s fixing you with. Boosting your confidence to step back his hands drop to the side as you own pinch at the hem of your tank top. Slowly pulling it from your body, letting it drop with a barely heard whisper.

“Fucking hell sweetheart,” resolve snapping, reaching for your hips and tugging you back against him harder than intended. Lips sealing quickly to swallow the gasp existed parted lips Dean takes advantage of and slips his tongue inside the warm cavern of your mouth.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss, it’s all teeth and tongues, fighting desperately for dominance. Pulling groans from the depths of Dean’s soul as he pulls whimpers and moans from your own. Till air becomes needed though it doesn’t stop your mouth from trailing a hot path across his stubbled jaw. Nibbling towards that little patch behind his ear to flick the tip of your tongue against. Smirking at the shutter rolling through his body, fingers dancing a rhythm over his shirt covered torso. Hem reached you tug twice to which he nods reaching behind him grasping and pulling the garment off to join yours.

Hands, palms flat immediately going to ghost over his rippling tummy. Muscle covered soften causing all moisture to pool south, clit throbbing almost painfully. Sure you’ve seen him bare chested before this time it’s different. For pleasure instead of patching him up. Drawing desired groans rather than pain filled. “I know Sam would abject but I so wouldn’t mind seeing you walk around shirtless.”

Full belly chuckle leaves Dean’s lips, “Sweetheart don’t talk about other men right now especially not my brother.” Possessive hands landing on your naked plush waist, fingers spanning the distance and gripping the flesh in his palm. Dreams having nothing on the real woman in his palms.

“Just stating facts sir nothing more,” trailing your fingers over the slightly hair roughen skin. Brushing pebbled nipples from the cool air and your proximity. Reserving a gasp when you lean forward to lap with the tip of our tongue and nip at the peaked point. Glancing to lock eyes as you switch and give the same attention to its twin giving the same attention getting a hiss from your actions. Dragging you lips upward to trace his tattoo with kisses.

Molten green eyes drinking in the sight of your lips on his skin, shooting desire straight to his cock. Throbbing need demanding attention no matter how good your soft lips feel against his body. “Baby girl,” groaning at the nip you place, eyes close to compose himself. Flying open as air cool brushes his skin inside of the shared heat of both your bodies. Mesmerized by the way you reach back to unclasp your bra, pushing your lushes breasts out teasing his vision, salivating for a taste of your skin.

He steps forward crowding into your space backing you into the bed till the back of your calves hit the edge. Wrapping his arms around your plush form to brush hands away and do the task himself. Finger tips skimming the edges of both straps till reaching the top at your shoulders and drawing them down. Keeping his eyes locked with yours while pulling the garment from your pliant body tossing it behind him. Eyes flicking down on a groan, licking his dry lips at the beauty displayed for his ravenous gaze.

“Lay down for me sweetheart,” meeting your lust blown orbs with his own. “I wanna see you in my bed,” biting off a whimper when you drop onto the edge. Bountiful breasts bouncing teasingly as he watches you slide backwards towards the head board. Hands going to the button of your jeans, low growl pausing your nimble fingers. “That’s for me to do baby girl, just,” swallowing harshly as he looks you over. Partially naked spread out over his bed picture perfect memory for those times when the darkness tries to steal this happiness. “Give me a moment to drink you in.” Unable to decide where to look first, “So fucking gorgeous.” Toeing off his boots, hands going to his own jeans your shaking head pausing the movements.

“I get the same pleasure,” licking your lips slowly while raising up on your elbows. Beckoning him with two crooked fingers, hand resting with the palms up beside your plush body, “Get up here before I get impatience and take matters into my own hands.”

Declaration making him pause a moment low growl rumbling from deep with in his chest. As desire blown green meet yours, smirk gracing his handsome features. One knee comes to rest on the mattress Dean leans forward keeping eyes locked while pressing a kiss to your ankle. Grinning, feeling the quiver that runs through your body. “You wouldn’t dare sweetheart,” adding his other knee to spread your legs and slowly fit his body between.

“Shall we make a bet Winchester?” Using your free foot to brushing the nearest thigh with the flat. Sliding towards the very noticeable bulge busting the seams of his jeans, toes teasing the thick ridge before pressing the flat of your foot against him. Rubbing the length slowly pleased when a growl echos the room.

Grabbing that foot tickling the pad enjoying the way you squirm and giggle. Taking the opportunity to move fully between your legs. “About that bet hum,” fingertips drawing an invisible path of fire down the middle your body. Bracing then both arms on either side of your shoulders hovering over you, warm breath fanning out over your cheek he nuzzles with stubbled chin. Pulling a whimper from your gasping lips.

Of there own accord, your hands slide up the strength of his arms and biceps to clasping fingers together around the back of his neck. Left leg draped over his waist to pull him against your pelvis, breathless moan parting your lips at the contact of his hard length pressing into your dripping center. “I don’t want slow or gentle Dean,” head tipping back to give access to his questing lips that find your wildly thumping pulse, sucking a mark into the soft skin. “We have all night for that I just…” words caught upon seeing whiskey flecked green eyes dilated almost pitch with desire. Cheshire Cat grin tugging kiss swollen lips upward.

“Just what sweetheart?” Humming, brushing your lips together before returning to his last spot. One hand dragging over your soft body cupping the generous globe massaging gently feeling the nipple peak against his palm. Teasingly circling the stiff nub with the tip of his index finger before giving a sharp pinch and making you gasp out. Back arching at the pleasurable pain skittering across your veins.

Grasping what’s left of your mind to try and form coherent words, body responding instead pressing your chest into his large hand. Nails score down his back, one completing the journey to give his ass a tight squeeze. As the other detours to between your intimately pressed body. Happy to find enough space to slot your palm against his erection, cupping his throbbing length and giving short little strokes. Smile blooming with a breathless groan against your collarbone where Dean’s forehead currently rests. Nimble fingers pop the small metal disk, pulling the zipper tab down to slip the hand inside. Warmth enveloping palm feeling him twitch has you slowly licking your lips at the mire thought of getting to taste him.

“You’re killing me Y/N,” rutting his hips into your hand, mouth coming back to claim yours in a punishingly bruising kill. Tangling your tongues together, nipping a little harder on your bottom lip than meaning to but the accompanying moan flows straight to his cock. Making him twitch against your palm that has slowed with the distraction of the kiss.

Breaking for air, panting while trying to form and speak the right words, “We’re both a little over dressed Dean.” Pulling your hand from the tight confines of his jeans, using the one at his ass to help pull them and his boxers down only stopping when you couldn’t reach anything passed his knees. Sigh of relief exists his parted lips making you giggle and press a kiss to his chin. “Feel better?” Bottom lip trapped and nibbled on as your fingers brush his length. Finding your fingers barely wrap around the girth while to stroke, palm sliding over precum leaking head. Hips thrust forward at the sensations tingling down his back gathering low in his belly.

“Now who’s over dressed?” Mumbling the words against your skin. Dean regretfully brushes your hand aside grinning at the annoyed huff that leaves your lips. “Ah sweetheart put that sexy pout away you’ll get a chance to taste me soon enough. Cause if you keep using that soft hand on my cock I’ll cum faster than I want.”

His words presenting so many thoughts to run through your mind only cut off when wet warm heat engulfs your right nipple. Tongue flicking quickly over taut peak, blunt teeth nipping then soothing over with the tip of his tongue. Switching to the twin leaving both sloppy wet and tight, gleaming in the low light of his room. Worshipping at the temple of your body with kisses pressed into your tummy, running scared callused hands over your skin in silent reverence. Eyes taking in very inch Dean sits back on his knees between your parted legs. Tracing his knuckles along the seam of your jeans covered cunt, making you jolt against him.

Pausing to strip your jeans and panties from your body, tossing them and kicking his own off to land somewhere on the floor. Raising up on elbows to finally get a chance to look at him in all his naked glory. Tracing each divot of scars over a broad chest, passing over the middle to admire thick bowed legs spread wide. Lips licked slowly upon landing on his ridge cock, slightly curved and resting against his lower belly. Palm itching for a touch, mouth watering for that taste. “You’re beautiful Dean,” words whispered so low your unsure if he’s really heard them.

Heat blooms over his cheeks at your admission, looking your fill of his adonis body. Dean returns the admiration. Tracing the features of your beloved face, staring a little too long at your heaving breasts, soft tummy he wants to nibble on at some point. Thick thighs he can’t wait to have wrapped around his waist once he’s buried deep inside your wet heat. The very though has his eyes dropping between your parted legs, glistening folds beckoning him forward. Caught in that tempting trance, Dean slides back between your legs. Brushing his lips just above your mound and receiving a whimper from you. Locking eyes, “I think you got that backwards sweetheart, it’s you who’s beautiful.” Dipping to run the thick flat of his tongue through your folds, humming at the tangy sweetness exploding over his taste buds.

Hips cantering against his mouth, your own letting a deep moan free as one hand slides down to card through his short brown locks. Tugging the strands getting a groan to vibrate against your cunt while his talented tongue dances through your soaked folds. Torturing your clit with ghosted touches, one arm wraps around our thigh spreading you open. As the other slips a finger inside your wet channel, finding you squeezing and tight, garnering a deep groan of arousal from the man between your lips.

“Dean,” voice wrecked and he’s barely touched you. When he doesn’t answer or budge from his sensual assault on your cunt. Lips having formed a perfect O around your clit, tongue flicking kitten licks to the tiny nerve filled nub. Pleased with he whimpers and whines that filter through his desire filled mind.

Resulting in you tugging on his hair harder, back arching as a small shock rocks through your body, tingling your belly when he bites carefully on your clit. “Dean please,” eyes rolling back into your head at the added second finger. Crooked and pressing into the little spongy spot you’ve never had anyone touch. Ripping a half scream from the hidden depths of your soul.

Smug smirk tugging over slick wet lips, stubbled chin coming to rest just above your mound. Watching as you heave a breath, breasts catching his eyes for a moment till you tug again. Fingers anything but still as they thrust and scissor you open, working you carefully to fit his slightly above average length not wanting to hurt you. “Yes sweetheart?” Licking his lips from your slick.

Free hand coming up to cover your heated face, “Don’t sound so smug,” gasping the last word when his thumb brushes over your clit making you jump and wither. Heat spreading from that special spot in your belly, where the tight coil starts to wind higher. Thick thighs tremble with each sensation Dean draws out of you. “Need you, please, please.”

Caressing your quivering walls with the gun callused pads of his fingers, massaging your clit as you plead. Breath chocked out on another moan, chest heavy, heat coating your skin as you wither under him. “Ah but I can’t help myself sweetheart you don’t know what seeing you like this does to me.”

Gathering what little strength you have in your limbs to reach down and cup his cheeks, thumbs brushing over the skin under his eyes. “Why don’t you get up here and show me Dean?” Voice wreaked yet a tender undertone rides through the cadence.

Pressing a single kiss to the pulsing little clit, giving once last flick making your squirm and Dean to chuckle. Slowly pulling his fingers out, stroking twice more your hips chasing the indescribable ecstasy winding its way through your veins. Only to have the tingles dance slower, the coil start to unwind as frustrated huff leaving your gasping lips.

Taking advantage to plunder your mouth, greedy for a sample of the wet cavern and a tongue tango that draws out a sharp moan of need. Especially tasting your tangy sweetness from his lips, sucking the bottom between your teeth to nibble. While reaching blindly over to the nightstand, damn near yanking the whole draw on the ground in his haste. “Give me a sec woman,” huffing out he rolls slightly off you. The noise drawing a giggle out causing him too stiffen, glancing back with a playful glare to refocus on finding his prize.

Using the opportunity to nose the thick column of his neck, taking in the scent of whiskey, leather and motor oil, peppered now with sex and sweat. Addicting and unable to help yourself from sink your teeth into his skin gently but hard enough to leave a small soon to purple mark. Soothing over with the flat of your tongue catching sight of the pause your actions caused. The aroused moan that leaves his lips, head resting on the bed to try and gather himself from your onslaught.

“Something wrong Dean?” Nipping just below his jaw, tracing your fingers along his side. Index finger swirling through the spares, crisp hairs leading a path to what you’ve craved to have inside you for a long time. Nimble fingers surround the base forming a perfect circle that can’t close but tightens. Stroking his length teasingly slow. In return receiving a warning growl — the sound devastating your senses making you throb — from the man currently fishing for a condom and growing frustrated when his fingers come up empty. “Shall I stop my love? Am I distracting you?” Whispered words breathed into his ear, lips kissing the shell. Knowing damn well just how tormenting you are to his senes and body. If his twitching cock your hand currently wrapping around stroking and the shallow breaths are any indication.

“Ha,” triumphant shout of accomplishment, Dean rolls back over you pressing bodies together and into the mattress. “Now where were we?” Flashing that teasing smirk with a hard rutting of his hips against your dripping core and tight fisted hand.

“What to you so long stud?” Biting back the giggles when he fixes you with a scowl.

Breath hissing out through clinched teeth when taking your hand off his cock, bringing those wickedly wonderful fingers to his lips and sucking on each one with a short nibble. Placing the open condom pack in your palm, “Do the honors sweetheart.”

Curling your fingers around the little foil packet, pressing your other hand into the back of his neck drawing Dean in for a tender kiss. Slow meld of your lips, light sips of your warm mouths. Tenderly tugging his bottom lip, to slide your tongue over the bruised skin and into his mouth. Licking and touring the heated cavern, seeking out ways to make his moan and grunt. A moment of forgetfulness while mapping his tonsils and sucking on his tongue, till you break for air. Chasing his mouth for more kisses only to receive a chuckle instead.

Eyes open to spear him with a heated look, foil packet crinkling in your hand a remind of your mission. Slipping fingers from his soft hair, to trace over his body, joining its partner between the two of your heaving bodies. Unlocking your eyes to glance down, hand wrapping back around his thick shaft to stroke twice getting a needy moan from the man above you. Before teasingly rolling the condom on paying special attention to the thick pulsing vein on the underside, mouth watering at the thoughts of getting to taste it later.

Dean grasps one of your hips to bring the leg around his waist, opening you up and feeling your soft skin under his palm. Sliding between your bodies to entwine his fingers with your, pumping his cock together. Different sounds, a hiss from Dean and a moan from you exists on shuttering breaths. Eyes reattach both blown with desire and coated in need, you notch the head of his cock at your entrance pressing the heel of your foot into the small of his back to urge him forward.

Teeth clamping to draw blood from your bottom lip but also to keep from screaming out in pleasure as he slowly sinks inside your quivering depths. Reaching up with his other hand to free your bruised lip, brushing the pad of his thumb over the glistening skin. “I wanna hear you sweetheart don’t hold back.”

“What about Sam?” Breath hitching, mouth hanging open on a moan that’s trapped on the edge of a scream when he bottoms out against you. Bodies flush, joined hands now resting above your head where Dean’s placed them.

Leaning in to press open mouth kisses to your lips and neck letting you adjust to his size, the exquisite stretch thumps through your veins the slight sting only heightening the pleasure. “Never mention his name while we’re in bed sweetheart,” snagging the lobe of your ear with his teeth. Pleased when you nod speechless, though not enough, “Words baby girl I wanna hear that prefect voice of yours.”

Swallowing trying to form words to answer, scoring your nails down his back an impatience mewling whimper leaves instead. Using the leg not wrapped around Dean’s waist as leverage to plant and push your hips up against him. Squeezing your walls tightly around his shaft drawing out a grunt from his lips. “Dean…” going to say more but he chooses that moment to pull out till just the crown rested inside your pulsing channel. “Just you…” hips snapping forward to fill you quickly stealing those words into a loud scream of ecstasy.

Starting a hard punishing rhythm, repeatedly waiting till your fixing to speak and either pulling out or trusting home. Always taking away what your going to say. Knowing your trapped between frustration and pleasure, Dean captures your mouth in another deep kiss. While his hips snap against yours, wrapping the other leg around his waist to angle you differently. Pressing your intertwined hands into the pillow beside your head and breaking the bruising kiss to gulp a lung full of air into both your burning lungs.

Feeling your walls start to quiver around his hammering cock, knowing by the pinched look on your countenance, the quivering of your thick thighs clutching at his trim waist. Heels pressing into the small of his back drawing him forward with quickened strokes that he’s shortened from the long deep thrusts. Notching your legs higher on his waist to press forward, curling his pelvis into your core, determined to make you cum first. Wanting to feel you soak his cock, see the looks of pleasure dance across your features.

Sliding his fingers through your soaked folds to find your pearl pulsing, pressing the pad of his thumb circling to make a gasp fly from your lips. Back arching, tingles no longer gentle but tap dancing a rhythm through your veins. Dean’s name a chant from your dry, parched lips, panting to try and fill your starving lungs. Body vibrating on a higher frequency only Dean’s turned in on as with every snap of his hips, brush of his thumb sends your spiraling deeper into euphoria.

Reaching up to wrap your hand around his neck to bring him back down for another kiss. This one sloppy as the thrusts of Dean’s hips, brief touches of lips, wet slide of your tongues across the other. Eyes sliding closed only to snap back open with a pinch to your nipple soothed over my his teasing fingers.

“Keep those beautiful eyes open for me sweetheart and cum for me I know your close. You just gotta let go for me,” resting your foreheads together, gritting his teeth to starve off his own orgasm. The wet clinch almost too much for Dean to handle. Always wondering but never imagining how good this truly would feel.

“Dean,” breathing out his name, a series of moans and whimpers following. Trying to capture his mouth for another kiss that’s broken off when your orgasm slams into you soaking Dean’s cock in your slick. Eyes rolling back his name a screamed prayer from your lips.

Body convulsing in pleasurable all consuming fire, little sparks of light pin prick behind your tightly closed eyes. Moisture breath fans out over your neck where Dean buries his face, lips pressing into your skin. Chasing that high while working you through your orgasm the wet clinch of your walls prove too much to starve off any long. Giving in with a groan of your name rubbed into your skin as he fills the condom. Circling his hips a few more times to drag out the pleasurable spikes racking his frame.

Collapsing into your arms a welcome weight pressing you into the mattress as you both try to capture your breath. He brings your joined hands down starting to untwine them but the shake of your head stops the actions.

“For a few moments longer,” voice hoarse from screaming out your pleasure. Free hand coming up to card through his sweat drenched hair. Brushing the strands back from his forehead and sliding your lips over his. Brief touches, lingering into something deeper. Tender caresses of mouth’s, nibbling, and sucking softly on bruised skin. Dean starts to move getting a whimpered whine from your throat tightening your arms around him.

“Gotta clear you up sweetheart I’m not going anywhere,” reassuring you with another soft kiss while carefully pulling out of your tender depths. Mesmerized by the slick coating your tights and dripping from your convulsing walls. Brushing his fingers over the reddening swollen skin, gasp reaching his ears, eyes flying up to yours. Then flicking across your body seeing the beard burn on your neck and chest, hand prints blooming over your hips. “Did I hurt you?”

Sitting up to cup his cheeks, “No Dean you didn’t hurt me. If you had I would’ve told you.” Leaning in to kiss him tendering, “Better take care of that mess it’ll get awful sticky otherwise,” giving him a bright smile. Watching while he gingerly takes the spent condom off, tying it closed before tossing it into the waste bin by the night stand.

Raising to walk on shaky bowed legs to grab up the wash cloth from the sink. Wetting with warm water he turns back stunned to find you watching him with a grin on your lips. “Like what you see?”

“Hmm no,” seeing the frown you go to finish. “Love Dean, I see the man I love,” frown switching to teasing smirk as he nears the bed.

Nudging you to lay back and spread your legs, tenderly wiping you clean. Dragging the warm cloth over your folds and inner thighs. Tossing it behind him to crawl into bed gathering your pliant plush body against his hard chest. Back pressed into his front, arms wrapped tightly around your thick waist. Placing a kiss to your shoulder, “I love to you Y/N, get some rest I’m far from through with you.”

Soft giggles vibrate into his chest, “Careful you’re getting old baby you sure you’ll have the stamina?” Toying with the fingers tapping against your tummy sending shivers cross your body.

Low growl accompanies the drag of his teeth over your sensitive skin, drawing a moan from your lips. Pressing his hips into your generous ass, “Give me an hour sweetheart and I’ll show you just how much stamina your man has.”

[mattholicguilt]

cats in the cradle by Duck_Life

Fandoms: Supernatural [Gen, No Archive Warnings Apply] Words: 1,745

Tags: Claire Novak & Patience Turner, Cats, Psychic Abilities, Grandparents & Grandchildren, Friendship, Found Family, claire novak will see a stray animal and be like, is anyone gonna project onto this, and not wait for an answer

Summary: Claire helps Patience hone her abilities. Patience helps Claire track down a cat.

Written for SPN Women Week Day 1. Prompt: "skills"

Bub is missing again.

“Bub” is the name of a mean stray cat missing a chunk from his ear. Claire’s been leaving cat food out for the ugly old thing for weeks now, and whenever he doesn’t come running she panics.

So, for the third time, Patience finds herself enlisted in the search for a cat that Claire doesn’t even technically own. “If it’s gonna bother you this much every time,” Patience says, “why don’t you just take it in? You know, get him his shots, a collar, a microchip.”

Claire makes a face at her before turning back to look at the road. She’s been driving around the neighborhood slowly, scoping out every shrub and checking under every parked car. “Bub doesn’t want to be chained down,” she explains. “He’s a free spirit.”

Alright, well, Patience is too tired to unpack that right now. She lets it lie and looks out the passenger’s side window, alert for any signs of movement. “Maybe he was never a stray at all,” she tries, “and his owner finally tracked him down and brought him home.”

“Do you know that?” Claire asks.

Claire’s always asking if Patience knows things— what happened on Jody’s date last weekend, what Dean’s middle name is, whether or not Alex is the one who ate the last ice cream sandwich in the freezer. Patience keeps trying to explain that she can only see the future. “Psychic” might be a misnomer— her abilities are precognitive, not telepathic.

She basically gets previews, little spoilers about what’s to come. And though she’s been working at it, she can’t seem to get her psychic abilities to do the kind of reading and divination her grandma could do. She gets glimpses with no context, no backstory.

Missouri Moseley could walk into a room and feel every ounce of heartbreak, grief, hope and faith in the people standing there. Patience can barely pick up on it when Alex and Claire are pissed at each other.

Still, Claire brings her along whenever the cat goes missing. Seems to think her ESP can home in on missing animals. Patience keeps telling her otherwise, and yet here she is, once again. That’s the trouble with having no social life and no better plans.

Maybe she should join a book club.

Claire rounds the corner, eyes darting around for any sight of the mangy cat. The first time Bub vanished from Claire’s sight, all the neighbors seemed intent to help. They explained they hadn’t seen the cat, but hoped Claire would find him soon and offered baked goods and platitudes in the meantime.

But these things have an expiration date. You can only lose the cat so many times before the routine gets old and the neighbors lose interest.

“My educated guess ?” Patience sighs. “The cat’ll come back when it gets hungry. Just like before.”

Claire makes a tch sound and mouths “educated guess” under her breath. Apparently, because Patience is psychic she’s supposed to be omniscient. “So which is it?” Claire says. “Is he back with his ‘real’ owners or is he going to come home when he gets hungry?”

“Don’t be a jerk,” Patience says. “I’m here, aren’t I? I’m helping you.”

“... Yeah. You are,” Claire says, ducking her head. “Sorry.” Her eyes scan the road ahead, looking for the telltale streak of a cat darting out from under a parked car or vanishing around a tree trunk. Still nothing. “Hey, Patience the Pet Psychic,” Claire says. “You should write that down, that’d be a great children’s book.”

“Very funny,” Patience says, rolling her eyes. She’s silent for a few moments and then says, “Cla-aire the Monster Slayer.”

“That doesn’t really rhyme.”

“Sure it does.”

When the sky darkens and the streetlights flick on, Claire drives them back to the house, Bub-less and dejected. “I’m sure he’s fine,” Patience tries.

Claire bunches her shoulders, the collar of her leather jacket looking like a cat’s raised hackles. Maybe, Patience thinks, that’s the connection— Claire in many ways resembles an angry cat. She and Bub might be kindred spirits.

“I’m just tired,” Claire says, yanking the keys out of the ignition. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Patience considers pointing out that Claire could at least ask instead of just assuming , considers reminding Claire that she has her own life outside of playing “pet psychic.”

But she doesn’t actually have anything to do tomorrow. Or the rest of the week. And as futile as it feels riding around looking for a runaway cat, it is something to do. And it makes Claire feel better.

And… straining her psychic muscles to pick up on any trace of the old tomcat is at least better than doing nothing and letting her abilities degrade. Over the last year, she’s been trying to find ways to train her brain, shape her psychic visions into something useful.

Jody’s supportive, but she, like most people, doesn’t know anything about being psychic. Kaia’s got a fraught relationship with her own special skills and usually chooses not to talk to Patience about seeing the future, and Alex is so entrenched in nursing and hunting that the few “normal” moments she gets at home are devoted to unwinding and relaxing.

Which makes Claire Patience’s most ardent supporter in developing her psychic abilities. A very grouchy, blonde and mostly clueless Yoda. What she lacks in background knowledge she makes up for in persistence.

“Hey, Patience, guess which hand?” Claire will ask, holding the last fortune cookie behind her back. “Hey, Patience, what number am I thinking of?” Claire will ask, perched on the arm of the couch. “Hey, Patience, heads or tails?” Claire will ask, flipping a coin to catch it in midair.

That’s not how it works. That’s not how any of it works— Patience can’t predict things at will. Her psychic visions operate on a schedule of their own, with no concern for Patience’s own convenience or comfort. One minute, she’s watching shitty reality TV while Alex nods off on her shoulder. The next, she’s watching Jody narrowly avoid being bitten by a vampire.

It’s a lot different from just guessing a coin toss. Still. Patience can’t help but think that her grandma would’ve passed all of Claire’s little tests with flying colors.

That night, Patience doesn’t dream about anything— at least, not anything useful. She has an anxiety dream about being lost in Aldi, roaming the aisles with increasing frustration. But nothing about the future. Nothing about Bub the cat.

She’s pouring herself a bowl of cereal when Claire stomps inside, the porch door swinging shut behind her. “Still gone,” she says darkly, grabbing the cereal box and her own bowl. “Food hasn’t been touched.”

“Claire,” Patience says, “why don’t we just go to the SPCA? You can get yourself a cat that’s not, you know—”

“What? Not damaged? Not a lost cause? Not hard to love?”

Whoa, Patience wants to say. “A cat that’s not missing ,” she finishes. “We can get him his shots and a collar and everything.”

“I don’t— I don’t just want some random cat,” Claire says. “I want to find Bub. I want… I want to find him and bring him home. I have to bring him home.”

“I know,” Patience says, and just like that she does . She does know.

She knows everything, feels everything, the aching loss in Claire’s bones that’s both recent and so, so old. Memories of Claire hitchhiking and stealing and conning her way through the country, desperately chasing a mother who was desperately chasing a dead man. Jimmy Novak’s voice in her head, his face seen through Claire’s eyes, Please, Castiel, take me. Just take me. Again, his forehead pressed to hers, Take care of your mom, okay, bub?

Bub.

Patience looks at Claire. Sees her, in a way she hasn’t been able to see anyone before. “Bub… ‘bub’ is what your dad used to call you.”

Claire squints at her. “Uh. Yeah,” she says. “Wait, I didn’t… I didn’t tell you that.”

“No,” Patience breathes, meeting her eyes across the kitchen, “you didn’t.”

Slowly, a grin spreads across Claire’s face. “Holy shit , Patience, you just… ? You just did that. You, like, read me.”

“I, uh, I didn’t know. That I could do that,” Patience says, caught between marveling at this new development and feeling self-conscious at intruding on Claire’s emotions and her past.

Claire doesn’t seem put off at all. She’s actually bouncing with excitement. “We gotta test this out. Oh my God. It’s like a whole new Pokemon evolution for you.”

“It’s not really. Like that. In any way.”

But Claire is already humming the Pokemon theme song. She grabs her car keys. “Alright, well, let’s go look for that cat. I’ve got a good feeling about today.”

“I read you, Claire, that doesn’t mean I can read the cat,” Patience reminds her.

“Yeah, yeah, but you can still help me look,” Claire says. “I don’t need your third eye, just the two on your face.”

“That’s… yeah, fine,” Patience acquiesces. To be honest, she’s buzzing with the knowledge of what she can do with her powers. If Claire’s happy to be her test subject, she’ll spend all day with the girl. “Just let me grab a coffee.”

“Ooh, me too. Wait!” She wiggles her fingers toward Patience. “Do you Know how I like my coffee?”

“Half-and-half. And enough sugar to kill you,” Patience reels off. “But that’s not because I’m psychic. I’ve just seen you fix yourself coffee before.”

“Y’know, I think the line between ‘psychic’ and ‘observant’ is thinner than you might think.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Patience says, and then pretends to stumble backward toward the table, overacting the part. “Oh, oh, I’m having a vision… I see you … making coffee for us…”

Claire rolls her eyes, but she dutifully sets her keys down and busies herself with getting the travel mugs out. “That’s not gonna work for everything, you know.”

“Aaah I see you bringing Jody’s suit to the dry cleaners next week. I also see you driving me to the science museum.”

“Hilarious.”

Patience smiles at her. It’s nice to have someone else get excited about her powers. It’s nice to be allowed to be excited about this, to learn a new skill and have it mean something good to someone besides herself. She doesn’t feel like a freak or a failure. She just feels… like a psychic.

She feels like her grandma would be proud.

[mittensmorgul]

Incoming sad rant about the spn ending. Don't read if you're not interested in reading something like that, but I literally don't know anyone in real life I can talk about this with, and I really need an outlet:

Sometimes I can put the way SPN ended out of my head and think "it's just a stupid show. I don't have to accept the finale, and the writers/network are wrong." But other times I just get gripped with really intense sadness at the disrespect that was done to my favorite characters. To the point where I'll sit still for hours a day, just wallowing in it. It ruins my whole day and mood. And then I think to myself "I'll just find some other stories that end better!" but then I get sad again, cuz I don't think I will ever love other characters as much as I love Dean and Cas, and then I spiral again thinking about all the potential this unique beautiful love story had, and how we're never going to get the closure we deserve.

I really hate that after all this time, I'm a grown ass adult getting sad over fictional characters. I know it's not that trivial, but I sometimes wish it was so I could get over it 😞

Hi hi, and first of all *socially distanced internet hugs* I’m sorry you don’t have an outlet, but you’re always welcome to chat with me (if you come off anon we can talk privately if you want. My DM’s are always open, even when it takes me a bit to reply. no one should have to feel alone in this.)

I’m actually gonna start at the bottom of your message and work my way up, because I also, as a grown-ass adult, get sad over fictional characters. And I need to emphasize that this is the *point* of fiction. A well-written and developed fictional character is *indistinguishable in our minds from an actual real human being.* The way we react to them *feels exactly the same to our brains and bodies* as how we react to real people, and that’s a testament to just how well developed Dean and Cas were in canon.

I am not a young person. I have engaged with a lot of media over my life, and have *never* felt this strongly about fictional characters before, so I understand what you mean when you struggle to think about finding another story that ended better, or struggle to think about finding other characters you might become this attached to or experience this sort of emotional investment in. And I think there is another factor you didn’t consider there: The vast majority of other media I have engaged with, I was able to relate to on a level of “oh that’s nice for them” or “wow that sucks for them.” I have never, and possibly never will again, feel so utterly invested in fictional characters, to the point where it affects my real life as much as Supernatural has. Period.

I will likely never experience *literal physical lovesickness* over two fictional characters ever again. I hadn’t ever experienced it *in my own real life* before, and yet 15.18 triggered all those symptoms in me. As an aromantic person, this was pretty shocking to me. It also says a lot about just how real these characters feel to us, and how important they have become to us. They make us feel this! This is not an accident. It’s *incredibly difficult* to create fictional characters with this range and depth of emotional connection, and yet here we are.

I think that’s the biggest evidence possibly to present in defense of the statement that THIS IS NOT JUST SOME STUPID SHOW.

Other evidence: this fandom, still going strong after 15 years. Look at every SPN convention for proof. Look at AO3, where there are more posted stories about Dean and Cas than literally any other pairing on the planet (by a not-small margin, too). If that isn’t enough evidence, we have fanart to look at as well. Look through @theroadsofararchive where at the time of this posting there are over 40,000 artworks catalogued, and more being added all the time. Same with @canonspngifs where you can search through through nearly 75,000 gifsets organized by an excellent tagging system and made by dedicated fans out of love for the thing. This is all proof that you are not alone, that so many of us care just as deeply about them as you do. Not even mentioning the people who have written hundreds of millions of words of meta, articles, and even masters theses and doctoral dissertations on Supernatural and the fandom. This is a unique thing, even within the larger fandom culture. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that your feelings for it are stupid or irrelevant or wrong.

But also don’t let anyone try to convince you that you must accept the finale as part of the story if you don’t want to. Don’t even let *yourself* believe that if you don’t want to. This show has done more to play with the themes of “what is reality” and “who gives a story meaning” and alternate universes and curses and djinn dreams to easily account for whatever the heck the finale was.

my current go-to theory: everything after Chuck’s defeat takes place in the Mockumentary Alternate Universe... it fits way too uncomfortably well... and then I just apply the fic I received in a cosmic transmission from the actual supernatural universe wrote detailing the events of what *I* hoped would transpire afterward. I know this doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me, mostly because it *has* to. It means far too much to me not to.

You are not alone in having invested yourself into this story, and these characters. Your feelings about them are not wrong or stupid or frivolous. And the proof is everyone else who feels the same exact way, who connected to this story (and to each other through this story), and whose lives have been forever altered through this journey together. The fact that Dabb turned out to have been Chuck Junior and couldn’t see (or was prevented from showing us) what Team Free Will would’ve chosen to do with that after defeating their original creator just stands to prove to me that the finale can’t possibly be The Truth, you know?

I don’t know if any of this will help you, or provide you some small comfort right now, but maybe it will eventually. We’re all processing the loss of the show and the abject failure of story that was the finale in different ways, and I’m sure our emotional reactions will shift over time. It was just A Lot to process all in the span of a few incredibly emotional weeks-- not even mentioning how all of that emotional response was compounded by the american elections and surrounding nonsense, the general stress of enduring a global pandemic and all that entails, and *waves hands around broadly at everything else contributing to the trauma occurring in the collective of humankind right now.* We’ve all been emotionally compromised, so be kind to yourself in how you feel you’re coping with it all.

And know that no matter what, you are not alone in how you’re feeling. The grief is real, and our brains don’t care if it’s felt for fictional characters or real people. This was honestly a once in a lifetime experience for a lot of us, and not even the wtf of the finale can kill it for us if we don’t let it. I reject that particular piece of rusty rebar and choose to believe in a just and narratively coherent resolution. To do anything less feels like dishonoring the story and characters who have drawn me in and made me feel so much for them over the years. If the story itself couldn’t honor them properly, then I can choose to do so myself.

<3

[aliceinreverselondon]

You Really Got Me – part 2: First Impressions (Kakashi Hatake x Reader)

(note: part 1)

“Will you finally tell us what she is, Kakashi sensei?”

Sakura’s question came before they even reached the elevator which meant she lasted a good two minutes before demanding answers. Letting out a long sigh, Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck. He sure hoped she would soon grow out of this slightly annoying habit of hers. Especially since Naruto was the same, but there was no chance he would change in the near future.

But he really did promise them to explain what exactly happened so he couldn’t back out now. Surprisingly, Sakura had hit the nail right on the head with her question. If he wanted to explain who you were, he had to begin with what you were. When it came to how well you knew each other, though, he would have to be careful not to give away too many personal details. No one needs nosy kids in their life.

As he pushed the button to close the door of the elevator, Kakashi let out a thoughtful hum. “Well, Y/N is a phantom. Do you know about them?” While Sakura and Naruto both shook their heads, Sasuke remained silent as usual. But this time it could be because he had already heard about her kind, as one could expect from a kid who grew up in the Uchiha Clan. “They are considered a type of tricksters, although they’re a lot more powerful as adults than your average trickster. Because of their unique abilities and backgrounds, phantoms are members of an organization that operates worldwide. It’s a lot like ANBU, except they’re independent of governments and only answer to one person.”

“So she’s an Alpha?” Sasuke asked, sounding slightly surprised for some reason. When he received a quick nod in response, he folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the metal wall. “I thought they were more… serious.”

Kakashi shrugged and didn’t even try to hold back a short chuckle. “They’re not robots, they have different personalities. Y/N is… a wild one,” he added with a grin under the mask.

“Wait, what is an Alpha?” Naruto wondered out loud as his eyes scanned the faces of people around him, waiting to see who was ready to provide an answer.

“Are they the phantoms or the members of the organization?”

“Both, actually,” Kakashi replied as he glanced over at the girl. “Phantoms that aren’t good enough or simply refuse to be members of the organization are executed, this is why the two are the one and the same at the end of the day. Alpha is a nickname some gave them because you can say they are on top of the food chain. They usually work alone but every now and then they ask for the help of… specialists, humans or other supernatural creatures who have abilities or knowledge they need for the job. Those people, especially those who become regular aides, are called Betas,” he explained, this time looking at Naruto as he spoke.

The four of them left the building and Kakashi began to think about what else he should tell them about you. Your abilities? No, it would be better if you gave them a demonstration. How you met? Definitely not, his reaction to Sasuke’s question regarding your personality gave away more than enough already. To avoid further questions from the kids, he eventually decided to pull out his book and read on the rest of the trip to the restaurant.

For his luck Sakura and Naruto discussed this between themselves, occasionally trying to get some information out of Sasuke now that he wasn’t paying much attention to them. As long as they left him alone, Kakashi was okay with that. Especially because he wanted to think about the upcoming dinner with you. He wished it was just the two of you, though. After what he had done, he really wanted to make it up to you somehow. Well, maybe you could meet later to make this happen, once these three went to sleep.

Oh, how he loved and hated at the same time what you did to him. You were like a drug he just couldn’t get out of his system. But, to be honest, he had truly missed this high he was experiencing now thanks to you. He may have forgotten to call you but it didn’t mean he hadn’t thought about you once. In fact, every time he read one of the Make Out books, he couldn’t help but think about the two of you. Strangely enough, this was by far the most stable relationship he had ever had. Okay, not like he had so many other relationships in the past to compare it to but… It was still different. And special.

“You took your time, guys.”

When Kakashi looked up, his eyes fell on you as you watched them with a wide grin on your face. Tilting his head to the side for a moment, he put away his book and glanced at his watch. “You said fifteen minutes. It’s only been ten.”

“Duh, I thought you were ninjas, not a group of elderly people who went on a nice evening stroll,” you told him with a roll of your eyes.

He really wanted to laugh because he missed your stupid sense of humor, but it would’ve probably ended with him kissing you. And he wouldn’t have stopped at a quick kiss on the lips. Oh, no. If it was just the two of you, you would have skipped dinner altogether. But his mind was wandering too far again. He had to stop, damn it. “Very funny,” was all he said in the end.

“Is that blood?” Sasuke suddenly spoke up, pointing at your shirt.

“What?” You looked down and noticed the bloodstain on your chest. While you quickly zipped your red jacket to cover it up, you flashed a reassuring smile at the kids. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine.”

All three of them. All three of the kids opened their mouths at the exact same time, probably to ask for details, but Kakashi was fast enough to stop them with a pointed look. You had said it yourself back on the rooftop: there was something you quickly had to take care of. Knowing you, it was most probably an assassination and he didn’t want to talk about things like this tonight. Was it too much to ask for? Was a normal, delightful evening too much to ask for? Just one damn night.

After clearing his throat, Kakashi spoke up. “So we were about to get something to eat, right? Naruto, I’m sure you’re starving as always.”

But Naruto hesitated and scratched the back of his head as he flashed a sheepish grin at him. “Actually, as weird as it might sound, I have so many questions that I can’t even think about food right now.”

“Shoot.”

Were you seriously planning to answer his questions? “Y/N, come on,” he tried with a sigh.

“Don’t come on me. If he has questions, let him ask them.”

“We can do that inside.”

He had no luck because you clearly weren’t about to go inside anytime soon. Shaking his head, Kakashi pulled out his book and leaned against the wall of the restaurant. At least he had time to read a little more while the four of you talked. He already had a bad feeling about this conversation but for now, he decided to only listen and keep his opinion to himself. There was no need to interrupt you, he could do that if something went wrong. Which, knowing you, was highly likely.

“What kind of missions do you go on?

“Kakashi told you a few things about me, didn’t he? Well, covert missions, assassinations, manhunts… Usually, we go after supernatural creatures, but there are times when we assist in different cases too, like hostage situations. Since it’s really hard to kill us, we often help out when the situation is too dangerous for humans.”

“Cool. So what can you do?”

“Alpha’s are supposed to be powerful, right?” Kakashi looked up from his book and turned to Sasuke. Back when he had told the team about you, Sasuke didn’t seem very convinced about you being an Alpha. Sadly, he already knew where the kid was going with this, and he also knew perfectly well how you would react. But maybe he was wrong. “I can’t take you seriously enough to believe you’re one.”

“Excuse me?!”

Yes, this is exactly how he had expected you to react. “Oh, no, here we go,” he whispered under his breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

You took a threatening step toward Sasuke who didn’t even flinch at first. “You wanna see powerful?”

But when your eyes turned black, all three took a few cautious steps back to build some distance. “Y/N, please, just let it go,” Kakashi told you as he put a hand on your shoulder.

“No, no, no, if he wants to see what I can do, fine, I’ll show him. And I know just the place,” you explained hurriedly. At least your eyes were back to normal which meant you managed to calm down a bit already. That was good. He didn’t need more drama out on the street. You pulled out your phone and quickly dialed someone’s number. “Hey, Kisuke, I’d like to ask for a favor. Can I use your underground training facility tonight? I need to teach some stupid brat a lesson… No, I don’t want to kick his ass, but he pretty much called me weak so I nearly threw hands with a thirteen years old kid… Cool, thanks, we’ll be there soon.” Once you ended the call, you turned to the kids and said, “Alright, we’ll order food and eat there. Let’s go, my car’s just around the corner.”

Note: Wow, I wasn’t expecting so many of you to like the pilot. But here’s part 2, I hope you’re not disappointed 😳

tag: @spn-obession​

[couragehopelovefaith]

I generally like to think that the last episode and some parts of the second last episode of SPN don’t exist, but mostly (besides Destiel/Deancas-reunion) I was hugely missing more content between Jack and Dean. Dean really was harsh and mean to Jack at the beginning (none of it was Jack’s fault and he deserved a proper apology and sincere amends, but I understand where Dean was coming from at that point), but their relationship started to grow into something beautiful and they really started to care and see each other as parts of their family. Then the whole Mary/losing soul/Chuck’s manipulation-thing happened and things crashed down (gently expressed). I really like the scenes between them in 15x14 and how worried and guilty Dean was about the state of Jack in 15x18 (I seriously can never even write the number of that episode without getting teary-eyed), but there was so much to unpack and to discuss between them, and it all was basically thrown away when they rushed things and made Jack embrace his God-powers so quickly after defeating Chuck. I would’ve liked the scenario where Jack gives his powers to Amara or co-works with her, but if he had to become God permanently, it should’ve happened slowly. He deserved his parking tickets, his McDonalds-experiences, his trip to Tahiti...to get the tan and see the hockey-game...get bored. Not the scenario where he takes the whole world on his shoulders again and disappears literally to God knows where to never been seen again.

I know that Dean isn’t the most open person, but he deserved to discuss some things with people. Especially with Jack. Sincere apology should’ve been the essential start and the least they should’ve done. I truly believe that Dean saw very much himself in Jack (the more I rewatch this show, the more parallels I see) and when he saw Jack admiring him and wanting to be like him, it scared him. Because it is canon, that he liked kids and was mostly great with them,  but he spend so much time thinking that his personality, past and his job made him “the person that should not be let in one’s dinner-table”. He struggled with the fight between wanting to please his father (or any other higher power than himself) and be like him, and also wanting to be different than him and being very scared of him and scarred of his actions. 

I deeply love that he was step by step starting to heal from his past, see by different people that things aren’t as black and white as his father taught him, and become his own person. But sometimes, especially in some kind of dejavu-situations, you take steps back and notice that you are repeating the same patterns because of your past and experiences. And they should’ve let Dean to deal with the fact that he notices that he has been acting like his father more than he would’ve ever wanted or intended to (”You try so hard not to be one thing, and then it is exactly what you turn out to be”).

 I just would’ve loved to see him discuss these things with Jack a little by little over time. I think it is also really sad that he never told Jack on screen about what happened with Emma, and Lisa and Ben, because those events give me so many association to their relationship as well. And in my head, Dean would say something like this: “I’m sorry. I was a total jerk and was seeing things too black and white. Those things I’ve done to you lately... Chuck’s manipulation and hurt involved or not... I never want to be that close to my father again. Even though I forgot it for a while, you were just a child and didn’t deserve any of this. You lost your soul for us, saving us. And you have kept saving us since the day you were born. You are our family, kid. I’m not gonna promise some miracle-speed-changes, but I’ll truly try and do better. You have every right to be upset, but if you ever wanna talk about anything, my ears are on.” I also would’ve adored to hear him say something about at first seeing Lucifer “When I first looked at you, I saw Lucifer. But over time I’ve gotten to learn that you have more Cas in you than I ever realized.” It would’ve been especially touching if at least that part of the discussion would’ve happened shortly after Cas’ death and before they started planning to bring him back (because in my scenario that happens, no questions asked). 

Okay, rant over. Just wanted to get this out of my system. 

[luxshine]

The Great Supernatural Rewatch Project - Salvation

I started writting this in the middle of season 13 but RL and work and some mental health issues made me take a step back from fandom in general and well, I was also fearing this would be an unending job since the series JUST.KEPT. GOING.

However, now that the series is done (And omg, what a clusterfuck that was. My tallies are going to go insane if I get there) and thus there’s an ending in sight, I will do my best to finish season 1, and try and get the rest of the seasons in a more timely manner. Say, before they do the inevitable reunion and ignore the last episode completely.

(I’m going to be honest, part of the problem was that Supernatural used to be SO good back then, and when I see the new episodes I weep a bit inside. I can’t believe they were so much better at creating story arcs when they weren’t TRYING to create story arcs)

Of course, now we all know that Dean’s plots in general will not have a happy ending no matter what, and that makes that particular tally bittersweet. But there are STILL people who claim that nope, Dean was never mistreated by the writers and well, Jack damn it, I am not going to let that claim go without bringing numbers to the table. Hopefully, it won’t take me 15 years to finish (Because by then, I would be the only one caring I guess)

In any case, last lap for Season 1 and we begin with Salvation.

General stuff

A specific reason for me having rage quitted this episode in particular for so long: For some stupid copyright thing with Netflix, they don’t have Carry On My Wayward Son as the song for the final recap –at least in Netflix Latam. And Supernatural without Carry On My Wayward Son is no Supernatural. So I had to hunt my DVDs. Then my computer DVD player died. Then I decided to make 5 webcomics at the same time. THEN I decided to start doing illustration works, and three other projects and let’s just say I am a bit of a workaholic and leave it like that as the rest is not SPN-related.

Ahem.

Funny thing about the Road so Far –you know, besides being a LOT shorter than the ones we’re getting now- is that it focuses a lot more on DEAN at the beginning, while if you watch the show, well, we know most of those Dean scenes come from MoW episodes and not the actual mytharc. Another interesting thing is that if one believes those things to be chronological, it makes it as if the Colt had been with the brothers for a lot longer than half an episode, and that Sam’s issue with the visions is not that recent. Edition Magic everyone! Also, omg, they were babies when the series started, and how WEIRD is to see John looking at them with pride and smiling at Dean at some points.

Anyway, the recap and the epicness that is Carry On my Wayward Son ends and we start the actual plot.

Hello Pastor Jim. Goodbye Pastor Jim. And here Supernatural begins the long, long tradition of killing characters who could’ve been useful later on, and more importantly, that could’ve been the boys’s support system later on. While here it’s understandable since we need to show how dangerous and vicious Meg is –ah, irony that in about 8 seasons people will be rooting for her Redemption- it also makes the Hunters kind of useless. I mean, he has all that weaponry and only uses a knife? Sigh. Really, a waste. Pastor Jim as a concept was really intriguing –and I don’t think we’ve heard of any other hunter who was also a priest. Funny, when we have so many demons free now. There’s also the fact that when Pastor Jim claims that she can’t be in the church because it’s hallowed ground, she replies that “That might work with the minor leagues, but not with her” and I wonder… did we ever got a demon that couldn’t enter a church? Because right now out of the top of my head I can’t remember, and yet Pastor Jim was surprised but later no one seems to think it weird there were signs of demonic activity around his body. Another sign that, as engaging as the series was, once we start digging the world building, things fall apart very quickly.

Actually, if I may digress for a bit, here we have the very first look at Supernatural´s second biggest problem: killing support characters that may have been useful lately. Here it is because Kirkpe had this weird idea that Hunting would never be glamorized by the show/fandom and it would be a completely miserable and lonely existence. He also didn’t think that the series would survive past season 2. So, ok, killing the guy we only knew by throw away lines didn’t seem so bad. By season 13 every single recurring character had died at least once –and there were petitions to bring back I think every one of those who haven’t come back- it’s a big problem.

As I restarted writing, I also realized that the mere existence of Pastor Jim and his room of awesome research and weapons creates a problem in the future about the Men of Letters because… ok, so ONE member of the clerigy knew enough about demons and stuff to be a hunter and have THE Hunter as his main contact (John Winchester was sort of a legend back then. And he had also fell out of contact with many others so the fact that he and Pastor Jim were still friendly? Kind of interesting), but what about the rest? Did the Vatican have any contact with the British men of Letters or the American ones? And if so, what the hell did they think when suddenly ALL the Men of Letters disappeared? Ok, so that’s a lot of stuff that doesn’t matter right now as it won’t actually exist until much, much, MUCH latter, but see what I mean when I say that they didn’t plan anything and the lack of a series bible hurts the show more than it helped it thrive? I am realizing right now I could write a whole treaty on the Men of Letters and their non-relationship with hunters ONLY using this cold beginning and the Henry Winchester episode.

But this is not the time for that, so we get our title card and a very, VERY young Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

We move to John who is explaining off camera everything he knows about Yellow Eye´s plan. We can tell it´s not much as he thinks it came out of hibernation and that the whole attacking families is part of a cycle, but back then it was impressive how much he had managed to find out about this demon. We also know that it attacks exactly when the baby in the house is six months old, which brings us to this little jewel:

JOHN It starts in Arizona, then New Jersey, California. Houses burned down to the ground. It's going after families, just like it went after us.

SAM Families with infants?

JOHN Yeah. The night of the kid's six-month birthday. 

SAM I was six months old that night?

JOHN Exactly six months.

SAM So basically, this demon is going after these kids for some reason. The same way it came for me? So Mom's death...Jessica. It's all because of me?

DEAN We don't know that Sam.

SAM Oh really? Cause I'd say we're pretty damn sure Dean.

DEAN For the last time, what happened to them was not your fault. 

SAM Right. It's not my fault but it's my problem.

DEAN No it's not your problem it's our problem!

 Now, in the following seasons we will know that yes, it was ALL about Sam. But right now, the characters and the viewers don´t know that. We know that a lot of families were killed by the demon (That at this point was still “The demon” and wouldn´t become Azazael until later), and that he doesn´t take the children. So… how did Sam leap from “this demon attacks families with 6 month old children” to “It´s all about ME!”? He even ignores that Dean and John lost Mary for his last line, when he decides it´s his problem and not their problem. Also, and this is important for the “Dean is the most awful person to Sam” crowd… Dean immediately tells Sam that no, it´s not his fault. While he could harbor some ill feelings against Sam –and demon Dean, 8 seasons later, will voice them- at this point he is 100% on Sam´s side. There’s also a sideway glance from John to DEAN when Sam claims that everything is about him, and then I wonder exactly why, if John knew all about the fact that the demon chased six month old children specifically, he never resented Sam over it. One would think that given John’s love for Mary and deep desire to revenge, Sam would really be the outcast and the one only treated like a soldier (as he claims he was, but not really as we’ve seen), instead of Dean who was completely blameless in the whole thing.

(Also, this is the first time we see that Azazael´s plan didn´t make much sense IF we believed that Kirkpe had everything planned. But that´s a discussion for another time)

Anyway, John interrupts the argument to explain that while he has no idea what the demon is after (Another thing that later would be contradicted as he knew Sam had powers), but that he has managed to figure out his pattern of attack to the point that it even repeated it for Jessica’s killing (Even if much, much later, we’ll learn that it wasn’t Azazael the one who killed her, and Demons would completely forego the signs when attacking. Have I mentioned I miss the times when the myths made sense?) and the three of them pack up for their first real hunt together as they decide they will save the next baby on the demon’s list, in a town named Salvation.

Important thing to note: when John recites the demon signs, Dean immediately replies “that happened in Lawerence”. He remembers, quite clearly, what happened a week before his mother died even if logistically, at his age? He wouldn’t care nor notice. Sure, he remembers his mom’s death because that was traumatic. But random cow deaths before that? Weird show.

If Sam noticed or not the signs before Jessica died, we don’t know. John is the one who points out they happened.

After two gorgeous road shots where we see John’s truck being followed by Baby (yet another thing we lost, John’s truck. I know we needed to have the guys together all the time, but man, if Sam had inherited it, they would’ve been able to cover more terrain at times, have double the arsenal and maybe not being identified by everyone and their leviathan in season 7, but I digress), and just entering Salvation John stops, obviously spooked by something. As Dean stops behind him, they find out that Pastor Jim is dead, and John got a call from another hunter named Caleb to tell him. They assume it may be the demon they’re chasing, or maybe another demon that was looking for Pastor Jim specifically but that last theory is not very probable.

Here I have to pause to applaud Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s acting, as you can practically FEEL John’s despair at knowing an old friend of him died, and that HE was probably the cause for that death. A Winchester trait, of course, blaming themselves for everything bad that happens in their world, but unlike Sam’s early outburst, here it seems far more desperate. Of course, JDM had a lot more experience than Jared at that point, but I really wanted to make a note of it because we lost a LOT of that characterization for John, where he actually WORRIED about people and not just the hunt. Even as he decides the plan for finding out what baby the demon will take in a week, we can see him broken and confused. So much that while Sam calls him “sir” when receiving orders, Dean continues the conversation by calling him “Dad”.

John then declares that this ends now, obviously feeling responsible for what happened to his friend. A long shot from the flanderized man we’d hear about in future seasons who was infamous for letting his hunting partners die without so much as a second glance.

Also, and not to be mean to the writers, but in their endless accidentally making Sam unsympathetic, they made him say that there were too many children in the county that could be a victim and that it would take forever to check all of them. While I KNOW the intent was to make clear that they had a deadline of one week, it comes out weirdly as “I don’t want to do the footwork.” Seriously, writers should be careful with that.

Actually, let’s dissect that. Because I just thought of two ways they could’ve fixed it AND give us more info.

JOHN Now we act like every second counts. There's two hospitals and a health centre in this county. We split up, cover more ground. I want records. I want a list of every infant that's going to be six months old in the next week.

SAM Dad that could be dozens of kids. How do we know which one's the right one?

JOHN We check em all that's how. You got any better ideas?

SAM No sir.

So, first way to make Sam not look that bad: Give the line to Dean. I wouldn’t like it specially, but hey, he’s the sidekick, not the hero, and so far he has only wanted to bail on ONE hunt because he wasn’t sure it was a supernatural hunt so he’d be better standing than Sam in that regard.

Second way: Make Sam say that YES, he has a better idea. Because the brothers ALREADY faced Max, so he could say they could look for a baby that was a bit “strange”, like, with poltergeist stuff going around. John could not believe him, but at least Sam would be being proactive.

In any case, they separate as John planned and we see each of them get into the hospital records. We get a glimpse of John’s collection of fake IDs, that include one for a Morgue forensic doctor, then Sam getting a homely nurse giving him files and him taking notes, and Dean… getting flirty with a very hot nurse.

And I make a point of the “Oh, look, Dean is an irresponsible womanizer” trope because once again the writers shoot themselves in the foot by showing the opposite of what they were telling (And no, this time I can’t blame it on Jensen’s acting and refusal to look at his female co-stars without respect).

WOMAN Hi. Is there anything I can do for you?

DEAN (smiling) Oh God yes.

She smiles and looks down.

DEAN (Holding up his ID) Only I'm uh....working right now, so...

The writers here make us remember that a) Dean is AMAZINGLY charismatic, as the woman IS flattered and seems interested, and b) That he will NOT dump his work for a quickie. We don’t even get a “maybe later” that could make him look as if he was really into her. It’s just that he flirts naturally, or at least, this is what we can infer now, as so far he hasn’t had any one night stand fling. The one time we saw him have a sexual encounter in the middle of a hunt was with an ex-girlfriend.

And again I have to wonder what was Sera Gamble’s intention with those scenes as yes, this was written by the same team as Faith, another episode where Sam’s good intentions tend to have a darker side, and gave Dean some amazingly cool scenes.

We don’t know what Dean says to the woman, as we cut back to Sam, coming out of the hospital just in time to have a very convenient vision of a woman, a nursery and a fire. Thankfully, the vision also comes with the useful audio hint of a train passing by, so Sam gets out his map and starts checking where that could be, which leads him to the house in his vision.

And by this point, we know we’re in the right track and this is an important Myth Arc episode, because Sam only has multiple visions in Myth Arc episodes, and he has one the moment he steps in front of the house in said vision. The gods of convenience smile upon him as right then and there a woman pushing a pram comes by, and he manages to talk to her, all friendly like by pretending to having just moved. Then Sam learns the woman’s name is Monica, her baby is Rosie, and Rosie is just six months old, exactly to the day.

Also, that she’s a very quiet baby and that it sometimes seems as if she was reading your mind. Oh, and that Monica really is blind to suspicious men asking her about her family with a face that reads “Oh shit, this is bad”.

Now, HERE is where the whole “five year myth arc” story falls completely. I mean, we already knew it was pretty unlikely it was real, given Kirkpe’s original interviews, but the mere existence of Rosie contradicts every single future story beat. Because if SHE has powers before Azazael goes into her house, then it means that the babies he was hunting didn’t get powers because of him, just that his blood either connected them (hence Sam’s very specific visions), made said powers far more powerful (quite likely), or made them a little bit more prone to violence/prideful behavior. All of those possibilities match with the plan of “raising” a new King or Queen of Hell, that would be faithful to Azazael, but are a bit iffy on the “finding Lucifer’s vessel” thing. Especially since we later learn that the Angels were also helping, and all Hell knew that Lucifer’s vessel HAD to come from the Winchester/Campbell bloodline due to Cain and Abel being the roots of said bloodline, and later pretty much everyone knew Sam was Lucifer’s vessel so the whole targeting a ton of kids, in particular after Mary’s death, is kinda weird.

Oh, Lux, you will say, it is because he wanted to hide his true intentions! No one knew that Sam had been feed demon blood!

Except that the important parties, namely Heaven and Hell, did. Michael had Heaven convinced of his orders, so even if a rogue angel found out that they were speed running the Apocalypse, said angel could be killed. And any demon who was against getting Lucifer back on top would be smart enough to keep quiet so, why the secrecy?

And again, ok, I buy the original demon blood kids being important to “hide” Lucifer’s vessel but… Rosie? What good would it do to Azazael’s plan to have a psychic 4 year old when Lucifer rose? Was “little four year old girl” a good match against a grown up hunter? What was Azazel thinking, if that was the plan all the time?

Now, I want to make clear this doesn’t make THIS episode or the Season-myth arc bad. This original “Boy King of Hell” storyline WAS good. It had a lot of potential, made sense for Sam and since it was before the days of the eternal “What is wrong with Sam?” seasons, there was no boredom of a repeat. It also set a very good question of what made a monster a monster, which would be explored a bit more in Season 2. And it was long before we realized Dean having a myth arc was a pipe dream, so there was no issue there either. It made sense.

But the fact that the writers kind of forgot about everything I just pointed out with Rosie’s scene to try and weld this to the “Heaven vs. Hell” storyline in season 4, and then just promptly forgot because Sam’s powers were then firmly connected to Azazael’s blood so they never came up again and even worse, we never find another psychic kid that could’ve been feed blood by Azazael THIS year that John was chasing him? (Since we know there were no other survivors from Sam’s generation, and later we have a scene that proves that there were no previous generations to Sam’s), it's kind of weird. Personally, I dunno about you, but maybe a return to this storyline in season 6 would’ve been a lot better than we got. Maybe.

By the way, I am not counting the Boy King of Hell story arc as a dropped plot for Sam yet, as we’re going to keep with this at least until season 3. Yes, now we know it didn’t go anywhere, but at the time, and for these episodes in particular, it was THE myth arc of Supernatural. So it can’t be counted as dropped plot yet.

In any case, Sam goes and tells John and Dean about his vision and… oh, boy do we have to move John’s reaction to Emotional Violence.

It’s not good.

But before he can do more damage to Dean’s psyche, Sam gets a call from our favorite demon, Meg. Even if he doesn’t recognize her voice immediately which is weird because a) he did throw her off a window and one would think that makes a girl memorable, and b) it’s not as he knows that many girls who would call him, despite Dean’s best efforts to get him a new girl.

Meg dismisses Sam and asks for John. She makes clear that she is not playing, that she knows he has the Colt and that he will kill every single person who has ever helped John unless he gives it to her that same day at midnight. And to the brothers’ surprise, John accepts those terms (Unfortunately not before we loss Caleb too. I have a lot less interest in Caleb as a character given that he has exactly half a line in the whole show, but it’s still it’s sad to see a guy so defiant even in the face of death go so soon).

Meg also points out that John having the Colt is a “declaration of war” which is interesting as it sort of implies that if he hadn’t gotten it, then the demons would leave him and the brothers alone. And I find that incredibly funny since… no they won’t. And Azazael would’ve been ok if Sam kept the gun anyway, given why they really wanted and once again I am putting holes on the idea that this was planned from the start, aren’t I?

In any case, John declares that Meg is a demon “or is possessed by one” which… ok? First and only time we get the possibility of a demon not using a meat suit. I don’t think this is a mistake, because after all, this is back before the guys faced demons in a normal basis so they could believe that they had their own bodies besides the ones they possessed (And, more importantly, before there was a retcon that made the brothers face and know about demons since pretty much ever). To be completely fair, as much as I love Jimmy and the whole Lucifer arc once it started to make sense… I would’ve been ok if vessels weren’t needed. It added a lot of complications and ended up making the brothers actual serial killers.

Ahem.

After that little gem of wisdom that will be ignored forever, John declares that he will be taking the gun to Meg to avoid more killing and we get another questionable line for Sam. And I am curious as to how to tally it as it’s the opposite of him wanting to leave the hunt, but it’s not that nice either:

DEAN What do we do?

JOHN I'm going to Lincoln. DEAN What? JOHN It doesn't look lilke we have a choice. If I don't go, a lot of people die, our friends die.

SAM Dad, the demon is coming tonight. For Monica and her family. That gun is all we got, you can't just hand it over.

I mean, yes, it is true that the demon is coming for Monica (Well, actually, he’s coming for Rosie, the baby, but I will let that slip pass. Sam is not interested in married ladies), and that with the gun they can kill the demon but it’s not all they’ve got. By this time, Sam has already had his big hero moment when he exorcised a plane in free fall so they could do that, then chase the demon again and then kill it.

But what is jarring is how he hears “a lot of people die, OUR FRIENDS die” and he goes “yeah, whatever, we have a mission to fulfill”.

Which is precisely what later episodes will tell us John used to do, and was the reason why John was not exactly liked by the general hunter population. And at the same time, it’s an eerie reminder of Wendigo, where Sam is willing to let innocents die (his family friends, in this particular case, just as he heard Caleb choke on his own blood) in order to get his way (revenge on the demon that killed Jess. NOT revenge on the demon that killed his mom, since at this point, Sam is still on the “I never knew that woman” train of thought).

Sure, his mind is in the hunt, and that’s commendable because yes, in the long run, killing Azazael would save more innocents (And probably stop the Apocalypse, not that Sam or the writers at that time know it), but it is still strange to see our nominal hero simply not care for his friends’ lives. I mean, at this point WE don’t know about Bobby, so the closest to a parental figure that is not John that Sam had was Pastor Jim and he just DIED.

Worst part is, this could be solved really easy: Just have DEAN be the one who voices the complaint, and have “empathic” Sam mumble that there has to be a way to save everyone (Which, of course, John will mention in a second). It would make Dean look bad, sure, but we’ve been told once and again that Dean never, EVER goes against John plans. Which… not true, ut we will talk about that later. The scene continues, and John declares that he will go to Meg alone, with a fake Colt and while Dean thinks that that won’t work, Sam has a different complaint:

DEAN Yeah but for how long? What happens when she figures it out?

JOHN I just...I just need to buy a few hours, that's all.

SAM You mean for Dean and me. You want us to stay here, and kill this demon by ourselves?

JOHN No Sam. I want to stop losing people we love. I want you to go to school, I want Dean to have a home. I want....I want Mary alive. It's just....I just want this to be over.

And oh, boy. Do this four lines again hold so much weight.

First, once again, Dean seems to be worried for John (logically, he’s their dad), while Sam is making the weirdest line in the universe sort of work because he’s complaining that John is trusting them to kill the demon, something HE wants to do and not four seconds ago was saying they had to do, as if it was John shifting HIS job to Sam. Seriously, I don’t want to think the worst of Sam but when you take out Jared’s acting, the text doesn’t do the younger Winchester’s any favors.

And finally… John’s lines that encompass pretty much Dean’s philosophy in the following seasons. “I want to stop losing people we love” is pretty telling, but what comes next? He actually WANTS Sam to go back to college and not worry about the Supernatural. He actively agrees that Dean doesn’t have a home, and WANTS Dean to have one. It’s as close as love as we’ll see from John to Dean in Season 1, and it hurts. It hurts because we can tell he knows he won’t be there to see it… and now, in hindsight with the finale having aired, we also know Dean didn’t get that. (And to be fair, this is the John who did deserve Heaven. Not the flanderized version we’d get in the future)

Although, ironically, Mary got to be alive again, so… One out of three?

(No, seriously, it’s obvious the writers didn’t even remember this speech when Season 12 hit, much less Season 15)

Ahem.

Dean is sent to get a fake Colt, while Sam and John wait for him. If they talked about anything, we don’t know, but when they exchange guns, Dean voices what we all know is true:

DEAN You know this is a trap don't you. That's why Meg wants you to come alone?

JOHN I can handle her. I got a whole arsenal loaded. Holy water, Mandaic, amulets...

DEAN Dad... JOHN What? DEAN Promise me something. JOHN What's that. DEAN This thing goes south just...get the hell out. Don't get yourself killed all right, you're no good to us dead. JOHN Same goes for you. (There is a long pause) All right listen to me. They made the bullets special for this colt. There's only four of them left. Without them this gun is useless. You make every shot count.

SAM Yes sir.

JOHN Been waiting a long time for this fight. Now it's here I'm not gonna be in it. It's up to you boys now. It's your fight, you finish this. You finish what I started. Understand?

 Again, I wish they remembered all they had to get rid of demons before, you know, killing everyone willy-nilly. I mean, I don’t even think I know what Mandalac IS but hey, John says it works, it works. And once more, Dean gets a line that makes clear he is the empathic, loving brother, when it wouldn’t have hurt Sam to say it. In fact, it would make clear that no matter what, he doesn’t hate John. But nope, Sam only acts like the soldier we’re TOLD Dean is, while Dean makes clear that for him, family is more important than revenge (And boy will that come to bite him in the ass later, not in the series, but in this same episode).

Also, I have to admit. When I started this rewatch, John’s final line was just a good moment for John to start letting go of his anger. Now? After that horrid finale? It hurts so, so much. But it hurts more because I KNOW that there’s no way it was intentional. Obviously, Kirkpe didn’t know the series would last 15 years, and I highly doubt Dabb remembered this scene when writing 15x20. But even so, it ends up being Dean’s epitaph. OUCH.

In any case, the Winchester separate again, and we go into act three. Get ready for the feels.

John Winchester hunting alone is a thing of beauty. Seeing him scope the place, check the water tank and immediately think of a plan? Makes me wish Jeffrey Dean Morgan had stayed longer on the show. Sure, John became an asshole, but in this episode he’s still not that bad, we still have no episodes that make clear he didn’t care for Dean, and wasn’t textually abusive. And I am willing to bet that if JDM had stayed, John would’ve evolved more to be a Bobby-like character. But well, What ifs is not why you came to this meta for.

As John is hunting, the brothers are staking out the house were they know Azazael will attack. And while they talk and decide that they have no way to get the family out (In a nice callback to how none of their excuses ever work) we get to this little gem of an exchange:

SAM I wonder how Dad's doing.

DEAN I'd feel a lot better if we were there backing him up.

SAM I'd feel a lot better if he were here backing us up.

Where once again we see where the brother’s priorities lie, and I wonder why the hell the writers ever thought they were writing Sam as an empathic character.

Because yes, Dean is wishing he could be out there helping his Dad, proving that for him, it has always been about the family. Not the hunting, but the protecting. But Sam doesn’t want to protect John. He wants John protecting Them. And helping them in the revenge hunt, not trying to save others.

Sure, we know the brothers are there to save an innocent mother, but John is also saving a ton of hunters and people who, in the past, were nice and open to the family. And it would’ve been so much easier to make Sam look better if he instead had said “I’d feel a lot better if we hadn’t had to separate” or something like that, that proved he saw BOTH missions were important.

Seriously, I do wonder why the writers made these choices, and I wish someone had asked this at cons.

We go back to John, who, really, Is an amazing hunter even if he is a horrible father. Also, I wonder if he got ordained at a web church, in order to be able to sanctify water. That would be such a John Winchester thing to do, and I do wonder why the boys never did it too. ANYWAY, he hands the gun to Meg, and to her ally that came so that we could have a scene to prove the Colt is fake as the ally shoots Meg.

As John says, Meg was lucky the gun was fake. And once again, I do wonder what the plan was if it WAS the Colt. I mean, Meg was Azazael’s second in command. Why would nameless demon risk killing her? Or did he kinow the gun was fake?

In any case, this makes the moment where we can be 100% sure that Meg’s meat suit 1.0 was dead. I mean, she could’ve survived the fall in Shadow, but a bullet to the chest? No way.

We go back to the brothers, and Sam breaks every single law of a procedural show by giving this great speech about how thankful he is to Dean for everything, and how he needs to say that “in case” something happened.

Dean is definitely not impressed and reminds him that the only one dying today is Azazael.

As we see John temporarily escape from Meg and her muscle boy, we go back to the brothers who see the demon omens start up so they get ready for the final fight.

The brothers manage to save Monica and her baby, despite the very understandable interference from Hubbard, the husband (I mean, you would not react nicely to two strangers intruding in your house and yelling to your wife to not go into the nursery room), however, before Sam can shoot Azazel, he disappears into smoke (A really interesting question here is, WHY did Sam wait to shoot and then wasted a bullet, but I digress).

Going completely against M.O, Azazael makes the CRIB burst into flames, but fortunately Dean has already gotten Rosie out of it so the brothers escape the flaming house. While Monica cries her thanks, Sam notices that Azazael is still inside, and tries to go after him, but Dean stops him because he is not going to lose his brother to the fire. By the way, I am not counting “Dean stopping Sam from going into a burning building” as “Dean forcing Sam to do something” since, uh, he was saving Sam’s life and it’s something anyone in Dean’s place would’ve done.

At the same time, we see John getting captured by Meg and her muscle boy because he didn’t think about getting a third escape route (But honestly? That was pretty much a plot necessity. John was HEAVILY prepared for that fight)

Back in the hotel, Dean is worried that John is not answering his calls, while Sam is furious that Dean didn’t let him kill himself by running into a burning house. They have a nasty fight that mirrors the one they had back in the pilot, but since it IS a fight between the brothers, you know the drill. We’re examining it under Violence.

Once Sam calms down, he tells Dean to try calling John again. Unfortunately, it’s Meg who answers and she tells Dean that they’re never seeing their dad again.

And we get the first “To be continued” for the series (Which to be honest, despite all the little continuity mistakes I mentioned here? Is still pretty epic)

Violence

Well, we had to run out of episodes where the brothers don’t fight each other at some point, didn’t we?

This fight, over Sam wanting to kill himself in his search for revenge, is a very neat parallel to the fight they had back in the Pilot, over Sam NOT wanting to even involve himself in the family’s search for revenge. Which I know it’s supposed to be ironic and a show of character growth since now Dean is the one saying that revenge is not worth their lives but… it falls a little bit flat because the reason why Sam is so gung-ho in killing Azazael is, once again, a very selfish one and the way in he expresses it makes it quite clear. (Again, I do wonder if the writers stopped to think about the implications of Sam only getting really into hunting when it was about him or his losses?)

But let’s start at the beginning:

SAM If you had just let me go in there, I coulda ended all this.

DEAN Sam, the only thing you would have ended was your life.

SAM You don't know that.

DEAN So what, you're just willing to sacrifice yourself, is that it?

SAM Yeah. Yeah you're damn right I am.

DEAN Well that's not going to happen, not as long as I'm around.

This right here? Is a nice summary of the relationship of the brothers for the whole series. Sam wants to do something stupid, like, say, running into a burning building, Dean is there to stop him before he hurts himself.

Also, let’s make clear the use of first person by Sam. It’s not “We coulda ended this”, as in the family ending the hunt, but “I coulda ended this”. Again, at this point, not something that is a problem, but considering hindsight, we can see how the writers are completely invested in SAM as a sole main character, and write him as such, while Dean is more of the sidekick.

In any case, the argument continues, still not escalating to violence.

SAM What the hell are you talking about Dean, we've been searching for this demon our whole lives. It's the only thing we've ever cared about.

DEAN Sam I wanna waste it. I do. Okay? But it's not worth dying over.

SAM What?

DEAN I mean it. If hunting this demon means getting yourself killed then I hope we never find the damn thing.

Important thing how Sam apparently forgot he left for four (two) years and wanted out of the family business, now that he is angry and into the revenge thing. It’s not “You’ve been searching for this demon your whole life”, which would’ve been correct AND a logical counterargument against Dean. Before this episode, Sam was supposedly the brother who understood that revenge was a way of living, while Dean is the one who was Daddy’s little soldier. But here, when it actually would matter to the narrative, it is as if Sam’s wishes for a normal life are completely forgotten and it’s Dean the one who understands that there’s more to living than revenge (Which, btw, is consistent through the season despite everyone claiming that Dean needs Sam to keep hunting. All season, Dean has been giving Sam outs, telling him it’s ok to quit)

And of course, Dean here proves that Sam is more important to him than revenge for his mother, as he is willing to never get to kill the demon as long as his family, his brother in particular, survives.

Poor Dean.

SAM That thing killed Jess. That thing killed Mom.

DEAN You said yourself once, that no matter what we do, they're gone, and they're never coming back.

SAM Don't you say that, not you! Not after all this don't you say that.

DEAN Sam look. The three of us...that's all we have...and it's all I have. Sometimes I feel like I'm barely holding it together man...and without you or Dad....

Unfortunately, script doesn’t quiet convey the scene as there’s a LONG pause between “That thing killed Jess” and “That thing killed Mom”. Enough so that we can believe that Sam is using that second phrase not because he cares (in the Pilot he made clear he didn’t), but to make Dean get on board with the whole “I can kill myself if it means getting revenge” plan. In other words, once again, Sam is weaponizing Mary against Dean, and that is a really nasty habit the younger Winchester never quite shakes out of. Instead, Dean shows how he LISTENED to Sam back in the Pilot and repeats Sam’s words to him on the bridge.

Which is when Sam loses it and pushes Dean against a wall, Dean not defending himself at all, and yells that Dean has no right to say what Sam told Dean the very first hunt they had together after years of separation.

And of course, once Dean mentions their father, Sam starts calming down. NOT when Dean says that he’s barely holding it together, or that he only has them.   Just when he mentions their father who is, in Sam’s mind, the one who can help him get revenge.

The fight ends, but Sam never once apologizes for what he said to Dean, nor for the fight. Which, by the way, contradicts his claim that Dean “always has his back”.

Emotional Violence

Whenever we have John on an episode, we’re going to have to talk about emotional violence and I kind of hate that because on one hand, I get how John could’ve been a very tragic figure that loved his sons but still wanted to avenge his wife, and not being the abusive bastard we know and don’t love that much.

When Sam and Dean explain about Sam’s visions, and how they started as nightmares but have grown in intensity, his reaction is quite subdued, but clear. He is not happy, but the problem isn’t the visions –for a man obsessed with the supernatural, his outward reaction to his younger son being a psychic is quite calm- but that they didn’t inform him of what was going on:

JOHN All right. When were you going to tell me about this?

DEAN We didn't know what it meant.

JOHN All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me.

DEAN dumps the coffee jug and cup back on the counter and strides toward JOHN.

DEAN Call you? Are you kidding me? Dad I called you from Lawrence all right? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance of winning the lottery.

JOHN You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours, you're right. I'm sorry.

And let’s be clear, John’s anger is not directed at Sam, it’s directed at Dean. “Something like this starts happening to your brother” is not “Something like this starts happening to either of you”. Which is also a show of how good an actor JOHN is in universe because WE know that he knew. Missouri TOLD him point blank that Sam was powerful and that he could have known that John was around during the Home episode. But here, he acts as if this was news to him when he could ALSO have told them what to expect if that happened. (Mind you, I am assuming that Sera Gamble knew or remembered about Home’s script when writing this and didn’t just forget or was unaware that John was supposed to know)

Now, all season, Sam has been complaining and yelling about how John doesn’t answer their calls, doesn’t seem to care what’s going on with them. So it’d be logical and in character for Sam to say something here. But instead is DEAN, Dad’s little soldier, the one we’ve SEEN obeying John without question finally have enough and talk back to his father with some truths. And it’s VERY interesting that his first complain is not that John didn’t care that Dean almost died, but that he didn’t reply when Dean called from Lawrence. One could almost infer that Dean expected John not to care if Dean died, but was honestly hurt that he didn’t care about a case that could’ve involved MARY.

John, surprisingly, sort of agrees. He does say “I’m sorry”, which makes him the Winchester who is quicker to say those words… but he still manages to make a threat against Dean “I am not too crazy about this NEW tone of yours”.

Making it clear that before? Dean never talked back. And John doesn’t like it when his soldiers talk back.

It makes it hard to believe John ever thought of Dean as his son and makes it very clear why Dean never understood Sam’s confidence that Dean was the favored one.

Speeches and Apologies

I considered not including this particular speech, but then I remembered that Supernatural is ALSO famous for their big emotional speeches, and this is Sam’s first, and also, Dean’s first time listening to someone he cares about give him the “I am saying goodbye because I am going kamikaze” speech and after all the drama in season 15, I guess it’s necessary to do some dissection.

It is important that despite all the things that Sam has done to Dean, the words “I’m sorry” are never uttered here.

SAM Dean...ah...I wanna thank you. DEAN For what? SAM For everything. You've always had my back you know? Even when I couldn't count on anyone I could always count on you. And ah...I don't know I just wanted to let you know, Just in case DEAN Whoa whoa whoa, are you kidding me? SAM What? DEAN Don't say just in case something happens to you. I don't wanna hear that freaking speech man. Nobody's dying tonight. Not us, not that family, nobody. Except that demon. That evil son of a bitch ain't getting any older than tonight, you understand me?

 This is not a bad “freaking speech”. I understand why Dean didn’t want to hear it, because it is like jinxing the mission (And, let’s be honest, it did), but it’s not a bad speech.

Except that, reading it again, it lacks one important part. Sure, Sam thanks Dean for always being there (Forgetting that, at least three times this season alone, he has accused Dean of not having his back and being unreliable. Which will ALSO be a constant theme in the series’s long run), but he never mentions the times HE did things that would be hard to back up. Which, again, I am not counting as a bad thing against him in this precise moment in time, since he is young, in his roaring roadtrip of revenge, and we’ve only know the brothers for a year, but it is the beginning of a series’ long crutch to make us forgive all of Sam’s sins without him actually doing the work to be forgiven.

On the other hand, it all goes to waste a bit later when Sam starts hitting Dean for the horrible sin of not letting him run into a burning building and kill himself so… it’s not really a “thank you for having my back” speech but a “You better remember, you never fight me and my choices are the best” speech in hindsight. Which… not good on Sam, no.

Double narrative standards

This episode is kind of balanced, except for that little moment where we’re supposed to think Dean is wrong for telling Sam that revenge is not worth their lives. So there’s not much to write in this particular segment.

Final Tally

Ok, back in the saddle. And after all that, I decided not to tally Sam’s little slip about not caring if their loved ones die as long as he gets to kill Azazael. Let me know if you disagree.

The count is still not good on Sam’s side, but as always, you are free to disagree with me, and dm me if you think I missed a tally or I should change one. If your argument is solid and canon based, I will listen to it and may change the numbers.

Numbers (or the TL;DR summary)

(Episode/Total so far)

Times Dean has lied to Sam or to a loved one: 0 / 0

Times Sam has lied to Dean or to a loved one: 0 / 3

Times Dean has been caught in a lie: 0 / 0

Times Sam has been caught in a lie: 0 / 1

Times Dean has hit Sam in anger: 0 / 1

Times Sam has hit Dean in anger: 1 / 4

Times Dean's lies or secrets have caused someone's death: 0 / 0

Times Sam's lies or secrets have caused someone's death: 0 / 1

Times Dean has abandoned (Or wanted to abandon) a hunt in the middle for his own needs: 0 / 0

Times Sam has abandoned (Or wanted to abandon) a hunt in the middle for his own needs: 0 / 7

Times Dean forced Sam to do something: 0 / 0

Times Sam forced Dean to do something: 0 / 7

Secrets kept by Dean: 0 / 1

Secrets kept by Sam: 0 / 2

Times Dean has blamed Sam for something: 0 / 0

Times Sam has blamed Dean for something: 1 / 4

Times Dean has apologized with words to Sam: 0 / 3

Times Sam has apologized with words to Dean: 0 / 2

Times Dean has respected Sam's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 7

Times Sam has respected Dean's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 0

Times Dean hasn't respected Sam's boundaries and/or rules: 0 / 0

Times Sam hasn't respected Dean's boundaries and / or rules: 0 / 13

Times Dean has made fun of something Sam does or has: 0 / 6

Times Sam has made fun of something Dean does or has: 0 / 31

Times we focus on Dean's needs: 0 / 1

Times we focus on Sam's needs: 1 / 6

Arc episodes dedicated to Sam: 1 / 7

Filler episodes dedicated to Sam: 0 / 6

Arc episodes dedicated to Dean: 0 / 0

Filler episodes dedicated to Dean: 0 / 4

Arc episodes dedicated to both brothers (or to none): 0 / 2

Filler episodes dedicated to both brothers (or to none): 0 / 2

Dean's Dropped Plotlines: 0 / 1

Sam's Dropped Plotlines: 0 / 2

[do-you-have-a-flag]

Destiel shippers come get ya’ll juice!

SO @deadwright​ and I were inspired by Some Tumblr Posts and the twitter Roadhouse  Wedding stuff and keep writing headcanons about Thee Destiel 2021 Married Ever After S16 SPN Romantic Event Of The Season, so here’s that. 

Arranged in order of marital chronology and cutting out us keysmashing too much:

oh man imagine all the burgers they get catered for the reception dean got it done himself he would’ve been so particular about the catering bridezilla cas would probably be THEE bitchiest bridezilla

it's also definitely that trope where all the other hunters ect KNOW that that many of them and the wedding party are essentially a target for trouble so everyone spends the 24 hours leading up to the vows taking out every beastie who shows up on a revenge kick out of sight because they'll be damned if they let ANYTHING stop this wedding and Dean and cas are both having their marital jitters oh god im not good enough what if something goes wrong about mundane things while monsters are getting their ass kicked outside AWWWWWWWW for sure for sure, they’re hunter royalty this wedding is a big deal like half the attendees are nursing injuries but grinning widely

they don't do the can't see eachother before the wedding thing because you KNOW dean would be fixing cas' tie last minute

dean wears a blue pocket square to match cas' tie cas wears a FLANNEL SQUARE

I’m obsessed w the idea of cas giving dean a little bit of his grace in a small bottle on a chain for him to wear or like a wing feather or some part of him god the grace in a bottle breaks me every time in fic dean probably builds cas something but every time i try to think of something specific i choke up

i was thinking like what if trading grace is as close to a romantic gesture as angels have and he's like..... technically i left some grace behind in your mark when i dragged you from the pit and dean is like ARE YOU SAYING WE'VE BEEN MARRIED THIS WHOLE TIME? 

they are so sweet i’m on the verge of tears the ability to do anything by halves in their relationship was burnt out by like the second return from the dead moment they are too insane to be anything less than All In And Then Some

at one point someone was like hey cas do you want to run your vows by someone as practice? and he started reading what he'd prepared and it devolved into Biblically Grand Statements Of The Power Of Love And The Redemption Of - ect ect ect and it's because unlike the confession scene he's had TOO much preparation and overshot into uncanny angelic vibes he makes some edits because he know the expressions he gets when he reads it aren't what he intended

dean writes page after page after page of unused drafts, none of them are particularly floral

he does the cliche of ripping up his vows and improvising at the altar, something he gets mercilessly teased for because he swore he wouldn't but it classifies as a chick flick moment

THAT’S SO PEAK HIM OH MY GOD and you knoooooow you just KNOW it’s beautiful and emotional and everyone is crying

god the NOVELTY of dean being emotionally honest in front of people......im gonna faint YEA yeah... ONE TIME ONLY DEAL he thinks loudly at Sam's smug expression

anyway, at the wedding dean is the one who spends the whole ceremony with like crying cat meme eyes after the confession scene i’m pretty sure the minute the vows start cas is in the same boat USELESS HUSBANDS dean gets passed a handkerchief for his tears and immediately goes to use it on cas' face and they both laugh sob love the idea that everyone individually thought they were too tough to cry but they all broke at various stages yeah sam definitely starts to choke up just standing up there with his brother sam chokes up before the ceremony even started, like probably when he was pinning on dean’s corsage

anyway, Jack dancing with his two dads at the reception CAS’ BEST MAN / FLOWER BOY FLOWER MAN let him heelie down the aisle with the flowers LITTLE MAN GO NYOOM who makes him a little flower crown he wears with a proud lil smile? claire ofc, with those hair braiding skills? she makes it BEAUTIFUL flower crown: on nails: painted dads: MARRIED!!!!

when they say i do and kiss and everyone is cheering you can't convince me that someone doesn't let off what is either a gun or a dubiously legal firework in celebration jack pops a few lightbulbs in his uncontrollable joy

Dean and Cas can't let go of each other, it's at LEAST one point of physical contact for the rest of the reception PERIODT

CAN YOU IMAGINE THEM DANCING TO AIR SUPPLY

they definitely didn't do the wedding gifts thing but a few mysteriously show up anyway; discuss waffle iron from sam bc he remembers the becky incident meanwhile claire gets them flavoured lube because she’s an insane little mean girl she gets them a sampler package with like novelty flavours, gotta spring extra for a wedding PIE FLAVOURED LUBE

it’s gonna be the party of the century omfg you KNOW it! that dancefloor going OFF the BAR is FLOWING

dean gets dragged up onto the bar to make a speech and there's a moment at the end where he drags cas up there too and they're being playfully yelled at not to scuff it and there's hooting and catcalls as dean and cas kiss and dean gestures rudely before almost falling backwards off the bar before cas grabs him and climbing down is less romantic or dignified but he couldn't care if he wanted to

meanwhile sam and claire are outside defacing the impala with silly string and lewd graffiti and tin cans tied to the bumper for the going-away oh it is one hundo percent a just married atrocity there's enough condoms hidden in the car that they're still finding them months later

anyway wanna hear my disgustingly soppy honeymoon roadtrip concept? YOU KNOW I DO OKAY SO

you know at some point dean must have said some sad thing like for the longest time he never thought he'd live long enough to get married and the only circumstances he could imagine was hooking up drunkenly with a stranger at some vegas wedding scenario like that's the best he would ever get and he thinks it's mostly forgotten but then during their cross country honeymoon roadtrip castiel does in fact navigate them to las vegas and quietly mutters that the legal veracity of the little chapel on the city limits is dubious at best and they're already married so it couldn't do any harm and they get officiated by an elvis impersonator and a woman wearing more sequins than fabric throws cheap confetti over them

and after that they stop into every venue they can find that would be friendly to them to pretend they're eloping and at one point dean even pulls out the fbi id badges and the officiant is under the impression he's facilitating some sort of covert workplace romance 

one place is a kitchy little house that's clearly just the couple who run it opening their strange home to anyone who needs it and have been since the 70s and Castiel thinks for a moment when they're asked to pin something to the collection of stuff on the walls and ceiling before pulling the receipt for the pie they'd shared earlier in a dinner out and scrawling his and dean's name on it to be added to the clutter 

and at one point they stand ankle deep in a pond while some old hippie lady wraps their clasped hands together with soft fabric and chants something that dean knows isn't real magic but hey he's not going to tell her that and after the ceremony they sit on the grass and feed each other sweet bread to complete the binding or whatever and it's nice but it doesn't compare to the ranch where they both tossed their cowboy hats in the air and were given a horse to ride to their camp site

i thought about riverboat gambling for point one seconds and now i know in my bones that one of their many weddings was on a riverboat, they made the captain officiate after cornering him on deck in like five minutes, the crew sent them complimentary champagne and they threw fries at the birds following the boat while sharing it straight out of the bottle

if destiel can go canon multiple times they can get married multiple times CHANGE MY MIND THEY GET MARRIED SO MUCH the MOST married i just want them to get gay cowboy married

eventually i want them to end up at the beach bc dean has canonically never been to the coast their road trip is to get to the other coast

they send just married postcards back to sam from every stop sam stops feeling hurt he was left out of their vegas elopement wedding by the third wedding postcard he recieves sam saves them ofc bc GOD can you imagine them looking at the postcards on their 30th anniversary or s/t 🥺 showing their grandkids and recounting the story of each wedding there's a seashell taped to the last one

cas gets a terrible sunglasses tan and dean gets burnt on the tips of his ears and there's sand on sand on sand in all their clothes and at one point dean is blinking away salt water and cas is gripping his arm and saying something about the coral by them in the water and dean thinks that he likes floating beside cas a lot better than flying

dean has cas pick ice cream for them from a truck and hustles at carnival games enough to win them both big novelty foam hats and they both go back to their room and pass out immediately post shower sprawled across the bed and still smelling like sunscreen and salt water

dean tucks a little cocktail umbrella behind cas’ ear

cas spends most of the next day in dean's zepplin shirt and a pair of shorts they only picked up once they got there because neither of them thought to bring beach clothes, they sit on the balcony and dean sips his beer and idly plays with the ring on cas' finger and they play a game of what fictional monsters could they beat in a fight

cas’ true form is the size of the chrysler building he can fight king kong easy that's what he says and dean's like okay but what about mothra and castiel is like how would YOU defeat mothra and dean just goes "bugspray." GDJSGSHSGSHDSJ DEAN WOULD

in honour of misha putting his whole pussy into the role, cas wears a dress in at least one of their weddings

it's at one of those theme parks that's just historical re-enactments and people get their vows renewed there and there's costumes for the photobooth and the staff are like how long have you been married? castiel says two weeks, three days, eighteen hours, and twenty five minutes................ approximately.  and the photo is cas in a classical wedding gown and dean is wearing the veil with his old timey suit and there's a moose head on the wall behind them wearing the top hat he was given and they send that print with an arrow pointing at the moose with sam written next to it

i keep thinking bitch!!!! you KNOW WHAT!! you KNOW that dean is the type a guy who's heart races every time he feels his wedding ring/is always fiddling with it in the weeks after the wedding, like an anchor to remind him they really got married this is real he would NEED that physical reminder that he can have good things

he’s never ever going to take it off, the tan line will be permanent

how funny it would be if dean gets injured on a hunt and the monster guy is about to kill him and then the lights blow out and the monsters are like what was that and dean is just like "[spits blood] that's my husband." and nek minnit cas has just ripped through them thanks to teleporting in angel style and is just like Cas: [heals dean] "you're late for movie night" Dean: "Well if you'd gotten here earlier i would have been on time." Cas: >:| [kisses him]

cas is like i didn’t burn the popcorn this time you BETTER be alive to see it

[laufire]

Supernatural s3

It’s so unfair that the season that has Ruby AND Bela is so short :(((. I was done with it waaaay too quickly, and now I’m speed running through s4 xD (which, like the first time around, is Strong Mixed Feelings territory).

-My girl Ruby!!!! I was so happy to have her back, I kept grinning like a loon every time she was on screen. It’s quite interesting watching the 1.0 and 2.0 versions so close to each other, instead of as they air. I have... Thoughts, on whether Ruby as a double agent was something planned or that they decided as they went, but that’s for the s4 post. s3!Ruby really doesn’t come across as one (“I don’t believe in the devil” oh I wish sometimes xD, I love my nonbelievers), imo, but the beauty of such a device is that you can rationalize anything she does as devious if you want to xD

And it goes without saying that I love her interactions with Sam. THIS SHIP ISTG. I love how immediately ~attuned to her he is lol, his present and instinctive concern for her even if he tries to mask his interest as “practical”. And all the repeated times Sam’s conflicted between her and Dean -like when he deviates Dean shot (wasting one of the Colt’s bullets lmfao) or during the argument about the virgin sacrifice xD. And the “that’s my boy”/ “little fallen angel on your shoulder” quotes!!! Ruby 1.0 deserved to be railed by Sam too, smh.

My favourite episode of hers is “Jus in Bello” (which would be my fave of the season just by virtue of having both Bela and Ruby in the same episode lol. Not interacting, of course, the world as we know it wouldn’t have survived). I just love that she gets that final moment of I TOLD YOU SO to the brothers xD. I really like how she expands on the demonic lore of the show- I love, LOVE the detail about how all demons used to be humans, how they’re souls corrupted in hell. And that in her past life she was a witch (there was this really good fic in Spanish fandom about it... I need to hunt it down).

BTW, though I think her interactions with Dean in that episode are interesting, it really hammers home how much I hate him sometimes xD. Can you stop saying misogynistic slurs for TWO GODDAMN MINUTES, DEAN (and as we know from as early as this season, only HE can have demon/monster friends!! What a fucking hypocrite xD). I freaking love the moment in the finale when she viciously yells him about how she wishes she could see him in hell lmao (and how it foreshadows that when she shows sympathy later, it’s actually Lilith in disguise lmfao). I hate Dean gets the last word in their dynamic, tbqh. Until the s15 cameo, at least xDD

One thing that’s been bothering me xD: the French fries. Demons are vulnerable to salt, like other spirits, right? (and hey, look what a nice piece of foreshadowing that was). How does that translate to food lol. Because Ruby adores French fries, and they obviously contain salt. It’s like spicy food for humans? Or like pineapple? Inquiring minds etc. xD

-I still cannot believe Bela Talbot was only on the show for six episodes lmao. Her presence still lingers in the watchers’ heads so much?? Which is understandable because she’s Lead Girl Material if there was ever any lol. The care with which they styled her even?? You don’t do that for just any character lmao (I mean, just look at most of SPN’s female characters for comparison xD).

Her ship with Dean could’ve really been something, too -even if I hate Dean in it, I can’t deny it packs a punch, narrative-wise. I mean, the Batcat undertones alone!! The fake married undercover shenanigans!! And I think it’s really interesting that she’s such a blind spot for him; Dean’s unusually intuitive about people, but with Bela he takes everything at face value and she can fool him like no other (while, OTOH, is Sam who questions her facade and wants to see more). If he hadn’t been such an idiot (and such an asshole) he could’ve had a really powerful ship. Sucks to be him lol.

Anyway. Man, I love her. So much. I love how Gordon’s threats to kill her don’t work on her, and I love that the show basically said “Bela killing her abusive parents is good, actually” (I’m so tired of forgiveness narratives, you guys. This entire show is founded on revenge, so let me get my revenge fantasies in peace!!) xDD. And I love, LOVE that she withheld that truth from Dean, that she decided he wasn’t worth it. OTOH, you know, fuck the fans that got her written out, definitely; but on the other, I do love how her story ended (and that it was a clear "fuck you" to shitty fans). Doesn’t stop me for wanting to read and re-read (and maybe write!) even more “Bela escapes hell” fix-its, but still.

Also, very important question: what happened to her cat?? It’s the cat alright?? I’m going to headcanon that she left them with that cougar friend of hers lol.

-So. THE DEAL. Okay. Oof. I love this storyline, a lot. A loooot. I love the conflict it creates between the brothers (as long as there’s still conflict and Sam hasn’t yet started taking everything lying down I can enjoy that part of their narrative lol). I love Dean’s initial forced giddiness about “making the most out of his last year” and I love the moment Dean decides he does want to try to live because it makes the last few episodes all the most desperate and cruel (and hey, I’ve heard he only went to hell because the season was cut short due to a writers’ strike... if that’s true that’s so funny lmao).

My absolutely favourite part however? That you can FEEL Dean’s unvoiced resentment towards Sam. For Dean having to die for him, even if Sam never asked him to. He lashes out to Sam repeatedly through the season, but it really came to ahead in the dreamspace episode, where Dean confronts another version of himself that talks about how Sam was “dotted on” (the revisionism asldfkaf). This show is absolutely ruthless when it comes to showing you its characters’ ugly, unfair reactions to things and it’s my favourite thing evah.

Speaking of the dreamspace episode, OMFG. I loved both brothers there. Dean’s hallucination, seeing himself as a demon? And how he let out his anger about John?? Beautiful, truly (regarding John, I also loved their different reactions when it looked like his spirit had contacted them: Dean jumping on it and Sam detached skepticism). But my favourite part has to be when Sam uses the villain’s abusive father against him. Like. Damn. That was cold-blooded o.0

The second-to-last episode, when Sam tracked down that Frankenstein doctor to try and make Dean immortal was ABSOLUTELY HORRIFYING OMG. I loved that. I love that Sam wanted to use it for both them. It was some scary shit. I also love the scene where the crossroads demon questions whether Sam really wants to break the deal, I’m gathering it’s going to be nice foreshadowing later on in the show lol.

Anyway. I also found Dean’s death scene more impactful than Sam’s. Partially because of the horror of it, but mostly because I think at this type of scenes, Padalecki is better. Sam’s grief felt more real, Dean’s got me out of the scene (it’s the voice, I think. Sometimes Ackles’ voice takes me out of scenes, it sounds... forced).

I also really enjoyed how the time loop episode wrapped around this subplot. It managed to be both heartbreaking and mind-numbly hilarious lmfao. Like?? All the deaths?? Were so pathetic?? I tip my hat to Ackles because I don’t think most actors could carry plots like this half as well lmfao.

Sidenote, it’s always a trip to see The Trickster God knowing that fucker is Gabriel. Archangel “hey Mary do you accept God knocking you up” Gabriel. Which I guess isn’t exactly a thing in this show?? Since according to the wikia SPN Jesus was “just a man” (and let me tell you, I’m tickled pink by the fact that out of ALL mythological figures, specifically all CHRISTIAN mythological figures, the show decided to go “nah” on Jesus Christ. I mean, I guess he’d take away from Dean’s, Sam’s and Castiel’s resurrection narratives, but still. It’s so funny!!).

-Gordon Walker remains a superbly acted and fascinating character with extra racist nonsense alsdkfjasdf. But I can’t deny I loved seeing him as a vampire. He was terrifying. And I’m definitely shipping him with Kubrick, ouch xD

-The Ghostfacers episode is... something. As in, incredibly exploitative and homophobic and with an egregious case of BYG (and the first where I’d say it’s incontestable to claim the trope was used. s1 and s2 are muddy territory given the circumstances, IMO, but this one is 300% BYG), but so successfully manipulative my heart hurt for Corbett and Corbett x Ed still. Fuck them for that ngl. I do still enjoy how anti-Winchesters they all are though xD

-3x01 introduces the one nice marriage of hunters so far, between a black couple. The man dies in a gross, horrifying way within the episode ofc (because he was Mean to the the brothers duh). She makes it out alive, and since she doesn’t reappear in the show she gets to live. So for now black women have a sliiiiiightly better track record in SPN than track guys there: they get to appear in a few more episodes and be more fleshed out (Victor, Gordon), but as long as they’re only in one episode they get to live!! (Cassie, Tamara).

-Rufus and Bobby are exes, right? Right?? Probably still married in some state? You know that post about how when gay marriage was legalized across the USA there were a lot of issues because some couples had split and never bothered to divorce, since it was only legal in one place? That post was made for them. Pity Rufus is a black man, and as such has a limited number of allowed appearances before he’s killed off ¬¬

-I would’ve enjoyed Dean’s moments with Lisa and Ben more (it’s just so RIGHT that in this moment he’d want Ben to be his) if my knowledge of future spoilers didn’t perpetually have me in a state of “pls keep this guy away from kids” lol.

-They had Harmony’s actress (BTVS) and they made her a vampire!! The show’s hard on for the Buffyverse is a bit of a hit and miss but I can’t say I don’t relate xDD.

-I know Jensen Ackles can sing (in fact thanks to youtube I know a few of the actors can... is there a musical episode. Does this show have its own OMWF. I need to know). So why. WHY. Does he sound like that during “Dead or Alive”??? I actually like the scene but he sounds so off-key lmao.

-BTW, I found out that apparently Katie Cassidy and Lauren Cohan originally auditioned for each other’s roles añslkdfjasf. I can’t picture it. Ruby 1.0 is Ruby 1.0 and Bela is Bela xD. Although I’ve seen each playing roles that could meld with the other, just. Nope. Good choice on the casting there lol.

[meatmandean]

oh in regards to my earlier ask I didn’t mean for it to come off as if I’m trying to have you. validate whether I’m woke or not shsjsjdk I’ve just seen you posting about diversity in the show recently and this is something I think about a lot so I thought I’d bring it up. the reason I’m discussing jack specifically is that, he became a main character very late in the show, and became a very large part of the narrative in a way most other characters haven’t. sam, dean, and cas have been around forever, there’s not really much you can do about them. I mean when cas was introduced, female characters were not exactly. treated well. just look what happened with anna. but by the time jack was introduced, diversity in the media was a way bigger deal. fans were clearly upset about the deaths of kevin, a character who happened to be asian, and charlie, a character who happened to be a lesbian. neither of them ever reached main character status or joined team free will (tho kevin had every reason to be a part of that). both of their deaths were horribly handled and the writers never really made up for it. fans were also pretty vocally wanting shows like wayward sisters to happen, which would’ve had women of color in lead roles (maybe they thought that would make up for lack of diversity in spn itself? tbh I probably would feel somewhat better if we got that, though killing off missouri and kaia to start the show is. bad). also the writers had finally killed off crowley. so it felt like the perfect chance to include some diversity in the main cast (I mean MAIN cast. like. comic con panel cast) and they just. didn’t. admittedly I don’t think it would be good to put a kid of color through trauma but. I personally would’ve written that whole arc very differently, so those traumas wouldn’t be there to begin with. in general I just wish they had more people of color on their writing staff

Yes I get that and once again I do think it would be cool for Jack to have been a poc because this show was just making zero effort to improve in that matter but as has been said, I think specifically disliking Jack as a character for that specific reason is a little unnecessary and I understand why it has been called performative seeing as you are white and I haven’t even seen any people of color disliking Jack for that reason (not saying there aren’t any, there probably are some who do, I’m just speaking from what I’ve seen). But I do understand where you are coming from.

[babygirl06301]

SPN S1 Review

I honestly have no idea if this post is about to be hella long or moderate, but I feel like a lot of my feelings got aired out when I was reviewing each individual episode, so I’m just gonna dump the rest of my thoughts that I’ve jotted down while watching this season here. This is basically gonna be me saying, “Wow, this was interesting,” or, “This is similar to/different from later seasons because…” These are all coming from notes on my computer, so they’re half-baked. Nothing too fancy or analytical, but I’ll be doing one of these for every season.

Random thoughts:

I don’t like the monster-of-the-week, episodic format that much, and a lot of those episodes this season felt average in quality for me. However, when you don’t have much else to focus on besides an arbitrary goal of the boys finding John to kill something they know nothing about, it isn’t so bad. Filler episodes suck more later because they’re often completely disconnected from the main story, which isn’t the case for most filler episodes in this season. Plus, the main stories later have more involved goals for the season than this one did, which made the filler episodes later more annoying. For example, if Sam and Dean want to hunt a Tulpa at a haunted house because John is off doing something somewhere, that’s fine. Kill the time. But if Sam and Dean really need to figure out a way to kill God, like, now before Chuck decimates every fleck of existence he’s ever created, maybe don’t waste my time with an episode about a wood nymph, you know? If the stakes are higher, then the quality episodes shouldn’t appear with less frequency. All I’m saying.

The tone, acting, and writing of these characters is so different. Like, when you know a show intimately, these kinds of differences between one season and the next are natural to you. It’s not like I wasn’t aware that the boys looking for their father feels a lot fucking different than the boys having a kid, but when you actually let yourself be aware of how much the show has changed, it’s kind of crazy. Like, if I just think about it offhand, I’m like, “Yeah, this is Supernatural.” But if I break the fourth wall a bit in my mind, it’s like, “Damn, I really did watch these characters and their actors mature for fifteen years, didn’t I?” Crazy.

There are so many episodes that end with the Impala driving down the road. Like, an aerial shot of it. And if the very last scene isn’t that, then it’s probably the scene right before the last scene. Until the last few episodes, that is.

I don’t know why I’ve written this down, but it’s easier to remember episode titles in season one because you can match it to the creature without having to remember the plot. Like, “Oh, the Wendigo episode.” I’ve also said in this same note that the folklore plots died out later on in the series, which is true.

A quote from my notes: “The show really does feel better with Cas, huh?” Look, I’m not gonna say that the S1 finale didn’t slap, because it did. However, I will say that Cas can brighten any episode up, so, had he been in the series from the beginning, the season finale may not have been the only S1 episode to slap. Not that there weren’t other episodes that were good, but you know. Also, this isn’t to say that Cas should’ve been around the whole time because him coming into Dean’s life when he did was exactly perfect.

They do this later, too, but a handful of episodes in the early seasons will be like, “Here’s a girl. Now, one of you Winchesters, go bond with her this instant.” And it’s weird? You don’t need to bring a girl in just to make googly eyes at one of the boys? You could just give her the story she was supposed to have but minus all the flirting?

So, Sam is meant to be the central character for the first five seasons, right? Yes, Dean is supposed to be his equal; yes, he went to Hell and had that whole storyline; yes, he’s Michael’s vessel, but it was always really about Sam, you know? Sam was the one who had the connection to the biggest, baddest thing imaginable (at the time), that being Lucifer. Sam was the one chosen for Lucifer. Sam was the one with the psychic abilities and the one to drink demon blood and the reason Dean sold his soul. Dean is obviously a main character with his own story, but Sam was meant to be the special one, yeah? But even so, Dean is such a beautifully complex character because he wasn’t special. You can see that, even in S1—that his specialness came from his lack of central focus. It’s almost like the plot was saying, “Sam,” and Dean went, “I’m gonna cause problems anyway,” and that’s awesome. I don’t know if that makes sense, but I just feel like Dean is the most interesting character in the entire series, and he wasn’t even the one S1 picked out as special.

Sam’s psychic abilities seemed a lot cooler when you didn’t know as much about them. Like, yes, Sam having those abilities for the purpose of housing Lucifer is cool and all, but it felt so much more mystical when it just seemed like something Sam could do for some reason. Not that that would’ve been a better payoff than what we get—it’d be stupid for the story to say, “I know a demon chose you to be the vessel of Lucifer himself, but the psychic thing you can do? Just a coincidence”—but it’s some food for thought.

John is barely fucking there even though his existence permeates the entire fucking season. I thought he was so much more present than he was in this series. They treated him like they treated Cas. “We said his name a few times, that’s good right?” No. No, it isn’t.

I hate the pattern the episodes have in S1. It goes: location name, bad thing happens in said location, Sam and Dean talk about said thing, they go to said location, they research and maybe flirt with some random girl, they fight, they drive away in the Impala. Like, nearly every episode is like that.

Without demons in the mix that often, the tone of S1 is really different when you compare it to every other season.

Dean is a lot more emotionally vulnerable in this season. I mean, he’s not sitting down with Sam to talk about his feelings all the time, but his emotions are definitely closer to the surface. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that he hasn’t had to emotionally shut down to protect Sam yet. Obviously, he represses things because of the way he was raised, and because he had to raise Sam; however, he still had John to lean on at this point. So, he hadn’t developed that habit of hiding his feelings and leaning on no one but himself yet as he did when he lost John. Because of that, he was able to be scared and tell Sam that he was afraid of losing his family and stuff like that. He becomes a way darker character in after John dies, and he more or less only leans fully on one other person for the rest of the series, albeit in a different way.

John saying in 1x21 that he wants Dean to have a home after Azazel is killed is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. For one, because John is aware that he deprived Dean of a real home, and by extension, is aware that Dean is damaged because of that. But also, it’s sad because Dean has lived 26 years of his life up until now without ever having a home he felt safe and loved in.

Dean running from a potential fight with Azazel in 1x22 is super interesting because he’s fighting to be a part of his family rather than simply fighting for them to be saved. Dean doesn’t want to die, isn’t willing to die. That’s something that definitely changes later. Big time.

Filler episode rate:

By my count, which admittedly might be wrong, there were 7 episodes that were primarily main story episodes this season and 15 monster-of-the-week/filler episodes. 

Now, in the early seasons, it isn’t as easy to separate the filler from the main story because almost every episode will deal with character conflict that’s tied to what’s going on with the main story. However, I called it a filler if the primary plot was just a random hunt. For example, I called “Scarecrow” a filler because, even though Meg was introduced after Sam and Dean have a big fight, the main plot is hunting a god.

My bottom 5 episodes in order:

These next two sections are based on my ratings of these episodes from my reviews of every episode. I’ve just ordered them, with one being my least favorite/favorite episode this season.

5.) 1x07: Hook Man

4.) 1x03: Dead in the Water

3.) 1x02: Wendigo

2.) 1x13: Route 666

1.) 1x08: Bugs

My top 5 episodes in order:

5.) 1x14: Nightmare

4.) 1x06: Skin

3.) 1x15: The Benders

2.) 1x21: Salvation

1.) 1x22: Devil’s Trap

My top episodes for Sam:

This section and the next will just be me bringing up some good points of development for Sam and Dean throughout this season. I mean, of course they develop almost all the time, but these episodes are some of the best/most interesting. At least, in my opinion. If you want to read more about my reasons, check out my reviews. Just search for “spn s1 reviews” on my blog.

1x05: Bloody Mary - Sam’s psychic abilities got alluded to for the first time during this episode, but it also told us how much Sam blamed himself for Jessica’s death.

1x10: Asylum - Sam’s resentment for Dean is voiced, and though he’s under the influence of a ghost while he talks about Dean, some of it is supported by development in other episodes this season.

1x14: Nightmare - Sam bonds with Max over their shared abilities and pasts. We also get to see that Sam initially related his own trauma when growing up to Max’s, even though he acknowledged that Max had it worse at the end. It’s an interesting point of development that Sam saw his upbringing that way.

1x19: Provenance - Through Sarah being a part of this episode, Sam reveals that he sees himself as dangerous because the abilities he has has put the people he loves in danger in the past.

1x21: Salvation - Sam reveals that he’s willing to die, and by extension, risk his family to get the job of killing Azazel done.

1x22: Devil’s Trap - Sam has to choose between losing his family through getting his revenge or losing his chance at revenge to save his family.

My top episodes for Dean:

1x06: Skin - Dean’s abandonment issues are touched on for the first time.

1x09: Home - Dean shows fear when faced with returning home and dealing with the trauma of what he went through the night Mary died.

1x12: Faith - This is the first episode that we see a serious internal conflict in Dean about the worth of his life, which is interesting, because we can see in later episodes that he doesn’t want to die. However, his attitude in this episode seems to suggest that he doesn’t see his life as valuable.

1x18: Something Wicked - Honestly, this isn’t my favorite episode in the world, but it’s the first flashback episode of the series; in it, you’ll see the reason behind Dean’s feelings of responsibility regarding Sam.

1x21: Salvation - Dean insists that nobody will die to kill Azazel, showing that he wants to be a part of his family rather than just saving them.

1x22: Devil’s Trap - Dean shows a darker side of himself in an attempt to get John back, and his fears of being unneeded by his family are revealed as well as his fears of losing his family.

Well, that’s all I’ve got for this season’s review. I’ll rate this season in my series review that I’ll write once all this is over, but my impressions right now are that the first season of Supernatural was all right. It didn’t necessarily walk in a straight line, but it still felt like there was a definite destination. And, on top of that, the season ended in one of the most banger ways an SPN season has ever ended. The monster-of-the-week stuff has made most of the episodes this season ones I would probably not revisit, but S1 is definitely still special. 

We’ll see if this changes later, but for now, my rating (and average, based on my ratings in my reviews) for S1 is ★★★☆☆.

[shan2-d2]

Carry On? I Guess?

I want to start my take on the Supernatural series finale by talking about Rogue One (and if you haven’t seen either, spoilers ahead).

Everyone dies in Rogue One.  Every single character that we have come to know and love-- EVERY. SINGLE. ONE-- dies.  Even the droid.  They are sacrificed to the cause, all of them dying brutal battlefield deaths.  It’s particularly tragic because they all came together from broken lives, hearts, and homes, forming their own little rebel family in the short time that they knew each other, only to have that tiny bit of happiness cut short.

It’s heartbreaking.

However.

It’s also beautiful and poignant.  Somehow, even after all six of the main characters die, the film ends on a hopeful note.  Their deaths will not be in vain.  And sure, part of that is because we know that A New Hope comes directly after, but it’s how they die that changes the tone.  For all of them, it is a choice.  Not only that, but a calculated choice, not just a throwaway self-sacrifice.  One sacrifice leads to the next step in the plan, which requires another sacrifice, and so and so forth, until the mission is complete.  All of them are at peace with their sacrifices, and they die heroes.

My point here is that the death of a character at the end of their story isn’t always a bad thing, if handled well.

The deaths of Sam and Dean Winchester were not handled well.

I’m hesitant to say “written well” because I know that TV series have production and network roadblocks to maneuver, and I obviously don’t know what went on behind the scenes.  But the fact that the plot of the finale was approved by enough people to get it to air is kind of mind-boggling to me.  Did they… did they really think that fans would be okay with it?  

Like, I just cried (sobbed, at some points) for two hours over this episode, and I’m not talking happy crying.  All I kept thinking was, “This is so cruel”. 

It felt like a fucking funeral, instead of the celebration it should have been.

Listen, Dean’s my favorite, he’s my Fictional Soul Twin™.  I went into the finale with a slight inclination that Dean would die.  I knew I would be sad if that happened, but I thought that, after 15 seasons, they’d send him off in a way that would both honor his character and bring him peace (he deserves it, after all).

And okay, yes, he did find peace in heaven.  I’m fine with that plot point.  But the way he got there was just… horrible.

I mean, this whole season was about choice, right?  Making their own choices, free from Chuck’s machinations.  If Dean had, OH FOR EXAMPLE, made the choice to die to save Cas from the Empty, that would’ve been an honorable (or, y’know, LOGICAL) death. It would’ve been sad, but beautiful.  

But he didn’t choose to get impaled by a rusty rebar on a simple hunt gone wrong.  It just happened, and then he just decided to… give up? I guess? 

Sure, the conversation between Sam and Dean was touching. But then we had to watch Sam mourn his brother FOR THE REST OF HIS LIFE, with a faceless wife and child that hopefully(?) filled the void that Dean left behind. It was painful.

And again, Sam didn’t get to choose when or why he stopped hunting with his brother. It was forced upon him, and he just… went with it, for some reason??  Even worse, we watched everything unique and special about Sam disappear into his grief over Dean.  We see him in his brother’s room, his brother’s car, using his brother’s cell, taking over responsibility of his brother’s dog.  

Smart, resourceful, sensitive Sam Winchester-- the man who resisted Lucifer, Rowena’s talented protégé, etc. etc.-- reduced to a shadow of his brother’s death.

You know what would’ve been wonderful for Sam? If he had watched his brother go peacefully to Heaven with Cas, and started a life with Eileen.  Maybe still hunting, maybe not-- they could’ve made that choice together and had a beautiful family, ending up in heaven later on.

What the fuck?

The most frustrating part of all of this is that all they had to do to make the episode amazing was bring back Cas and Eileen.  Like, that’s ALL.  This perfect, beautiful ending was in their grasp and they just… completely botched it.  Not only did Sam, Dean, Cas, and Eileen deserve better (and the actors that played them, for that matter), but the fans did, too.

That’s the most disappointing part of all of it, I think. These characters were so beloved because they always kept fighting.  I mean, they literally talked about it in the retrospective!  It’s such an important aspect of the show, and it’s helped so many fans in their own, real-life struggles.  Hell, I’m one of them.

Watching Dean, the fictional character that I relate to more than any other, give up that fight broke my heart.  All that suicidal ideation and self-loathing he battled, all the growth he made over the years, everything he went through, and it all ended with an ill-placed piece of metal.  What lesson is anyone supposed to learn from that?  “Keep fighting... until you don’t want to, I guess, and then wait for a random injury to take you out”? 

It worries me, honestly, that fans who have used Sam and Dean for strength that they can’t find on their own will internalize this ending and lose hope for themselves (I say that because I thought it myself, tbh).  I mean, even apart from that, this kind of ending was the LAST thing any of us needed in 2020.  We’ve lost so much lately, did we have to lose not only our fictional heroes, but everything they stood for, too?

Man, I’m so sorry, SPN fandom. I’ve never really been involved, always just dipped my toe in every once in a while, but I’m with you tonight.  Especially the Destiel shippers and LGBTQ+ fans, since they did you especially dirty. But try to remember the good parts, the positives that you can still take away.  

Write those fics.

Draw that fan art.

And yeah, please keep fighting, regardless of what happened in the finale.  

Our Winchester brothers would, after all.

[filthyjanuary]

I've never seen an episode of supernatural all I see is what's on your blog and each and every day I become more confused about the writing of the show and why people enjoy it :l

okay well first off i am SO sorry you have to see me like this jknbuvgyuhjn i cannot believe im spnblogging in 2020 like im 15 again but things happen i guess.

second of all, the thing to know about supernatural is.... i think, for general audiences, it is an average-to-good show. it's not Bad. It's not Beloved and/or Acclaimed. objectively, i think is also probably the most balanced view of the show and is also probably what the cw and/or people who worked on the show see it as. it lasted 15 years because it consistently pulled in reliable numbers for the cw and grabbed a lot of demographics. like i know the tumblr bubble skews perceptions but, people of all ages, genders, sexualities watched and enjoyed supernatural, yes even to the very end. most people are also not looking at supernatural with the hyperfocused lens that tumblr is and that’s like... okay. those fans aren’t any less relevant or important. if only tumblr was watching supernatural, i promise it would’ve been cancelled like at least 7 years ago.

the spn *fandom* is interesting because like one, no one is watching the same fucking show. like we all watched the same episodes but like this fandom cant even agree on like...basic facets of canon, let alone digging into complex meta. people’s views of characters actions and motivations skew wildly. things one side of the fandom considers nearly canon are like essentially viewed as ooc on other sides of the fandom. you love and hate all the characters and everyone is always about to start swinging on everyone else. you have to simultaneously juggle the ideas that the writers — and for the record this show has had four showrunners and like a billion individual writers who all see and interpret it slightly differently — are brilliant and the writers legitimately are both stupid and bad at their jobs. you have to turn your brain off in terms of continuity because they retcon their own lore every 15 seconds. this isn’t even getting into the ship wars, the boundary crossing, the weird invasiveness , etc., etc., etc. supernatural’s writing is sometimes incredible, sometimes terrible, but generally pretty average, but it had a charm (ESPECIALLY IN SEASONS 1-3) that reeled you in, even if you hated the genre.

when a show is on this long, i think the fans (rightly so) will look back and dig in and get nitpicky on things they wish were covered with more care. things that the show obviously did not decide to write with the intention of addressing/grappling with later on. case in point: dean’s drinking habits. with the exception of like... season 7 where they DO address it, dean drinks a lot as a feature of his character with little to no consequence. he doesn’t get drunk. he’s always driving. it might as well be water. the writers don’t intend for that to be more than just a facet of what makes him a rough and tough action hero even though logically, he should be drunk all the time. even w/ interviews w/ the cast/crew, it’s clear the writers don’t think the fans will care and/or notice a lot of things. they do, because well, they’re invested. the fandom extrapolates because that’s what fandom does, but i really don’t think the writers connect those dots because dean’s drinking /isn’t/ a problem until they need it to be. because spn has gone on so long, it has more instances of things like this than other shows, and our cultural contexts have also evolved a lot along the way from 2005 to 2020. so again, there’s a lot to work with. i don’t really think that’s so much a reflection of the quality of the show than it is a reflection of how long it’s been on and the way society has changed since then. dean not knowing what myspace is is funny for two completely different reasons in 2005 and in 2020, for example.

my own personal opinion is, there’s a lot to enjoy about supernatural. seasons 1-5 are legitimately good tv. for all their flaws, they have a very clear aesthetic and tell a story that is well-structured and relatively coherent in terms of themes and continuity. they set up complex characters and relationships and everyone’s motivations make sense and that arc wraps on a tragic but ultimately narratively consistent and thus fulfilling point. of course, there’s stuff i personally like and dislike but separating my emotions from it, it’s very good. i think if anything, i would recommend anyone watch those five seasons and then decide whether they want to continue or not. if you don’t, you’ll end on a note that feels complete. it’s what i’m doing w/ my friend elaine, currently, actually. if she decides she wants to continue after 5, we’ll do that, but for now we’re just vibing in season 1. after that point, i think if you decide you care enough about the characters to push through wildly inconsistent writing, there’s stuff to enjoy in seasons 6-15, but the quality and particularly the consistency dips and this is also where the retconning really starts to...intensify. it’s also where the mythos of supernatural grows bigger than the show itself, which i think was always supernatural’s downfall. the crew started caring more about the whims of the fandom and frankly the fandom became more of the story than the show, and that’s how you get people piecing together what supernatural is based on out of context gifsets that skew perceptions wildly and get Supernatural Fandom™ which... frankly, in my opinion, changed fandom culture as a whole for the worse, like yes it’s a huge, powerful and often memeable behemoth but also... the way it changed creator-fan interactions is something we’re going to be unpacking for a long time. i think had the writers tuned out fandom wars and internet yelling and strived to tell a story that made sense and was well constructed to /them/, we wouldn’t be here and seasons 6-15 could’ve found a way to be as beloved as the first third of the show. i’m personally of the opinion that being a fan of something, for better or for worse, does not entitle you to part of it’s creative process. it doesn’t become a collaboration, and the door is always there if you get to the point where you want to leave. i think supernatural getting too caught up in its own fandom and balancing all these conflicting interests is ultimately what made the last 10 seasons, and particularly the back third of the show oftentimes flounder. the finale chaos, in my opinion, happened because they tried to please everyone by keeping too many things vague so people would have room to play in their own sandboxes and round out the story the way they wanted to see it and thus ultimately, a lot of things were left in the air and so for many people, the closure they were hoping for just wasn’t there.

i dont know how this became a long and scattered collection of thoughts but tldr, people enjoy supernatural because at the end of the day, it’s an enjoyable show and i think the more you stew in a fandom bubble, there’s more to get worked up about. which is fine. i like that fandom engages in complex conversations that the show won’t grapple with, but that’s not for everyone and i don’t think the fact that we have these conversations is necessarily an indictment of the show’s overall quality.

[bluephoenixdruidicprincess]

Supernatural 15x16, Drag Me Away (From You) -- Overall Thoughts

I can’t believe we’re this late in the game and I’m still doing overall thoughts posts on this show instead of full-fledged reviews. I should be full swing reviewing and analyzing every detail, making predictions on what the endgame is going to entail...but I just can’t. This show just has not been giving me anything to really latch onto, it’s not giving me material I want to review and write meta about. The Final Episodes are really just episodes that are just kind of there. A couple of nice things sprinkled throughout but ultimately, not really anything that leaves much of a lasting impression on me. Like, why is this show that is so important to me, why are my SPN posts starting to sound more and more like my Shadowhunters posts (a show I did not enjoy and was very happy was cancelled)? Why am I getting so apathetic towards this show? And why is it that with every episode I’m just getting more and more pissed off at Dean? We’re in The Final Episodes; he should be getting better, not worse. 

But lets get on with this shall we? As always, I’m never too sure how spoilery I’m going to get when I write these posts so just a word of caution. Probably going to be spoilers. If you have plans to watch the episode yet and don’t want to be spoiled, probably skip this. 

Now, this episode was nice on the appreciation aspect that we get to see young Sam and Dean again possibly for the last time so I was happy we at least got that (although the moment was nearly ruined with young Dean’s whole “you’re not going to college because you’re too dumb” thing, Dean’s emotional manipulation and abuse started real early). It was still nice to see them regardless of how uninspired the writing might have been for this episode. Sorry Meghan, for me, this episode was not your best work. This episode was just a typical MotW episode and when the overall arching plot mythos is bad or boring as it kinda has been this season, I normally enjoy MotW episodes. But the material in this episode just lacked charm and I really didn’t care about anything that was happening. And then we had this real kind of cringey line at the end where the damsel tells Dean it’s not good to lie but the episode really wasn’t doing a whole lot to hammer that theme in. There were conversations with Young Dean not admitting that he was scared but honestly if I was a kid and looking at this self-proclaimed monster hunter, I don’t think I’d feel all that great if he revealed to me he was scared. And there was the part about Dean lying about the nest of dead children and again, I understand that kind of lie. He was a kid himself, with other kids and his kid brother. Of course he wouldn’t want to tell these kids about a nest of dead children. So the whole theme this episode was attempting to hammer in about lying really kind of misses its mark. If the damsel hadn’t had that super cringey line at the end, I would’ve thought the theme was telling white lies is okay to protect the ones you care about which would then propel Dean to continue to not tell Sam the truth about Jack Da Bomb. But instead, we get this real half-hearted attempt to tell us that lying is bad and just causes problems later which I mean really, this show has already hammered to death for the past 15 seasons. We really didn’t need to hit it again, Dean should really know better at this point.

But moving on, lets talk about another thing, lets talk about why is it that Cas continuously tells Dean he’s leaving and then leaves without a word to Sam? I’m sure the Destiel shippers out there will proclaim this is because in Cas’s eyes, Dean is the most important and Sam is just an afterthought and doesn’t really matter. But as a multi shipper, and someone who’s pretty big into Sastiel these days, my thought is that Cas doesn’t tell Sam when he’s leaving because he knows Sam will try to stop him. Now why did he trust Dean to tell Sam about Jack? Honestly, I just don’t think Cas realizes that Dean is not to be trusted when it comes to things like this. I think Cas told Dean this in a hope that just like with him, it stirred feelings of guilt within him about not being there for Jack but of course had the opposite affect Dean because Dean as a mentioned in previous posts is very much still a child and right now only sees his need for revenge. It’s not necessarily so much revenge against Jack, Dean has more re-directed his revenge to what he believes is the real cause of his pain which is Chuck and to a certain extent Amara. But he can’t be concerned about Jack because again, he has a child’s approach to things. He has tunnel vision when it comes to things he wants. He sees this thing he wants, he sees the most direct path to get it, so that’s the direction he’s going to walk in. He doesn’t care to look both ways before he crosses the street, he doesn’t care that the cars swerving to avoid him are instead about to hit telephone pulls and catch fire. All he sees is what he wants and if he can get to that point before he gets hurt, then that’s what he’s going to do. (Huh, maybe I am in the mood to meta after all, that was quite the metaphor I used). But the point is because Cas is an adjusted adult being he hears that Jack is going to die and he thinks, we need a plan C and expects Dean to feel the same way and tell Sam for him. Cas knows Sam upon hearing that with Plan B, Jack is going to die and Cas is now searching for a Plan C that could involve sacrificing himself instead, Sam would not be okay with either option. But because Cas unfortunately still has his Dean blinders on, he can’t see that even if Dean feels a smidge of potential guilt towards what’s going to happen to Jack, Dean is willing to sacrifice Jack in order to get what he wants. Unfortunate but a lovely Sastiel moment nonetheless. 

And then of course, we have the fight in the car with Sam and Dean. Sam understandably is very upset with Dean for keeping this from him. And Dean is yelliing at Sam that Sam would have hated it, he wasn’t on board with using Jack, he wasn’t on board with Amara and I just think that its funny. Because I remember a lot of meta writers within the Destiel fandom kind of talking about how Sam supposedly sympathizes while Dean empathizes and I’m just looking at this scene and thinking, “ok, how on earth does this correlate to that sentiment.” We’re not getting a whole lot of empathy from Dean here and instead Sam, as always, is being the moral compass here. But anyway, Dean is shouting how they don’t have a choice, this is their only option, blah, blah.blah. And I’m just like, “Dean, you do have a choice, but you’re just a child mentally and refuse to look at alternatives because killing Chuck and Amara ala Jack Da Bomb is the most direct path to what you want. And I’m just really happy the that Sam got to the point where he raised his voice at Dean. He didn’t simper down, he wanted Dean to hear that he was not okay with this and the scene just ended with Sam just telling Dean to not speak, not try to make Sam feel better or make any half-assed apologies to Sam, Sam tells Dean to “just drive”. And this is kind of nice character growth for Sam. Because with how Sam was in this scene, I half expected him to tell Dean to stop the car and let him out and he was going to leave. But, I also think unlike what Sam did in season 1, he’s now mature enough to understand that even if he leaves, it’s not going to change anything. He’s not good with what’s planned for Jack’s future but he knows that if he stays, he can maybe find a way to stop it from happening, which he might not be able to do if he had simply left. So character growth there. 

But anyway, thanks for listening to me ramble. I apparently had a lot more to say than I thought I did. But like I said, another episode in the books that I really don’t feel inclined to watch again. It’s another episode that’s there, it fills up space but really doesn’t mean a whole lot to me in the grand scheme of things and really feels kind of disjointed. This whole season has kind of been feeling that way. It’s like they only had a couple of ideas for the overall plot arch of this season and now they’re just stuck with filling up the empty space. Although, it was nice that Billy called the boys and essentially the writers out on them doing a MotW episode this late in the game when they should be focusing on other things. 

[lifblogs]

SPN Hiatus Creations: Week Two - Favorite Quote

@spnhiatuscreations

“He was our kid.” -- Dean Winchester, 15x01 “Back and to the Future”

Buy Me a Coffee!

Castiel couldn’t look at that thing that was… that was inside—

No, he couldn’t even think it.

It talked with his voice, but it spoke differently. It moved differently. Castiel didn’t even want to call it Belphegor. It was garbage, waste, ruin. No better than whatever festering rot graced the bottom of his Father’s shoes. His lying, traitorous, monster of a Father. They were nothing more than mud to be scraped away.

But that thing in—in…

It was the lowest of the low.

It was violating everything that he loved, and doing it all with a smile. If that face wasn’t so familiar, he’d want to punch it, knock its teeth down its throat.

But it was familiar.

It was everything to him.

Even now with the way it was ruined.

At least the sunglasses hid most of the damage.

Castiel’s stomach was burning, boiling, and his insides were hot and cold and tingly.

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

~~~

“He was our kid.”

~~~

“Jack, what are you doing?” Castiel asked. His son was in the kitchen, doing… he wasn’t sure. The kid had once claimed he’d seen Dean make a “spaghetti taco,” so he wasn’t sure their kid knew exactly how food worked. He was putting bread on top of… bread.

“Oh, I’m making a sandwich,” he responded, like it was the most simple, obvious thing in the world.

Castiel entered the kitchen, a bemused smile on his face. He went over to Jack’s creation, and took the top of the bread off, then going to the fridge and grabbing meat and cheese and mustard. Ooh, there were even some pickles lying around!

“Typically,” Castiel began as he dragged the plate over to him and got to work, “a sandwich has other food between the bread.”

Jack shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, but I like bread.”

“Didn’t Dean show you how to make a sandwich?”

His son shook his head. “No, he just makes them for me. Actually, he makes everything for me.”

“Well, I’m making this for you.”

“Cas, it’s just food.”

“And you’re a growing boy.” Jack gave him a confused look, so Castiel added, “Mentally. Sort of. I know you gave yourself an eighteen-year-old’s body, but you still have to nourish it.

“Now you sound like Sam.”

“Good.”

Castiel finished up, and passed the sandwich over to Jack. There was delight on the kid’s face as he ate it.

“This is good!” he commented.

Cas took a seat across from him at the table.

“Jack, if you ever need anything, from any of us, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re here for you. It’s what your mom would’ve wanted.”

Jack put his food down. “I miss her.”

“I miss her too.”

“But…” Jack gave him a look that was hopeful, while grieving; loving, while pained; accepting, while angry. “I have you,” he finished.

And Castiel had Jack too.

“He was our kid.”

Dean didn’t feel anything as he looked at Belphegor. Nothing. Nothing at all. That’s what he’d trained himself into feeling. He’d taken every last painful emotion that wanted to worm its way into his goddamned brain, and he buried it under the now, under their survival, and their priorities for saving the world… yet again.

It wasn’t there.

It couldn’t be there.

Not with the way Belphegor smiled, or the way he swaggered around, the way he could so easily hold a still-bleeding heart in his hand.

That wasn’t his son.

And the body, that wasn’t his son’s body anymore.

Jack was gone.

Dean had to keep him that way in his head, to not think of all the ways he’d loved him, or else he’d lose it.

“He was our kid.”

Dean felt a comforting warmth that he’d really only felt while raising Sammy, as he took Jack’s hand, and showed him how to hold the knife.

“See, you hold it like this. Keep your wrist loose, grip comfortable, not too tight.”

Dean brought his hand away to let Jack try on his own, and to inspect how he was doing. The kid was a fast learner.

“Now what?” Jack asked.

Dean would teach him some moves later, but he wanted Jack to get the feel of its weight first, so he told him, “Now you swing it.”

And he should’ve stepped back for this part.

Because Jack started swinging, and he almost accidently sliced right into Dean’s chest. Dean did jump back now, and brought his arm up to block any potential incoming blows.

Jack winced, realizing his mistake, knife lowering from his hand. Despite the evident worry in him, Dean felt pride that Jack hadn’t dropped the weapon. In a fight, a weapon could be your lifeblood. It could be the only thing keeping you from death. And he and Sam had been trained that you didn’t drop your weapon when you were afraid. You held on tighter and brought it in close to protect yourself.

“Sorry,” Jack apologized.

Dean joked, “What, already trying to kill your old man?” Jack opened his mouth to say something, but Dean began, “Come on, arms up.”

Jack awkwardly held his arms up, and Dean stifled an affectionate laugh.

“Okay, okay. Like this.”

He repositioned Jack so that his feet were shoulder-width apart, and he was crouched down just a bit as if sitting on a high stool. With his shoulders back, left arm up by his chest, ready to protect and counterbalance the weight of his swings, and right arm angled outwards, he was now in the correct stance.

Dean pat him on the elbow, but made sure to not put to much force so he wouldn’t jostle him and mess up the stance.

“Alright, kid, there you go.”

“Now…” Dean directed him on slashing. That was your best bet in a fight with a knife. The stabbing came from closer quarters, when things got desperate and ugly. And Dean never wanted a fight to get ugly with Jack. Ever. And he was just starting out, so Dean didn’t teach him those things yet.

He just wanted his son to know how to protect himself, to know how to stay alive.

Dean’s heart hurt knowing that he wouldn’t always be there for him, knowing that something could get them separated, hurt him, or try using him to get to Jack.

Love could be a liability.

But Jack was part of his family now.

And a Winchester needed to know how to survive.

~~~

“He was our kid.”

~~~

Sam got as far away from Belphegor as possible, jumping right into the guise of an FBI agent, getting people out of the town, keeping them safe.

He hadn’t been able to keep Jack safe.

He’d failed.

He’d failed so badly, and had done so even before God had… Before he’d…

Yeah, Sam’s head didn’t want to go there. It couldn’t.

Get people out of the town. Get them safe.

His shoulder ached as he did his work, as he pointedly ignored what was in his son. As he ignored all of it.

Dean had been in that graveyard with a gun to Jack’s head.

God had wanted his son… gone, stripped away from them.

Sam had locked his son in the Ma’Lak box, betraying him, hurting him; that one action telling him he didn’t matter.

But, god, he did matter. He mattered so much. So much so that Sam wanted to rip himself apart for not being able to save him, to—to properly be his father.

His shoulder ached.

~~~

“He was our kid.”

~~~

Someone was opening Sam’s bedroom door, and quickly and quietly, he reached for the gun under his pillow before the dim light from the hallway could stream down on him.

But then Sam recognized the sound of the movements, the footsteps.

He released his grip on the weapon, and sat up, turning on his lamp.

“Jack?”

His son stood in the doorway, dark shadows under reddened blue eyes.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Sam asked.

“I had a nightmare.”

At that realization, Sam was surprised he hadn’t heard it, what with Jack being right next door.

“You okay?” Sam asked.

Jack didn’t answer, and just questioned, “Can—Can I come in?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Sam made room on his bed, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to straighten it. It decided to still be a mess, so he let it go. A yawn cracked his jaw, and he was rubbing sleep out of his eyes, as Jack came over to sit on the end of the bed.

“You want to talk about it?” Sam asked.

“I don’t really remember it.”

“But it hurts,” Sam stated, knowing how nightmares worked all too well.

Jack just nodded.

“Hey, it’s okay to have nightmares, you know,” Sam said. “They’re scary, or—or painful, or sad, but it’s the brain trying to figure this stuff out. It’s our minds trying to look out for us.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

Sam gave him a knowing look. “Believe me, I get it. Trauma, grief — the stuff we go through, it’s hard to process. So even when we’re not thinking about it, in the back of our heads, there’s attempts at healing going on.”

“Will I heal?” Jack asked.

Sam scooted forward, and brought him into a hug, one hand patting the side of his face.

Sam still had PTSD, still had nightmares, and body memories, and flashbacks, and the fear, and the pain. But he could function better than he could years ago, and sometimes he had good days, and sometimes he knew that the gaping wounds had turned into fading scars.

“Yeah, Jack. We’ll both heal.”

And Sam hugged him closer, wishing he could save his son from the nightmares. But protecting him in the real world, caring for him, was the best he had. It was the best any of them had.

~~~

“He was our kid.”

[zmediaoutlet]

whatever we were before

finally posting my masquerade fill! The anon asked for a Dragon Age/SPN crossover, in which Dean is Hawke. I screeched lightly under my breath when I saw it, and delivered. (I hope!)

title: whatever we were before pairing: Sam/Dean rating: E

summary: After the expedition into the Deep Roads, Dean's a rich man. He bought back the ancestral family manor, and he's safe. He's not okay, though, because for all they gained on the expedition--he lost so much more.

(read on AO3)

Kirkwall’s never quiet at night. Dean’s gotten used to it, although it’s a far cry from the farm back home in Ferelden. There, the most he was likely to hear at night was a fox trying to get into the chickens, or Dad coming home soused from the inn, sleeping in the mudroom because he couldn’t work out the lock Dean had built to keep the Templars out. Here, surrounded by people, it feels—he used to think it was crowded, but now it just feels like life, being lived. People always working, the city humming along with each part always moving. He still remembers lying awake at his uncle’s house in Lowtown, that horrible week after they’d first arrived, staring at the ceiling in the narrow room and unable to shut it out—the city, a throbbing entity. He’s glad he can sleep, now. Makes things easier to bear.

His legs have stopped aching, too, after this many months walking up and down the Great Stairs. Isabela says they’ve done great work for his physique; Dean’s just glad his arse and thighs will agree to support him after the long climb from the docks to Hightown. This morning Aveline had guilted him into doing an errand for her, something the city guard should’ve taken care of, but really it didn’t take that much guilting—she and he both knew that he’d be able to do it faster, better, and cleaner, and anyway it was good to get out, into the fresh air. He's moneyed now, and maybe a lordling of a sort, if the Free Marches would only admit that their merchant-princes were no different from the nobility of the south, but still. He’d grown up using his muscles and his mind, and it felt right to be out on the cliffs, salt-spray in his face and his armor settled comfortably on his shoulders, his sword ready at his hip. So. They’d gone out, and he’d—killed. Quite a few. Slavers, they were, and he didn’t feel bad about killing them but the battle had been messy, and he’d had to wash the blood off in the sea, the salt gritting into the crevices of his mail and stiffening the leather. He’s glad he didn’t bring Fenris; there would’ve been so much more blood.

His legs don’t ache, but it feels like every other part does, when he gets to the top of the stairs. The guards at Hightown’s gates nod to him, deferent like they weren’t three years ago, and he doesn’t respond. Pricks, the lot of them, granting respect only for fine clothes and finer real estate. He wishes he’d gotten back hours ago, when he might've blended in to the general throng, but he’s made it a habit to walk his friends home, to make sure they're safe. He saw Merrill back to her little house, and Isabela and Varric back to their inn, and stayed there for a pint or two, celebrating a successful job.

A job—ha. Still how he thinks of it, after all that time of scrambling in Lowtown, trying to put food on the family’s table. He walks the now-familiar streets, slate stones laid down on the neat boulevards the merchants control, and he misses—sort of—yes, he misses the rolled-cobbles and grit of the old neighborhoods, and the wild-grown weeds among the stones by the Hanged Man. Used to the city, but missing the city. He can hear a sarcastic voice in his ear, saying, Dean, that doesn't make any sense, but he ignores it. He’s tired. No energy for misery, not now.

Winchester Manor still has lamps lit in the entry when he comes to the square. Despite everything, his shoulders relax a little, seeing it. He unlocks the door and it’s warm inside, smells of bread baking, and in the time it takes for him to set his sword and shield on their rack in the armory off the entry, Bodahn appears, and pops his head around the corner to say, "Ah, Master Winchester. Good hunting, I trust?"

Dean smiles, and it’s only partly an effort. "Good enough, Bodahn. Send a runner to the palace, to let Aveline know I’ll see her tomorrow afternoon, all right?"

"Very good, sir," Bodahn says, agreeable as always, but then looks at him critically. "I’ll have dinner sent up to your chambers, yes? Sandal will have gotten a bath ready."

Even after years, he’s still not used to servants, but— "Yes," he says, and the relief that washes through him is probably ridiculous, but. "Yes, thank you."

The parlor’s warm enough, but dark, the only light coming from the banked fire. Other than Bodahn and Sandal, the house is always empty. He stands and looks at the great tapestry, the family crest tracing the family down to their father’s name. The embroidery stops there. He licks his lips, looking at the faded silk, and turns away, and trudges up the broad stairs, aware that his boots are tracking the dust and dirt of the lower city on the thick carpets. Sandal will clean it up.

The master room is so big. Bigger than his uncle’s whole house, he thinks. He’s paced it; he’s pretty sure. The fire in here is roaring, and the lamps are lit by the bedside and on the desk, and his armor stand is waiting for him to strip, piece by piece. The chest plate, and the pauldrons, and his gauntlets, and the mail, and the boots, and the leather weskit, and when he’s left in his shirt he shivers, all over, though the room’s more than warm enough. In the corner, by the pushed-aside screen, the bath sits steaming by some magic Sandal’s very proud of and that Dean doesn’t at all understand, but he’s grateful when he sinks down into it. It’s big enough that he can fit his shoulders against one edge and keep his feet below the water on the other, a luxury he’d never imagined as a child and which, still, by every measure, is the greatest advantage of his life as he lives it now. Some kind of fragrant oil scenting the steam—elfroot maybe, or the arbor blessing Bodahn was bragging about acquiring a few weeks ago. Makes the water slip like silk against his skin while the soothing heat works its way past muscle to the bone. Makes it easy not to think, to relax. Finally.

"You look so spoiled," he hears, and he surges up—because—

"Sam," he breathes. He's so sure he’s dreaming, that a desire demon has worked its way into his mind and is showing him some helplessly sought-after vision, that he digs his nails deep enough into his own thigh that he’ll bruise—but Sam’s still standing there, in the doorway. Sam.

"It’s me," Sam says, and—yes. Of course it is. Sam, with dirt on his cheek, and a healed-over scrape under that, and his hair grown long and falling into his eyes. Sam, wearing the uniform of the Wardens just like the last time Dean saw him, studded leather over his chest and the blue-and-white tabard still belted around his narrow waist. Sam, leaning his staff into the corner—a new one, blackened oak and a stone Dean doesn’t recognize—and Sam, walking across the room with his boots thudding into the carpet—and Sam, crouching by the bath, and touching Dean’s cheek, and Dean surging halfway out of the bath and sloshing water everywhere and kissing him, kissing him, because—Sam, here. Here, when Dean had thought—

"It’s me," Sam says again, "Dean, I’m here," and Dean says, "I can see you’re fuckin’ here, Sammy, I—Sam—" and Sam laughs and says, "I know, sorry, I—" and kisses him again, hand cupping the back of Dean's skull and Dean’s hands tight in Sam’s hair and hurting his nails against the leather of Sam’s brigandine because—three years, it’s been three goddamn years and no letters, no word, and Dean hadn’t known—hadn’t had anything beyond hope—that Sam was alive and well at the fortress at Weisshaupt and that he hadn’t met his end by the claws of some darkspawn or a warg or—by all gods, by all faith, Sam.

It’s a while—Dean on his knees in the bath, and Sam kneeling in the puddle he’d made, and their hands locked into each other, and Dean breathing Sam and his smell of the road and rancid sweat and campfires and old blood, and Sam’s forehead against Dean’s and his hair tickling, and the taste of his mouth—his mouth—it’s a while, before Dean’s brain unfogs enough to realize that he’s just holding Sam, and they’re only breathing with their mouths barely touching, and Sam’s stomach is growling. Loud, in fact, and Sam’s nose wrinkles. "Sorry," he says, and Dean says, "You idiot," soft as soft, and struggles up to standing with the water streaming down from his body, and Sam looks up at him for a moment with his eyes dark and almost unfamiliar.

Dean hesitates, water up to his calves, naked. Aware of new scars, ones Sam hasn’t seen—his body, not the one Sam left. Sam stands, then, and Dean blinks. "You’re tall," he says, stupid-sounding even to his own ears, and Sam smiles at him all smug. He was tall already, at twenty—not at all fair, not at all, that he’s gained even more inches, and Dean steps out of the bath and shoves at Sam’s broad chest and fetches his dressing gown off the screen where Sandal always leaves it and tries to muster some kind of dignity as he wraps it around himself.

His dinner’s waiting on the sideboard outside his room, as always—Bodahn overly respectful of his privacy, as always—but it’s good, now, not to have to see anyone else, not to have another person interrupt. He turns with the tray and Sam’s unfastening his brigandine, slinging it untidily on the ground and wrestling his tabard over his chest so he’s left in his weskit and linen shirt and trousers, his boots still carrying gods know how many miles of mud, and he sniffs and says, "Is that stew?" all hopeful, and oh, oh, it’s Dean’s little brother, home.

He still eats like a teenager. Dean pours wine for both of them, watches Sam tear into the bread and meat like he’s starving. "Don’t they feed you at Weisshaupt?" Dean says, rhetorical, and Sam rolls his eyes and takes his goblet and gulps the wine down, gasping. "Oh, that’s—fantastic," he says, and takes a slower draught, eyes closed, and Dean watches him with his heart surging so high he’s surprised Sam can’t see the throb of it, in his throat and wrists and gut. Sam’s got days of not shaving thickening his stubble almost to a beard, and he tucks his hair behind his ears but it keeps falling forward, unruly. Without the Warden uniform he’s big, broad. Muscles thick in his shoulders, his arms, like they weren’t when he was a boy and he’d complain about having to help Dean on the farm, about training with a short sword, whining that he had magic and I’ll just throw a fireball at the darkspawn, Dean, and back then Dean could still cuff him over the head and drag him into Dean’s armpit and say yeah, but I’m in charge, and you're not allowed to throw a fireball at me, so—

Feels like a lifetime ago. Sam scrapes the last piece of bread around his bowl, sopping up the rich gravy, and then slumps back in his chair, sighing. "Long time since I’ve had food like this," he says, and Dean wants to ask—has so many questions. When was it, he wants to know, and where have you been, and are you okay—are you okay, the only question that matters, and he can’t face asking it right now with Sam sated and warm and here, here, and Sam’s eyes slit open and he looks at Dean, then, steady.

"What," Dean says, when it’s been too long without talking.

Sam smiles, brief. "What," he echoes, and seems right then—older than Dean, decades older—but he just leans forward and hooks his hand into the hollow of Dean’s bare knee, squeezes. Dean’s skin shivers in shock, all over, and Sam smiles deeper then, dimples carving into his cheeks. "I want—" Sam says, and shakes his head, and laughs under his breath. "Too much."

Dean takes a deep breath. "You reek," he says, and Sam huffs and looks down, as though Dean were saying it like a complaint.

"Yeah," Sam says, and pushes back from the table and strips bare. Bare, right there, in their ancestral home, until he stands naked with his feet on the carpet, linens and leathers piled stinking next to him, and he raises his eyebrows at Dean like a challenge and then walks back across to the bath and steps in, sinks down. Still hot, through that enchantment, and Dean watches dry-mouthed as the steam rises, as Sam slips his hands along his skin. He has scars, too. He’d never had much interest in healing magic. Welted-white lines on his arms, and an ugly twisting thing on his chest. The bite-mark, from the darkspawn, which sent him to the Wardens in the first place.

He rinses off the scented soap, splashes his face with the fragrant water, scrubs his scalp. The hair on his chest and in his armpits and at his groin has blackened with wet, and he runs a hand over his head, pushing the wet hair back from his face and looking at Dean while he does it, and Dean says, finally, "Sammy, you’re killing me," in a voice he doesn’t recognize. Sam smiles at him and gets up out of the bath in a surge of dripping water and meets Dean in the middle of the room and kisses him again, leaning down this time with his hands cupped around Dean’s ears, all the long wet of him soaking into Dean’s dressing gown but it’s—it’s okay, it’s better than okay.

The bed’s so big. So much bigger than any they ever had, when they were kids. Sam leans over him still dripping, his hair hanging down around Dean’s face and his shoulders blocking out the firelight. He pushes a hand into Dean’s gown, pets down his chest—his stomach—and Dean doesn’t know why it’s a shock when Sam grabs up his dick but it is, it is, and Dean grips Sam’s shoulders and shudders, bites his lip. "Yeah," Sam says, soft, sweet like he used to be, sometimes. When they were kids in the wheat fields, and hiding in the summer from chores Dean should’ve been making them do, and Sam asked soft for a kiss and Dean didn’t, couldn’t, say no. Sam noses against his cheek, smelling like herbs, and he says, "I missed you," gripping Dean hard and knowing. Different, to how it was, and in the grip Dean feels whoever Sam’s been with in the time between, and shoves his hips up, groaning. Sam kisses below his ear and says, "Dean, I—missed you, so much," and Dean makes a strangled noise he’ll be embarrassed by later and pushes Sam over, because new height and muscle or not, Dean’s the big brother here, and he ends up with Sam under him, tanned and young and beautiful, and staring at him like—like Dean doesn’t know, but he leans down and kisses him because he has to, he has to, because if he doesn’t he’ll say crazy things, things he doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear, much less for Sam to hear—

Sam groans, grips at his arms, pushes his hips up. Oh—oh, Sammy’s dick, and that hasn’t changed, big and urgent and pressing against Dean’s thigh. Sam unties his dressing gown, somewhere in the shadows between them, and grips at Dean’s ass, tugging him in tight. Ah—and that, that is like being a teenager again, Sam grasping and desperate. He pushes his dick against Sam’s tight belly, makes a noise. "Sam," he says, stupid, and Sam grips his hips and tilts and his dick slides up between the cheeks of Dean’s ass, solid, bulling.

"Oh," Sam breathes, against his mouth, and drops his head back to the pillow, wet hair spread out around his face. He blinks at Dean, while he pumps his hips—sawing back and forth, damp and threatening, while Dean breathes open-mouthed and stares down at him. His dick throbs, trapped against Sam’s belly. "Have you—" Sam says, and bites his lower lip, and shakes his head. "How long? Can we—"

How long. Dean remembers that morning in exact, perfect detail. Varric had said to meet in the square at noon and so that left hours, hours, and he’d woken at dawn and washed himself, red-faced and hoping his uncle would have the usual hangover that kept him abed well past the two o’clock hour. Then he’d come to Sam in the tiny mud-spattered room they shared and woken him with a finger to his lips and they’d—all morning, while the city churned just outside the thin walls, and the appointed hour crawled closer. He’d fucked Sam, and Sam hadn’t come and had pushed him over onto his belly after he was done and fucked him right back, just as Dean had known he would, and he’d kissed all over Dean’s shoulders and covered his back and said, take me, and Dean had known Sam meant into the Deep Roads, and Dean had said no, Sammy, shaking, wanting—it’s too dangerous, come on, and Sam had pushed into him and trapped Dean’s wrists against the blanket covering their awful straw-tick pallet and said against his ear, I’m coming, like it was already decided, and Dean had shuddered and come again, and he’d shown up at the square with Anders at his left shoulder and Sam at his right, smug, and Varric had shrugged and said, don’t slow us down, short stuff, to Sam, and the night before Sam got bitten by a darkspawn Sam had looked at him from his bedroll inches away in the camp and smiled, happy—unaccountably happy, like Sam almost never was.

Sam swallows, in the face of Dean’s silence. "Really," he says, but not like he’s asking. He grips at Dean’s ass, pulling the cheeks apart, dragging him in so his dick smears wet all over Sam’s stomach, and then lifts up on one elbow and kisses Dean—soft, soft, lips pulling slow and easy, like a winter morning with only snow outside and no responsibility to anyone but this.

No one could ever be what Sam was, to Dean. He’s screwed around with Isabela, a few times, deep in their cups at the Hanged Man and nothing waiting for either of them, but it meant nothing—she slapped his ass when he was done and said well done, soldier, and he laughed, and left her there and didn’t think about it outside of that room. Once, with Fenris, when they were so piss-drunk on wine he didn’t even remember what had happened, other than an impression of lyrium-brightness, and a mouth on his throat. Not something they’ve spoken of since. He doesn’t know what Sam’s done, at Weisshaupt or on the roads between here and there, and he doesn’t care because what matters is that Sam’s in his bed. Whether Sam will be here in the morning, whether he’s deserted or if there’s some other quest waiting, some new hardship that’ll sweep them both away—he can't think about that, right now. Not when he has this in front of him.

"Do it," he mumbles, his mouth pressed against Sam’s shoulder, and feels Sam shudder, all against him. He wants it—wants the hurt, like that first time when Sam was sixteen and they’d hidden in the woods behind the Chantry, fumbling—he’s a warrior, he knows from pain, and having Sam is the kind that’s worth it.

Sam shakes his head, though—shakes his head, and smears his mouth against Dean’s throat, lips dragging, says—"I want—" and flips them, surge of muscle, and descends to get his lips on Dean’s dick, going down so fast that he chokes, and Dean’s legs seize and draw up but Sam’s shoulders are wide enough to keep them apart and he’s left arching, shocked, body seizing. Oh—this, this—nights in their room at home, learning each other while Dad was gone, Sam daring to make spark-lights above their heads, the magic just enough to see the way Sam’s cheekbone stood out above the hollowed dark of his cheek—and now, the firelight setting Sam’s hair to auburn where it’s half-dried and standing out messy around his head, and the steady practiced working of his tongue, and the gliding silk of his cheek when he lets Dean’s cockhead push against it. Dean’s balls clutch up, too fast. Sam knows, somehow—pulls back, gasping, spit connecting him to Dean’s dick in a sloppy string that he licks up only after a second hanging there—and he looks at Dean up the stretch of his torso, pink burnt into his cheeks and patchy on his chest, want in his eyes. Want, and nothing else, and Dean thumbs over the wet dark of his lips and holds his jaw, and Sam leans in still watching him and suckles at the head, sparky jolting pressure crushing up in Dean’s gut and balls and in his fingertips, his toes curling, and Sam closes his eyes and goes down, his hand on Dean’s stomach like a ton weight, his hair brushing Dean’s belly, his mouth warm, and Dean—

It’s only after, that Dean works up the courage. When Sam’s spilled over his stomach and Dean’s cleaned them both up, haphazard, with the skirt of his dressing gown. With wine still in the bottle, while they pass it back and forth between them, and the fire gilding amber light over Sam’s shoulders. He meets Dean’s eyes and they both laugh, for what reason Dean doesn’t know but it feels good, right. Sam’s mouth is curled still at the corners, and Dean rolls close and drags his thumb along Sam’s ribs, where they used to stand out against the hungry pit of his belly, and says, before he can chicken out, "Gonna stay, Sammy?"

He doesn’t know if he’s ready to hear the answer, but he needs to hear it. Sooner, rather than later, so he’ll know if he can rest now, or if he needs to plan for a sleepless night of taking in every single ounce of Sam that he can—every story, every kiss. Every ounce of blood it’ll take to last more years, without him. If he even can.

Sam sighs, and settles his hand on Dean’s hip. "I ran," he says, very quietly. Dean looks at him and Sam’s watching his face. "We went on patrol, into the Anderfels, and I slipped my commander and stole a horse and rode. East, as far as I could go before the horse went lame, and then I kept going." Sam shrugs, with one shoulder. "There’s a lot of east, between the Anderfels and the Free Marches. But I didn’t stop."

Dean breathes, shaky, imagining. The world opening up, when it's been so long of his compacted, empty nothing. Okay. Hiding Sam from the Wardens—and his neighbors—and what they’ll do. How they'll live—will they have to run? He doesn't know, and realizes after so long of grinding to get to this place, he doesn't care. The house doesn't matter, the city doesn't matter. Nothing has mattered, without Sam.

Sam’s still watching him, eyes dark, and Dean reaches out and tucks his hair back from his forehead, pushing it behind his ear. "You’ll have to tell me about Orlais sometime," he says, and Sam smiles at him.

"Bunch of cheese-eaters," he says, leaning in close like it’s a secret, and Dean laughs, soft and tired and feeling, for the first time in three years, like he’s whole.