#as a hunter dean needs to be okay with being jerked around and touched in general

[pussypopstiel]

The thing about dean and cas is yea there’s the whole pride and prejudice tenses hand after touching energy but there’s also the casual intimacy of someone you’ve known for a decade. They literally dig around in each other’s pockets, pull and push each other around to guide each other, even when they were first getting to know each other dean adjusted cas’s tie and collar. They’re far more casually intimate than ppl realize and DEAN in general is far more affectionate and willing to touch than what people give him credit for (including myself but I like to make my little jokey jokes on the internet) he is a tactile and effortlessly affectionate guy and that was one of his downfalls with his dads version of masculinity, one of the things he could just never live up to on a list of things he could never be.

[huggybearsunshine]

About Last Night

[Follow up to Last Night] Bobby and Sam decide to meddle when it looks like Dean is losing his nerve.

A few drinks in after getting back to Bobby’s, and Dean was needing an escape. He found himself alone in the kitchen, listening to the other three voices in the distance, the two missing ones being the loudest.

“Whatcha doin’ in here?” Bobby’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Hiding,” he replied honestly for a change.

“Yeah, I thought you might be…” he leaned against the counter and took a drink from the bottle in his hand, “A lot of feelings this week- not your strong suit.”

A breath of a laugh pushed out of the younger hunter, “Thanks.”

“Just sayin’,” Bobby side-eyed him.

“You gonna talk to him at some point or just stare all night?” Sam asked from his spot on the couch.

Cas’ head snapped back with a look of surprise.

“Yeah, I uh… might’ve heard some of what was said last night…” Sam’s lip tugged upward on the side, the only emotion other than grief he’d allowed himself to feel since the prior day, “And you guys aren’t subtle.”

“We-” his eyes cut toward Dean across the house and back again, “I… don’t know what you mean…”

“Cas,” the weight on Sam’s shoulders seemed to lighten a bit at the distraction the conversation was providing, “It’s okay…”

“Have you…” Cas looked around almost panicked, “Does Dean know that you… know?”

“Not yet,” Sam laughed, “Wasn’t even planning on bringing it up with you…”

“Why did you then?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

“It just hit me that you might have no idea what to do with something like this,” Sam explained fondly, “I mean, we all know how Dean is with this kinda stuff, but have you ever even had a crush or a- or a kiss? Anything?”

“Only with your brother,” Cas’ eyes sought out Dean again across the space, softening as he found the hunter staring back at him.

“So what now?” Bobby asked, pulling Dean’s eyes back.

“Huh?” the younger hunter jerked slightly.

“World didn’t end so… whatcha gonna do about that?” Bobby tugged his head to the side to motion toward the other room.

“I have no idea,” Dean laughed dryly as his gaze fell to the floor.

“What’s your gut say?” Bobby took another drink, inspiring Dean to do the same.

That or he was stalling.

“You know what my gut says…” his voice darkened a bit, “Not good enough, won’t last, shut it off… The usual.”

“But you haven’t yet,” Bobby gave him a pointed look.

“…I don’t want to,” he avoided the man’s eyes like his life depended on it.

“There we go,” the older man smirked.

Sam’s laugh interrupted the comfortable silence that had fallen over the living room and pulled Cas’ attention toward him.

“Sorry, just… ‘your brother and I share a more profound bond’,” he reminded him, lowering his voice to mimic the Angel’s own.

Cas softened as a quiet smile touched his face.

“Ah, I see now,” he commented, “And no, I suppose I haven’t been subtle, have I?”

“Why start now?” Sam raised a challenging brow.

“I…” Cas’ eyes drifted yet again toward the man in question.

“Hey Dean,” Sam startled Cas as his voice rose with no warning, impatience finally getting the best of him.

“Yeah?” he crossed into the room to lean against the door frame.

“I could really use something to eat,” he suggested, “Wanna go grab us some burgers?”

“Yeah, we need beer anyway…” he agreed with a shrug, “Sure.”

“Cool, Cas can go with you,” Sam turned to his brother with a smug look.

“Uh yeah,” Dean half choked the words out and his eyes darted fleetingly over the nearby Angel, “If you want…”

Cas looked terrified, but nodded in agreement.

“Extra fries,” Bobby appeared next to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Okay,” Dean half laughed, pulling the keys out and swinging them around a finger back and forth in nervous habit.

Then Cas stood at the same time Dean stepped forward and they were face to face.

“Right um.. yeah,” Dean veered around him and out the door, leaving the Angel to simply follow behind.

“Good lord,” Bobby rolled his eyes once the door shut, “What are the odds they actually talk this out?”

“Pretty slim,” Sam’s lips turned downward on the side as he nodded solemnly.

The first ten minutes of the drive were excruciatingly and very awkwardly silent with Dean so self-conscious that he forgot to turn on the music. Then to top it off, the words he finally provided to fill the quiet were for some ungodly reason, “I’m not gonna be good at this.”

“It’s okay, Dean…” Cas looked out the window to avoid his eye, and Dean realized something he hadn’t noticed.

Cas was fully prepared to be rejected.

Suddenly baby was being pulled onto the side of the road and halted a little too abruptly, pulling the Angel’s gaze back to the driver’s seat.

“Dean?” Cas’ brow furrowed and head tilted slightly as he studied the man now staring down at the steering wheel between his palms.

“I want to see where this goes, but Cas-” his grip tightened, “I can’t do this without you… if we mess it up, I gotta know you aren’t going anywhere…”

“If we mess it up, we will fix it again like we always have…” Cas replied carefully.

“You make it sound easy,” Dean huffed, letting go of the wheel to lean back and push his hand through his hair.

“Nothing is ever easy for us, I doubt this will be any different,” Cas responded with the hint of a smile.

“That’s not reassuring,” Dean darted his eyes toward Cas who had the audacity to look amused.

“I have to disagree,” he replied softly, the tone sending a heat to Dean’s face.

“Yeah?” he tried for charm but fell a little short under that steady gaze, “Masochist.”

“No, I don’t think that’s what it is,” Cas baited, and Dean didn’t know exactly when he began to move in but he was definitely closer, “I’ve had my fair share of pain, and you are not a pain, Dean. You’re a revelation.”

“Been called a lot of things…” the hunter trailed off, looking down at his hands in his lap.

He felt a hand wrap around his wrist and his gaze returned to the Angel next to him.

“It is my opinion that you have been told many things about yourself that aren’t true,” the Angel was careful to say.

Dean’s breath pushed out on a laugh, “I’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Cas’ lips tugged upward.

———————

@spuffy-destiel @destieliscanon5nov

[pbandcas]

Hush little baby don’t you cry, Daddy’s gonna sing you a lullaby. Sweet little baby, don’t be blue, Please, my baby. I miss him too.

Angsty little ficlet under the cut <3 Read on AO3

There was a faint crying coming from the end of the hall that only increased as Dean got closer. He could hear Sam gently speaking but he couldn’t understand the words. Even as he pushed the door open and blinked, face devoid of all emotions, he didn’t understand. 

Sam turned to him, brows knit together in sympathy and desperation. He was speaking again as he bounced the screaming infant in his arms. Dean didn’t understand the words. It was all just a pounding in his head and white noise in his ears. 

But Jack— Jack he could hear. 

“Give him here.” He didn’t recognize his own voice. And he would have cared more had he not felt so damn empty inside. His brother seemed to hesitate before slowly approaching to pass him the crying Jack. The second Dean’s hands wrapped around his tiny body and he brought his lips to downy hair, silence echoed through the room. 

Sam might have said something. He might have made a questioning noise in the back of his throat. Dean didn’t hear it. He buried his nose in Jack’s soft hair. He breathed in that warm milky smell. He felt tears sting his eyes and he turned away. “Saw a nursery down the hall. Gonna see if C—“ he choked on the name and couldn’t say it “—if Kelly got everything needed for him.”

He could feel Sam’s gaze follow him from the room. He knew the look in his eyes but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Jack whimpered against his throat and he tightened his grip. “I know, baby, I know.” It was barely a murmur but it seemed to do its job settling the infant. 

He found a papoose smoothed out on a new changing table. The soft mint fabric was perfectly pressed and Dean could only stare at it. There was a lump caught in his throat and a burning in his lungs as he wrapped Jack snugly against his chest. His hands were shaking and he knew there were tears on his cheeks, but Jack was silent. And his watery eyes were finally closed. 

Sam found him what felt like hours later in the tiny dining room. “How did-- how did his body get here?” Dean flinched at the words, one hand pressing against Jack’s back, the other gripping the sheet covering Cas’ cold features. He didn’t answer. He continued his silent procession, Castiel deserved his full attention. Now more than ever as he gave his final rites. 

Below his chin Jack let out a small, almost pitiful whimper. 

It was only once the funeral pyre had all but burnt out that Dean finally relinquished his hold on the baby. Shaking hands unwrapped the fabric and passed the confused infant over to Sam. He didn’t look at either before turning away. Jack let out a soft cry behind him but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t look back. He couldn’t, he couldn’t, he couldn’t. He fell to his knees beside the pile of ashes instead. He stared at all that remained of the one who held his heart. 

Hands stained black, he tried desperately to ignore Jack’s growing wails. It was his fault Cas was-- It was his fault. If only he had stayed with them, with him. He would have been safe. He would have been fine. Had he just stayed in the bunker... he would be here. He would be here, not this crying baby who stole his place. 

He didn’t take Jack back that night.

He couldn’t even look at him. 

Jack wouldn’t stop. Two weeks later Sam was frantically banging on Dean’s bedroom door, Jack’s screaming, red face pressed against his shoulder. He knew his brother was begging him to open up. Begging him to just try and calm him… but Dean couldn’t. He wouldn’t. That baby took Cas’ life. He wasn’t about to give him his place in the family too. He rolled over on his side and pressed the tiny capsule of ashes to his lips as he screwed his eyes shut. 

Tears burned his cheeks as they fell, but he couldn’t be bothered to wipe them away. He’d put the bottle away. Tucked away from prying eyes. Away from anyone who could take it away. Take him away.

Eventually Sam must have left because the screaming faded away. The crying never stopped. 

Another week passed and he finally left his room. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to any of them. To Cas… to himself. It wasn’t fair to Jack. There was an ache in his heart that he couldn’t stop. A yearning in his soul that would never end. Pain filled wails met his ears as he walked toward the library on auto pilot. It was instinctual, the tugging toward the only living link to Castiel he had left. 

Sam was hunched over the table, hands buried in his hair as Jack screamed from the small bassinet beside him. He jerked his head around the second Dean picked Jack up. Silence. Tiny bright eyes stared up at Dean’s impassive face. And there were tears in his own eyes and he refused to look down at the baby but he just-- “He’s all that’s left of-- of him.” And he left the room. Jack cradled in his arms and Sam’s concerned voice calling after him. 

He only cried at night now. In the dark of Dean’s room he’d whimper before soft sobs would wake the hunter. He’d gently cry even as Dean picked him up and held him close. He’d taper off just slightly as choked out lullabies were pressed into his skin. He’d reach out and press a tiny hand to Dean’s neck. And Dean… Dean would let him. He let him cry into his skin, half hearted attempts to sooth him because he knew. 

“Hush little baby… don’t you cry--”

This wasn’t a hurt that soft words could fix. It wasn’t something he could easily comfort. He couldn’t just kiss and make it better. He couldn’t just wrap him in a blanket and pretend it was all okay again.

“Daddy’s gonna sing you a lullaby--” 

He could only hold Jack close and kiss the top of his head and bury his nose in the blonde hair. He could only close his eyes and pray the tears held back just long enough to get Jack back to sleep. He could only hope his infant found some semblance of comfort in his touch. He could only do so much when this crying stemmed from the same hurt buried in him. 

“Hush sweet baby, don’t be blue--” 

But he could only hold on for so long and as his voice cracked on the words, tears spilled down his cheeks. Because this was the thing Cas fought so hard to protect. This was the being Cas gave his life for. This was Castiel’s baby. This was Castiel’s baby and he missed him. Jack just wanted his father and he didn’t understand and he was hurting for it. He just-- didn’t understand that Dean did too. This was his baby. No matter the circumstances, and the heartbreak and pain it brought, this was their baby. 

“Please, my baby, I miss him too.”

Thank you @evermorecastiel and @lobotomycastiel for the push to finally finish this with the widower arc posting yesterday after sitting on it for the past 2 weeks. Ya'll the real mvps.

[writethelifeyouwant]

Told You So

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Jack Kline 

Rating: 18+

Tags: sex toys, dom/sub, wrist restraints, coming untouched, dirty talk, slut shaming, choking, cum eating

Word Count: 2.3k 

Summary: Jack doesn’t believe that Sam can make him come without touching his dick. 

Created for: @winklinebingo - Sex Toys | @spnrareshipbingo - Jack / Sam | @spnkinkbingo - Coming Untouched

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

Jack shivers as Sam’s fingers trail over his shoulder, tracing down his arm, the feeling somehow amplified through the cotton of his jacket catching on the hairs standing up from his skin. 

“How you feeling, kid?” Dean asks through a gulp of beer. “You look a little–” he waves his hand around in front of his face, indicating that he’s noticed the flushed, far off look Jack must have going on right about now. 

“I’m fine, Dean,” Jack swallows, aiming for a grin but only achieving a grimace, and jumping slightly when Sam’s fingers connect with his under the war-table. 

“Dean’s right, Jack,” Sam cuts in, leaning forward under the pretense of looking closer at Jack to check he’s alright, but actually creeping his hand further up the boy’s thigh. “You sure you’re okay, you do look a little…” Sam trails off, smirking when he sees Dean isn’t looking at them, “worked up.” 

Jack wants to scoff in Sam’s face, but that would be impolite. Of course, he’s fucking worked up right now. He’s had a small remote control toy buzzing against his prostate for the past twenty minutes. It had felt so unbelievable at first, like he could have come in about 30 seconds if Sam had told him he was allowed to, but then Sam had dropped the speed down to its lowest setting, and the unrelenting buzz had dulled into just about manageable — just about ignorable — unless he shifts even an inch, and then the pleasure pulses through his limbs and send even more blood rushing to his crotch. Honestly, he’s surprised there’s enough blood left in the top half of his body for his face to be blushing at all. It feels like every drop of blood in his body has pushed itself into his cock, it feels so hard and full, and like it could burst at any second. 

“I’m fine, S–” Jack squeaks when Sam’s long, sinful  fingers curl around the bulge in his pants and the speed of the vibrator jumps up a notch simultaneously. 

“No, I think you should go lay down.” Sam’s face is the picture of fatherly concern and sage advice, the dickhead. “You don’t want to get caught with your pants down during a hunt if you’re coming over with something.” 

“I’ll be coming over something,” Jack mumbles to himself, hating Sam and his fucking teasing. 

“Huhm?” Dean grunts, only half paying attention on the other side of the table, where his burger is much more interesting than Jack maybe having a cold. 

“I am going to go lay down,” Jack announces as he springs out of his chair abruptly, disguising the gasp he’d just let slip when Sam turned the toy up another notch, with the sound of the chair grating against the concrete floors as he pushed out of his seat. He carefully angles his body behind Sam’s chair, so as not to display his hard on and the wet spot he’d been steadily growing on the front of his jeans for the past half hour.  

“I’ll come check on you in a bit, buddy,” Sam squeezes Jack’s bicep, pressing right over a bruise he’d left there the night before, knowing he was tormenting Jack even more by reminding him of the claiming mark he’d bitten into his skin. Reminding him ‘you’re mine, you and your body and your pleasure— They. Are. Mine.’ 

Jack could barely choke down his whimper at Sam’s touch, the soreness of his bruise recalling the delicious soreness he still felt between his legs – an ache that was being accentuated by the now rhythmic vibrating of the small toy inside of him. The pattern beat against the nerves inside him maddeningly. Just as the vibrations grew to a strength that might be able to tip him over the edge into relief they disappeared, leaving the toy still and silent for a moment before starting the torture over again. 

Inside his room, Jack collapsed to his knees at the foot of the bed, relishing in the moan he could finally let loose now he was alone. The toy inside him pressed just below the sweet spot inside of him in this position, and he let himself relax and settle into it. He knew that Sam would make him wait for a bit, make him sweat and squirm. Sometimes this was the best part. When he was all alone, only kept company by his own desperate thoughts – this was when Jack realised just how much of a slut he really was. 

Sure, Sam told him he was all the time. When he was on his knees with Sam’s cock down his throat, or when Sam pressed him against the back of the Impala and made him grind against that thick, muscular, hunter’s thigh until he came in his pants, or when Sam caught him jerking off in the shower only a few hours after Sam had fucked him into the mattress, or when Sam noticed his inappropriate boner during a case and told him to go wait for him in the police station bathroom, where Sam promptly handcuffed him and ate him out until he came without being touched. Jack was most definitely a slut, and he knew it. But here, in the cold fluorescent light of his bunker bedroom, knees going numb on the concrete beneath him, and sweat dripping beneath the collar of his t-shirt – this is where he felt the humiliation most keenly. 

The fact that Jack wasn’t just a slut for Sam, wasn’t just doing all those dirty things because he was being told to, but would sit here and torture himself willingly, was the thing that made Jack feel the dirtiest he ever did. Of course, Sam knew what Jack was thinking, that he loved his time alone spent contemplating just how much of a fucking whore he really was, and Sam loved how desperate it made Jack when he did finally join him again. 

“There’s a good boy,” Jack hears Sam murmur as he steps into the room, the vibrations in the plug jumping down to its lowest, thrumming level. Jack lets out a shaky sigh, but keeps his position on his knees, back straight, waiting for Sam to give him his instructions. Sam brushes his hand over the back of the boy’s head as he moves around his kneeling form to sit on the foot of the bed, carefully placing the toy’s remote control on the blanket next to him. He reaches out a hand to rest on Jack’s cheek, the big fingers nearly engulfing his face, and Jack has to fight his instincts to sit straight instead of leaning into the touch. “How you doing?” Sam asks, voice heavy with sympathy. 

“Good,” Jack pants, hoping he sounds convincing, but knowing Sam will see through him in a heartbeat. 

“You still look pretty flushed to me,” Sam muses, brushing a stray hair off Jack’s forehead. “Maybe you should lay down, get yourself out of these clothes into something more… comfortable.” Jack closes his eyes and whimpers, nodding, he wants that so badly. “Okay, if I let you lay down, the vibrations on your toy are gonna go back up again. Can you handle that?” 

Jack nods again, furiously. “Yes, Sam, please.” 

“Okay, c’mon, up you get.” Sam pulls Jack up by his wrists and starts to peel the boy’s jacket off. Jack lets Sam manipulate him out of his clothes, shivering in the cool of the air as the layers are dropped by his feet. When he’s been stripped bare, Sam pulls him onto the bed, guiding his hands to the restraints they keep attached to each corner of the headboard and buckles him in. The bruises on Jack’s arms and shoulders stand out against his pale skin, which is shimmering with the sweat of his earlier exertions. Sam’s fingers trace over the marks and down Jack’s chest, around each pink nipple, standing erect in the cool air of the bedroom, down his stomach to the soft trail of hair below his belly button, avoiding the angry pink cock currently twitching against the sharp jut of his hip bone. Jack had done so well keeping quiet while Sam laid him out the way he wanted him, but under the man’s taunting touch, he can’t keep his whines in his throat any more. 

“Please, Sam,” Jack mewls, bucking his hips into the air, hoping to push Sam’s fingers against his cock where he wants them. 

“Tch, tch, tch,” Sam tuts, unimpressed. “I told you, baby boy, no one is going to be touching that cock tonight.” Sam’s smirk is infuriating. 

“Sam,” Jack whines again, “I really need to cum. Please. I’ll –” he pants, grasping for words “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, just let me cum. Please, Sam, please.” 

“I didn’t tell you you couldn’t cum baby,” Sam sits on the bed, picking up the remote and turning up the pace, like he’d threatened. “You can cum whenever you want to. I just said you can’t touch yourself to make it happen.” Jack whines petulantly, making Sam laugh, and he switches the pattern of the vibrations in the boy’s plug again. 

“But I’ll never cum like this Sam,” Jack complains, struggling against his restraints, and Sam is glad he had the foresight to lock him down. 

“Oh, really?” Sam ups the intensity of the vibrations and Jack arches off the bed, moaning. “You don’t think a little slut like you can cum just from a little toy up their ass? Don’t think you’re desperate enough?” He changes the pattern to something quicker - sharper - and Jack hisses. “If you were a good little whore, you wouldn’t need anyone to touch that little cock, you’d cum when I tell you to, heh? But…” Sam stands, twirling the remote in his palm, “if you don’t think you can, I’ll just –” he clicks the ‘off’ button on the plug, and Jack lets out the most pathetic whimper yet, instantly missing the pleasure that had been coursing through him for the past hour. 

“No! Sam, no, I’m sorry, please. Please let me cum,” Jack begs, squirming in his restraints. 

“I told you, I wasn’t stopping you,” Sam smirks wickedly. 

“Please,” Jack is almost crying, Sam can see the tears shimmering in his eyes. 

“If I turn this back on, are you going to be a good boy, and do what I tell you?” 

“Yes, I promise, please, Sam, please, turn it back on. I need to cum, please.” Sam walks back to the bed, stroking Jack’s cheek tenderly, victory glowing in his eyes. 

“So pretty when you beg, baby boy,” Sam coos, and Jack nuzzles into his touch. When Sam turns the toy back on, Jack jumps, twisting his head to whimper into his pillow. “Nope, don’t you dare,” Sam grins and yanks on Jack’s hair, pulling his face up. “Don’t hide those noises from me, baby. Wanna hear how much of a little slut you are for me. Want you to get as loud as you can for me, let Dean hear how desperate you are, yeah? You my needy little whore, baby?”

“Yes!” Jack whines, the intensity of the toy ratcheting up, the increased speed pressing it harder against the spot inside of him that is starting to burn. 

“Want to hear you say it,” Sam’s voice has hardened, and he drags his hand down Jack’s face to his throat, his fingers easily wrapping most of the way around. 

“I’m a slut, a needy little slut, fuck, just need to cum, Sam, please,” Jack groans desperately. 

“Yeah? Needy little slut needs to cum?” Sam teases, squeezing against the veins on either side of the boy’s neck, working to make him light-headed, while also turning the toy up another setting. “Why don’t you do it then, baby boy? Cum for me real loud, want you screamin’,” Sam is panting now too, his own arousal barely being held in check as he torments Jack – it will be his turn soon. 

“Please,” Jack is crying now, hips humping down into nothing, looking for resistance that won’t come. He looks pathetic, and Sam loves it. 

“I told you” —Sam’s chest heaves and he turns the toy up to its highest setting, leaning over Jack’s face and squeezing around his fragile little throat— “to cum, you little slut.” He spits into Jack’s mouth, which is frozen open in pleasure. 

“Oh, fuck, God, ah–” Jack’s words trail off into unintelligible noises as his hips launch off the bed and he cums in sharp bursts, the shiny white liquid splashing up his chest, onto his face and lips, and Sam’s hand. Sam is panting nearly as hard as Jack as he watches the boy spurt cum all over himself, he’s always loved when he can make Jack lose control this completely. 

“That’s a good boy,” Sam huffs, trying to get himself under control long enough to finish taking care of Jack. “Told you so, didn’t I?” he smirks. Jack whimpers in acknowledgement, but he isn’t quite recovered enough for words yet. Sam lets go of his throat and examines the cum shining on his knuckles. “You didn’t believe me, did you?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jack whimpers tiredly, slumping back against his pillows. 

“You believe me now?” Sam checks, and Jack doesn’t see the mischievous glint in Sam’s eyes because his own are still closed while he nods. Sam runs his fingers along Jack’s chest to collect the cum still glistening against the creamy, pale skin, pushing the dirty fingers between Jack’s lips when they’ve gathered everything they can. Jack’s eyes open wide in shock, but he sucks Sam down eagerly, confused – but still craving his approval. “In case you needed proof,” Sam chuckles, letting Jack suckle on his fingers and clean every last drop of his own cum from Sam’s skin.

“I still get to touch you though, right?” Jack checks anxiously, looking at the impressive bulge that Sam has started to free from his jeans. 

“You fuckin’ better,” Sam growls, shedding his jeans and briefs and climbing onto the bed to straddle Jack’s chest. “Open up, baby.”

Tags: @vulgar-library​ @tintentrinkerin​ @negans-lucille-tblr​ @fandomfic-galore​ @petitgateau911​ @whoreforackles​ @schaefchenherde​ @kickingitwithkirk​ @little-diable​ @laxe-chester67​ @kassyscarlett​ @sonofslaanesh69​ @stoneyggirl​ 

[i-call-me-clarence]

Life’s a Cemetery (Dig It)

Kevin and Jack get their hands dirty on grave duty. 

Rated G 

Suptober Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Fic below the cut

----

“You sure you’re good?” Dean asks for the third time. 

“Kevin is here, and if anything happens we have angel blades and silver bullets,” Jack answers, making a little wave motion at Kevin who’s silently asking him how much longer he’s going to be on the phone. Kevin rolls his eyes and goes back to leaning on his shovel, refusing to start digging until Jack joins him. Jack doesn’t want to keep him waiting any longer, “Dean, I’m sorry, but I have to--”

“And you’ve got the iron poker, right? And the holy water?”

“We still have everything in the pack you left us.” 

“But did you double-check? A real hunter always double checks, triple even--”

Before Jack can respond Kevin is taking the phone from Jack’s hands, “Believe it or not the ex-god and current prophet know what they’re doing. Bye.” and he hangs up the phone. 

Jack gives Kevin an apologetic shrug of his mouth as Kevin hands back the phone, slapping it into Jack’s hand. “He’s protective.”

“He’s turned into a helicopter parent. If I wanted that I’d just go back home.” 

“But that would put your mother at risk.” Jack tilts his head in confusion.

Kevin rolls his eyes and tosses Jack a shovel, “Come on. Let’s get this done before the sun goes down.” 

---

Three hours after sunset and they’re still digging. Jack started feeling lightheaded thirty minutes ago, and it’s gotten to the point where he needs to sit down. 

“I’m sorry, I have to--” Jack ends up thunking down on his butt before he can finish.

“Hey, are you okay?” Kevin asks warily, stopping his digging and leaning against his shovel, “Is the talisman wearing off or something?” 

“I--I don’t have a talisman,” Jack’s body is shaking and he’s starting to feel nauseous. Perhaps he should have listened to his body hours ago when it screamed at him to rest. But Kevin had kept going and he’d said he wouldn’t dig alone so…

“You don’t have an energy talisman?!” Kevin gaps at him and drops his shovel, “Are you kidding me?! You do realize you’re basically human now?” 

How could Jack forget? Being human was so difficult that it was impossible not to be reminded of it constantly. Even when he slept. He didn’t use to sleep as a Nephilim...or as God. But Amara’s taking care of that now. Letting Jack have a ‘normal childhood’ as she’d said. Something she was envious of and didn’t want Jack to miss. ‘Even Chuck let himself have one. After he invented the concept.’ when she’d told him that it was clear she was hiding a deep sadness. Jack had decided after his childhood was over, he’d take over as God again so she could have one too.  

“How are you even standing?!” 

“I’m...not.” 

Kevin looks at Jack, taking notice of the way he was starting to sway a little. Before cursing and getting down on his knees next to Jack. 

He grabs a hold of both sides of the necklace his talisman was supposedly attached to, “I’m going to regret this,” Kevin groans, before taking off the necklace and holding it out to Jack. A green light pulses from Kevin’s chest, swirling around his arm, before being sucked into the little medallion hanging from the golden chain in Kevin’s outstretched hand. 

Jack quickly takes the necklace, seeing the sudden strain in Kevin. As soon as he has it, Kevin lays back with a dull thud as his body hits the earth. 

“Oh my god,” he gasps, suddenly breathing very heavily. “Worst part about that talisman,” he pants, “After you take it off, you feel every bit of exertion. All at once. Oh, I’m gonna die.” 

Jack puts on the talisman and instantly feels better. Better than he’d felt since turning human. He wonders what would happen if you kept the necklace on all the time--

“And if you’re tingling from the charm and wondering ‘why can’t I wear this all the time,’” Kevin says in a deep mocking voice that sounded suspiciously like Dean, “Just look at me after five hours. Imagine a week, or even just a whole day.”

“It kills you?”

“It kills you.”

“I can finish this alone.” 

“Yeah, but first,” Kevin tried to sit up, grunting in pain, “Help me out of this damn hole.”

---

It had been an hour since Jack started digging by himself, making a grand total of eight hours. Just a constant monotony of stab scrape shovel. At least Jack felt pretty good with this talisman, and at least they were almost done. 

Stab, scrape, shovel. Stab scrape shovel. Stab--THUD!

Jack gasps in surprise, and Kevin leans over the opening of the hole to look down at Jack equally surprised, and elated. 

“Oh my god,” he laughs, falling back on the grass, “We finally did it,” Jack hears him say. And then he groans, “But now I have to move.”

“If I were still God I could read this. Or create new eyes that could,” Jack notes, scrapes the remaining dirt off the coffin with his hands. 

“If you were still God we probably wouldn’t even need this spell. And if we did, you could just teleport the tome out without all this bullshit.” 

A reneged sector of angels, lead by the angel Inias, had decided to declare war on all remaining prophets. They thought they could use them to find a way to spy on Amara and overthrow her from, well, Goddesshood. This was the grave of a prophet, and inside was a tome they were buried with that held a spell to make prophets invisible to angels and demons. Probably how she lived long enough to die of old age. At first Jack had been sad, thinking this would mean he wouldn’t get to see Kevin anymore. But Sam said he was pretty sure that he could rework the spell so any angels or demons that gave of their blood in the ceremony would be able to still see prophets. 

Jack hopes so.

Kevin leans his head over the grave again, wincing. “Wow, now that you’ve uncovered it, those sigils are really bright.” 

Jack agrees, though what seemed like blue glowing sigils to them wouldn’t appear at all to normal humans.

Jack opens his mouth to say so but is cut off by his phone ringing in his pocket.

“Is that Dean again?” Kevin asks tersely. 

Jack checks the caller ID and nods.

“Hand it here,” Kevin says, lunging his arm forward and down.

Jack hands over the phone and Kevin rolls back over with it, out of sight.

“Dean?” Jack hears him say. “Bring burgers and water.” A pause where Kevin must have been about to hang up because he says, “Oh, and get your asses over here.” and Jack hears a beep from the call ending. 

“Here you go,” Kevin dangles his arm over into the grave, phone in hand.

-----

They eat inside the impala--Kevin mostly chugs water at first--with the engine idling and cabin lights on. Kevin and Jack are both filthy, but Dean doesn’t mind. ‘Part of bein’ a Hunter’ he’d said. Back in the old times, Cas or Jack would clean everybody up. But seeing as they were both human now, he and Kevin were doomed to be dirt-covered.

“How did it go?” Castiel asks from the front seat, mouth half full of burger, “You didn’t run into any problems?” Castiel had been wearing his regular suit before he’d left but was now wearing a space cats hoodie he’d gotten for himself when he took Jack to Hot Topic. He must have brought it with him in the car.

Kevin stops chugging water to answer, “No ghouls, no cops, no cemetery keepers or grieving loved ones, though that last one would be unlikely seeing as she was buried three hundred years ago. Where’s my burger?”

“Got you four,” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows. 

“I may just be able to eat that many.”

“Yeah and I’ll finish whatever you don’t. That goes for everybody.” Dean continues.

“Didn’t you just get back from a dinner date?” Kevin asks suspiciously, “Actually, if you didn’t, don’t answer, I don’t wanna know.”

“We did just get back from dinner…” Cas starts slowly. “It was, uh...fancy.” 

“Too fancy,” Dean grumbles.

“Ah. Small portion sizes.” Kevin nods, but then pauses, “Aren’t you supposed to have fifteen courses or something?”

“Yeah well, we got a call three courses in to deliver some emergency burgers.” Dean shrugs, “Prefer the burgers anyway.” 

“Jack, are you wearing an amulet?” 

Jack jerks as he realizes he forgot to take it off, “Uh oh,” he says, setting down his burger. “I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What’s happening?” Dean asks looking around the cabin, panicked.

“Jack left an energy talisman on too long.” Cas sighs, looking sorry.

“Ohoho buddy,” Dean says into the air,  smiling but also looking kind of sorry too, and even more so when he meets Jack’s eyes. He pauses. “Yeah bud, uh, that’s gonna be a bitch to take off.” He frowns.

Jack grabs the golden chain--

“Woah, man, what are you doing?” Kevin gasps after having grabbed Jack’s arm and stopping him from taking off the talisman. 

“Will it kill me?” Jack asks everybody, suddenly nervous.

“Well, no,” Dean begins, winces, “It’s just gonna hurt like a bitch.”

“Then shouldn’t I get it over with?” Jack asks, confused.

“You might pass out,” Castiel warns gently.

“You’re probably gonna wanna go with the passing out,” Kevin says, putting a bracing arm on Jack’s shoulder “It’ll suck less.”

Kevin nods at him and Jack takes that as a sign it’s time to take the talisman off. He lifts the chain up and off, and then something strange happens. 

A green light swirls from both Jack and Kevin’s chests and swirls into the amulet. 

Both of them double over. 

“Woah! You kids alright?” Dean asks, lunging a hand over the backseat to touch Jack’s back, as Castiel quickly spins out of the car and back in at Kevin’s door, holding him up, checking his eyes and tongue, he goes to stick his finger in Kevin’s ear to take his temperature before remembering he can’t do that anymore. 

“Kevin? Are you okay? Jack! Jack, are you okay?” Castiel asks urgently.

“Goddammit,” Kevin sighs, “Twice in one night, oh man I’m really gonna die.” then he looks at Castiel before reassuring, “Really, it wasn’t that bad.” Kevin turns to Jack, “How do you feel?”

“...Not that bad,” he answers truthfully.

“Hot damn.” Dean is smiling, leaning back into his seat, “Well now we know that’s a thing!” 

“It could potentially save lives,” Castiel agreed. “I’ll have Sam tell the other hunters...though this may just be a situational occurrence between a prophet and a Nephilim. Who knows really.”

“It was still pretty cool,” Dean defends. 

Castiel gets back into the car. 

“And I’m not denying that. Why do you always jump to conclusions?”

“What are you talking about ‘always?’” Dean grunts back and starts up the car, pulling out of the cemetery parking lot.

Kevin and Jack tune Dean and Cas out. 

“That was pretty cool,” Kevin says.

“Yeah,” Jack frowns, looking at his friend. “We’re going to perform the ceremony when we get back.” This may be one of the last times he ever sees or hears him again.

Kevin puts a hand on Jack’s shoulder, “It’s going to be okay. Even if we have to do it by proxy for a little while, I won’t stop being your friend. Okay?” 

Jack smiled, putting a hand on Kevin’s shoulder too, which may have been weird or awkward but seemed like the thing to do. 

Kevin smiles at Jack before patting his shoulder and saying “I’m going to pass out now.” 

Jack nods and Kevin immediately drops his head back onto his seat and starts snoring. 

Jack leans back in his own seat, feeling exhausted as well. Dean and Cas have stopped arguing and put the radio on low, laughing at j=okes here and there as they talk softly. 

The running engine and metronome light of street lamps going by, and the familiar classic rock playing all seemed to be in some sort of competition with who could lull Jack to sleep first. The sound of the impala won. 

The End

[apatheticanvas67482]

Even When You Hide

Happy @starrynightdeancas​ celebration day to @firefly124​! I got really busy over the last couple of weeks, so its not as good as I wanted it to be for you, but I hope you like it anyways. (also I had to abandon my sketches and normal art style today due to technical difficulties, so the art is a bit rubbish, sorry, if i get round to finishing the other one in my normal style when i get home to my computers, I will send it your way) BUT ANYWAYS I hope you love it (the fic not the art, hides) and I think Sophie is the dopest for putting this whole thing together.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Castiel

Tropes: Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss

Based: Somewhere after 10.03, when Crowley give Cas grace and Dean is cured of Demon-ness, and 10.18, when Cas gets his grace back. I did not mention the Mark of Cain though. 

Song: I See You - Missio

Word count: 2.2K

I see you when you're down And depressed, just a mess I see you when you cry When you're shy When you want to die I see you when you smile It takes a while At least you're here I see you

It had been 25 minutes since Dean had sent Cas to pick out the paint for his room. He put down all the sheets and lined the sockets and skirting boards with tape and was now sitting at the foot of the bed, tapping his foot to a silent beat.

Dean hadn’t known what to get the angel from the store so there were currently 12 pots of paint, all different colours, sitting on shelves in the garage. He chewed on the inside of his cheek absentmindedly, picturing the scrunch of Cas’ eyebrows and the tilt of Cas’ head as he scowled at the cans.

‘Dean. What does it matter if the room is winter blue or baby blue?’ Dean could almost hear him ask it - the gravel of Cas’ voice rumbled in the back of his mind. Dean shook his head, smiling, and headed to see what the hold-up was.

What he found was a mess.

“Fuck. Shit!” Pots of paint were scattered across the room. Most were broken open, stripes of paint led away from a large metal cabinet that had toppled over onto the Impala and cast the tins in all directions.

“Cas!”

Dean ran forward, holding his breath. The cabinet had smashed right through Baby’s windshield, fracture lines spanned what was left leaving chunks of glass suspended in the laminated frame. The bonnet had been completely crushed, practically folded in half, and the corners had torn into the paintwork. Dean would be seething except he couldn’t breathe. He threw his weight behind his shoulder, forcing it under the shelves and straining until black dots danced in his vision.

“Cas!” Dean collapsed, his efforts futile. “Cas! Where the hell are you?!”

And then he heard it – the quick and broken, but quiet sobs of an angel. Dean whirled around o fast his neck cracked and then he crawled, actually crawled on his hands and knees, towards the sound.

Behind the impala, Cas was perched on the balls of his feet with his trench coat pooling around him. Dean had never seen him cry before, not like this. There was a streak of paint that ran from just under his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Where his tear tracks converged with it, the drops turned blue and fell to the ground like grace. Dean watched, transfixed for a moment, before scrambling closer.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice louder than he meant it, startled Cas out of his fugue state. His hands, which had been moving, stilled instantly as he looked back at Dean with wide shiny eyes.

“I don’t want to go, Dean.” The cracks in Cas’ voice tugged at Dean’s soul. He didn’t understand.

Dean shook his head. “What?”

Cas’s eyes only grew larger as the hunter reached out, “Dean, please don’t make me go.” His arm hung in the air, terrified of doing the wrong thing. He knew Cas couldn’t fly anymore but it had never stopped feeling as though their conversations were timed, except Dean couldn’t see the numbers on the clock. He was always waiting for Cas to vanish. “I want to stay.”

Bile rose in the back of Dean’s throat and his hand dropped like dead weight between them as he realised what Cas was saying, what he was thinking. He thought back to months before. ‘You can’t stay.’ He’d said, the same bile rising in his throat as now. He looked at Cas in his human clothes, that goddamn hoodie., and watched as Cas’ heart broke. Watched as the hurt played openly on his features, defences down. And then, he’d looked away. Dean remembers looking anywhere but into his best friend’s eyes, knowing that if he did his resolve would surely crumble. Now, all he wanted was for Cas to look at him, but the angel had gone from a deer in the headlights to refusing to lift his head higher than his shoulders.

“I can fix it, I promise.” Cas’s hands started moving again. His fingers shook as he tried to slot several pieces of broken glass back together. Small cuts littered his palms, bleeding freely as Cas worked.

“Cas. Cas, why-” Dean swallowed around the lump of panic still tuck in his throat, “Why aren’t you healing? Is it the grace? Is it failing?” His hands had found there way between them again. They hovered uselessly over Cas’ own. Cas was shaking his head, but Dean wasn’t sure if it was in answer to his question.

“Cas?” Dean didn’t know what to do, until he did. Taking a shaky breath, he allowed his panic to consume him for one second more before he tabled it.

“Cas,” His voice was gentle but solid, “Cas, stop it. Please,” - Dean stilled Cas’ hands with his own. He turned them palm up and, careful not to catch any of the cuts, unfurled the angel’s trembling fingers with is thumb – “Just stop.”

Cas was still refusing to meet his eyes, but he’d stopped shaking his head. He stared down at the pieces of glass and Dean followed his gaze. He recognised them as the broken remains of a small glass statue of an angel. Sammy had presented the thing to a few years ago after he’d nabbed it from some rogue crossroad demon’s second-hand shop to bully Dean with. ‘A guardian angel to save me from your moping when Cas is away,’ Sam had said, and Dean had shoved it deep down inside Baby’s trunk. That was until they moved into the bunker and Dean had felt some strange compulsion to place the glass angel atop the recently toppled shelves. Cas had been there, tilting his head at him. ‘Present from Sam,’ He’d practically growled before running away.

“Hey,” One of Dean’s hands left Cas’ in favour of poking him gently in the cheek. Cas jerked backwards slightly, finally meeting Dean’s eyes. He was still crying but less so. Dean nodded, “I need you to listen to me. You. Are. Not. Going. Anywhere. Ever. Again.” He waved his free hand at the mess around him. “All this, none of it matters,” Dean moved his other thumb in circles, steeling himself. This moment is what all his years watching chick flicks in secrecy had been preparing him for. “You, Cas, are what matters. To me.”

Dean held his breath for one, two, three seconds. Cas hiccoughed, blinking one, two, three times as the last of his tears fell from his cheeks.

“Why aren’t you healing?” Dean whispered into the space between them, a little afraid of anything louder.

“I didn’t want to waste m…” Cas looked lost, “It.” Dean waited.

“When Metatron took my grace from me, he left me human. Except I’m not human. Jimmy though, Jimmy was human, fragile. Without my powers, I’m,” Cas struggled with his words, he looked away. “I’m a baby in a trench coat.” Fuck. “I am nothing. And I can’t go back to that. I can’t keep steeling my kin’s grace from them, reducing them as I have been reduced. I can’t.” He dropped his head to his chest once more. “But I also don’t want to die.

“Castiel.” Dean swerved back into Cas’ eyeline as he spoke, “You are not nothing,” Cas stared at him, not believing.

“You are not human. You’re not Jimmy. But you’re not your grace either.” Dean was going to make him understand how wrong he’d been sitting in Eve’s diner. “You’re not your vessel and you’re not your powers. When I look at you-” The hunter swallowed, “When I look at you, I just see… you. I see you, Cas.”

He looked down at their hands, feeling dizzy. He couldn’t believe how mushy he was being or how much he didn’t mind. He felt like Colin Firth. “As for the rest of it, we’ll figure it out. We always do. The grace situation… Well,” Dean smiled, small. “We’ll make it up as we go.” Dean lifted Cas’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss into a single cut. After a moment, grace began to shine beneath the skin and the wounds pulled themselves closed.  Beaming now, he leant back and ran his thumb over the soft new skin, turning their hands so their finger interlocked.

“Dean, I-”

“I made a mistake,” Dean interrupted, “I have made so many mistakes. But, kicking you out like has to be one of the worst. No explanation, no assistance, no nothing. It’s the wrongest I’ve ever been in my life. Gadreel gave me an ultimatum but that’s not an excuse. Doesn’t even come close to justifying what I did. I should’ve told you what was going on. Maybe if I had tried, for even a second, to communicate, we could have avoided a lot of pain. I should’ve – I should’ve done a lot. But I didn’t, and that wasn’t good enough.’

“Dean, it’s okay.”

“No, no it’s not.” Dean broke eye contact then.

“Okay, well” Cas squeezed his hands, “I forgive you then. How’s that?”

Dean huffed out half a laugh. His next words caught in throat as he looked back at Cas. He was so close to him. Dean supposed he always was. Dean’s eyes caught on Cas’ mouth where he had worried at his bottom lip. It was red and sore and wasn’t healing. Before Dean knew what he was doing, he was tipping forward, eye slipping shut. When they met in the middle, he barely felt it. He touched his lips to Cas’ like he had to his hands, his heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage. Dean didn’t realise he hadn’t been breathing until Cas’s lips moved against his own and he gasped for air. He leant against Cas’s forehead breathing far too heavily for such a chaste moment. They sat there just breathing in each other’s air for one, two, three seconds. Then Dean surged forwards, pushing of his feet so he was kneeling up over Cas. He dropped the angel’s hands in favour of holding his head in his own, pressing desperate kiss after desperate kiss to Cas’s mouth. Cas leant backwards under him as they kissed, moulding to fit the curve of his body. His dropped hands had twisted their way into Dean’s flannel, pulling him closer.

As Dean’s lungs screamed for breath, he pulled slowly away. Cas’ head dropped to rest against his sternum and Dean allowed himself to bury his face in his hair. His hands had settled at the base of Cas’ neck and began tracing nonsensical patterns into the skin there.

“C’mon,” He leant back and pulled Cas with him. Leading him by hand past the impala and a few scattered paint cans. He stopped by one - one of the only ones not broken open - and leant down to pick it up. ‘Dusty Cyan’. Perfect. He tucked it under his arm, and flashed Cas a smile.

I'm alone with you You're alone with me What a mess you've made of everything

I'm alone with you You're alone with me And I'm hoping that you will see yourself Like I see you

The next day found them huddled close together leaning over Baby as Dean taught Castiel how to hammer dents out metal without causing more damage and replace a windshield.

“D’you want to know something?” Dean cracked open his beer. Cas hummed from where he was bent over working a dent out of the open bonnet. He was wearing one of Dean’s ratty old Bon Jovi shirts, damp with sweat and motor oil and chewing on his lip distractedly – and distractingly. “Sammy got me that angel to tease me about you.”

Cas looked up then, “About me?”

“Yeah.” The hunter coughed, wondering what had possessed him to open his mouth and start yet another chick flick. Maybe he should be worried about how much of a sap he was becoming. It was Cas’ fault, obviously. “Cuz I always complain when you’re gone.”

Cas turned around and leant back on Baby, his shoulder brushed Dean’s. “You may want to begin coming up with some alternate topics of conversation.”

Dean laughed, “You think so?”

“I have been reliably informed that I’m not going anywhere.” Cas looked at him. “Ever. Again.”

Dean shoved his shoulder, smiling wide when Cas shoved back pressing him back into the Impala’s frame and leaning into his space.

“It’s why I put it up there in the first place instead of shoving in the back of some cupboard.” He poked Cas in the ribs. “Because it reminded me of you.”

“Me.” Cas echoed.

“You,” Dean smirked, “Dumbass.”

Cas growled and silenced him with a kiss for the ages. Dean let himself be taken over by the angel, surrendering the kiss to him and just basking in the feeling of Cas pressed up against him. He didn’t need some glass statue, he already had his guardian angel exactly where he wanted him, and he had proved to be far from fragile.

I see you in the dark At the dawn of something new I see you

[starshipsofstarlord]

Growing Pains | TFW

Request:  Hey! Can I please request a platonic x reader with team free will 2.0? The reader gets turned back to a toddler by a witch and they try to ask Rowena for help but, the spell lasts for a week and it's just plain chaotic. The reader is extremely clumsy and hungry but knows a few words like "Hungry" and "Thirsty". The rest is up to you 😊. Thanks in advance!

A/N: It is a little different from the request, so I hope you don’t mind, also it’s not great. And I’m terribly sorry for the wait, I hope you can understand why xxx

Walking around the lab, you screwed your face up at the mess. It was like toddler’s had been let loose in the room, there was glass broken upon the floor, paper thrown out of the shredder, and worst of all, no one to condemn for the death of the scientist.

Sighing, you shut your eyes, leaning back into one of the counters. “So, the guy that was killed had like a dozen or so kids and we can’t find a single one of them, or the mother?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose as Cas circled the room once more, seeing if he could find anything that your human eyes had missed. But alas, there was no ultimatum, nothing that could direct the pair of you to answers.

“That sounds about right.” Dean’s gruff voice came from the doorway, stepping on shards of glass as he came closer to the two of you. “Although at this time, I am calling shots on the mom being the killer.”

“We don’t even know if this is up our alley Dean.” You sighed, opening your eyes and looking at the older hunter. “Did you get anything from the co-workers?” 

“Not a peep.” His tone was almost too cheerful, especially considering the circumstances. The group of you were nowhere near completing this case, and all he could think about was the burger joint around the corner. You were close enough to it, that you would give in and accompany him. “Who’s hungry?”

“After the sight of the guts strung in the ceiling fan,” you looked up to emphasise your point, “I think I may have lost what appetite that I had left.”

“Bad luck. You snooze, you lose.” With that he left the room, presumably heading off to stuff his face. It was impossible not to roll your eyes at his childish behaviour, although in all fairness, you should have been used to it by now. However your dear angel friend remained with you. 

“We should meet with Sam and Jack, and see if they have found anything in the house.” Castiel spoke, confused by the lack of evidence in this death. There was nothing that could have helped, even the majority of the man’s body was gone.

“Why would someone have that many children?” It was a rhetorical question, but just the thought of your body going through it’s natural process that many times made you shiver.

“To repopulate.” Cas put simply, although that was a straightforward fact. But that was not what you had meant, admittedly you had a soft spot for kids, even missed being one sometimes.

“I know, but doesn’t that seem sort of strange to you?” Your mind was spinning with all sorts of possibilities, of what could and couldn’t be going on. Unless, well... “It could be like some sort of supernatural litter, or they’re breeding test subjects. Is there even any record of them having that many children?”

Your conclusions made your friend frown, and he pointed his finger up, unintentionally pointing to the tendril of flesh that was hanging from the fan above.

“We should check the records.” And with that he grabbed your bag from just outside of the room, pulling your laptop from out of it. Just then, your phone began ringing. It was Sam, and so you answered.

“Hey, you find anything?” There was silence on the other end, until you heard the shrill sound of what you supposed to be a child.

“Was that Jack or -” 

“Hey!” The nephilim retorted. You could already picture the child like frown on his face, but before either of you could bicker about your comparison, the Winchester on call spoke first.

“She left one of her kids, and we found hex bags.” He breathed, relieved that this did in fact involve what you all were guessing to be a witch, yet also frustrated about how messy this all was. “But the thing is, this son of hers was closed in the basement, and the only thing down there for him to eat down there was a man’s leg...”

“We should get that tested, it could be the father.” You said, trying to think about this case adjoined with all of its new revelations. “So, what is her goal here, she’s trying to turn her own children into cannibals?”

“That’s how the ‘myth’ of the wendigo started in human folklore.” Jack commented, before he frowned. Him and Sam both let out shouts, making you fear for the pair. 

“Sam?”

“She doesn’t have any children, nor did he.” Cas spoke, the content on the screen disarranging this entire predicament further. “What just happened Sam?”

His breathing could still be heard from the other end of the line. It seemed like he was in shock of some sort.

“You’ve got that right, Cas.” He breathed, referring to the fact that she had no spawn. “And I suspect the others are like him. He’s just turned into a grown man, we’re going to attempt to get an answer to who he is. Be careful if you encounter Mrs Fletcher, both of you.”

So, now you had a presumed answer on how Mr Fletcher had died, you had to tell Dean. Quickly, you and Cas left the scene, looking for the elder Winchester, remembering to take any of your items with you.

“Thankyou.” You nodded, doing all of the talking to any police whilst Cas held your phone at an arm’s length. “Got any clues on where our witch works?” You asked him.

Sam replied soon, making the matter of reaching Dean that more prominant. “West Street, not far from where you are. At the burger joint, Paula’s.”

“Shit!”

-

When you and Castiel arrived, Dean Winchester was nowhere to be found. That fact had you deeply concerned, more so than you would usually be on a hunt. This presumed witch was targeting adults, and not only did he and the majority of you fit the agenda, but you didn’t want to know what would happen if you ended up disturbing her crosshairs.

There was no one inside, excluding yourself and the angel. It was eerie, almost too quiet to be owned by a witch. Scratch that, definitely too quiet.

“Behind the counter.” You nodded towards the door, taking the lead first, lightly pushing it. The bell atop of it jingled, making you blink hazily, before all turned to a deep gaze of pixels.

Castiel walked closer to you, tapping your forehead, but to no avail was your state resolved. Instead, you felt the need to collapse and keep your eyes contained behind their lids. And so you gave into that feeling, only hearing the voices of Sam and Jack before it was over.

-

When you awoke, you were in your bed in the bunker, but it felt much larger than it ever had before. There was so much room to move upon the mattress, the duvet even felt bigger.

As you looked down at your hands, you realised they had shrunk significantly. For all you were aware, this could all have been a very lucid dream, but you doubted that. As a hunter, the strange things were never false, they were real.

Attempting to leave your bed, you dropped your legs over the side, although they were now incapable of touching the floor. Instead of landing upright, you fell, causing a thud against the floor.

The sound had obviously rendered, and it removed all thoughts that were rattling around in your mind. Memories flashed before your eyes, sending a haze of dizziness to your shrunken body, until they all left, making you aloof in your own adult room.

Dean rushed out of his own reside as he heard the thud. He had followed the witch around the back and shanked her, but there had been a second plan up her long black sleeves. And he should have known, as he walked into your room, only to find a little girl with a strong resemblance to you.

This was her charade when alive, and the issue still stuck even now even when she was dead. Dean rubbed his face, feeling the muscles that were tensing beneath the skin. And now they were left with the outcome that they and you had tried to resolve.

Looking down at your youthful silhouette reminded Dean as to exactly why he hated witches so much. They were deceitful and cruel, and unfortunately so much more. “Sam!” He called out in a hurry, cradling your small, whining body in his arms.

You tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but your once fellow hunter would not allow you to do so. There was no logic turning in the cogs of your mind, instead, you were much rather shy to someone that you were viewing as a stranger.

In a flash, Sam was at the threshold of your door, looking in as it was ajar. He saw Dean with a kid, and there was only one explanation for it. They had been hustled whilst the witch turned in her grave...

-

Cas examined a book in the war room, whilst Jack followed his actions. Sam was on the phone with Rowena, asking, some would see it as begging, the witch to come and fix you up. And thus, Dean was left with you, whilst he nursed a beer in his opposite hand.

You tried to reach the glass bottle, but Dean jerked it away from your grasp. “No.” He warned you, having continuously done so before when you were too lazy to fetch your own from the fridge. But that didn’t stop you, instead it humoured you, making you laugh at the perceived game.

“Stop it.” He spoke again, making Jack laugh at your stubbornness which clearly hadn’t changed. For once, it was nice for him not to be the youngest in the room, even though technically he still wasn’t. But all got distracted when Sam huffed a sigh of relief over the phone.

“Okay, great. Me and Dean will meet you there.” And then he hung up.

-

Rather than being in Dean’s arms once again, you had been traded to Sam’s as the eldest drove Baby to the destination that Rowena had proposed. “Thirsty.” You mumbled, a gurgle following your very short sentence.

Sam looked at Dean, who only shrugged. He was unsure of what to do, they couldn’t stop at a gas station, otherwise they would miss their meeting with Rowena, and as they knew far too well, she was a tricky one to get a hold of.

“No you’re not.” Dean told you, trying to convince your mind otherwise to its actual thoughts. For the moment of which you were silent, he thought it may have worked, however the peace was not eternal, for you spoke again.

“Hungry.” You managed to speak next, making Dean huff from exhaustion. He thought of your need for a drink, and then it clicked, he tipped his head back at Sam.

“There’s a beer in the back.” It possibly could have rolled under his seat, these roads to the witch were bumpy. Sam gasped at the statement, placing his hand on your back as he bounced you and kept you distracted from your desires.

“Please tell me that you’re not serious.” At this point, Sam would not be surprised with his brother. Quite clearly, as much as the man adored kids, he was getting quite fed up with you in this state. It was day in, day out and yet the effects still hadn’t worn themselves out.

“She’s technically of legal drinking age.” He shrugged, remembering all of the times that you would steal his beer from the fridge, or even sometimes his hands.

“Technically,” the younger of the two pried, glaring at his brother, “currently she isn’t,”

“We’re here anyway.” Dean cut the conversation short, putting the car in park. For the first time in his life, the hunter and legacy was eager to see Rowena. Never did he think that day would ever come, but somehow your obliviousness had landed you all here, and he hated it.

Sam got out of the car, carrying you to a bench that Dean had decided to park his own rear on. There was a nice breeze whipping his hair before his face, and this younger you mirrored the reaction the elder one would have had.

You laughed, watching the swarm of locks cover his face, and move to the other side, with the swiftest and slightest motions as the direction switched itself up. 

Footsteps, clearly heels, could be heard clicking their way over. It was isolated in this park, presumably the redhead’s doing as she came into view with an amused grin stretching her chin.

“Well, if I was not already quite acquainted with the pair of you, I would presume the two of you were fathers to dear little (Y/N).” Rowena bent forward, ignoring the glares she received from the men, ogling at your youthful expressions. “Are you sure that you don’t want to keep her like this? She is quite adorable when she hasn’t got the brains to work with my son when the two of you dimwits think it fits into your narrative. Or hold a gun to the back of my neck and blackmail me with my own security.”

“Definitely.” Was Dean’s instant response. He could not do another day with baby you, he’d start going grey, or his eyes would turn black all of a sudden from pent up rage.

“Yes, Rowena.” Sam answered, bowing his head, as your fingers decided to thread themselves through his hair.

“Shame.” She pouted briefly, before waving her hand, and then you were, dazed, but sat in Sam’s lap, full size. As soon as you came to, your eyes widened at the position you were in, and you were quick to launch yourself out of it. He however sat there stunned. “Told you we should have called her earlier.” Sam said, still feeling awkward from your exchange, and Dean only grunted in a reply.

Dean knew for sure though, you had been a pain in the ass. If it ever happened again, he would just leave you with Jack and Cas.

[jackandthesoulmates]

Sun and Moon and Samuel

Author: jackandthesoulmates / tintentrinkerin

Title: Sun and Moon and Samuel

Created for @spnkinkbingo and @spndarkbingo

Square filled: anal sex (kink bingo), dark magic (dark bingo)

Pairing: onesided Samjack, implied unrequited Deansam, 

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: non con, somnophilia, dark!jack, dark magic, POV: perpetrator, coming untouched, dead dove: do not eat!

Word count: 1956

Sometimes Sam falls asleep in the most uncomfortable poses and places. His head would sink on the desk in the library, he passes out in the passenger seat of the Impala. Sometimes he drops like dead weight on the bed in a shabby old motel, fully clothed, not even slipping out of his shoes.

Jack doesn’t sleep much. It’s hard for him to relax when needed. The ritual of sleep is weird to him. People go to bed for that. As soon as it’s dark outside, the sun has set, some people shower. Dean does. Sam showers in the morning. Castiel has no sense of night and day, sleeping or being awake. Humans, they brush their teeth, undress, then put on their pajama’s go to bed. Sam reads until he falls asleep. Dean listens to classic rock. And Jack? Jack sleeps maybe an hour or two. He doesn’t dream. At least not anymore since he burned his whole soul away.

Did the snake sleep, before Jack gave it salvation?

To Jack, sleeping feels like being unconscious for a while and then just to wake up to realize it’s 3 o’clock in the morning and no one is awake but him. Nothing stirs. The bunker is pitch black and silent like a grave. Well, sometimes Dean can’t sleep and when Jack is on one of his nightly tours through the halls, he is tempted to sit by him, maybe ask him for a sip of whiskey, but he is never really sure about Dean. If Dean wants to protect or kill him. Jack is not afraid. He’s afraid of nothing anymore. He’s like the skeleton of a whale who died on the shore somewhere far away and the sea has washed away his flesh, his organs, his life. All that’s left is bleak white bones, a hollow rib cage where birds nest in spring after a successful mating season.

The only thing that really catches Jack’s attention is Sam and his habits. Oh, Sam.

When he still had his soul, Jack would say, he had a major crush on him. His heart would jump, his palms sweat, he would feel dizzy when they touched. Oh, how much he had loved it. Now, all of this is gone. It’s become a habit for Jack to study Sam. To find out who he really is. Deep down, under all these layers of sass, wisdom and his caring nature. There has to be more. There is always more to it, Jack must know. If there hadn’t been more to himself than being the offspring of Lucifer, he wouldn’t feel so hollow now. Something was taken from him and he wouldn’t miss it if it hadn’t been there in the first place. He tries imitating himself, but it’s like putting on a mask that doesn’t quite fit.

He clings onto the faint imprint of a romantic crush he felt for Sam. Something that had kept him absent-minded and focused at the same time. Falling back in love with him - Jack knows it won’t work but he tries anyway.

Sam looks like an old oil painting when he sleeps. Jack would stand in his door for hours and just watch him shift and turn in his sheets. He sleeps naked and Jack is oddly fascinated about Sam’s noises, his dreams, the gasps and most of all, how his cock grows hard and then softens again, without Sam doing anything about it. Sometimes he would reach down to stroke himself once or twice in a short moment of waking, but he never does more. Sam’s sheets would always be pushed to the side. Sam needs it chill to sleep. Jack knows his habits by now.

What he can’t ignore, is how his own body responds to what he sees. To Sam’s face, that switches from relaxed to twisted. In pleasure or pain, Jack can’t tell. Sam calls out in his sleep. Dad, Mary, Dean. Cas. No. Adam. Leave me. Dean. Don’t do that. Help me, Dean! Please. Lucifer. Jess!

Jack is so curious. He could make it easy and crack Sam’s mind open like a freshly laid egg. He could put his fingers in Sam’s psyche and stir it all up. He could dive his whole face inside this ocean of nightmares and hazy prophecies. What keeps him from doing it? He doesn’t want to see Sam broken. He wants Sam to be the way he is.

Tonight is different. Like always, he stands in the open door, his eyes glowing and seeing Sam lying on his belly, his hips gently rocking in the mattress. There’s one of these moans, so vulnerable, so needy at the same time. Mumbled names and hands clenching in the sheets. Jack gulps when he finally stirs again and sneaks in the room. The faint lights from the hallway lighten his way. Jack hasn’t bothered putting his pajama’s on, he’s just in black briefs.

Underneath, he’s throbbing and twitching at the sight of Sam’s muscular body and his perfect ass. Sam’s still gently humping the mattress, blanket wrapped around his stomach. Jack slides beside him in Sam’s bed.

“What… no, who do you dream of, Sam?”, Jack whispers.

Sam only sighs, his strong hand is fisting the pillow. Jack’s eyes glow golden now, the lights outside flicker and dim down a little. It’s not that he uses the magic on purpose. It’s like breathing. This is why Dean sometimes looks like he wants to strangle him. Make him stop.

There’s a whisper, not more like a loud drawing of breath first but then there’s a word, a response to his question.

“Dean.”

Of course, it has to be him. It’s always him. Jack wraps one arm around Sam. He doesn’t resist, he’s pliant. Damn, warm skin, musky smell. A little bit of sweat and beer, his perfume. A smell that stabs straight-up to Jack’s crotch. He kicks out of it, presses himself against Sam’s back. Jack holds him tight, eyes still glowing. Sam starts shifting, his conscience wakes, Jack can feel it.

“Shh, it’s okay, Sammy, sleep,” Jack says in a Dean-voice.

Magic tingles in his insides, fill him up, and makes him feel better. Powerful. He rubs against that hot and welcoming body of Sam. It’s thrilling that he is asleep. When Jack tries to picture doing this with his caretaker, this doesn’t feel as good as now. Sam’s responsive, he even presses his ass against Jack with a deep and shaky sigh. But he is at Jack's mercy, he's helpless. Weak. A strong person like Sam, the hunter. Always struggling for control, who's afraid of change and shies away from intimacy; oh, Sam. Strong as a tree and a force to be reckoned with. All of that is stripped away in his sleep. Jack loves to see him that vulnerable, so pure. Sam's shifting, moaning, and his other sweet noises make Jack's cock grow harder and harder. He shyly reaches for Sam's cock, just to find out, he's hard as well. Incredibly thick and long, it looks still insanely big in Jack's bare hand. A few gentle and soft strokes and Sam whimpers, his eyebrows furrow, his lips part. His tongue flickers over his upper lip and then there's this moan. Again. A moan. A name. Full of longing. And Jack's magic works wonders, Sam arches and Jack jerks him hard now, buries his face on Sam's neck, and whines softly himself.

“Yes, like that, Sammy… just like that”, Jack whispers, his voice trembling in pleasure.

Maybe it's because he is asleep, but Sam cums just early with a few long, broken moans all over Jack's hand.

He needs to be quick now, hurry! Jack catches every drop of Sam's cum to cover his cock with it. He needs to feel Sam's insides around him, clenching his cock. He wants to feel his cock rub in Sam's insides and tear apart what keeps Sam together. He wants total surrender. Feel him raw, chase an orgasm and fill him up. Just this one time…

“Dean, don't…”, Sam mutters.

His eyelids flutter slightly. Is he about to wake up? Oh, please no. No no no! Don't ruin it now, Sam! The air around them starts crackling when Jack works magic upon Sam.

“It's okay, Sammy, it's all good. I'm here.”

Sam's eyes fall shut again and Jack breathes out heavily. The tip of his cock presses against Sam's anus and he pushes in. Slowly. Jack hisses at the sensation, the tightness, the hot surroundings. Sam groans and whines, his hand grabs Jack's. It’s a strong grip like someone drowning or falling trying to hold on to someone else. It’s a good feeling. Sam is dependent on Jack now, not the other way around. Jack gives. He can give, he can control, he can create or destroy and there’s no one in this bunker to stop him. Sam won’t, most of all. His sleeping body moves as a response to Jack’s thrusts. He holds his lover tight, because that’s what you call someone you have sex with, right? He lifts Sam’s upper leg and pulls it close to his own body, pushes in deeper. Sam’s silky insides feel so good, so incredibly good. Why did he reject Jack all the time, when it feels so divine? The angle shifts, and Sam suddenly arches, his fingernails dig in Jack’s arm and the leg that Jack hiked up to fuck him deeper kicks helplessly and Sam cums again, this time untouched.

Sam is sobbing in his muzzy state, it’s a thin line from pleasure to pain. But this sob is enough for Jack to lose it. With a growl and a strong bite, - that will leave a mark - Jack cums inside Sam, pumps his seed inside his ass, fills him up. The feeling is so overwhelming, fulfilling, he can’t see or breathe for a moment, all he does is still ram his twitching cock inside Sam until the waves of his orgasms finally break and calm down.

Jack is covered in sweat now, breathing heavily, his nose pressed in Sam’s neck. As he lets go of Sam’s leg, he immediately crawls up in a sleeping position again. Muffled sob’s, muffled Dean’s.

Jack wants to tear Sam apart for thinking of his brother, why was he better? Why couldn’t Sam like Jack? He just gave him so much pleasure!

There’s a cold flame of rage burning in his stomach when he gets up and gets back in his briefs with shaky legs.

The noise. The gasp.

“What the fuck, Jack?”

Jack feels a sudden hot terror driving down his spine and when he turns around, there’s Dean in the doorframe. His nostrils flaring.

“What. Have. You. Done. To. Him?!”

It’s no surprise when Dean slams Jack against a wall, a hand on his throat, a knife poking the fabric of his underwear.

Jack smirks.

Then his eyes glow in rich gold.

“You know what I did”, he says, his voice a singsong, “I gave him what he wanted.”

Dean turns white as a sheet, he even stops breathing for a second. There are so many emotions crossing Dean’s face, it’s fascinating to watch and wait which emotion would win.

“You always wanted a taste of him, too… right?”

The dark room illuminates with the golden sparks that fly from Jack’s eyes. There’s the sound of crackling in the air, it smells of petrichor and flowers.

The room smells heavily of rain and sunshine and daisies when Jack leaves and the last thing he sees before he shuts Sam’s bedroom door is Dean, who leans over his brother, ready to take what Jack left for him.

There’s nothing human in the angel’s face.

THE END

Winkline @laxe-chester67 @vulgar-library @writethelifeyouwant @itsabookishblog @schaefchenherde @sacrificialtendencies @ohnoitsthebat @stemroses @nightmarecait @lostmykiliel @alexa-alcantara @wincestismyheart @closetedshippers @dragonardhill @alex-is-a-gay-human

[heyyy-hey-babyyy]

When We Were Young (part VI)

Dean x Fem!Reader; Sam x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Read part I here ; Read part II here ; Read part III here ;

Read part IV here ; Read Part V here

Warnings: Angst, Mentions of trauma/abuse, brief moments of self-harm, mentions of anxiety attack

Summary: Dean, Sam, and Y/N grew up together, but when she’s taken away for over 10 years, the boys have no idea what she’s been through. Will asking her to move into the bunker with them reveal more than she’s ready for?

Sam’s words were echoing in your head. Someone was looking for you? At Bobby’s? Who would even know about that part of your life? 

You were frozen to your place, hands gripping Dean’s arm like a scared child. Dean was staring daggers at Sam, who wasn’t backing down. 

“Bobby didn’t specify,” Sam continued, meeting his brother’s gaze. “He said we should just come there. All of us.” He looked directly at you as he finished and you nodded, moving away from Dean. But Dean grabbed your arm, and for maybe the first time since you were 13, you didn’t flinch at someone else’s touch. 

“No.” Dean said with finality. “Absolutely not.” You stared up at him not understanding. He met your stare and lowered his voice, trying to keep his anger in check. “I’ll go, but I want you to stay here.” You shook your head in response, trying to move away from his intense gaze. But he stood his ground. 

“You’re not coming, Y/N.” He repeated, trying to end the conversation. But you refused. 

“Yes, I am, Dean.” You responded, moving away from his grasp and standing your ground.

Dean sighed loudly and scrubbed a hand down his face. “Y/N...” 

“I have to know, Dean!” You shouted, making Sam and him jump lightly from your outburst. You reigned in your emotions and repeated. “I have to know.” Dean had perfected the ‘no nonsense’ tone, but you knew he wasn’t going to argue. You didn’t need to tell him that you had invited him into this situation. Your eyes did the talking for you. He nodded once, and stomped down the hall to pack. Sam left his place in the doorway and came over, squeezing your arm once. “We’ll be there the entire time, Y/N. You don’t have to worry.” You nodded giving him a weak smile as he walked away to follow his brother. 

You stood there for a few moments, deciding to wait for the brothers at the Impala. The sooner you left, the sooner you could be at Bobby’s. 

————————

Dean had been silent the entire ride and you could tell he was upset with you. Sam asked you a few questions, trying to figure out who this mystery guest could be, and you saw Dean tense any time you brought up a person from your past. There weren’t a lot, but enough people who you figured could theoretically be looking for you. As you leaned against the Impala’s leather seat you considered who this person might be. It could be entirely innocent, an old foster parent looking to catch up. But you never told anyone about your life at Bobby’s. The other possibility scared you more. Would the Wilson’s really come looking for you? After all of these years...

You didn’t want to think about what you were heading toward anymore, so you thought back to Dean’s kiss. You felt your hands touch your lips subconsciously, remembering how soft Dean’s felt. And how right. You smiled to yourself, but when you looked at Dean all you saw was anger, confusion, and concern. He was gripping the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles turning white. Sam was distracted by whatever he was reading on his phone, his dark hair hiding his face. You didn’t want to startle Dean, afraid he might crash with his entire focus on the windshield in front of him, but you didn’t want him to sit and brood to himself with his anger. Leaning forward in your seat, you reach across the bench seat and placed a hand on Dean’s arm. He flinched lightly, your touch jerking him out of his thoughts, but he seemed to relax a bit under your hold. His hands relaxed on the wheel, and he released his left to hang down between the front bench seat and the door. You reached your own hand towards his and felt him entwine your fingers together tightly. You held hands the whole rest of the drive. 

———————

‘Singer Auto Salvage’ looked exactly the same from what you remember and you felt comfortable for the first time in a long time. Like you were home.

Dean was still holding your hand tight, and he squeezed it a few times when he felt you sit up straighter to see out the window. Though you were here for business, you couldn’t wait to see Bobby. He truly became your father after your dad died, even if only briefly, but he had essentially raised you. Though your dad taught you the way of the hunt, Bobby reminded you that it was still okay to have fun, to be a kid. To relax. When you, Sam, and Dean were stuck there for weeks at a time, Bobby would take you all into town to the local playground, or the overgrown baseball diamond. Stuff, he reminded you guys time and time again, that kids did. Dean grumbled whenever Bobby stuffed you all into the car, but you saw his eyes light up whenever you reached whatever fun destination you were heading toward. 

You glanced up at Sam who was mirroring your posture, taking it all in. You never asked Sam, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Bobby was to blame for Sam’s short stint in college. Staring at the adult Sam, all you saw was the little kid, whose nose was buried in one of the books Bobby lent him that were way too old for him. The thought made you smile. 

As Dean drove down the driveway flanked with busted cars, the house came slowly into view. You loved the big blue house, and between holding on tight to Dean’s hand and finally being back at your childhood home, you started breathing normal for the first time in years. 

You smiled widely seeing the stout man standing out front, dirty ball cap and all. Before Dean could even park the Impala, you were rushing out of the car toward the anxiously waiting man. 

Bobby opened his arms a bit hesitantly, and you threw yourself into the hug, openly crying. 

“Y/N.” Bobby grunted out, holding you tight. He smelled like motor oil and home and you never wanted to be away from this place again. You heard Dean and Sam approach, and you reluctantly pulled back, swiping at your tears, and letting Bobbly hug both boys quickly, knowing they hadn’t seen him in awhile as well. You could see the old man’s small smile hidden under his bushy mustache and it made you want to hug him again. 

“Come on, come on,” Bobby said quickly, jumping into mother hen mode and ushering you and the boys quickly into his home. The house looked exactly the same and you paused in the doorway to taking in the small entry way and living room, where you remembered spending much of your time. Though the house was old, it never had that musty smell to it, and you relished in the scent of old books and whiskey. Sam and Bobby walked through the house toward the kitchen, but Dean stopped looking back at you with a smile. He approached, grabbing your hand lightly. 

“Come on, baby.” You knew he was still anxious and upset that you had come along, but the smile on your face clearly eased any of the tension pulling at his shoulders. You followed the hunter through the rest of the house, ready to reminisce about your childhood after you figured out the issue at hand. Bobby was sat at the small table in the middle of the room, nursing a beer, and Sam was leaning against the sink beer in hand. Dean opened the fridge and handed you a cold bottle as well. You sat across from Bobby smiling as he stared at you. 

“It’s so good to see you, girl...” He muttered, trying to hide the smile that lit up his face. You smiled in return, and reached across the table to grab his hand, squeezing it once. 

Bobby coughed awkwardly before diving into the business at hand. “I’m sorry to bring you all the way out here, but I figured you should know and see what we were up against here.” Bobby and the boys were staring at you as Bobby spoke and you knew it was a protective move, but it made you nervous, all attention on you. You took in Bobby’s words, part of what he said ringing in your head. 

“Wait, see what we are up against? What do you mean Bobby?” You questioned the man in front of you, and instead of answering your question he asked one of his own. 

“Y/N, did you ever hunt a shapeshifter?” 

You narrowed your eyes in confusion. You had hunted on your own for awhile, but only the cases that came across your desk that screamed supernatural. Mostly bodies drained of blood or missing organs. 

You shook your head at him. “No, never.” Bobby nodded in return, and Dean was losing his patience. You heard him place his beer bottle on the counter behind him, and step forward. 

“What are we looking at here, Bobby?” You saw Bobby give Dean the annoyed look only a father could give, but he stood up, motioning for you all to follow him to the study. 

“The guy that came sniffing around here seemed normal enough, but when I checked out the yard’s security footage, something caught my eye.” 

Dean walked up behind Bobby to check out the open laptop, and nodded. “Eye flair” He stated to Sam, who walked up as well. You stayed behind in the doorway, letting the skilled hunters do their work. 

“Y/N,” Sam said turning toward you. “Do you recognize this guy?” 

You moved toward the laptop, peering over the side at the frozen image on the screen. You took in the lens flair, and froze, something about the man’s face pulling at your memory. Suddenly it clicked into place and you screamed falling backward on the floor, scooting on your butt until your back hit the wall behind you with a thud. Sam and Bobby looked shocked, but Dean was on his knees instantly, crawling toward you and grabbing at your hands that were clawing at your eyes. 

“Baby!” Dean said loud trying to grab your attention, not caring if Sam and Bobby heard his private nickname for you. 

“It’s him!” You screamed, eyes clenched shut, but the only thing you saw was his crooked wolf smile. “It’s him, Dean. It’s him.” You repeated over and over again, tears streaming down your face. You didn’t need to say his name out loud for Dean to understand, he could see it in your eyes. But you whispered it anyway, feeling how sour it tasted on your tongue. 

“It’s Greg.” 

Read part VII here.

When We Were Young Tag List: @vicmc624 @woundedxsmile

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The Nightmare in Lawrence

Winchester Sister! Reader

Words: 3874

Summary: Having not heard from their sister in a few weeks, Sam and Dean set out to find her. They discover that she is being terrorized by a dream demon in their hometown on Halloween. 

Notes: Welcome to the final imagine in the Winchester October Takeover! I’ve loved writing all of these Sam and Dean imagines and I hope you guys have enjoyed reading them! For this, I did name it after the movie, but I’m doing my own version of dream demon. Also, this one takes place somewhere in season one. Happy Halloween!! Much love- Erin

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

Dean was worried. Sam was too, but he was still upset, so he pretended not to care. Dean was really worried. This wasn’t just skipping town and finding a case to work on her own, Y/N was gone. She wasn’t calling or texting or writing any damn letters. Just like dad. 

“She probably just doesn’t want to talk to us.” Sam noted bitterly. Dean gave his younger brother a look. 

“Arguement or not, she would call.” The youngest Winchester rolled his eyes. “I know you’ve been gone, Sam, but that hasn’t changed.” 

“Are you going to get on my case too?” Sam challenged. Dean clenched his jaw. 

“I’m just saying that we always let each other know where we are. That’s how it’s always been.” He paced back and forth around the hotel room, checking his phone again. Still nothing. 

“I thought she could handle herself.” Sam muttered to himself. Dean whirled around, grabbing his brother by the collar. 

“Alright, knock it off Sam.” He barked. “She’s your sister damnit. Act like it.” 

“She sure didn’t last time we saw her!” Sam snapped back. Before Dean could respond, his phone finally rang. Giving Sam a deadly glare, he answered. 

“Y/N? Where the hell have you been? What are you-”

“Dean… something is wrong… I’m home, but I’m not.” Your voice cut in and out, making it hard to understand your words. “You… Sam… Dean, I’m scared… this isn’t right… please… I need…” In the background, Dean could just make out the sound of a melody.

“Mr. Sandman… bring me a dream…”The call cut out. 

“Y/N!” The panicked sound in his brother’s voice broke through Sam’s bitterness. 

“What is it?”

“She’s in trouble, Sammy. We’ve gotta find her.” 

“Trouble how?” Sam knew his older sister was a skilled hunter. Maybe even better than Dean. If she was in danger, it was something big. 

“I don’t know, but I’ve got a really bad feeling.” Dean slipped his arms into his leather jacket and grabbed the keys to the impala. 

“Well what did she say, Dean?” Sam was packing up as fast as he could move, following his brother’s frantic footsteps. 

“I’m home, but I’m not.” Dean repeated, confusing forming a line between his brows. The creepy tone of the song echoed in his head. 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“I don’t know.” Dean glanced down at the silver band on his finger. A pang of guilt and worry shot through his heart. He tried to shake all of the awful images forming in his head. “But at least we know where to find her.” 

-

Your fist was clenched around your phone and your tank top was drenched with sweat. 

“It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real.” You repeated it over and over again, but the flames still burned in your head. It felt real. You threw the blankets off and held back a scream. A large burn covered your right thigh, your flesh seared and oozing. The pain spread up through your leg, making you grimace as you moved. 

The nightmare, or whatever the hell it was, was still fresh in your mind. You were at the house. You really only remembered it from pictures now, but you knew it was the one. Your brothers were with you, but you weren’t kids. Sam was coming home from college and Dean had a day off from the garage with your dad. And your mom… she was there. Everything seemed fine. You were happy. 

And then the fire started. It spread out from your mother’s chest like her bones were kindling. Your dad disappeared and your brothers changed. Their eyes were black and they were reaching out with bloody hands. It wasn’t them. You knew it wasn’t them. You remembered pulling out your cell phone and calling Dean. 

After that, you woke yourself up somehow, but not before the fire reached you. But… it was a dream. It wasn’t real. You stared down at your mystery wound. Then how the hell…

You finally took notice of the phone in your hand. It still had the last call pulled up. You hit dial and braced yourself for the panicked voice on the other line. 

“Y/N? Are you okay? What the hell happened!” Your older brother yelled. You had to hold the phone away from your ear. 

“I don’t…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Did I call you last night, Dean?” 

“Yeah you freaking called me! You said something about being home and you were scared and that something was wrong. So what the hell happened?”

“Dean, you need to calm down. I’m fine. I must have called you in my sleep.”

“Called me in your-” Dean scoffed, “Y/N what is going on?” 

“Whatever it is, I’ve got it handled.” The last thing you needed was your paranoid big brother breathing down your neck on this case. You pulled your first aid kit out of your bag. You needed a clean towel. Hobbling to the door, you held the phone between your shoulder and your ear. “I don’t need your help on this one.” 

You opened the door and let the phone fall to the floor. 

“Too late.” Dean huffed, pushing past you into the motel room. To your surprise, your younger brother stood behind him, giving you a hard stare. You inhaled sharply. 

“Hey Sammy.”

“It’s Sam.” He snapped. Dean shot him a look. You moved so he could come in and closed the door. 

“What are you doing here, Dean?” You asked, ignoring the sting of Sam’s coolness. 

“I could ask you the same thing. What’re you doing back in Lawrence? On Halloween?”

“I’ve got a case, okay? My case. And I don’t need you sniffing around to screw it up.” 

“Oh my God, Y/N what happened to your leg?” Sam exclaimed, crouching down to get a better look at your injury. You shoved him away. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Dean dug through your kit. 

“Sit down.” He ordered. You rolled your eyes and plopped down on your bed, letting him examine the wound. 

“I can handle this, Dean. You didn’t have to drag Sam out here.” 

“You called me, remember? Now stop squirming.” 

“I didn’t mean to call.” You said, annoyed with your subconscious. It was just a nightmare. You didn’t need your over-protective brothers to save you from a nightmare. Even if it did somehow spill into real life. You winced as Dean lightly touched the burn. “Careful!”

“Don’t be a baby.” He fired back, but you could see the worry in his expression. 

“How did you get that?” Sam asked. He wasn’t meeting your gaze. You were sure he was asking out of mere curiosity, rather than genuine concern. You tried to think of a lie, but with both brothers’ eyes burning into you, you couldn’t figure out anything convincing. 

“I don’t know.” You gritted your teeth to hold back a pained groan. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Of course I know what I’m doing. You think I haven’t had to treat a burn before?” Dean snapped. It was half true. Sam was still staring at you. 

“What do you mean you don’t know?” 

“I mean I don’t know, Sam. I woke up and my leg was barbequed.” Your brother’s exchanged a glance. Sam shifted his weight, rocking back on his heels. 

“What were you dreaming about?”

“What?”

“In your dream, was there a fire or anything that could have caused a burn like that?” He pulled your father’s journal out of his jacket pocket and started searching. You bit the inside of your cheek. If you told them, they would think you couldn’t handle this alone. And after Andrew… you had to do this alone. To prove to yourself that you could still save someone. 

“All I remember from the dream is a couple of dancing munchkins and a pair of red boots.” You spat. Sam’s lips formed a thin line, his fists balled up at his sides. 

“Okay, you two, quit it.” Dean ordered. He bandaged up the burn the best he could and helped you stand before nearly tackling you in an embrace. “I thought whatever got Dad…” He trailed off, pushing away to give you a stern glare. “Never do that again.” 

“Dean, I’m not thirteen anymore. I can handle myself.” You scoffed, feeling uncomfortable under his hard stare. 

“If you’re going to go it alone, you call me once a week. That’s the rule.” His protective arms wrapped around you again, but you didn’t fight them. 

You and Dean had always been close. With dad out on cases all the time, Dean practically raised you and Sam. He showed you how to fix up cars and he taught you how to drive them. When you had your heart broken in middle school by some asshole with a bowl cut, Dean was there to pick up the pieces- and give the kid a fat lip. He bought you your first beer and the two of you watched scary movies while Sam studied for some test. 

“I’m sorry.” You conceded. You looked over to the youngest Winchester and he quickly looked away. 

Your relationship with Sam had strained since he left for school. When you were kids, the two of you were practically inseparable. As the middle child, you were constantly resolving fights between him and Dean. Sam always went to you for help on his homework, even though he was the brainiac. You were sure he knew what he was doing, but he wanted to make you feel important. Little Sammy with his bright smile and hopeful eyes. He made you feel like you could do anything. When he left… you just felt stuck. 

Maybe that’s the real reason you lashed out at him in Omaha.

“Well, you’ve checked in on me. I’m alive.” You started to usher both of them towards the door. “I promise I’ll call next time. Bye bye, boys.” You almost had them out of the room, but Sam jerked away. 

“Wait a second, we’re not just going to leave.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Something is seriously going on here.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle, Sam.” 

“Right, and that’s why you called us begging for help.”

“Well I don’t want or need your help, okay?”

“Why? Do you think I’ll screw this one up too?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “What was it you said? I should have stayed in school instead of pretending to be one of you.”

“I said a lot of things that day, Sammy.” And you regretted every damn one of them. 

“It’s Sam!” 

You hadn’t realized you were stepping towards each other until he was towering over you, seething with anger and hurt. 

“Alright, that’s it!” Dean shouted, shoving in between the two of you. He pushed his little brother back and kept his eyes on you. “Sam, go out to the car.”

“Dean-”

“Now!” 

Sam huffed and slammed the hotel room door behind him. Dean’s furious eyes remained on you. 

“He started it.” You snapped. Dean ignored it.

“Cut the crap, Y/N. We both know you wouldn’t step foot in Lawrence if it wasn’t something big. So what is it?” He was right. Lawrence was just full of bad memories that you never wanted to revisit. But when you heard about what was going on, you couldn’t leave it be. Dean put his hands on your shoulders, holding you in place until you told him the truth. 

“I got a call from a psychic named Missouri Moseley. Said she knows dad.” You started, recalling the events as you told him. “She said there were some strange deaths going on around here. People dying in their sleep, but not in a peaceful way. They would go to bed perfectly healthy and someone would find them the next morning, bloody and butchered. Each one with a look of absolute terror frozen on their face.” 

“So what’re you thinking it is? Some kind of string of hexes? Pissed off ghost?”

“No, it’s bigger than that.” You sighed, running your fingers through your hair. “I did some research and I think what’s terrorizing our home town is a dream demon.” Dean made a face. 

“What, like Freddy Krueger?” 

“Kind of.” You rummaged through your piles of research on your desk until you found the book you wanted. “Like any other demon, the bastard has to possess someone. Once they do, they have the power to enter the minds of people they come in contact with.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that they can kill someone inside a dream.” 

“So Freddy Krueger.” 

“Yes, Dean, like Freddy Krueger.” You rolled your eyes at your brother’s endless amount of references. And he called you the dork. Dean’s expression turned serious. 

“Wait, so you decided to go after this thing alone?” He asked angrily. 

“I had it covered.” 

“Obviously not, because that thing got in your head!” He pointed to your leg and you tried not to look at his face. “Whatever happened in your dream, somewhere in that stubborn ass head of yours decided to call me and I’m glad it did.” 

You knew, deep in your persistent heart, that he was right. You shouldn’t have tried to take this on by yourself. After Andrew you weren’t thinking straight. Andrew…

Dean sighed. 

“I know that things have sucked for you lately and I haven’t been there. But you have to let me be there, kid. I can’t help you if you run off on a case by yourself.” 

“I don’t need-” Looking at him now, you couldn’t lie anymore. Without hesitation, you wrapped your arms around your big brother. “Thank you.” Dean hugged you back, keeping you in a strong embrace until it was time to go. 

Sam was cooling down in the car. He couldn’t get Andrew’s face out of his head. Didn’t Y/N realize that it haunted him too? That the sounds of the Acheri ripping the man apart added to his nightmares? 

Andrew was a sheriff that the three had run into on a vengeful spirit case. Instead of shutting the hunters out, he helped the Winchesters defeat the creature that was destroying his town. Y/N, despite all her walls and barricades, fell for him. Both brothers warned her that it was a bad idea, but they started seeing each other. After burning the bones, they thought the case was over. Sam was so sure of it.

He was with Andrew when it happened. His siblings were out getting more beer and Andrew was telling him that he really liked Y/N. He said he was willing to make this crazy hunter life work if it meant being with her. The guy was smitten. Sam remembered being happy that at least one of them could have a happy ending. It reminded him of his almost-life with Jessica. He should have known how things would turn out. 

The vengeful spirit was really an Acheri; a demon that takes the form of a little girl. He tried to stop it, but it was a strong son of a bitch. It was about to shred Sam when Andrew pushed him out of the way. He died to save him. 

It wasn’t until after the funeral that his sister broke down. She said it was his fault. She had suggested that maybe the creature wasn’t a spirit, but he convinced her otherwise. She said a real hunter would have known. That he didn’t belong there. He should have stayed at Stanford. Dean, of course, ripped her a new one and Sam stormed off alone. She vanished soon after. 

-

You listed every person you could remember being in contact with the day prior and Dean started the impala. You glanced pleadingly at your little brother, but Sam stared out the window. Dean gave you a small smile. 

“Let’s start with the coroner.” You suggested. “She seemed oddly eager about this whole situation.” Dean nodded and started down the road. 

You leaned your head back, feeling a rush of exhaustion. You had only gotten maybe two hours of sleep, and even then, the nightmare had kept your mind from resting. Your sudden fatigue didn’t go unnoticed. 

“Hey, are you sure you’re up for this?” Dean asked. You nodded, giving him a sarcastic thumbs up. He rolled his eyes and kept driving, glancing back at you in the rearview mirror. He put in a cassette tape and let the sounds of Metallica fill the car. Enter the Sandman. Huh. Kind of ironic. 

You couldn’t have closed your eyes for more than a few seconds. You were just so tired… 

“Dean, stop the car!” Sam yelled suddenly. Dean slammed on the breaks when he saw his sister’s unconscious face. This wasn’t a peaceful nap. Something was wrong. You started jerking back and forth, your body restrained by your seatbelt. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered, flinging the driver’s side door open and getting into the back seat. “Sam! What do we do?” Sam panicked, searching his memory for anything he knew about the demon. Unfortunately, none of the facts brought any comfort. 

“If it’s in her head… there’s nothing we can do.” He watched you thrash with a look of desperation. 

“What do you mean there’s nothing we can do!”

“Dream demons can’t be exercised when they’re in a dream.” 

“We can’t just let it kill her!”

“There might be a way… but it’s risky.” 

“I don’t care what it is, we are not losing anyone else in this family, Sammy.” Dean clutched your hand, the terror on your face shooting pain through his heart. His baby sister was crying out for help and he didn’t know how. 

“We’ve got to find that coroner.” 

-

Sure enough, you were right. When Sam and Dean found the coroner, she was passed out on her desk with a broad smile on her face. The demon must not be able to invade two minds at once. 

“Now what?” Dean asked, carrying your flailing body inside. 

“I think…” Sam hesitated. Would this really work? “I think if we can get inside the demon’s head, we can get inside Y/N’s.” 

“And kick the demon out so we can send it back to hell?”

“Exactly.” 

“How do we get in its head?” Dean asked. Sam shrugged. 

“Well, it works through who it has physical contact with right?” Dean nodded. “Well, then theoretically…” Sam slowly put his hand on the woman’s shoulder and collapsed on the floor. 

“Sammy!” Dean exclaimed. There was no other option now. He set you down besides Sam. “Don’t worry, kid, we’re comin to get you.” Without hesitation, he grabbed the woman’s arm and fell into a deep sleep. 

-

“Sam! Y/N!” Dean yelled into the dark and empty house. Sam appeared at the end of the hall. “Did you find her?” He shook his head. Dean looked around. “Where the hell are we?” 

“In Y/N’s head.” Sam grimaced, surveying their grim surroundings. He recognized it almost immediately. “This is where Andrew died.” 

The Winchester brothers tread carefully through the halls. It wasn’t until they climbed the stairs that they heard their sister’s screaming. They sprinted towards the noise, finding you in the corner of the bedroom, pinned against the wall. The manifestation of a little girl clawed a large mark down your chest. You tried to bite back your scream, but you couldn’t help it. 

Lying on the bed was the torn up body of Andrew. 

“Sam! Dean! Run!” You cried. You couldn’t bear to lose them too. They stood their ground. 

“Y/N, you have to fight it. If we can get this thing out of your head, we can send it back to hell!” Sam shouted. 

“I can’t!” You screamed again as the demon scratched your face. 

“Get away from her!” Dean lunged forward and the demon tossed him like a rag doll. 

“Dean!” Sam started after him, but the demon overpowered him as well. 

“No!” You struggled against the force keeping you back. The demon morphed into Andrew, but instead of his soft blue eyes, they were menacing and yellow. 

“This is what you fear the most, isn’t it?” The demon sneered, using Andrew’s voice against you. Sam and Dean were lifted up to the ceiling. “Losing them to ol’ Yellow-Eyes. You’re afraid you’ve already lost daddy and big and baby brother are soon to follow. You’re afraid you’ll be left all alone.” 

“Don’t listen to him!” Dean shouted. 

“Are you just going to let it happen, Y/N?” The demon laughed. “Look at little Sammy. He’s not ready to die.”

“This is just in my head. This isn’t real.” You muttered, screwing your eyes shut. 

“Wrong-o. Looks like the Winchester boys crashed the party. If they burn in here…” The demon made the motion of an explosion with his hands. He cackled at your horrified expression. You looked up at your brothers, both of them writhing from pain. Just like mom. You took a deep breath and prayed that this would work. 

“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…” 

“You little bitch.” The demon snapped. He moved forward, but was stopped by the devil’s trap that you had conjured. 

“We’re in my head, remember?” You continued the incantation. Dean looked impressed and Sam couldn’t help but smile. You had studied the exorcism together after the demon from the plane. The demon shrieked and Sam and Dean fell.

-

The boys woke up. You didn’t. 

You weren’t thrashing anymore, either. You were totally still. Dean was frozen, staring down at you, trying to hold back his pain. 

“Y/N?” Sam whispered, kneeling over you. “Come on, wake up.” He gently shook your shoulders. “Y/N wake up.” 

“Sam-”

“She thinks I hate her, Dean.” Sam cried, desperately trying to get you to open your eyes. “My own sister. I never said I was sorry. I never… oh god, she thinks I hate her!” Sam buried his head in your shoulder and Dean was forced to watch. He couldn’t move or breathe or talk. It wasn’t until he saw the slightest flutter of movement that he was able to join Sam by your side. 

“Hey kid.” Dean smiled as your eyes slowly opened. Sam snatched you up in an embrace before you could even sit up. 

“I thought you were… I was so…” He stammered, squeezing you tighter. You wrapped your arms around him, feeling tears welling up in your eyes. 

“I’m sorry too, Sammy.” 

The two of you sat there for a while. When you finally pulled away, you were immediately pulled into Dean’s arms. 

“That was pretty badass in there.” He chuckled. You smirked. 

“Well I couldn’t let Dream Douche hurt my boys, could I?” The three of you laughed. A low, rumbling growl sounded from the awakening woman. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Dean groaned. You weren’t finished yet. The demon still had to be exorcised from the coroner before it could hurt anyone else. 

The three Winchesters gathered around it and you leaned in as it’s black eyes opened. 

“Trick or treat?” You spat, landing a knock-out punch to its face.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado​

Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy; @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone

[theewritingroomm]

Run Away - Part Five (fin.)

Summary: Dean makes his own rash decision that may come back to bite him in the ass.   Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (past), Crowley x Reader Word Count: 1,544 Warnings: Mentions of abandonment, swearing, kidnapping  A/N: And this is the end. Sorry that it took so long to get out, school has been kicking my ass. Hope you all enjoy!! Anything in italics is a flashback. Text divider by @writeyourmindaway

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 

Tags: @bi-readytobakepie-cry-and-die @coffeebooksandfandom​

Returning to the bunker Dean had more questions that answers. But he knew that he was not going to be able to get them from Crowley, so he called the next best person he knew of, Cas.

“Hey man, I really need a favor.”

Y/N was walking back from the library that Crowley had arranged for her when she felt someone grab her wrist. She let out a small scream as she was pulled into a side hallway and a hand covered her mouth stopping her from making anymore sounds. She attempted to kick at the person holding her but was unable to fight off her attacker as it felt like she was being pulled into a vacuum.

When the sensation stopped Y/N was still in the grip of her captor, but she could tell that they were no longer in Hell. She could tell that they were in a dungeon of some sort, but it was not the dungeon that was located in hell. This one was a cement bricked room with few lights illuminating the space, but despite the low visibility she was able to see one chair placed in the middle of the room atop of the symbol painted on the ground. She tried to scream against the hand still clasped over her mouth as she was pushed towards the chair. Driving her heels into the ground in an attempt to stop the person from putting her in that chair. But it was futile, she was pushed into the chair and her wrists were strapped to the arms of the chair.

“Thank you, Cas,” Y/N heard a voice say as her captor secured her to the chair.

She recognized that voice, it was the same voice that she had heard in the throne room that morning. It was the voice of the man Crowley had called Squirrel.

He stepped into the doorway of the room, her captor, Cas as he had been called, walking in to join him. The two whispered about something for a moment before Cas left and it was just Y/N and Squirrel left in the room.

“I’m sorry that we had to put you through that, but we had to get you away from Crowley.” The man spoke, walking towards Y/N.

“I don’t know you,” She screamed, kicking her legs out as he got closer. “Please let me go.”

Dean’s heart shattered at those words. She didn’t know him, how was that possible? Dean’s mind immediately went to the possibility that Crowley had done something to her. That he had kidnapped her in her vulnerable state and wiped her memory so she would never leave him. It made his blood boil to think about, but he could not let Y/N see him get angry knowing it would scare her if he did.

So instead he took another step towards her and crouched down to her level to speak. “You do know me Y/N.”

The woman shook her head, tears falling down her cheeks. “No, I don’t, I’ve never met you before today.”

“Baby girl, it’s Dean.” He tried placing a hand on her knee, but she jerked it away before he was able to touch her. “I’m your fiancé.”

Y/N shook her head, more tears trailing down her face. “No, I’m with Crowley.”

Dean stood, running a hand over his face the anger inside of him growing. Y/N could see it build behind his green eyes and it made her fear grow. She had no recollection of meeting this man before today, for all she knew he had her kidnapped to get back at Crowley or to live out whatever sick and twisted fantasy he had cooked up inside his brain. But she was too afraid to ask, worried that he would take that anger out on her.

“It’s okay baby, I’ll figure out what he did to you.” He said as he brushed some of her hair behind her ear before turning and leaving.

Y/N spent the next few hours alone in the chair, crying and praying that Crowley or anyone could hear her pleas and come help her. But as the hours dragged on it was clear that there was no one coming for her; how would they? Crowley probably had no idea she had been taken and even if he did how was he going to know where they took her. So, she stopped, her resolve waning with each passing minute.

In the fourth hour of being tied to the chair the dungeon door swung open again, revealing both Dean and Cas. Upon seeing the two men tears began filling her eyes and she struggled against the ties holding her wrists.

“Please let me go.” She begged, tears beginning to roll down her face. “I won’t say anything.”

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hated hearing her beg and plead, he wished she would believe him when he said that they weren’t going to hurt her. He wished she would believe that he just wanted to help her get away from whatever Crowley had done to them.

“Y/N, we’re not going to hurt you.” Dean tried one more time, “Cas is going to look over you and try to figure out what’s wrong with you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!” she argued, kicking her legs out again, trying to keep the two men away from her.

Dean gave Cas a look and in a split second he was standing behind Y/N. And before she could argue or plead, he was pressing two fingers to her forehead. He held them there for a moment, Dean watching as Y/N’s eyes snapped shut against the feeling. He knew it did not feel good, having an angel rummaging around in your head but it was necessary if Dean wanted to help Y/N.  

When Cas took his fingers away Y/N slumped down in the chair, the events clearly exhausting her.

“He took some of her memories,” Cas said to the hunter.

“You’re right, I took her memories of you Dean.” A voice sounded from the doorway, making Dean whip around drawing his gun from his waistband.

Dean was seething with anger wishing that in that moment that a bullet would have been able to kill him. “Why the hell would you do that? How the fuck did you even get in here?”

“She asked me to, I didn’t do anything she didn’t want me to.” Crowley looked from Dean to Y/N, his own heart breaking at the sight of her tied to the chair, “I can’t say the same thing about you though.”

Dean’s nostrils flared, his fingers tightening on his gun. He didn’t believe a single word he was saying. There was no way that Y/N would have asked him to do that. He didn’t want to believe it.

“No, she would never.” Dean argued.

Crowley shook his head and reached inside his suit jacket to retrieve the contract Y/N had signed all those months ago. He knew that this was the only way to get Dean to realize that Y/N had asked for this favor from him. While falling for Crowley hadn’t been part of either of their plans.

“Read this.” Crowley said, handing the folded piece of paper to him.

Dean snatched the paper from Crowley, keeping his gun trained on the demon as he read the words printed on the paper. Dean’s eyes ran over the words, pain filling them as he read over the signature at the bottom.

“It’s fake. It’s got to be fake.” He screamed throwing the paper to the ground.

“Dean, you and I both know that its not. You broke that poor girl, and she came to me to help her. Neither of us thought it would end up like this. So, please just let her go, its over.”

Dean dropped his arms, putting his gun back into the waistband of his pants. His own heart shattering but he broke the devil’s trap, allowing Crowley to go and untie Y/N.

Y/N woke up with a headache, expecting to be still tied to the chair in whatever dungeon Dean had taken her to. But when she fully opened her eyes she was wrapped in crimson sheets, a silk night shirt covering her figure, and a familiar scent surrounding her.

She was home.

“Darling?” Y/N called out, her voice shaking slightly as she went to sit up.

It took a moment, but Crowley eventually appeared in the doorway, a tray piled high with all of her favorite foods held in his hands.

“I am so sorry love,” Crowley began to apologize as he made his way towards their bed. He set the tray on her lap before joining her in bed. “I never meant…”

“Hush darling,” she interrupted, “I don’t blame you.”

Crowley nodded but refused to meet her eyes knowing that when he did, he may only see the disgust she had for him. But Y/N wasn’t having it. She wanted to look her lover in the eye and show him that she loved him. So, she placed a finger under his chin and forced him to tilt his head up to look her in the eye before she leaned in and slotted their lips together.  

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.17

Feels like Flying (Light and Dizzying)

Type: series, soulmate AU series  (part 1, part 2)   x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 3850

Summary: ‘Nat’ sorta meets two more people – one of them personally, the other only by voice. You can guess which encounter is more pleasant.

Warnings: mentions of violence,amnesia and death, nightmares, swearing, light angst

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

You snapped your eyes open to the softly illuminated room, the remnants of a terrible dream of fire and wicked smiles causing your hands to twitch, a muffled groan escaping your throat. You should have never watched the video of your death. You liked the previous images better, a soft voice of your supposed soulmate had been so much more pleasant to dream of--

You heart stopped when more memories of yesterday’s events rushed back and your body froze on spot – the spot being a comfy bed, your legs tangled in cushions you didn’t remember laying into.

Of course you didn’t remember it; it didn’t happen. You oh so brilliantly nestled yourself basically in Steve’s lap instead. And everything was pointing the direction of… you actually falling asleep there. Oh God.

Your groan was more distinct this time, the sound followed by a rustling shift of a mass on your right; you nearly jumped out of your skin, your heart hammering against your chest, air caught in your throat in fright. You dreaded what you might find when looking the direction.

Maybe you were still dreaming. There was no way there was a crumpled form of a sleeping man in the chair at your bedside, right? Because that could mean it wasn’t your bedside at all – then again, you didn’t own any bed, let’s be real here –, but it was actually his and since it already had an occupant, he aimed for the chair.

Shame instantly filled every cell of your body for being the cause of his future back-cramp; not that the chair didn’t look comfortable. It sure did. But not for sleeping.

A second later, you wondered why Steve wouldn’t opt for the couch instead, where he could be at least lying down. You didn’t question why it wasn’t you on the couch – of course a man like Steve Rogers wouldn’t let a woman sleep on a couch when there was a perfectly fit bed; the short time you remembered spending with him was enough to tell you as much.

You feasted your sleepy eyes on him, your lips unwittingly curling into a small smile.

He looked almost peaceful – almost. Upon inspecting Steve’s handsome features, you noticed little things that lighted up a flicker of concern in your chest. His sharp jaw was too tense for him to have any kind of a pleasant dream, his eyebrows knitted, the right corner of his plush lips twitching nervously. Following the lines of his shoulders and arms with your gaze, you stopped at his hands balled in fists, tendons on his forearms prominent.

Nope, he didn’t seem to have a pleasant dream whatsoever.

You only argued with yourself for a short moment before sitting up on the bed – still dressed in the plaid and jeans, but shoes removed (by Steve most likely, which wasn’t awkward, like at all) – and reaching out to him. You stopped an inch from his hand, a realization of just how badly a touch could end dawning to you. Touching a man with enhanced strength having a nightmare did not sound like a good idea.

So instead, you worried your teeth over your lower lip, looking for a better option. For a brief moment you considered finding a stick around here to poke him, but that seemed pretty rude.

“…Steve?” you called out silently in the end, only causing his lips twitch again and not in a smile-like manner. Nope. You gulped and tried your normal speaking volume. “Steve? You’re dreaming. Wake up.”

Nope. Nothing. Except a jerk of his head further to the side. You grimaced, feeling completely useless.

Well, you guessed physical contact it was. You just hoped your bones would still be still in place when he fully woke up.

Cautiously, ready to jump away if he flipped out, your fingers brushed his knuckles with another call of his name.

The sound of distress leaving his lips had your insides clench uncomfortably. This time you laid your whole palm over the back of his hand.

“Steve. Come on. Wake up,” you coaxed, squeezing his hand lightly.

That did it.

His eyes snapped open and with a movement too fast for you to register, he suddenly stood on his feet two steps from the bed, face perplexed, and the chair he had been sitting on hit the ground with a thud that made you jump backwards.

Thank god Steve had a big bed otherwise you would have been on the floor.

“What-“ he rasped, the look in his eyes almost haunted as he stared at you, pupils dilated and skin pale as if—oh. Oh.

As if he saw a ghost.

“Steve? Are you okay? You looked like you had a pretty bad dream,” you said slowly, observing his reactions.

He blinked rapidly and you noticed his feet shuffling backwards a fraction. His expression shifted to one of disbelief.

“Bad dream?” he parroted incredulously. His eyes searched the room and you tried to follow his line of gaze; until it fell on a small sports bag by the door, your whole property, a gift from Sam and Dean.

At that, he swiftly returned his attention to you, his shoulders slumping, his fingers going up to pinch the bridge of his nose.  You waited patiently for him to reassess the reality, using the momentary lack of his inspection of you to at least smooth out your hair a little, which was probably a vain effort.

Oh so slowly, his hand fell down to his side, his face apologetic. The fact his eyes turned glassy didn’t escape you – but he wasn’t crying. He even fixed a smile for you, one that couldn’t even hope to reach his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

You only shook your head, returning the smile and hoping to erase the shadow of pain in his brilliant irises.

“I… didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asked softly and your heart wept for him.

He was just thrown into reality and his first concern was for you, about him causing you harm. Because he had already caused enough of that, your mind whispered hauntingly and you shushed it harshly. Then again, it was probably Steve’s train of thought too.

You really, really didn’t want him to feel guilty for having nightmares. It was ridiculous.

So you climbed from the bed, not exactly gracefully, while his gaze remained fixed on you, watching your every move – as if he was actually checking if there was any damage.

Oh Steve…

Feeling bold, you crossed the short distance between you, standing face to face, chest to chest with him, only two inches of space between your bodies, and you gently wrapped your fingers around his right hand.

The change in his stance was instant, tension leaving, features softening as much as his eyes; the blue and green was much more inviting now.

“No, Steve, you didn’t hurt me. Even in my state of mind I know better than to approach a guy caught in a nightmare. Let alone a supersoldier-“ His face fell again than and he went to take a step back; you quickly gave him a firm squeeze before he could do so as you realized your error.

“Not that I’m afraid of you! I’d be cautious with anyone! I just said that, didn’t I —ugh, why am I so bad at speaking… Steve. It’s fine. Thanks for moving me to bed. I’m sorry to… eh, fall asleep on you. I swear I was listening-- I guess it was just really comfy and--- not that your body is soft or anything, you’re more like super-ripped, okay, what I mean was that---- that I… I felt really good. With… with you. I mean. I-- I felt safe, so... I guess I was more tired than I realized…“

An honest smile was gradually forming on his lips as you continued your nonsensical babble that in fact held an important and serious message, which was clearly received, because Steve definitely was one step from beaming now.

His thumb ran over the back of your hand, the fingers of his other hand tenderly running through your no doubt messy hair. The gesture almost turned your brain into utter mush, leaving sparkles in their wake, brilliant eyes boring into yours with an emotion you couldn’t quite describe.

“I’m glad. How do you feel about breakfast?”  

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Steve left you some privacy to make yourself more presentable and you nearly cried at the soothing spray of warm water with a perfect pressure against your skin and for some reason still weary muscles. You thought back to the moment you said yes to Rowena stealing some of the soulmate energy or whatever, not knowing for how long it would affect you, and you wanted to curse – the thing was though, she had brought you here. To Steve. And so far, things seemed… nice. Really, really nice.

However, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. When you told Steve you wanted to call the Winchesters to catch up before eating, there was this… unreadable expression on his face. You understood very soon though. No, it wasn’t jealousy. It was hurt.  

You had noticed it yesterday as well; moments in which he seemed to slip from his carefully guarded role of a man delighted at your presence. You didn’t doubt Steve was happy to have you back, but you were too perceptive to ignore that he was holding something back. If you could take a guess, it was caused by the state you had been found in; an amnesiac. A shadow was always casted over his face, the light in his eyes dimming just a fraction. And you hated it.

When Dean asked you how it had been, you didn’t mention it though; it wasn’t their problem to deal with, they had already done enough.

“Good. Really good,” you assured them instead, wavering only for a moment. “I think? I mean… it’s a lot to process you know? But Steve’s being very kind to me. More than I-“

“I swear that if you say ‘deserve’, I’m busting into the Tower and kicking your ass,” the older hunter threatened and to your surprise, Sam supported him in that.

“It’s just… I know, okay? What I wanted to say was that you don’t need to worry about me. I feel like I’m in good hands.”

Still, the Winchesters, while already finding a new case, insisted they would be leaving in the evening only and any given time before or after that, you could call them and they would beat their way through the Avengers themselves to rescue the Fire Princess from the Tower.

The urge to punch Dean for the last remark was about as strong as the need to hug him. Soon after that, you ended the call.

You patted your way to the communal kitchen then, led by the Jarvis, aka the strange voice from the ceiling, an artificial intelligence. The world was a crazy place for sure.

“What the hell?!” a man cried out at the end of the hall just before you could enter and made you jump few feet above the ground.

Your head snapped to the sandy-haired male individual in a violet bathrobe, his face pale as a sheet of paper, his eyes bulging so intensely you saw it even when he was several feet away.

“Uhm… hi?” you offered a cautious and awkward greeting followed by even more awkward wave and the man’s hand rose on autopilot to return the gesture, but then he stopped himself as if he was weirded out by his own reaction.

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, murmuring something than sounded a lot like ‘coffee’ while he walked to you.

You shifted your weight from one foot to another, wavering at the door, arguing whether you should introduce yourself or not. Or did he know you? From before? He looked kinda spooked if you were being honest, so you should probably explain… and ask about his wellbeing, because you were getting concerned as he retreated his hands and seemed shocked to still see you standing there.

“Are you okay?” you asked hesitantly and he squinted at you, gulping.

“Am I going crazy?” he whispered, sounding seriously on edge and no, you were certain it wasn’t because his voice was still rough with sleep.

“I don’t think so, sir. I’m-”

“-getting breakfast!” Steve rushed to your side from the kitchen, only to cause the other man’s expression turn absolutely baffled.

“Steve? What the hell is going on? Are you seeing her too? Is… what is this? Who is this?”

Yeah, now you were sure; no one had shared the delightful news with him. You had risen from the dead. Yay! Except you didn’t remember who he was. Or who Steve was. Or you, for that matter.

Steve cleared his throat. “Clint. This, uhm… is really complicated. She doesn’t remember you. Or me. Or anyone.”

The shadow of hurt was there again and you mentally kicked yourself – but there was nothing more you could do.

So you intelligently stuck your hand out for the man to shake. He examined it as if it was a bomb about to detonate, eyeing Steve warily.

“Don’t ask. She’s back. That’s all that matters,” Steve pleaded him with his gaze just not to ask any questions and Clint, as it seemed, went along with it, so the introductions could be made.

“Hi. Nice to meet you, Clint. Sorry for not remembering you.”

He observed you with a funny expression on his face you couldn’t quite read. “Right. Nice to meet you too.”

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Clint clearly wanted to please Steve – or was too freaked out by your presence to stay -, because he entered he kitchen right at your heels, only to grab a pot of coffee black as night and a mug and walk away the same path he had arrived.

Guilt gnawed at you for making him feel like he couldn’t stay where he probably usually had his breakfast, but before you could voice your thoughts, a plate with a pancake landed in front of you.

You thanked Steve politely and couldn’t but examine him as he stood by the stove, flipping another pancake. What you said to Dean and Sam was true – Steve truly was very kind to you, sweet even and you felt a strange tugging at your stomach when you realized you couldn’t quite give him the same. You promised yourself for the millionth time that you would try your best; starting with complimenting his cooking.

“I forgot to tell you in the morning…” he mumbled after he thanked you for the praise, still turned to the stove. You glimpsed the tips of his ears turning pink and you tilted your head to side while chewing, intrigued. “Tony had you set up a room. He… uhm, he also moved some of the clothes you had here—before, I mean, so—I don’t mean it like you have to change, just that there’s the option. And of course, you deserve your own space, your own bed, as much as I am okay with sharing mine-- giving up mine, I mean.”

You swallowed before speaking, finding his embarrassment about the topic equally endearing and heart-breaking.

Bet we didn’t have to worry about that before…

“Thank you. That’s very kind of him,” you replied, unsure what else to say.

Was there even anything else to say? You weren’t sure how you felt about your old things existing – about Steve not getting rid of them, at least not yet. You didn’t want to examine the dull ache it left around your heart, wrapping it in a fluffy blanket at the same time.

The other thing was that you… kinda didn’t want to move from Steve’s room. But hey, he sure as hell needed his own privacy as well. Plus, there might be a teeny-tiny part of you that would welcome it too, because while you wanted to make him happy, you… yeah, you felt like there was too much pressure, things happening too fast despite Steve attempting not to push you; you recognized as much. This gesture must have been rather hard for him too.

“And of you,” you added then and he casted a brief smile over his shoulder before turning to you fully, spotting your empty plate and tossing his freshest creation there. “Thanks. They’re really amazing.”

“Steve, if I may…” the voice of the ceiling interrupted your peculiar conversation and Steve only hummed, continuing showing off his skills in the kitchen. “Director Fury would like to speak with you.”

The change in his posture was instant – he tensed, as you did upon hearing a name that sounded important – and he appeared to be struggling; his hands moved rather frantically as if not knowing whether they should stop their action or not.

“Well, send him to hell,” he requested of the AI nonchalantly in the end. “I’m busy.”

“I’m afraid he’s insisting on a meeting. The revelation of Director Pierce being HYDRA along with several other members of SHIELD struck quite a blow and even after weeks it’s still being dealt with.”

That… sounded like something you weren’t supposed to hear and you were already opening your mouth to tell Steve it was fine and that you were going to wait… somewhere else, but he was faster.

“I’m aware. But as Tony would say, grow a spine, Jarvis, please. I have my priorities straight and he’s not on the top of my list at the moment.”

Oh. Oh. That was… brave. And kind of him. And pretty cheeky? Maybe a bit reckless?

Or was he being patronizing? Didn’t trust you to keep yourself occupied while he was busy with something else? Or was he afraid? Damn, mind-reading would have come handy. Why couldn’t you return from the death with such ability at least? It would be so much easier.

Or would it? You might not like what was on Steve’s mind. You were not who he used to know. You were a woman without memory, without personality almost. You were a burden. And you were staring to question whether you weren’t weighting his shoulders more than being the world’s first superhero ever could.

“Steve, I’m-“ you started, but he only turned off the stove and faced you with a swift smile, shaking his head.

“It’s alright. If he really needs to talk to me, Jarvis, let him make it over the phone. Final offer.”

“Oh, I’ll just-“

“Stay. It’s okay. There’s nothing I need or want to hide from you,” he assured you in earnest and you bit your lower lip; that felt like a bit of an overkill.

Or maybe your insecurities were getting to you and Steve was still being the sweetest human being you had ever met and you were turning into a cranky cynical bitch.

God only knew.

“Very well. He’s on the line, Steve,” the Jarvis announced and you eyed Steve once more. He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly in return and the ease he touched you with effectively shut you up.

“Rogers,” sounded roughly from the speakers and Steve sighed before replying – it nearly made you jump, because you had never heard his voice so firm and even. Not in this life anyway.

“Nick.”

Silence fell on the room and you wondered if the man on the other end – a director, Steve’s boss you assumed – recognized something was wrong. You opened your mouth to soundlessly offer your leave again, but Steve put his index finger over his lips and shook his head again. You swallowed loudly and looked away, but didn’t move otherwise.

“You’re a hard man to reach these days.”

“And I’m not planning on changing that. What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait for a while? I have other things to do.”

“… I’m aware? I think. I guess?” the strictly sounding man muttered, clearly bewildered. “What crawled up your backside, Rogers? You sound… different.”

And here it came. You bit your cheek to stop yourself from saying ‘I happened’.

“Don’t worry about it, Nick,” Steve bit back, a hint of cheekiness creeping into his voice.

“It’s not like you to decline so many meetings and going on a mission only when you feel like it, Cap.”

You bit your cheek harder – Steve was changing his routine for you. Steve was neglecting his duties no doubt. That wasn’t right. Was it? You had figured he had, but this sounded rather… serious, grim even.

“People change.”

“I only recall one moment you preferred other things to your job, Cap, and I’m sure I don’t need to point out which one.” Why did you feel this man was the one who held the meeting Steve felt to take you to a date? The one with the dancing he had told you about yesterday? “I get it, things went to shit. But now it’s more than that, I’m not stupid. What’s going on?”

Oh, he was onto you. Shit. That couldn’t be good. It was strange how Steve kept his cool, sounding annoyed even. You wouldn’t be able to tell that if it wasn’t for him crossing his arms on his chest; you tried to ignore the little voice in the back of your mind that whispered praises about what it did to the broadness of his shoulders plus the size of his arms and what it did to you.

“Nick, if you have something to tell me, you have about a minute. We’re not talking about me.”

“Fine,” the director growled. “I’ll manage on my own, call Romanoff in. You… do whatever you think you need to do.”

“Yes, Sir. That was my plan.”

Your eyebrows shot up in shock and Steve had the nerve to wink at you. Your heart racing with worries jumped a bit at that for a completely different reason.

“You’re sassy. Again. I like it.”

“Bye, Nick.” He was almost smiling now, as if he was bantering with an old friend.

“Rogers. Good luck.”

The moment the line went silent, you finally opened your mouth.

“He’s onto you, isn’t he? I have no idea what anything of what he said meant, but he sounded really important and… dangerous, Steve. I don’t want to keep you from-”

You didn’t realize you had stood up until he gently pushed you back to bar stool, a relaxed smile on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. He’s just cranky. I wasn’t at his disposal lately.”

I was too busy mourning my soulmate, you heard unspoken and winced. Oh. Oh god, could this get any worse?

“I’m sorry.”

“That’s not on you,” he shook his head gingerly, his thumbs caressing your shoulders over the plaid shirt. He beckoned to the pan then. “Another pancake?”

When you shook your head incredulously, still unsure this wasn’t going to blow up into your faces later, he shrugged and cut the pancake in half – one went to your plate, one to another for him.

He winked at you again and you suspected Dean might have blabbered out on you that you refused to eat properly. Honest to God, right now you were just too full, no ulterior motives, but seeing the spark in Steve’s eyes and wishing for it to stay, you dug in.

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Part 18

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Slow chapter and a bit of a filler maybe. Uh… sorry? Calm before the storm maybe…? ;)

Thank you for reading!

[deans-haunted-baby]

Best Part of Me

*This is my fix-it of Jack’s reaction to Cas’s death in 15x19 and some of the events in 15x18 rewritten. Featuring a flashback post episode 14x10. I was so disappointed they never really let Jack feel this loss when he dreaded that deal for a whole year. The title is from a song by St Leonards. Enjoy!*

Summery: In Hastings Minnesota, after learning from Dean of Castiel’s sacrifice to the Empty. Jack runs off to be alone somewhere in the deserted town. Breaking down and reliving the last good memory of a hunt he and Cas went on together 

Sam and Jack sauntered down the quiet roads, surveying the desolated scenery, coming to a 4-way stop. Nothing but emptiness all around them. Vacant buildings and vehicles, one smashed into a telephone pole. Stores still blinking their neon open signs in the windows. Car alarms blaring off in the distance. But no voices. Not a trace of any souls anywhere. Just nobody. Everyone was gone and the two hunters began feeling like they were starring in that Chuck Heston flick The Omega Man.

Jack could see his tall, anguished mentor was distracted, often checking his phone for calls in case Dean or Eileen or maybe Cas… Desperately searching inside the unoccupied cafes and stores in case they missed someone. He’d been beating himself up all night for not being able to save the AU world survivors. And it was driving him crazy not hearing from his brother for the past 12 hours. 

“We should’ve heard from them by now.” Sam blurted; quickening his pace towards a truck. Peeking inside. “Come on Dean, where are you?”

“You think they’re alright?” Jack asked uncertain.

“I don’t know. But you were the last person to talk to Cas.” Sam approached the boy getting restless. “What; did he say anything to you before you guys got cut off?”

Immediately Jack stopped; swallowing hard as he lowered his eyes to the pavement. “No…not really.”

The truth was Jack couldn’t get over this weird twinge he felt in his chest; an ache that refused go away. Like a piece of him had been severed and now he was nursing the phantom pain. The Nephilim boy had it ever since the last time he spoke to his father on his phone…before they were abruptly interrupted by static. Last night the group had split. Dean and Castiel went to confront Billie at the bunker while Jack stayed behind with Sam at the hideaway to protect the remaining people that hadn’t been erased. Next thing he knows survivors are disappearing in front of him, people he knew. Friends and fellow hunters. And then his phone set to vibrate; buzzes irritably in his jacket pocket to which he’d fished it out.

________________________________________

Several hours earlier

 “Jack!” the angel’s gruff voice was urgent. But relieved when his son had answered. “Oh, thank heavens.”

“Cas?” the young boy chirps; raking his fingers through his hair. Still not over the shock of seeing all their people vanish and exchanging disturbed looks with Sam. “Cas are you and Dean okay? Did Billie?”

“No, we’re fine,” he replies back; tone switching from critical to sudden despair. “What about you and Sam, the survivors?”

Jack’s face fell on the verge of tears; pacing away from the tall hunter and leaning against the wall.

“They’re gone.” He chokes out. “All of them… Cas…Sam and I tried…we tried… It happened so fast… We just couldn’t save anyone.”

The Nephilim boy heard a heavy sign on the other end then Castiel says, “It wasn’t your fault Jack. None of this is your fault, alright.”

“No, I could’ve done something! If-if I still had my powers, I could’ve protected all of us!”

“Jack, no. Don’t do that to yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done and you did all you could do, okay.” The angel encourages firmly though soft. Giving Jack a chance to calm down before he adds. “Listen…there’s something I…need to tell you…in case anything happens.”

Jack’s heart rose in his throat. “What do mean in case something happens to you?” he demands; voice rising. “Cas what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“You remember what we talked about?” There’s something in Castiel’s question that begins to worry the young Nephilim. “The night we were hunting in Albuquerque?”

Jack let out a sharp intake of breath. “Yes but…what does that have to do with right now?”

The angel hesitates briefly and resumes a response; spontaneously changing the subject.

“I’m so proud of you Jack. I’m proud of the person you are and who you’re becoming,” Castiel’s deep baritone was gentle as it always was whenever he spoke to his son. Never above a decimal than he had to; reserving his emotions. Yet the sadness was unmistakable. “The day that I met you and your mother…changed my life forever. When you chose me…I knew…I knew the moment when I first connected with you through Kelly…felt your love…that I wanted to be your father. And I never felt more happiness in all my eons than I did raising you.”

“Cas why’re saying this?” Jack stuttered; his eyes glistening. He was so confused over the angel’s choice of phrases. “Don’t…”

“Jack I…I need you to do something for me…alright?”

Castiel’s request was blunt yet sudden, jerking the young Nephilim out of his afflicted stupor. “What is it?”

“I want you to look after Sam and Dean for me,” He says melancholically. “Can you do that?”

“Why? What about you?” Jack gasps; his whole-body trembling; going cold. Sinking into a corner holding his knees. Yet he tries to maintain his anxiety during the situation. “Cas, you’re scaring me.”

“I know this is going to be difficult for you to understand but…I want you to be strong, Jack. Stronger than you’ve ever been… To never give up on yourself no matter what. Because I know you will do amazing things one day. I believe in that. I’ve only ever seen good in you.”

“Cas…”

The angel pauses, and with another sigh he reveals, “I love you, son. I love you more than anything in the whole world… You’re the best part of me, Jack… I’m happy because of you; for the time we got together. And I just wanted you to know that…”

Jack could hardly speak his throat clogged. Tears now rolling down his cheeks. He wanted to return those words so badly, his chest swelling like something crushed him from the inside. Finally untangling the muscles in his neck, he pleads.

“Cas…Dad, wait I-” just as the Nephilim boy is about confess the line goes dead mid-sentence followed with an indescribable pain hitting him in the heart; causing Jack to drop his cell in defeat. Muttering the words to himself. “…I love you too.”

________________________________________

Present time

Not long after the two hunters had given up their search for signs of life, did they hear a familiar engine of a car. And a black 67’ impala wheeled around the corner of the street; parking beside two large plants in front of a blue and white store. Dean, he was alive. Sam and Jack wanted to feel elated at that moment…until they saw him exit the vehicle. Alone. And the Nephilim boy’s chest pains increased. Why wasn’t Castiel with him? Jack was too afraid to even ask in case he got an answer he didn’t want. So instead, the three guys traded bleak looks in the middle of the road; minding the fragments of what was once a functioning civilization.  

“Everyone’s gone,” Sam says to Dean; barely leveling his shock. Looking around with that false hope someone else might pop up. Then he glances back at his older brother who’s avoiding his gaze. “You see anybody on the way here?”

“No.” the elder Winchester replies huskily. His expression tormented. Again, Jack is afraid of reading him too closely.

Sam fidgeted on the spot; squints his eyes and imparts, “I couldn’t save anybody.” A hint of bitterness enflames his voice at the thought of that reaper. “Billie.”

“It wasn’t Billie. It was Chuck.” Dean discloses.

“What?”

Right then Jack couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He needed to know the truth; impulsively jumping into the conversation.

“Where’s Cas?” His voice was harsh.

The taller Winchester peered over his shoulder at the Nephilim boy but Dean couldn’t even give him direct eye-contact. Visibly shaken. Jack had detected redness within the whites of his puffy eyes. He was so anguished about something that it made the other two hunters nervous. Finally, its Sam’s turn to inquire about the angel’s whereabouts.

“Dean, where is he?”

The elder Winchester was apprehensive; staring off vacantly. Hanging his head and licking his lips trying to conjure up the best explanation he could which might lessen the blow. But Jack was impatient; arms at his sides. Heart pounding with fear. He doesn’t want excuses he just wants a straight answer from his other mentor about his dad. And he was going to get it whether he liked it or not.

“He saved me. Billie was coming after us and…Cas fought her off until we found someplace safe,” asserts Dean and he looks over at Jack who’s getting paler listening to the story. “While you and Cas were…speaking on the phone, he summoned the Empty. It took her. And it took him…” Jack’s heart instantly sank to his stomach. No, this couldn’t be true. No. The Nephilim boy backpedaled, shaking his head in disbelief. Noticing the tears in the hardened hunter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry Jack… Cas is gone.”

Sam’s grief had swallowed him up whole; touching his face with both hands. Struggling to keep it together. But Jack was the opposite. Standing there wearing a hollow smile; releasing a counterfeit laugh.

“No, that’s not true,” argues the Nephilim. “I just talked to him last night. He was okay.”

Sam attempted to console the boy; quickly wiping at his wet face. “Jack.”

“Cas’s fine you’ll see. He’s coming back. He has to come back. I didn’t get to tell him I loved him too.”

But Dean hardly in the mood for sentiments wouldn’t play along. “Jack, he-he’s not… Cas isn’t coming back. I’m sorry.” As Sam tries to reach his hand out to touch the young Nephilim’s shoulder, he receives a heated defensive glare.

Nobody touches him there except for Castiel. NO ONE.

“NO!” Jack barks jerking his body away from the taller hunter’s grasp; face beet red. Even though he already knew. Felt the truth in his heart all along the second that line went dead; the boy had been reluctant to accept it. He was too overwhelmed with denial. “I said Cas’s is coming back! HE’S COMING BACK!”

“Jack, wait!”

Quickly the Nephilim storms off in a random direction of the street; ignoring the Winchesters’ shouts behind him. It didn’t matter where he was going, he just needed to get away from them. Away from the sunlight. From the noise. Away from everything else still standing. Into nothingness. Somewhere that didn’t feel so loud or enclosed. Putting a palm to his head, Jack starts to feel dizzy and an urge to vomit. His vision blurred and his legs began to wobble each step he took. Nothing felt real anymore. It was terrifying.

He could hardly breathe as if something were suffocating him.

Over and over, Jack’s mind is racing in between panicked breaths. “Cas? Cas, where are you?” Reaching his hand out in front of him like a blind person; aimlessly searching for that invisible tether that bound him to the trench-coated angel. Receiving nothing but a light breeze against his skin. “Dad, please, tell me where you are?”

At last, the Nephilim boy stumbles on an old dessert parlor. Sammy’s Highway Café. Despondently gawking at the stupid giant pink milkshake on top of the sign. Walking inside not caring whether he was trespassing or not. The lights were off but Jack could see traces that this place was thriving not too long ago. It smelt of stale food and drink; evident of half eaten platefuls of burgers with fries and empty glasses sitting on top of some of the booth tables. Along the counter was a partially bitten donut beside a cold mug of coffee. A receipt with some money next to the till. And draped on one of the stools, it seemed as though someone had left their beige jacket which resembled so much like the angel’s trench.

Fragments and memories…of live people. Before Chuck took them…just like Castiel. His father.

Stepping towards a jukebox tilting his head, Jack’s blue eyes meet a half-full glass of milkshake sitting on the table close by. Pink, like the one on the sign outside. It disgusted him. A serge of hatred suddenly overflowed his body; knocking it onto the floor and smashing into pieces on impact. Unable to avoid the dibble of pink goo getting on his jeans only enraged the Nephilim more. Resulting in a fit of fury; swiping everything off the counter. Kicking at stray contents clinging to his shoes. His throat clogged up as the anger gave way to uncontrollable sobs. He wanted the pain to stop, but no matter how many things he destroyed, the hurt wouldn’t leave him.

“Cas you liar! YOU LIAR!” he howled; covering his tearful face with one hand collapsing into a corner. Crying. “You said you’d still be with me!”

For over an hour Jack sat like this; breaking down into his palms over his knees. Shedding more tears than he ever thought possible. Practically wearing his eyes out. It was his fault. He should’ve said it back, why didn’t he say it back? Why could he never tell the angel how much he’d meant to him when it counted? Jack wanted the tears to stop the but every time he tapped into an arbitrary memory of Castiel’s face smiling back at him or giving him that infamous sage advice. Heard that soft raspy voice saying his name. The pain worsened causing Jack to cry harder and longer.

All of a sudden, a sharp jab interrupted his grief. Jack was just about to grab the thing whatever it was and toss it until he realized what it was. Digging inside the sleeve of his white jacket, the Nephilim pulls out a single silver angel blade. Jack had completely forgot he’d been carrying it around with him since yesterday. No much longer than that, he carried it all the time in his clothes for a year now as it was very special to him. Wiping at his eyes, Jack clutches the blade and is instantly transported back into a memory of when he’d first received the weapon.

________________________________________

One Year Earlier

Castiel and Jack were in the outskirts of Albuquerque hunting a couple rugarus in the process of kidnapping a family in a warehouse. Around this time the young Nephilim was on probation for using his powers in the fight against AU Michael’s monsters. Ending with the unholy archangel prince trapped inside Dean’s mind. The reason for the restrictions was because of the resurrection spell keeping Jack alive. Every time he used power, he’d burn off part of his soul; something Castiel and the Winchesters did everything possible to prevent. And the best distraction for boy was usually going on some Team Free Will 2.0 hunts.

“Jack, NOW!” the angel shouts, wrestling with the second monster after his son successfully torches the first.

“I got it!” the Nephilim calls back, aiming the flamethrower nozzle ready to blast the creature. He’d remembered Sam and Dean’s specific instructions that the only way to kill a rugaru was to burn them. And he would’ve if he hadn’t frozen on the spot; Castiel would’ve been fried otherwise. There was no way, he couldn’t risk it. “I-I can’t! I can’t get him!”

“Jack, what are you doing?!”

“I don’t want to burn you!”

Immediately the angel groans grumpily. “It’s not holy fire!”

Jack wasn’t a gambler. “Yah but-

“Jack!”

Running out of time, the frantic young hunter goes over another strategy in his mind. He wasn’t willing to singe his dad to stop a monster. And that’s when it hit him. Reckless though it just might work.

“Wait, Cas let him go!” he clamors.

“What?!” Castiel was mystified at how crazy that plan was.

“Just let him go, trust me!”

Taking on too much faith the angel puts his trust in his son anyway and releases the rugaru; dodging out of range. As expected, it instantly launches at the nonchalant Jack who’s armed and ready with the flamethrower; projecting a lethal jet fuel of fire. The Nephilim then covers his ears as the creature releases high pitched throat screeches; its entire body engulfed until the thing’s charcoal hide falls lifeless to the ground. Breathing a sign of relief, Jack stares at the dead monster; spacing out. Brought back to reality when he hears the angel grumbling and rushes to his aid.

“Are you okay?” he asks his dad breathily; helping him to his feet.

“Yah, I’m fine.” Castiel belches; still sore from the fight. As an angel he was much stronger than a human, though it still hurt getting punched in the ribs. And the monsters he tangled with were far from weaklings. “So that was your plan? Just let him go, huh?”

Jack shrugged smirking. “It worked didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.” The reluctant blue-eyed angel agrees dryly; giving his son an affectionate shoulder pat. “Come on, we’re not finished yet.”

“What do we have to do now?”

“Tend to the civilians.”

After releasing the captive family, Castiel and Jack resumed the dreary task of getting rid of the rotten smelling corpses and packing their things into the aquamarine pickup truck. The night air was hot accompanied with the usual sounds of owls and crickets chirping. Jack’s busily loads the flamethrower into the back compartment, unaware his father is taking a moment to gaze at him. Expressionless though underneath that reserved exterior is admiration. Despite using none of his powers, the boy had handled himself just as he’d done the other several times they’d hunted together.

Castiel couldn’t help feeling impressed with Jack; overwhelmed with a sense of pride. He’d come a long way in his training in such a short time; picking up skills faster than the angel had seen any human. But Jack wasn’t just getting better at the combat or the weaponry. His mind functioned more acutely than any other hunter in the field. And he wasn’t even three years old yet. Still there was something about tonight’s hunt that bothered Castiel. His son had nearly given into his own fear. Fear of losing…him; which could’ve costed them the lives of the family they were saving.

“Well, we’re all packed.” Jack announces gleefully; turning to the angel.

Stonily, Castiel approached the young Nephilim.

“Good.” He says; scratching his hair. “Ah Jack…can we talk about what happened back there?”

The question made the boy frown, unwinding his jaw. “Oh…right… Yah, I-I’m really sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to-” He stopped himself.

But the angel finished his sentence. “To freeze?”

“Yah.” Jack hung his head in shame.

“Do you know why?”

Did he know why? Of course, he did! Jack was afraid. Afraid of hurting Castiel. No…he was scared of losing him and had been ever since that deal he’d made with the Empty. For the past month it’d been daunting on Jack the severity of his dad’s sacrifice; what it meant. Tried as he might to pretend it didn’t trouble him. Smiling, acting normal. the Nephilim secretly agonized over the angel’s fate. To the point where it either made him overprotective of Castiel or reckless during hunts. Just like tonight.

“I…just didn’t want to set you on fire too, that’s all.” Jack answers vaguely earning his dad’s titled scrutinized glare.

Being as close as they were, Castiel was pretty astute at reading his son’s body language. Knowing when he wasn’t entirely honest. “Are you sure that’s what it was…or was there something else holding you back?”

Jack swallowed, averting his gaze. And it dawns on the angel, sighing, looking heavenward. He didn’t need a verbal explanation; putting his hand on his son’s shoulder in an attempt to console him.

“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how tough this has been for you.”

“I can’t help it,” concedes the young Nephilim; his gaze shiny. “I know you said not to worry about you but…I am. All the time. And when I keep thinking about that deal you made… I get this…awful feeling in my stomach. Like I’m being torn apart…from the inside.”

Castiel’s reserved face promptly falls, listening intently as Jack confides his deepest fears. Knowing that this deal had been causing his son so much grief pained him. The angel felt like someone had just run him through with his own sword.

“Cas I…I love you. And I don’t want to lose you. Not to the Empty or to anything.”

Parting his lips and softening his eyes; slowly absorbing everything he was hearing. Castiel was touched; taking a deep breath before reassuring. “But Jack, that rugaru was barely a threat to me. And you know my deal with the Empty… I’m far from happy for it to take me away any time soon.”

“What if I don’t want it to ever take you?” Jack remonstrates; defiantly scowling.

“I’m afraid its not that simple.” Sadly, contests the angel.

“But…I don’t want to lose you. I hate even thinking about it.”

“I know…so do I.”

Together the angel and the Nephilim boy endure a tender moment, leaning against the tail end of their truck side-by-side; taking small solace in each other’s company. And quietly gazing at the stars. Then out the blue a bright twinkle catches Castiel’s eye; reminding him of something he’d forgotten. His present to Jack. They’d been so wrapped up in dealing with Michael’s shenanigans, he hadn’t even found the time to give it to him yet. Delving into one of his trench-coat sleeves, Castiel presents the dumbfounded Nephilim with a polished angel blade.

“Cas what…why are you giving me this?”

Castiel pursed his gentle smile and winked. “Call it a late Christmas present. I’ve ah, I’ve been meaning to give it to you…when I felt there was a more appropriate time.”

Jack furrowed his brows; observing the weapon. “Your angel blade?”

He humbly accedes.

“Not just any angel blade but…its the very first one I ever fought with.” Divulges the docile angel. With two fingers he carefully touches the tip, devotedly looking over Jack’s awestruck expression. “I won many battles with this blade…for millions upon millions of years. Just when I thought I’d fall…this weapon seemed to…save my life. And I started to look at it as more of a…good luck charm I guess.”

“Cas I…I don’t know if I should take this. It means too much to you.”

“Jack, I want you to have it. Sort of a celestial warrior’s birthright and with your archangel half technically being of royal lineage…and you’re my son.” The young Nephilim grinned at him somberly; working the blade in his hand. And Castiel pauses giving himself a minute to think about what he was going to say to his son next as it would be difficult. Exhaling heavily, he conveys. “But I also want you have it…as a reminder that…wherever I am…I’ll always be with you.”

At this Jack’s eyes find his dad’s; expression dismal absorbing Castiel’s every word. “Because someday Jack its true, I won’t be here and you’ll have to carry on with your life. I can’t say when it will happen…it could be months or years… Whether it’s the Empty or something else…we will be separated… And it will hurt…” The Nephilim boy’s lip quivered as he holds back oncoming tears; looking away. Pain twisting all his insides; he didn’t like this conversation. Though Jack’s ears and heart remained open to the angel; touching his chest using his index finger. “But just because I won’t physically be here anymore…doesn’t mean I’m gone, Jack. I’m right there…within you. Whenever you need me. You understand?”

“I think so.”

Without warning Castiel embraces Jack in a bone-crushing hug; chins touching shoulders. Closing their eyes. And they held each other tight; savoring every single second of that closeness.

“I love you Jack.”

And Jack whispers out of earshot. “I love you too…Dad.”

________________________________________

Present time

Just like that the memory passed. Jack was back in the café he roughed up earlier. Alone. Curled up in fetal position, clutching the precious gift his father had given him; tears still streaming down his face. Hair matted and moist; clothes soiled. And his heart as broken as that milkshake glass he’d smashed on the floor. Castiel was gone. His dad was gone… Forever… It didn’t feel real, more like a nightmare. A nightmare Jack desperately wanted to wake up from. He couldn’t even think about moving his body it hurt too much. Whenever he tried lifting his head the dizziness settled in and he sunk back into his depression.

“No, I can’t do this.” Jack thoughts bombarded; gawking the angel blade in his grip. “I can’t keep lying here feeling sorry for myself. He wouldn’t want that, not after giving his life for me. I’m supposed to be a hunter and a celestial warrior. I have to be stronger now.”

Using every muscle at his disposal, Jack forces himself up off the floor. Grabbing a stool and countertop for support. His whole body ached; weighted down like it was full of dumbbells yet he didn’t quit moving. Jack could hear Castiel’s voice in his mind, encouraging him like he’d always done on hunts and during one of their sparring sessions in the gym.

“Come on Jack, get up! Get up now!”

“Yes, I will,” the Nephilim promises himself; gnashing his teeth. Lumbering forward on his wobbly legs ignoring the agony. “I won’t let you down Cas! I swear I won’t.”

“That’s it Jack, come on! You’re almost there!”

“Okay!”

One foot in front of the other. Jack slowly repeats this method of awkward walking until all the muscles in his legs have loosened and are functioning properly. As he’s feeling more mobile the pain is subsiding. It’s not quite gone but it’s not intolerable either. In fact, the Nephilim uses it to power through the wreckage and towards the exit. Drying his eyes with the back of his palm. Before Jack realizes it, he’s already reached the door pushing it open. And on his way to search for the Winchesters. Because he’s not alone… He’ll never be alone. He has his family. And Castiel is always with him; guiding him.

[shotgun--rider]

Starving

A Dean x Reader oneshot

Y/N comes from a big, unconventional hunter family, and Dean doesn’t know what to do with her habit of casual physical touch. He’s also not prepared to handle her driving his car. 

Word Count: 4115

Warnings: Touchstarved!Dean, aggressive fluffy snuggles, smut

*Female reader

A/N: CONSENT IS SEXY PEOPLE USE IT. Also, for the purposes of this fic the Impala has a manual transmission. I know she pretty much isn’t but sometimes when fics announce themselves fully formed and slightly confused in my head they come with oddly specific stipulations like Baby being manual. 

Aunt Danielle already had six boys when you came to live with her, and the youngest of them was seven years older than you. Your earliest memories involved cousin Joe dangling you upside down, tickling you until you shrieked for mercy, and then popping you up onto his shoulders to carry you downstairs when your aunt yelled for everyone to shut up and come eat dinner. 

Your aunt gave the best hugs, and that was a fact you’d decided in childhood that had never really gone away, even as an adult. She was warm and loving and had been successfully hugging your problems away since the tender age of four. Incidentally, offering hugs was still your go-to method of problem solving for everyone around you, and you had her to thank for it. 

You grew up trying to fit seven people onto a too-small sofa for Saturday night movie night. (It always ended with someone’s foot jammed in someone else’s side and a lot of complaining.) You spent years with the only car in the family being an old two-door pickup, so anyone that was too slow to call shotgun piled into the truck bed to get wherever you were going. (Which only really sucked when it was cold out.) You grew up as the recipient of piggyback rides and, occasionally, getting hauled out of the bathroom in a fireman’s hold if you took too long on your hair as a teenager. 

Somehow, it had never occured to you that that wasn’t everyone’s experience. In your mind, coming to live with the Winchesters was just an extension of the kind of life you’d always had, even though part of you always knew your little hunter family was an exception, not the rule.

The first time it happened, you’d been occupying a guest room in the bunker for maybe two weeks. The living arrangement was still temporary then, Sam and Dean treating you kindly enough but clearly not yet trusting. You’d swung through the kitchen while Dean was making dinner, just trying to grab a bottle of water, and, in some combined habit from your high school waitressing days and your aunt’s crowded kitchen, laid a hand on his back as you slid past. “Behind you,” you’d murmured, the touch only lingering for the split second you needed to cross over to the fridge. 

It was long enough to feel every single muscle in his body tense up like you were holding a gun barrel to the middle of his spine instead of your palm. But it wasn’t your place to comment, not really, so you just fished a bottle out of the fridge silently and went back to the library, reminding yourself that this was a man you barely knew, and would never have known if it weren’t for an especially pesky werewolf pack. 

A month later found the three of you celebrating after a miserably complicated hunt finally finished, arguing over who got to choose the movie. You’d smacked the cap off of your beer on a table edge on the way in and settled yourself in between the still-bickering brothers on the sofa with a roll of your eyes. “Someone better decide in the next ten seconds,” you huffed out with no real annoyance, not even sparing a thought for the fact that the entire right side of your body was pressed against Dean’s. 

His argument in favor of Die Hard was abruptly cut off with a shiver and an almost indiscernible noise in the back of his throat, and he’d avoided the weird look you shot him while Sam triumphantly jumped up to put his preferred pick into the old DVD player. It was maybe the first time in your entire life you’d watched a movie with few enough people to all fit on the couch (even though Sam ends up on the floor after the first twenty minutes) and it felt weird. 

Without thinking, you’d shifted your body into the space Sam vacated and pivoted your legs to land your feet over Dean’s lap, wincing internally when he immediately stiffened, his free hand hovering hesitantly in mid-air for an awkward length of time before he finally set it down, barely touching, over your ankles. Your thoughts had drifted to what his hands, calloused and warm, would feel like on other parts of your body before you snapped at yourself to end the train of thought. Dean obviously wasn’t comfortable around you, and you were going to have to remember that. Even if he was pretty much just unfairly perfect.

That proved to be easier said than done. As you settled into life at the bunker over the next few months, you had plenty of reminders after the fact, when you’d already made the seasoned hunter jump and flinch away from you, but you rarely caught yourself before you reached out to touch him. And getting to know him better really wasn’t helping your case. He was smart, surprisingly gentle, good at watching your back and making you laugh. He loved his car and his brother and a good slice of apple pie almost as much as you thought you could easily love him, and you, evidently, scared the shit out of him. 

You could almost picture your aunt’s face if you told her. I live with a really hot guy and I keep spooking him and I don’t know why. She would have thrown back her head and laughed in her loud, brash way, and then she would have fixed you with a sharp look and asked, well, did you ask him about it?

Staring blankly through the windshield in front of you, you blew out an exasperated breath. Because that conversation would go over so well. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice cut through your thoughts, studying you with those green eyes. “Still with me?”

Your forehead scrunched together as you looked at him, watching him watch you bite your lip. “Dean, I don’t want to do this. What if I break her?”

He flashed you a grin. “If you break Baby? Start running,”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Dean, I’m serious!”

He looked affronted. “So am I. But you’re not going to break her.” Dean reached over, dangling the keys impatiently in front of you until you caved and pulled them out of his hands, trying to quell the nerves in your stomach. “Come on, you need to learn to handle her before you’re trying to figure it out with one of us trying not to get blood all over the backseat.”

You’d been behind the wheel of dozens of cars. You’d spent plenty of time criss-crossing states, though perhaps not nearly as much as Sam and Dean did, and you knew you were a decently competent driver. 

But you’d never driven a manual before. And you’d never tried practicing on a beloved car with said car’s owner watching you the entire time. Said car’s owner who you were possibly harboring the world’s most unbelievable crush on. Who flinched away from you on the regular. 

No, no reason to be nervous at all. Gritting your teeth, you put the key in the ignition, hearing the familiar purr of Baby’s engine come to life beneath your hands. You glanced at Dean, looking perfectly unbothered in the passenger’s seat. “Now what?”

“Press the clutch all the way down. Shift into first, now go easy on the accelerator,”

You got halfway through his instructions before the car made a noise of protest and you instinctively yanked your hands off the wheel, biting your lip again. “Oh, god, okay, I’m sorry, I–” you were rambling and you knew it, not sure if you were apologizing to Dean or to the Impala. 

Beside you, Dean chuckled softly and slid closer on the bench seat, glancing down at your foot on the clutch. “Just let up on the clutch a little slower this time,”

This time, you felt it catch, and Dean guided you through accelerating the car without stalling it. You exhaled, leaning forward just slightly without losing your careful control of the car. “I would rather go ten rounds with a rugaru than ever do that again,” you offered up conversationally, pretending you weren’t desperately white-knuckling Baby’s steering wheel.

To your surprise, Dean let out a loud laugh beside you, and you cursed the stupid driving lesson again for not letting you turn to look at him. In any other car, you would have, but taking your eyes off the road while driving the Impala seemed too big of a risk. 

That didn’t, however, stop Dean from watching you. He walked you through shifting into third gear without taking his eyes off you, and you could feel his green gaze boring holes into the side of your head while you executed a turn onto the next backroad, wincing at the slight grind you were still making every time you tried to get into second and back to third.

“Relax,” Dean said softly. “Stop strangling the wheel, you’re fine.”

You were most certainly not fine, riding some strange mixture of anxiety, adrenaline, and arousal as the sound of the car’s engine and Dean’s low voice warred for your attention. Still, over the next half-hour of aimless driving, you were starting to feel a little less intimidated by sitting in the driver’s seat. 

“Turn left up here,”

You promptly maneuvered the car into the right-hand turn lane, getting around the corner before Dean’s laughter interrupted you. “The other left, Y/N,”

Without thinking, you reached over to punch his arm. “Shut up, jerk, I’m trying,”

As usual, Dean stiffened under your touch, pulling away from you on the bench seat, and you huffed a breath of annoyance at yourself. “Sorry,”

You could feel Dean’s look of surprise, but your eyes stayed resolutely on the road. You passed one mile marker, then the next, the mood in the car suddenly more tense than it was when you were stalling the engine and grinding gears. 

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” you blurted out suddenly, wincing as your voice came out louder than intended. You were back to gripping the steering wheel until your hands turned white. 

“What?” Dean was silent for a moment after that outburst, like he was trying to process. “Do you–Y/N, what the fuck are you talking about?”

That was hardly the response you were expecting from him and you blinked, easing the Impala to a stop on the side of the completely empty road before turning to look at him, one hand braced on the steering wheel and one on the back of the seat. “I just…” you fumbled, looking anywhere but his eyes and that wasn’t helping because that just left you staring at his mouth and you needed to focus. “You jump every time I touch you, Dean,” you finally said softly. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I’m working on–”

“You don’t,” Dean cut you off, looking equal parts bewildered and hesitant. His hand came up to run through his short hair before landing in his lap where he stared down, not looking at you. “‘M just not used to it,” he mumbled after a pause. 

Something in your heart broke at the admission, at the idea that he was missing something that had been so fundamental to you for your entire life. “Dean…”

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he said roughly, still avoiding your gaze. 

“No, it’s not!” you surprised even yourself with the sharpness in your tone, and Dean’s head finally snapped up to look at you, meeting your eyes with green pools that looked almost on the verge of tears. “You deserve to be hugged and touched and loved as much as anyone else,”

You bit your lip, wondering if you were about to go too far. “Can I give you a hug?”

Dean scoffed, clearly not as unaffected as he pretended to be, but held his arm out for you to slide under. “Sure, whatever,”

You slid across the bench seat until you were tucked up next to him, turning your body into his chest as you wrapped your arms around him and laid your head on his shoulder. For the first time since getting into the Impala, you felt the tension drain out of your spine, and you shifted slightly, feeling the solid warmth of his body and the soft flannel he was wearing against your cheek. 

And then you realized he was shaking. Cautiously, you lifted your head, not quite letting him go as you opened your eyes to look at his face, scrunched up like he was in pain. It occurs to you that this is so far from any kind of the manly-slap-on-the-back hugs you’ve seen him exchange with his brother, and even those are few and far between. You were probably completely overwhelming him. “Too much?”

Dean shook his head once, his arm tightening just slightly around you, and you smiled softly at him, tucking yourself back into his side as best you could in the front seat of the car. “Okay,” you whispered, somehow afraid to break the moment if you spoke too loud. “Okay.”

One of your hands slid up to card through his short hair absently, your head still resting against his shoulder, and Dean melted. Every bone in his body seemed to simultaneously give up the fight, falling into you with a quiet noise in the back of his throat that somehow broke your heart and turned you on at the same time. 

At no point in this little driving lesson–hell, at no point since meeting him–did you imagine you would end up with your arms full of Dean Winchester, but you sure as hell weren’t complaining. You were caught halfway between realizing you felt completely safe for the first time since leaving your aunt’s house, and trying to focus on him. Somewhere in the middle of it, Dean had turned his face into your neck, lips hovering over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and you shivered involuntarily. 

Dean froze, raising his head cautiously to search your face with those green eyes. “You good?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Yeah,” you whispered back, hand playing absently with the collar of his flannel and your eyes flicking between his lips and the freckles on his face. You had no way of explaining why this, a hug in a car pulled on the side of the road, was so much more intimate than anything you’d ever experienced before, it just was. Maybe it was because it was him. Maybe it was always just him.

You could see the same thing reflected in Dean’s expression, and when his eyes darkened and his hands shifted to your waist, you just went along with it, letting him lift you easily onto his lap with a little squeak leaving your lips. 

He smiled, pulling you tighter against him, and when his lips were suddenly on yours you weren’t even sure who moved first. Dean kissed you like he was starving, swallowing your gasp of surprise and tracing his tongue against yours, one hand tangling itself up in your hair. It was electric, stealing your breath and sending warmth pooling low in your belly, and you were completely unprepared for how completely it was taking you over. Your senses had narrowed to just him, his hand on your back trying to pull you closer, the heat of his mouth, his shirt clenched in your hands.

Finally, needing to breath, you pulled back, pushing your hair reflexively out of your face. “Not that I’m complaining,” you laughed softly, “but where did that come from?” You’d seen Dean pick up women in bars like it was nothing before. And you weren’t sure you could be that to him. Not now.

Dean practically growled, his hands tightening on your hips. “Are you kidding me? You driving my car was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,”

You smirked at him, surveying his face, all blown pupils and flushed skin. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied easily, his lips returning to your neck. “Helps that I’ve wanted to do this forever,” he muttered against your skin, pressing kisses to your shoulder. One of his hands slid from your hip to inch its way up your shirt, fingertips grazing your lower back and lighting you up at the touch. You shifted your weight on his lap, rocking forward against the bulge in his jeans and making him hiss. “You should have said something,”

“Sweetheart,” Dean started, pausing with wide eyes as your hands went to his belt. He watched for a moment, transfixed, before his brain caught up and he caught your hands in his, stopping you. 

Your eyes shot up to meet his, worrying your lip again as you watched him, wondering if you’d gone too far. But Dean was still looking at you with unrestrained desire written all over his face. “Get in the backseat,”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You opened the passenger door with one last graze of your lips on his, almost tumbling off of his lap as you climbed out of the confined space, Dean on your heels. You pulled your shirt off before climbing into Baby’s backseat, smirking at the noise he made behind you. You’d never get tired of knowing the effect you could have on him. 

Settled back on the seat, Dean slid in after you, thankfully still with the presence of mind to shut the door behind him before he resumed devouring you, trailing his mouth from your lips down to your chest, teeth just grazing your breasts through the fabric before his hand snaked around to your back to unclasp your bra. You paused to let him pull the straps off of your arms before you went to work on his clothes, pushing the flannel impatiently off of his shoulders and letting out a frustrated whine when, in your current position, all you succeeded in doing was bunching it up around his biceps. Dean had you wound up too tight already and neither of you were even naked yet. 

He moved away from you just long enough to rip off the exasperating number of layers he was wearing, throwing them somewhere onto Baby’s floor. Settling back over you, Dean’s hands traced a burning path up your torso, thumbs just brushing over your nipples and sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. “You’re gorgeous, baby girl,”

You felt a flush of warmth at the compliment, not sure if you’d use the same words to describe yourself but too caught up to bother arguing. “Dean, hurry up,” you returned impatiently, lifting your hips toward him in search of friction. Your hands slid over his broad shoulders and down his back, feeling muscles ripple beneath your touch and watching the way his face changed at the contact. 

His hand slid down to deftly undo the button on your jeans, working the material off your hips as you pushed yourself up off of the leather seat to help him. His belt went next, and, with a bit of backseat gymnastics, Dean was sitting back on his heels above you with his pair of black boxers the only scrap of clothing left between you. 

You swallowed hard at the impressive tent in those boxers, rearranging yourself on the seat until you could slide your fingers into the waistband, looking up at his lust-blown eyes for confirmation. God, you just wanted to touch him, all of him, but you still wouldn’t do anything without his permission. 

Dean’s hand caught the side of your face, dragging you toward him for a messy kiss. Taking that as a yes, you pulled away after a moment with a breathy smile (and really, where had that come from) and pulled his boxers down far enough that his cock sprang free, bouncing against his stomach dark red and leaking. 

You wrapped your hand around him, thumb swiping experimentally over the tip and earning a low groan from Dean in response. “Wanna taste you,” you murmured, not waiting for a response before swallowing down as much of him as you could. He felt bigger in your mouth than you expected, the first blowjob you’d given that could probably actually choke you if you weren’t careful, but you weren’t about to let that stop you. Your hand covered whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you moved over him faster, trying to wring as many of those little noises out of his throat as you could. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” he breathed, which only spurred you on. You’d never really found that much enjoyment in giving blowjobs before, seeing them more as a favor to your partner, but there was something about this, about Dean, that had you practically dripping onto Baby’s leather seat. You snaked one hand between your legs to touch yourself, desperately in search of any kind of contact, and moaned around your mouthful of Dean’s cock as you circled your clit. 

“Fuck, baby, stop,” Dean guided you off of his cock hastily, crashing his lips into yours for a heartbeat while his hands held tightly to your hips. Then, he carefully laid you back down on the seat, shifting until he was braced above you on his forearms with the tip of his cock just brushing your entrance. 

Desperate and past the point of caring, you bucked your hips up, almost crying in relief when Dean finally slid into you, one inch at a time. You threw your head back against the Impala’s door at the sensation, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he finally filled you, holding completely still for a moment to let you adjust.

“Shit, Y/N, you feel so good,” he groaned into your neck, mouthing little kisses there as he went. 

You’d never felt anything like this. No one had ever come close to this, and it wasn’t just that he was reaching places inside you that you hadn’t even known existed. You rocked your hips up, silently begging him to move, and Dean took the hint with a look of such adoration that it took your breath away. 

You sank into an easy rhythm there in Baby’s backseat, your teeth sinking into your lip as you tried to muffle the sounds caught in your chest. Dean’s soft lips moved over yours, coaxing your lip free before shooting you a heated gaze. “Let me hear you,”

His voice was deeper than you’d heard it before, the sound sending a rush of heat to your core, and you clenched your walls around him as he slid over your g-spot, a low wine tearing from your throat that didn’t sound remotely like your own voice. “Dean, god, fuck,”

 The pace of his thrusts sped up, one hand coming down to rub your clit in slow circles with the calloused pad of his thumb. “Come for me, Y/N,”

He was fucking you hard now, his every thrust slamming into your g-spot and a look on his flushed face that you wanted to commit to memory. He groaned roughly as your walls tightened around him, one sharp flick of your clit sending you over the edge into a wave of oblivion. Your vision went white, mouth open in a strangled scream, and you clung to Dean to hold you together as he shattered you perfectly. 

Vaguely, you registered Dean following you over the edge with a growl, and you both laid there in a tangle of limbs in Baby’s backseat, your skin sticking unpleasantly to the leather under your back but both of you unwilling to move. 

“So,” you said finally, “do all of your driving lessons go like that?”

Dean raised his head from where he’d been resting on your chest, opening one eye to stare at you with a scowl. “Only other person I taught to drive was Sammy,”

A laugh bubbled out of your throat, and you slid your fingers through his now-messy hair, a warmth caught in your chest as he arched into your touch, hugging his arms around your waist. “So does that make me special?”

He pressed a half-formed kiss to the skin above your left breast. “Maybe,”

“I still don’t want to drive home,” you said flatly, your eyes sparkling.

Still huddled against you, Dean barked a laugh. “Fine,” he raised an eyebrow. “I can get us there faster anyway,”

So Dean drove on the way back, Metallica on the radio, half of your clothes still in the backseat, with one hand on the wheel and the other in yours. 

[winchester-fantasies]

Ritual

Summary: While hunkering down on a case, you and Dean strike up an unusual ritual.

Word Count: 3977

Warnings: smut, mutual masturbation, fingering, some dirty talk, semi-public sex, a little bit of fluff, swearing

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     Everything around you was dark as you cautiously made your way across the room, waiting for your eyes to adjust to your surroundings. You blindly reached your arms out in front of you, searching for anything as a sign of your surroundings. The ball of your foot stepped over the hardwood floor, the floorboards creaking in that familiar way that told you you were almost to your bed. 

     You became more confident you knew where you were going, and you let your arms fall to your sides. You took another step forward, but you yelped in pain as your knee suddenly came in contact with something solid and hard. 

     “Shit!” you hissed, grabbing your leg and rubbing roughly over the aching spot. You reached down, your fingers grazing the object that had inflicted so much pain, silently chiding yourself when you realized you'd miscalculated your direction and had run into the coffee table instead.

     “You okay?” Dean's gruff and sleep coated voice whispered in the dark.

     You nearly jumped at the sound, quickly veering to the right and jumping onto the couch that had become your bed and curling up under the heavy quilt. “Y...yeah,” you stammered, your heart pounding. “Had to get a drink of water. Sorry for waking you.” 

     “Nah, it's okay,” Dean said, his voice sounding more awake now. “Haven't really been able to sleep much tonight anyway.”

     “How come?” you asked quietly, mindful that Sam was sleeping just upstairs in the open loft.

     “Ya know,” Dean commented vaguely. “Just...everything.”

     You nodded, even though he couldn't see you. “Yeah, I get it,” you said, thinking back over the last few eventful days. You and the boys had been on a demon hunt when your covers had been compromised. You'd quickly been outnumbered so you ran, fleeing to one of Bobby's old safe houses. You'd warded the shit out of the place almost as soon as you'd arrived and now you were laying low for a few days while you tried to figure out what your next move should be.

     Thankfully this safe house was one that Bobby had used quite often so there were a few lore books, weapons and hunting supplies, food and water, and even holy water. You and Sam had been scouring the books for days and Dean had even made a few calls to a few older and more experienced hunters he knew. However, after nearly three days and no breaks, you were beginning to wonder if you'd ever get yourselves out of this mess.

     “Do you think we'll make it out?” you asked.

     Dean was silent, your question hanging in the air, unanswered, leaving your stomach in knots. Dean was always so confident and sure of himself and his abilities as a hunter. He always had an answer and a plan. But his silence this time was unnerving. He was just as scared and uncertain about the situation as you were.

     “Yeah, I think so,” Dean finally answered, his voice more confident than you knew he was actually feeling. “We'll figure something out. We always do.”

     “Yeah, I hope so,” you murmured. 

     You groaned, the feeling of heaviness in your bladder making its presence known. Maybe you shouldn't have drunk that glass of water.

     “What's wrong?” Dean asked.

     You sighed, throwing off your blanket. “I have to go pee,” you complained getting to your feet and searching for your shoes.

     “I'll go with you,” Dean said, sitting up and grabbing his boots.

     “No, don't worry about it, Dean,” you said. Dean didn't answer you, instead pulling on his combat boots. 

     “Dean, you've had a stressful week. You need to rest,” you said, lacing up your Doc Martens.

     When Dean still didn't answer you sighed. “I'll be fine,” you reassured him.

     “Yeah, well, I don't like the thought of you going out there by yourself when we don't even know where those sons 'o bitches are,” he said gruffly, standing to his feet. “So stop arguing and get your ass outside.”

     You rolled your eyes but did as you were told nevertheless. You silently cursed at Bobby for not including an indoor toilet into the floor plans. Instead he'd opted for the old-fashioned kind: An outhouse. 

     You and Dean stepped out onto the front porch, the steps creaking as you descended. The night was warm with the sounds of crickets and tree frogs filling the air. 

     You looked up at the cloudless sky, stars twinkling in the black abyss. The moon was full, illuminating the trees and other foliage surrounding the safe house. 

     You easily found your way to the outhouse, the smell of feces and urine growing stronger as you neared the wooden structure. You wrinkled your nose as you opened the door slowly, the hinges screeching. You'd have to empty out the bucket in the morning.

     You stepped inside and let the door slam behind you and leaving Dean to stand guard. You slid your pajama shorts and panties down your legs to just below your knees, being careful to not let them touch the piss-stained bottom.

     The humidity mixed with the stench surrounding you grew thicker and you nearly gagged. “Dean,” you called.

     “Yeah, sweetheart?” Dean's muffled voice came through the slightly slatted door.

     “Open the door,” you implored. “It's too hot in here.” Dean swung it wide, using his shoulder to keep it open. 

     “Thanks,” you said, fanning yourself to no avail. Sweat still dotted your forehead and upper lip. 

     “No problem,” Dean said, his back still to you, giving you what meager amount of privacy you had.

     You made quick work of relieving yourself before hurriedly pulling your shorts and panties back up and stepping out into the fresh air. “Whew!” you exclaimed, breathing in deeply. “It was fucking stifling in there!”

     Dean chuckled and you were about to join in when a shrill howl filled the air. You tensed, your eyes and ears alert for any sign of impending danger.

     Dean seemed to sense your fear because he moved to your side, throwing his arm around your shoulder. “Relax, sweetheart,” he said with an amused grin. “It's just coyotes.”

     “Are you sure?” you asked skeptically as another howl rang out, closer this time.

     “I'm sure. You've got nothin’ to worry about as long as you're with me,” he said, his voice staunch. “Let's go back to the house.”

     You nodded, letting him lead you back to the cabin, his arm never leaving your shoulders. 

**********

     The next two days flashed by in a blur. You and Sam continued to dig into Bobby's old books and searched the Internet for anything that seemed demon related. Anything to indicate just where the demons were.

     Dean finally made contact with Cas, who promised to talk to Crowley to see if there was anything the King of Hell could tell him or do to call off the demons on your trail.

     You lay on the couch later that night, going over everything you knew and seeing if you could find a different angle you hadn't considered yet. You were starting to get antsy being cooped up in the safe house. Bobby had stocked it well but with both you and the Winchesters eating the canned goods and MREs he had left, you knew you'd need to go on a supply run soon. Even if it was a risky move.

     You closed your eyes, the muffled sound of tree frogs coming from outside. Sam's soft snores came from the loft, and your eyes grew heavy as all the sounds you'd grown used to in your time at the cabin, started lulling you to sleep.

     But your eyes shot open the moment you heard the soft grunt. It had come from Dean's side of the room. It was too dark to see anything, and you were about to ask him if he was alright when a low groan came from his couch.

     Your stomach clenched, and you swallowed hard. Was he…jerking off? In front of you? With Sam so close and practically in the room? It shocked you, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on. 

     It had been almost a month since you'd gotten yourself off or had a guy between your thighs. You were beyond sexually frustrated, and with the thought of Dean touching himself, sliding his hand up and down his shaft, pre-cum seeping from the tip, you found yourself more than a little aroused.

     Before you knew it, your hand was sliding under the waistband of your pajama shorts and into your panties. Your fingers grazed your heated core, the wetness coating your folds surprising you. You never got this wet, even when a guy was eating you out or buried balls deep inside you. 

     What it was that got you so turned on by Dean Winchester jacking off, you didn't know. But you also didn't mind as you ran your fingers through your folds before finding your already swollen clit. 

     You rubbed small, controlled circles over the bundle of nerves, pleasure already starting to build. You closed your eyes and bit your bottom lip as you listened to Dean's soft grunts and groans from the other side of the room. 

      You moved your fingers down, inserting two into your sopping hole while your thumb kept a firm pressure on your clit. You shoved your hand under your tank top, palming your breast and pinching your nipples. 

     Your fingers dragged deliciously against your walls, and you couldn't stifle a moan when you crooked your fingers, finding your g-spot.

     “(Y/N)?” Dean's deep and slightly out of breath voice sounded out. You immediately stopped your movements, your fingers still encased in your slick pussy. You held your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. You hoped if you remained quiet, Dean would assume you were asleep and save you the embarrassment of having to explain that you were pleasuring yourself to the sounds of him getting himself off.

     “Are you touching yourself?” Dean whispered. You were shocked into further silence at his brazen and direct question. 

     When you finally found your voice, it was tiny and uncertain. “Y...yes,” you whispered back, your voice practically a mewl.

     Dean remained silent, but you heard shuffling blankets as he shifted. You could see his silhouette against the soft moonlight coming through the sheer curtains at the window behind him as he sat up, leaning back against the couch's armrest. 

     “How are you touching yourself?” he asked, his voice a throaty growl. The sheet over his legs billowed up and down gently as he continued to stroke himself. You were so mesmerized by everything that was happening you barely registered that your fingers had picked up their pace once more until you moaned, a shock of pleasure rippling through your core.

     “C’mon, sweetheart,” Dean panted. “Talk to me. Tell me what you're doing to that sweet, little pussy of yours.”

     You licked your lips, tasting the sweat starting to dot your upper lip. “I...I, um, I'm fucking myself...w...with my fingers,” you said, your voice quiet and uncertain. If felt a bit awkward talking to your friend in such a dirty and intimate way, and you felt a little insecure. You weren't sure what to make of the situation or even what to say exactly.

     “Yeah?” Dean asked. You bit your lower lip and hummed.

     “Yeah,” you said. A squelching noise filled the air as you shoved your fingers in deeper.

     “Shit!” Dean hissed sharply at the sound. “You're so fucking wet, sweetheart.... What else are you doing?”

     “I'm rubbing my clit,” you said, a soft moan following your words as your fingers once again found precedence on your swollen and sensitive bud. 

     “Yeah?” Dean asked again.

     “Yeah,” you said breathily. You weren't sure if it was the huskiness of his voice or the sexy and almost risqué situation or both, but you felt a jolt of confidence, causing your next words to fall from your mouth. “And I'm imagining your fingers instead of mine.”

     Dean was silent, and you felt shame creep into your mind. Maybe you'd gone too far. You'd probably fucked up your entire friendship over one lust induced and foolish comment.

     You were about to apologize and tell Dean to forget what you'd just said when he spoke again. “And does it feel good?” he asked, his voice a throaty whisper. You couldn't believe it! He was actually going along with it.

     “Mm, yeah,” you mewled. “Fucking amazing.”

     “Good,” Dean growled. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

     His words sent another round of arousal straight to your core, coating your fingers in a fresh wave of wetness. You let out a soft and lustful moan as your fingers slid over a particularly sensitive spot, causing you to buck into your hand. “Right there, Dean,” you whimpered. 

     “Don't stop,” he commanded breathlessly. The sheet billowed a little higher as he picked up his pace, lifting his hips off the couch and rocking himself into his palm. “Wanna hear you cum.”

     The room fell silent as you both focused on chasing your releases. The only sounds that broke the quiet were the soft moans, groans, and creaking of couch springs as you shifted, trying to find that perfect angle.

     You went back to pumping your fingers into your still soaking hole and adding a third digit when two just wasn't enough. Your other hand rubbed small, quick circles across your oversensitive clit and you soon felt the familiar tightening of your stomach, indicating you were close. You crooked your fingers into your sweet spot and the coil snapped. Your hips lifted off the couch and your legs trembled as your orgasm overtook you. “Dean,” your wanton praise carried throughout the living room.

     Within seconds Dean was cumming, too, his voice a deep and throaty growl. “Fuucckk,” he groaned, his hand sliding furiously up and down his member as his hips stuttered then finally stilled, white, hot cum coating his hand and staining the sheet above him.

     Dean removed the sheet from his lap and used it to wipe his hand and clean himself up. You did the same, removing your pajama bottoms and panties and using the shorts to clean yourself. You both tossed the soiled sheet and shorts to the ground beside you before lying back, blissed out and reveling in your highs. You were panting hard and trying to get your heartbeat back to normal.

     After a little while, Dean rolled over, facing the back of the couch and pulling the blanket over his body. “Good night, (Y/N),” he called quietly over his shoulder.

     You smiled. “Good night, Dean.” You settled back on your pillow and closed your eyes, letting Dean's steady breathing and the sounds outside lull you to sleep and pull you into fantasies only your dreams would ever see.

**********

     You were standing at the stove the next morning; pancakes were cooking on the skillet while uncracked eggs set off to the side, waiting to be scrambled. Sam was at the kitchen table on his laptop, once again searching for anything having to do with the demons. The boys were tired and quickly burning out from getting nowhere with the case, so you thought a nice home-cooked breakfast would help break the monotony.

     It wasn't long, though, before your mind started to wander, and by the time pancake number four was finished, you'd already replayed everything that had happened the night before nearly a dozen times.

     “Better watch those pancakes,” Dean said teasingly. You jumped at his voice and chuckled sheepishly, quickly flipping the pancake before it could burn.

     You tensed when you felt a hand come to rest on the side of you waist, the scent of Dean's cologne unmistakable. “Last night was fucking hot,” Dean whispered gruffly in your ear, his warm breath tickling your ear and ruffling the hair at your temple. “Can't wait for round two tonight.”

     You jerked your gaze up just as he started to walk away but not before you caught the discreet, yet completely enticing and provocative wink he sent your way.

     So it became your ritual that every night you'd cum to the sounds of one another as you pleasured yourselves. During the day everything went on as usual, and you and Dean didn't talk about what you did in the dark. It was an unspoken agreement. 

     Nearly a week later, Garth showed up at the cabin. He'd heard about your predicament and had caught wind of where the demons were. He thought he knew a way out and had decided to come help.

     You were happy you finally had a break in the case. You and the boys had been out at the cabin for almost three weeks, and everyone's patience was wearing thin. However, with Garth’s arrival came the trouble of figuring out sleeping arrangements.

     You finally came to the agreement that Garth would take the loft, and Sam would use the couch you'd been occupying. Which left you sharing with Dean. It wouldn't have been such a problem except for the fact you and Dean were on opposite sides of the sofa, your feet practically dangling off the sides while his were almost in your face.

     You rolled over for what had to have been the fourth time, trying to get comfortable. You sighed as the heel of Dean's foot dug into the side of your rib cage. You had finally given up on sleep.

     “You okay, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice cut through the quiet, and you jumped. 

     “Can't sleep,” you mumbled grumpily.

     You felt Dean shift and when you looked towards him, you saw he was now sitting up. “Come here,” he said, beckoning.

     You huffed, but got up nevertheless, Dean guiding you between his legs and pulling you back against him.You instantly felt yourself relax, and you leaned your head against his shoulder, the side of his cheek nearly plastered to your own.

     “Better?” he asked, his warm breath ruffling the flyaways at your temple.

     You nodded and closed your eyes. You were on the verge of sleep when you felt a hand slide over your thigh. You jolted awake, your eyes wide. “What are you doing?” you hissed. 

     “Just relax,” Dean murmured, his hand making its way up your thigh. You instinctively spread your legs, allowing his touch to move to your inner thigh and tease the bottom of your pajama shorts.

     “Dean,” you said, your heartbeat picking up and your breathing becoming shallow. “Garth...Sam,” you whispered.

     “They won't hear,” he whispered. “Not if you're quiet.” 

     You shuddered at his words as his hand traveled up to the waistband of your shorts. He paused for a moment, the tips of his fingers sliding under the elastic. “This okay?” he asked gruffly.

     You nodded briskly, and Dean continued his path. “Good,” he grunted, his hand slipping into your panties. “'Cause I've heard you cum…. Now I wanna feel you,” he said just as his fingers found your swollen clit.

     You gasped and bucked into his hand as he rubbed firm and controlled circles over the sensitive bud. “This feel good?” he asked quietly.

     You whimpered in response as he dipped a finger into your soaked core. “Mmm,” he growled in appreciation. “You’re already so fucking wet.”

     He continued to thrust his middle finger into you while his thumb kept a steady pressure against your clit. You rolled your hips with his movements, and you gripped his thighs as his fingers brushed against your sweet spot. 

     “Dean,” you whispered through gritted teeth as you fought against the moan at the back of your throat.

     “Cum for me, sweetheart,” he said, and you did as he commanded, cumming harder than you ever had on your own fingers.

     Dean worked you through your orgasm, chuckling softly as you slumped back against him, your chest heaving. “So fucking hot,” he whispered, lightly nipping at your earlobe. Dean's hands moved over your body as you came down from your high, caressing every inch of skin he could find. 

     “Take off your pants,” he said, the tone in his voice leaving no room for argument. You scrambled up from between his legs, the couch dipping and springs squeaking as you got up. Sam suddenly took a deep breath from the couch across the room, and you and Dean paused what you were doing, listening for any other signs he was awake. You let out the breath you didn't know you'd been holding as Sam flipped to his side away from you and Dean.

     You quickly shimmied out of your shorts and panties, leaving them on the floor. You were surprised to find Dean fully naked when you turned back around, just enough light around the room for you to see his thick erection flat against his stomach. 

     Dean held out his hand to you, and you took it as he silently guided you back onto his lap. You could feel his tip at your entrance and you tensed, looking towards Sam and the loft. You knew what Dean had in mind the moment he'd told you to strip. You'd been so turned on by his demand you hadn't really cared that there were two other people in the house, but now that it was actually about to happen, you were having second thoughts.

     “Dean…” you started, your voice betraying your apprehension.

     Dean shushed you with a warm hand on your bare waist. “Don't worry, baby,” he said, rubbing his thumb across your skin. “This isn't my first rodeo,” he reassured you.

     You nodded and felt yourself start to relax again. Dean knew what he was doing even if you were walking into this blindly. You could trust him; he wouldn't put you in a situation like this if he didn't think he could get away with it.

     “Just relax,” he said as he lined himself up and began to push into you slowly. You let out a small gasp as he slid against your walls, every inch of you feeling fuller and fuller. 

     “Fuckin’ hell you're tight,” Dean said once he'd bottomed out, resting his forehead against your clothed back.

     A soft moan fell from your mouth once he started moving. He was slow, careful not to make too much noise, the springs of the couch squeaking softly.

     You held onto the back of the couch to steady yourself while your other hand grasped his forearm, his hands firmly gripping your waist as he thrust in and out of you rhythmically. And it wasn't long before you felt that familiar warmth building in your stomach again. 

     “D...De,” you panted, squeezing his arm and hoping he'd get your message.

     “I know, baby,” he grunted. “Me, too.”

     He snaked his hand between your spread thighs, his fingertips massaging your oversensitive clit. A jolt of electricity shot through your body and before you could register what was happening, you were falling off the precipice of release. 

     You threw your head back as your walls tightened and the coil snapped. Dean clamped his other hand over your mouth just as a wanton moan spilled from your lips.

     Dean wasn't far behind, a low groan emanating from his throat as his hips stuttered. He gripped your waist tightly again as he thrust harshly up into you two more times before he came, ropes of hot cum coating your walls.

     You ran your hand up and down the side of his hairy and muscular thigh while he wrapped his arms around you, anchoring you against him. Dean buried his face into your neck the moment you collapsed against him, kissing down your neck and shoulder and sucking a mark behind your ear. “Definitely the best case I've ever worked,” he murmured in your ear, just as the first light of dawn peeked over the horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 8

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 2696

Author’s Note: Gettin’ close here, folks. Two more chapters after this. Always thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for the fixing of my words. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. And I make no apologies about the end of this chapter.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 8

They both jerk awake a couple of hours later to the sound of Dean’s cell phone going off on the table. Dean curses and nudges Kimber, who growls her displeasure and pulls his arms tighter against her chest.

“Lemme up, sweetheart, that’s Sam.”

He pads across the room, not bothering with clothes, and answers the phone with a hoarse, “S’goin’ on, Sam?”

Kimber rolls over, losing most of the conversation as she yawns and stretches. She resettles under the covers, drifting in and out of consciousness. She feels steadier than before, less frantic, but still so worn out. 

Just a few more days of sleep, that’s all I need, she thinks as the mattress dips behind her. The covers lift, letting in a chill gust of air, and she shivers as Dean’s considerably cooler skin presses against her back.

She hisses in protest, swatting at his cold fingers as they creep over her hip. Chuckling, Dean ignores her ineffectual slaps as he drags her back against his chest. His flesh warms rapidly, spurred on by his wandering hands and lips. Pacified by his renewed body heat, she snuggles deeper into his embrace, luxuriating in his feather-light kisses down her neck and across her shoulder.

“Mmm, s’nice...warm.”

“If you want me to warm you up, darlin’,” Dean drawls, his hand splaying over the swell of her hip, “all you gotta do is ask.” His nose drags a lazy line behind her ear as he inhales, his breath sending a ripple of heat straight to her belly.

He presses lush, damp kisses along her throat, down her jaw, and she turns her face to aid in his exploration. She smiles as he outlines each of her lips meticulously with his own before finally flicking the barest tip of his tongue against the seam of her mouth. 

She breathes his name out, and if it’s more prayer than request, neither of them bothers to discern the difference. She reaches back, resting her hand for a moment on the curve of his ass, reveling in the simple joy of finally being able to touch him however she wants. 

When she drags her nails forward over his hip, he jerks against her, letting out a stuttered hiss of his own. He snatches at her wrist, bringing the offending appendage up to his mouth, inspecting it with exaggerated annoyance.

“No, ma’am,” he grumbles, glaring sternly down at her. Any menace behind his expression is completely ruined by the kiss he presses against her pulse point. She purrs contentedly as he nips the pads of each of her fingers in turn; the plush of his lips against each bite is balm straight to her soul. 

“Why, Dean Winchester, how in the world did I ever forget that you’re ticklish? I think this rediscovery calls for further examination.” She wiggles the fingers of her free hand playfully, inching towards his armpit. He sighs, sounding utterly put-upon, and lifts the arm her head is pillowed upon. He deftly collects both of her wrists, stretching her arms up just over her head.

“‘Fraid I can’t allow that,” he says, though his soft expression betrays his gruff tone. “This okay?” He squeezes her hands gently, holding them tight above her. She lifts her head, grinning, and bumps her nose against his.

“I promise I’ll tell you if anything isn’t. I trust you.”

His eyes flash in the dim light, his expression going from earnest to keen in the blink of an eye. She freezes under his intent gaze, her mouth arid and lungs empty. His fingers contract around her wrists as he adjusts his grip and leans down to graze her cheek with his own, and her skin tingles in the wake of his scratchy caress. 

“Good,” he says quietly. Her eyes shut involuntarily at the raw, filthy promise in his tone. His right hand ghosts over her shoulder, fingers dancing a titillating trail alongside and underneath her breast, down and down again, before coming to rest on her belly, just below her navel.

He nips at her earlobe, startling her, and she squeaks in surprise. His hand presses against the plain of her abdomen, hot and steady as she twitches in his grasp. His tongue rolls out, soothing the sting of his bite. He ruts against her from behind, and Kimber finds that she’s panting, twisting her hands against his hold, needing something, anything to grab onto.

“Nuh uh,” he warns, squeezing just a touch. She stills, a whine stuck in her constricted throat. “I’m driving here, darlin’. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

He spends the next several minutes demonstrating exactly how skilled a driver he is until she’s strung, taut and pleading, before him. Her fingers are white in his grip, clasped together in both desperation and supplication. Breathy, whispered entreaties spill from her parted lips between quick, shivering breaths. 

“You beg so sweet...you sure you’re ready for me?” His lips brush the shell of her ear with every word as his hips grind hard against her ass, his hand slick between her thighs. She’s so far gone she can’t even answer, can only moan incoherently as her eyes roll back. 

“Good.” 

He enters her steadily, his teeth closing on her shoulder, and every nerve in her body shorts out for a single, white-hot moment. She comes back to herself as he retreats and returns, setting a steady rolling pace. She throbs around him, and he groans, only just managing to keep his rhythm. 

“Fuck, baby, you...can’t...do that to me.” 

“You...started it!” She gulps in air, heart hammering against her ribs. And still he moves, measured and even, infuriating in his constancy. She can feel every inch of him as he presses and withdraws, over and over. Her fingers flex; she needs to hold something, needs an anchor, needs him to just...fucking...go...faster.

“Dean, I...need...can you...faster, please!?”

“Sure I can,” he says. He nuzzles into the crook of her neck, kissing every bit of skin he can reach. “But I’m not gonna.”

She doesn’t know how to classify the sound that escapes her, but Dean isn’t exaggerating. He drives her mad one stroke at time, never once varying his speed or rhythm. She can feel the end building, unyielding and inevitable, and she tenses against him.

“That’s it,” he coaxes. He presses a palm, heavy and febrile, against her belly, his fingers torturously close to putting her over the edge. If he would just stretch a little further, another inch or two, then-

“C’mon,” he murmurs. “Come with me.” He releases her wrists, and she immediately pushes his hand lower, plunging his fingers exactly where she needs them. She’s got fingers twisting in his hair, his hand stroking the one spot she wants the most, and then she’s gone. His hips stutter, snapping against hers as he abandons any further attempt at self-control.

He shudders behind her, his breath sharp staccato in her ear, his heart pounding against her back hard enough for her to feel the beat in time with her own. His arms move, engulfing her, and they spiral together through the aftermath.

When she can breathe close to normally again, Kimber turns over, slipping her leg between his and squashing herself fully against him. His hands tangle in her hair, and he tilts her face up toward his. She expects a kiss, but he simply watches her, his eyes moving carefully over her face. She can feel the minute change in his hold, the sudden tension in his arms, the tick in his jaw.

“Dean, what-”

His forehead touches hers, his arms almost vibrating with the abrupt intensity of his grip. Anxiety rips through her gut, shredding through the peace of the last few hours.

“Up on that roof. If I had been a minute later, if I had stayed on the phone with Sam any longer. If I hadn’t spotted you at the end of the hall...If I had tripped, or...If you hadn’t…” He stops, lips pinched white and angry. “You were on the goddamned edge, Kimber, right fucking there. You could have…”

“But I didn’t. And you weren’t late, you didn’t trip, you were right where you needed to be.” She cups his jaw and gives his head a short, gentle shake. Her thumbs smooth over his lower lip, pulling it gently. 

“I’m not always-”

“But you were this time, and that matters,” she insists. “Listen, Dean. Are you listening?” She waits for his grudging nod before continuing. “I didn’t take the step. I fell back, I pulled away, and you caught me. You got to me in time, and we came down from that roof together. And now we’re here. Together.”

She squeezes his face for emphasis. “I’m right here with you. Safe. In your arms. You feel me?”

His eyes close, painful and tight, his expression hardening as he struggles with something she can’t see. Then he exhales, forcing his shaking limbs to relax by increments. 

“That’s it,” she murmurs. “We’re okay. We’re right here. We got off that roof together. Both of us. So come back to me.” He exhales once more, and opens his eyes. The depth of loss that shines from within him humbles her, and she doesn’t bother fighting her instinct to pull him tight, shifting so his head is tucked against her neck this time.

She never had any illusions that the Winchesters led any easy life. She’s heard a lot of stories about them over the years, and she’s pretty sure they barely scratch the surface of what the brothers have gone through. She is intensely glad, for many reasons, not to be another loss for Dean to suffer through.

He doesn’t react for a long, silent moment, but she persists until his arms snake around her waist. She runs her fingers over and over through his hair, massaging circles across his scalp, pressing against the hard tendons of his neck. His hands press, release, press again into her back, and when she feels a faint trickle of moisture run from her shoulder, down between her breasts, she is wise enough to forgo commenting.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, or really what time of night it even is, at this point. Dean taps her gently, pulling back and lifting his face to brush a kiss across her cheek. He clears his throat and rolls away quickly, though not quite fast enough to hide the red, damp rims of his eyes.

“Sam is gonna be gone for a while. Said there was some sort of weird accident in another building on campus today. He heard about it at the rec center and wanted to check it out while the scene was fresh, interview some of the kids that saw it.”

Dean sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands up over his face and through his hair as Kimber closes the space between them. She kneels behind him and gently links her arms around his neck. She rubs her cheek against his, and a little more of the tension in his shoulders drops away.

Then she turns, planting her mouth tight against his cheekbone, and blows. He exclaims indignantly at the sudden reverberation, and tugs her down so she has to fall into his arms or tumble off the bed. He stares down at her, his expression very clearly asking, “What the fuck?”

She widens her eyes innocently even as she clutches his shoulders for dear life, suspended awkwardly across his lap. 

“Things were getting a little brooding. You didn’t seem to like the tickling, so I tried a different tactic?”

“You are making me seriously question seventeen-year-old me’s judgment,” he huffs, but his exasperation is tempered by a healthy dose of indulgence as he helps her to her feet. He stands, considering her for a brief moment before kissing her forehead. His hand settles on her hip as if it was meant to be there, and she can’t help the sigh of contentment that escapes her lips.

“I’m going to get a shower, since we’re awake anyway. I know I rinsed the dust off from this morning, but now I’m all sticky and sweaty.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says, winking. She snorts in response, though she has to work hard to keep the smile from her face. He leans over to snag his discarded t-shirt from the other bed, and her face warms as her eyes rove over his bare form. Her hand is nearly to his ass before she returns to her senses, snatching her fingers back just as he straightens.

God, what is wrong with me? she wonders, shocked at herself. He takes in her heightened color and outstretched fingers, and a smirk tugs the corner of his mouth up.

“Excuse me, Dr. Harper. I don’t appreciate your continued objectification of my person. I’m going to have to ask you to keep your hands and eyes to yourself. Didn’t you say something about a shower?”

He locates his boxer briefs and slips them on before turning back to Kimber. She bites her lip against the laugh that threatens to burst out. She rearranges her face into her most professional expression and clears her throat.

“Apologies, Mr. Winchester. I will keep my objectifications of your person to myself. Several times. While in the shower.” The room phone rings then, but she doesn’t miss his pleased smile as he turns to answer. 

She’s just finished rinsing the shampoo from her hair when she hears a tap on the door. She hears the knob turn but doesn’t bother to open her eyes as she revels in the spray of water rushing over her face.

“That was the desk clerk. Says something is wrong with my credit card, started squawking about calling the cops if I didn’t come down and sort it out ‘right now.’ You almost done?”

“No, but the office is a hundred feet away. Lock the door behind you and take your cell phone? Mine’s there on the bathroom counter, and you’ll be back in five minutes.”

He hesitates, and she pauses, wiping her eyes and looking over at him. He frowns, not at her exactly, his fingers clenching on the doorknob. She has a flash of his expression back on the rooftop, the stricken anger in his voice. 

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we gank this son of a bitch.”

She immediately cuts the water and reaches for her towel. “Grab my clothes for me? I’m coming.”

…

“Fucking waste of time,” Dean spits out the second the glass door closes behind them. Fifteen minutes of arguing has not improved Dean’s impression of the desk clerk, who insisted Dean had given him an invalid credit card.

“It’s the same damn card you ran the first night. Was it invalid then?” 

Kimber reaches over, linking her fingers through his. A sudden gust of night air hits her wet hair, and she shivers, chilled to the bone. 

“At least you got it straightened out. I think I’m gonna finish that hot shower and blow dry my entire body. Maybe a late dinner after that? Check in with Sam?” Dean grunts, refusing to be deterred from his irritation.

“Join me for the rest of my shower?” she offers, half tempting and half hopeful. “I’ll scrub your back.” 

His expression lightens considerably, and he grins. “I mean, if you’re offering.”

Back in the room, Kimber toes off her shoes and immediately heads towards the bathroom. 

“How hot do you like your water?” she asks. She reaches into the bathroom, fingers questing for the light switch as she glances back over her shoulder at Dean. 

A hand closes on her wrist, painful and terribly strong, and yanks her into the bathroom, jerking her from her feet and spinning her around. Her bare feet slip on the damp floor as her back collides with her assailant’s chest, too fast for her to react. Something cold and smooth slides against her throat in a stomach-twisting caress, but it’s the unhinged voice right against her ear that turns her blood to ice.

“Can’t wait to finally hear you scream.”

…

Chapter 9