#at least Dean was trying to save the world

[welcometoqueer]

so y’all remember in season 14 when Dean planned to trap himself inside a Ma’lak box and sink to the bottom of the ocean forever—to be sunk alive with Michael because being buried alive wasn’t safe enough-and had a vivid nightmare about his horrific fate if he went that route???

anyways, haha OceanGate, am I right?

[vendettasfanfictioning]

Ok so. "Why does this sound like a goodbye?" Was fucking heartbreaking, right; we have the full-on uninterrupted eye contact, the head tilt, Dean's already open mouth twitching before the scene cuts to Cas' "I love you," like he had more to say, but Cas beats him to the punch. It's great, we love that. But for the dialogue to be sequenced that way, and to have Dean reply with, "don't do this, Cas."

I'm only just realizing how fucking insane it was. And sure, I might just be coping here, at the end of the day who fucking knows, but look at it. Think about it. Now let yourself feel it all over again.

It's Dean's death knocking on the door behind Cas, and it's Cas' death emerging behind Dean. Like this, they're directly facing their own demise—but they're too stuck on each other, in their moment, to give a damn. And then Dean doesn't say, "I love you too." He says, "don't do this."

He isn't disgusted or ashamed or put off in the slightest by Cas' confession, because if he is then why is he on the verge of tears? In what world would it make sense for him to want to cry after his best friend confessed to him, if the confession was something he did not want. He says don't do this here, don't do this to me now.

Even if, and that's the most unlikely if to ever exist, Dean did not reciprocate Cas' feelings—don't do this is still so fucking powerful. Because Dean's connected the dots, happiness [...] is in just saying it, and Cas said it, so where does that lead Dean? That's right, with Cas dead again, trying to save him again.

Don't do this. Don't die for me, don't love me only to die for me, don't love me at all, just stay with me.

Don't let me watch you die again and not even let me follow you—because, at the very least, that was a consolation. She's gonna kill you, which Dean knows that Billie knows will hurt him more than his own death, and then she's gonna kill me.

"Don't do this," was actually so fucking powerful, I don't know how it slipped past me until now...

[archivesofthevoid]

how the hp boys would react to trans reader suggesting pegging ? xx

Trans FtM!Reader x HP boys + their reaction to pegging

Shaking over this request /pos because ABSOLUTELY

Also I only did the main ones!! If you'd like me to do a part 2 with Seamus, Dean, Oliver, and Cedric just lmk!!

NSFW warning!! Well slightly. Nothing too explicit but it's implied. Also for ALL intents and purposes, ALL HP CHARACTERS I WRITE FOR ARE 18+! Though I would assume that's obvious by now. Just wanted to place a reminder.

Harry: We all know this man is so obviously bisexual. So really if you ask him, he might seem a bit shocked at first but ultimately he like "well,,,," and then he proceeds to think about it for like the next week. Dear Lord please save this man because his classes will be SUFFERING. No one knows what he's thinking about but his brain is obviously not in the room with him. Once he actually TRIES it though? He's into it. Maybe more than he realized-

When you ask: You're both sitting in the Gryffindor common room, probably just doing some assignments to catch up in the week when you just casually pop out the question. This causes him to mess up what he was writing and also spill his bottle of ink on his paper as he looks up at you in shock. "Uh- I'm sorry what did you say?" Oh he heard you. He just didn't think you'd ask such a thing. Que him flushing and trying to come up with the words as you just grin at him fumbling.

Ron: Viktor Krum gave him some kind of awakening, let's be real. SO with that being said, he's definitely thought about it once or twice. Once you suggest it? He's protesting left and right as if he doesn't want to do it but once again, he finds himself thinking about it a bit too much. If he tries it, he'll like it but it's not his favorite in the world per say. He'd rather give than receive yk

When you ask: You're eating breakfast of course. What a classic thing right? Let's say you have a dream about it and just,,, decide to quietly bring it up to Ron who's shoving eggs into his mouth and once you ask there's suddenly VERY loud coughing in the Great Hall. Even Harry and Hermione next to you guys are just like "Bloody hell Ron what is the matter with you??" And the KNOWING SMILE YOU HAVE ON YOUR FACE??? IT'S NOT HELPING HIS CASE HERE-

Fred: oh he's so down. Do you even have to ask? He's definitely thought about it a LOT. Come on this is Fred we're talking about here. Plus I mean he's most likely dated a few guys himself so it wouldn't exactly be foreign to him. So he's naturally nonchalant about it and agrees with it. Though after you ask him he thinks about it to the point he's just like "so are we going to or…" because come on you can't just ask him that and not expect to give him something out of it!! Don't leave our boy hanging here :((

When you ask: He's working on his latest prank in his dorm room while you and him are just chilling together. You're actually behind him, running your hands through his hair and massaging his back but your thoughts were wandering while you were behind him. So you ask if he'd be into pegging. Glancing behind you he watches your face before just going "yeah of course I've thought about it. Why? You offering, love?" And just laughs when you playfully shove him

George: This man goes awfully silent when you ask. But yes he would probably do it in a heartbeat. Whether it's because he wants to please you or because he's curious? That's up for debate. To be fair though he's probably has kissed Lee like once or twice out of curiosity, or at least dated a guy but never really like went anywhere with it. Just be gentle with this man please or else he might explode lmao

When you ask: You're at the library with George, honestly just goofing off and you're supposed to be studying but since when did you guys ever actually do that? So instead you guys decide to just chat around. Though you however get the idea to ask George this whenever you guys start talking about your dating lives and how George says he's been with a guy but not BEEN with a guy. He goes oddly silent. BUT it's kinda clear by the way his face heats up that he's into the idea. You just of course smile sweetly and reassure him that it's okay and you'd be more than happy to help him in to which he gets even FURTHER FLUSTERED but y'know it's a win win

Draco: never in his life has ever even thought about it. Probably doesn't ever consider it. You'd honestly have to beg him for it?? But after enough persuasion and such, he'd give in. He just doesn't want to bottom like that y'know? After living in a toxic masculinity household for his whole life he finds it weird to bottom. HOWEVER if he does, it's a sight to see fr. He's just gotta ease into it but luckily he trusts his lovely boyfriend aka you <33

When you ask: You're sitting on one of the couches in the Slytherin common room and it's oddly quiet because it's the weekend so there's not really anyone there (thankfully bc Draco would kill you if anyone heard you ask him this) when you're looking out the window to the Black Lake and just straight up ask. He full on STOPS reading his book and snaps his head up to you like "w h a t" before you repeat your question but louder. "No no I heard you but why the hell-" and insert you guys kind of arguing over it? But not really. It's just him being in denial and you begging him playfully.

Neville: sighhhh. You're going to have to revive him first because good job man you killed him. Gave him a heart attack right then and there. But to say the least he probably would hesitate to agree as well just because he'd be so self conscious and shy?? But after TONS of reassurance and kisses then yeah he'd agree. Just promise you will keep it between you guys because he does NOT want his friends finding out. He knows the others would tease him for it and he'd actually want to crawl away for a thousand years.

When you ask: You asked when you guys were in your dorm!! You were just cuddling after classes right before dinner, enjoying the time with each other before you had to go be with everyone else (ew gross /j) and you popped the question. When I told you this man almost let out a scream just at your question alone because IT WAS SO SUDDEN?? He then proceeded to hide away in your chest as his whole face and ears turned bright red. He looked like he had the worst sunburn oh my god. You meanwhile were just CACKLING as he was trying to stumble over his words! What even could he say though? Yes?? Maybe?? He didn't even KNOW- eventually he just gave up and waited until he calmed down to try to speak. Though you reassured him over and over the whole time <33 good luck explaining why he's going to be a nervous wreck at dinner though :))

[waywardxwords]

I've Got You

Summary: After a year of being in Purgatory, Dean has returned and is trying to make sense of what happened while he was away.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (more of a friendship; they deeply care about each other but nothing wildly romantic happens in this story)

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Light cursing, angst, Dean/Sam contention (this takes place after Dean gets back from Purgatory and Sam is on/off with Amelia), light fluff, light blood/silver testing (non-descriptive)

A/N: Happy October, friends! This is my first entry for the #flufftober2023 @flufftober prompt challenge. The prompt is: "I've got you." I hope you enjoy!

“Dean,” you breathed as you walked through the door of the cabin. Even after you heard his voice on the phone, you couldn’t be sure it was really him–not until you saw him. 

“Test me,” his words were firm and clear–much firmer than you remembered. You processed that the man had been in Purgatory for the last year, and his experience had most likely hardened his already tough demeanor. 

“Dean, I–” you tried to stop him.

“Test me, dammit,” he grumbled as he grabbed what looked like a jug of holy water and took a swig of it. Next was the silver; he didn’t hesitate to run it along his forearm before he wrapped the cut it left behind with a bandana. He wiped the blade on his denim jeans. 

“Dean,” you said, for the third time now. Your eyes burned with tears. You knew it was him from the get go, but now it was confirmed. He handed you the holy water and the blade. You moved slower than he did, but you took a sip of the water and winced at the bitterness; it was laced with salt. Then, you took the blade and matched his movements with a small slice on the underside of your forearm. 

Without allowing another moment to pass, he pulled you in tightly to his chest for a hug–so tight, you thought you might not be able to breathe as your body was crushed against his. 

“God, it’s good to see you,” he breathed in your hair before he finally released you. “Where’s Sammy?” His eyes moved over your face inquisitively.

“I, uh, I don’t know, Dean,” you were careful with your words. You were a little bit angry with Sam, but you didn’t want to have to explain why to Dean.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” The sharpness made you blink, but you knew he wasn’t trying to hurt you with his tone. The man had been in Purgatory for a year, for Christ’s sake. 

There was no way around it, though. You were going to have to try to explain and hope he could understand.

“I’ve gotta get out of here,” Sam mumbled. It had been three days since you all had killed the Leviathans, but somehow Dean and Castiel had been killed in the process. You had spent three days researching and looking for how to find them, but you had come up empty. Sam had tossed around the idea of Purgatory , for Cas, at least, because he was an angel; but neither of you knew how that worked–the death of an angel? Where would they go? Could an angel go to Hell? 

“Sam, we’re going to find them,” your eyes were heavy, you hadn’t slept. The pain of running in circles reading and re-reading and searching was making you feel crazy.

“Are we? Even if we do find them, how are we going to get them out?” Sam was angry, and you understood that. But anger wasn’t helping the situation, and you wished he could realize that.

“I don’t know yet,” you sighed as you placed your elbows on the wooden table in front of you and dropped your head into your hands. “We will find a way. We always do.”

“I have no one now. My family is dead, I just…I gotta get out of here,” he repeated. His words stung, but you knew you weren’t family. You weren’t even a hunter, initially. You had stumbled into this world when the Winchesters had saved you on a hunt a while back. Now that you knew what went bump in the night, there was no turning back. “I’m sorry, but I have to go…” Sam seemed reckless, but you also knew that you couldn’t stop him. Not really, anyway.

You stayed silent, but as the door closed behind him, tears pooled in your tired eyes.

After you had explained carefully what had transpired, you tried to ease the blow. “You always wanted Sam to get out of the hunting life, Dean.” Your words were soft.

Dean sat on the sofa leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs as he stared at the wall opposite him. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say a word.

“I gotta get some air,” he cleared his throat and stood quickly. He reached for his jacket. “I’ll be back later.” Before you could say a word, he was already out the door and pulling it behind him with a slam. You couldn’t help but feel defeated, yet again.

This was the third dive bar you had checked in an hour. You had lost hope and wondered if you really knew the oldest Winchester at all as you looked for him. But there he sat on a barstool at the end of the dimly lit bar. 

You heaved a sigh before you walked towards him. “I’m gettin’ real tired of looking for your ass,” you grumbled playfully as you carefully moved onto the stool next to him. 

His eyes didn’t move from the back of the bar as he took a pull from his beer. 

“Yeah, well, at least somebody’s lookin’,” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear.

You weren’t sure what to say to that immediately, so instead you leaned against the bar and flagged down the bartender. “Could I get a Stella, please?” The bartender nodded and went to retrieve your bottled beer.

A few moments of silence passed. “I just thought he’d look for me,” Dean's voice cut through the quiet noise in the bar as he stared at the label on his bottle. His fingernails picked at the edges in a way to distract himself. 

“I know,” you tried to form the words in your head before they tumbled out of your mouth incorrectly. “Sam loves you, Dean. He’s just…he’s tired. Does that make it right? Not necessarily. You’re his brother, but this life…it’s not the life he wanted.”

“And you think I wanted it?!” His voice raised as he looked at you incredulously. 

“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that you and Sam are different people,” you tried to explain carefully, reminding yourself again that it’s not you, it’s Purgatory. 

He seemed to relax as he remembered this was you that he was talking to. “I’m sorry,” he groaned inwardly as he turned back in his stool to face the bar. “I would do absolutely anything for Sammy. I was lost when he was gone. I just thought he might do the same.” After a quick pull from his beer, he changed the subject. “So, what’d you do this past year?” Dean asked acrimoniously, as he glanced at you briefly and toyed with the paper label on his beer bottle.

You waited for a moment, just as the bartender placed your own beer in front of you. You moved it around in your hands for a few seconds. Like Dean, your fingers found the sticker on the bottle and began to pick at it so you wouldn’t have to look at him. “I looked for you,” you answered slowly before you pulled the beer to your mouth and took a sip. You felt his gaze now, his head turned to watch you as if he was surprised to hear what you said. “I hunted a little, here and there. Mostly just when I stumbled upon a job, though.”

“...you looked for me?”

You were surprised that he was surprised. It was your turn to turn your head back to him to meet his gaze. “Of course I did,” you said hesitantly. “I tried everything, Dean. I interrogated demons, I tried to make a deal, I tried to summon Crowley–”

He cut you off very quickly. “Woah, woah, woah,” his eyes were narrowed in on you now and you watched his entire body tense. “You tried to make a deal? And summoning Crowley?” He was pissed. You didn’t care.

“None of it worked, Dean. The crossroad demons said they didn’t know where you were, but I didn’t believe them…though I’m wondering if they really didn’t, since you were in Purgatory,” you were mostly just reading your own internal dialogue at this point. “I’m not sure how that works, exactly.” You nibbled gently on your bottom lip as you processed your thoughts.

“Are you insane?” He was still pissed. His voice rose a bit in volume and you glanced around to see the handful of other bar patrons glance in your direction. 

“Oh, calm down,” you said in a hushed tone while you rolled your eyes. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” Dean knew it was true, but he still wasn’t happy. “Again, none of it worked anyway.”

“You know better than that,” he shook his head, the disappointment bled through his words. But somewhere mixed in with the frustration, you heard gratitude.

“And you know better, too. I wasn’t just going to sit on my ass or ride off into the sunset like everything was fine,” you still couldn’t find his gaze. It was easier to stare at the glass bottle between your hands.

He didn’t respond right away. The sound of Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” was playing on the jukebox now, and it was the only noise you could hear just over the chatter of the other people in the bar. “Thanks,” you weren’t sure you heard him right away, but you felt his fingers graze the top of one of your hands that was clasped around the bottle. “I’m really glad I’ve got you. So if some shit ever goes down again, no goin' off and making deals to save me. If I came back and somethin' had happened to you..." his voice trailed off. You would spend a lot of time wondering what he had wanted to say, but chose not to. Instead, you moved your head to look straight into those green eyes, and that’s when you noticed it. A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, and while his eyes were still sad, you saw a glimmer of hope.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, I am always open to any feedback you may have :)

Tag List: @jackles010378 @ladysparkles78 @hallecarey1 @zepskies @lyarr24

[lovelywritinglady]

Secrets Suck, Man

Sam Winchester x fem!reader

With Dean being heavily against the idea of dating while on the job, Sam and you figure out secret ways to be together without Dean knowing. Except, here’s the thing, he already knows.

Angst, fluff, cute stuff with Sam. Takes place during Season 12.

Third Person Pov

"Sam, how many times do I need to tell ya that it's a bad idea. Hunters don't get a normal life and if they did, they ain't hunters no more." Dean lectured Sam who sat in the passenger seat of their 1967 Chevrolet Impala.

"Dean, all I'm saying is maybe it's not a bad idea to be with a hunter. At least you both understand the life and the risks." Sam pleated with Dean trying to get him to see his point of view on the situation.

"Dude, you really want to watch the person you love die because you were busy saving someone else?" Dean asks seriously.

"No, I wouldn't want that even if I wasn't a hunter, Dean. But at some point, I think it's okay as long as both parties understand the risk." Sam spoke with coming off harsher than before.

"Drop it, you know my thoughts on it Sam. It's not a good idea." Dean jabbed back as he turned up the radio to some 80's rock song.

"Fine." Sam sighed in defeat knowing that his plan to try to tell Dean that he already had a girlfriend and that person happened to be you.

Two hours later...

Sam and Dean made their way into the bunker where you were. Sam saw you and gave you a quick, but loving smile. While you waited on them to return, you read the same lore books hoping to find something new in them only to be disappointed again. You smiled back at him making sure that Dean didn't notice you looking at Sam. Speaking of Dean he said a quick hello and sat down on the chair in front of you kicking his muddy boots up on the table.

"Hey, I'm glad your back and everything Dean, but take your shoes off the table please." You asked him rolling your eyes.

"Whatever, did you find anything in the lore about Nephilim" He questioned doing what you asked.

"Same as before, I still only know what I've read for the millionth time and Cas's knowledge." you sighed rubbing your hand around your sore neck. This caught Sam's attention and he made a mental note to himself to help you out later.

"Don't worry we'll figure it out, we've just got to keep looking." Sam reassured putting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Yeah, don't worry about it Y/n, we've delt with worse and won." Dean butted in.

"Yeah, I think the apocalypse and the darkness are a lot worse than this by far. I'd still rather deal with a nest of vamps than this though." You half joked.

"You and me both." Dean sighed getting up out of his seat and walking towards the hallway. "I'm gonna take a much-needed shower see you guys at dinner." Dean spoke walking away to the showers.

As soon as he was gone you rushed towards Sam and gave him a hug. Breathing him in and feeling his body against yours invited instant comfort and happiness to your stressed-out body and mind. And to Sam, he found the same comfort as his arms immediately wrapped around you as he placed his left check on the top of your head. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes allowing himself to be in the moment with you and forget all of the shit that is piled on them once again. He loved you and even having a little time alone was worth the world to him. After some time of just being there with him, your curiosity became too much and the elephant in the room needed to be addressed.

"Baby, what did Dean say?" You asked him raising your head while still holding Sam in your arms. He looked at you with a sad but loving gaze as you waited on his response.

"Same thing as before, he's against it." Sam sighed sadly. "But I don't care he can just deal with it. Secrets suck and I'm tired of keeping our feelings for one another away from Dean. I mean even Cass knows." Sam spoke trying to convince you.

"Yeah, I get that, I just really don't want an angry Dean top of the shit pile that we already have. I really want to tell him, don't get me wrong, I'm just scared to see how he'll react. Hell, I'd rather face Amara again than tell Dean, but I think it's important that we do." You pleaded with him trying to get him to see your point of view.

"Baby, if Dean gets mad that's on him. We are both adults and I think it'll be okay. I know your nervous, but trust me Dean at his core is a really big softie." He reassured rubbing your arms up and down.

"I still feel weird about it, but I think I'm just scared of his reaction, mostly." You whispered putting your forehead on the center of his chest.

"We don't need to tell him right now, we can wait as long as you need." Sam

“Thank you Sammy, that means a lot.” You say smiling at his sweetness.

Just as you two were about to break your hugs out comes Dean wearing his grey robe with an annoyed expression on his face. You were nervous and could tell that had whenever was wrong was serious.

“Dammit, If you two are gonna be together be fucking careful because this life ain’t pretty for us. I’ll support it if you guys do that. I guess some of us should have something good in this shit show.” Dean quickly said before a leaking away. As he did he did a double take. “And you two need to get better at whispering because I could hear everything.” He said annoyed as he walked away.

You both stood there dumbfounded at what just happened. You looked at each other and laughed at the situation. Sam then leaned down and captured your lips into a soft and sweet kiss. He broke the kiss giving you another big smile as he chuckled.

“Well I guess the secrets out.” Sam joked

“Yeah, and by what he said I guess he’s known for awhile now.” You say letting out a deep breath hugging Sam closer relieved that you don’t need to hide out of fear.

“Yeah, I’m just glad that with all of the shit that’s been happening that I still have you by my side. And no matter what I’ll be there for you.” He reassured

“Aww Sammy me too, I love you. And Dean’s right we should be careful about all of this.” You told Sammy nearly sounding like Dean.

“You’re right about that. And Deans right about another thing too. That it’s good that we’ve found happiness in this shit show.” Sam smiled.

“Yeah, we really did. I love you Sammy Winchester.” You proclaimed

“I love you too Y/n L/n.” Sam responded hugging you tighter.

Thank you so much for reading 💜

Please feel free to comment, request, and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L

[moonlightspencie]

‘cause look at your face!

Request linked here!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader (implied bisexual rights)

Warnings: implied cheating, drinking, smoking, very minor sexy references

Word Count: 1.6k

There he was.

The famed Dean Winchester.

Well, fame by hunter standards, anyways. Regardless, the guy had saved the world multiple times, and happened to be even more beautiful that anyone could capture with words.

Unfortunately for me, I had to pull my gaze away when he caught me staring. Though not before he shot me a smirk at my being caught out.

I looked towards the bartender, asking for another fifth of whiskey in my glass. She obliged with a smile and a wink. At least I could still keep my cool with her, cause I certainly was loosing it after seeing him.

It worsened significantly when he sat in the seat next to me.

I panicked, the fact that he smelled good on top of being a smoke-show was too much to handle. I decided to strike up conversation with the bartender again.

“How’d you end up in a place like this?” I asked, raising a brow.

She leaned in. “I could ask you the same. You’re a little too pretty to put up with all the folks in here considering you’re not getting paid.”

I chuckled. “Good point. Maybe you could help me get a job. If I’m gonna be here as much as I am, I may as well get some cash for it.”

“I’ll help with whatever you want, sugar,” she said with a wink.

Dean cleared his throat, raising a hand. She looked at him expectantly.

“Could I just grab whatever beer you’d recommend?” he asked, trying a wink at her.

She nodded, giving him an unamused hum. He leaned in a little closer to me after that.

“You’re doin’ better than me,” he said with a small smile.

I nodded, then saw a familiar face behind him. I attempted to strike up conversation with practically every other person in the bar except for him. Really, he should’ve taken it as a compliment. If he wasn’t so unbelievably hot, it would’ve been much easier to talk to him.

After a while, he seemed to have lost interest in talking to me anyways. Especially when I spent half an hour straight chatting it up with some grumpy old hunter who really had an affinity for non-haunted vintage items, and really loved to talk about it.

The second that conversation was over, I decided on a new course of action. I needed to forget about a certain cheating boyfriend for the night anyways. A smoke outside felt like it’d do just the trick.

I leaned against the building in the cool night air, pulling out my pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. I was a few puffs in when the door opened a few feet over, footsteps getting nearer.

“You know, smoking’s bad for you,” I heard a rumbling voice next to me say.

I glanced up and over, a light smile on my face.

“So is drinking. Didn’t stop you, huh?”

He smirked, nodding lightly. I held up the pack, resigned to the fact that I could no longer escape this male-modeling son of a bitch and his perfect face.

“Want one?”

He sighed. “I almost never do, but since you offered…”

He took one out, popping it in his mouth. I flicked my lighter, holding it up to the end of the cigarette until he puffed out a little cloud of smoke. I watched him for a moment, enthralled with how someone could look so pretty smoking. He glanced back at me after a few seconds.

“What?” he asked, voice suddenly lighter.

I shrugged, looking away. “Guess I’m a little surprised to meet you. I’ve heard stories, but never expected to bump into you or your brother.”

He chuckled humorlessly.

“Stories?”

“Mhm,” I nodded. “You can’t be surprised. Words gotten around in a lot of hunting communities about all y’all have done.”

He sighed, staying quiet. I chanced a look at him again to see him staring off into the parking lot.

“Did I strike a nerve?” I asked.

He shook his head, looking back at me with a partial smile.

“No, don’t worry about it. Just— Guess I don’t think much of it all.”

“Much of what? Saving the world?”

He puffed on the cigarette again, merely smirking at me as I found myself watching his lips as he did so.

“Seems you’re thinking something,” he said.

I looked away suddenly, bringing my own cigarette back my lips. I took a moment to collect myself.

“Not a damn thing,” I said at last, turning towards him. “Why don’t you get out of here. I’m sure your girlfriend’s looking for you.”

“Don’t have one.”

“Ah,” I nodded.

I almost wished he did. Out-of-bounds would be much easier to deal with than temptingly-single. Especially when I still (technically) had someone.

“What about you? Any boyfriend that’d be mad I’m out here with you?”

I shrugged. “He went out to some club tonight to do… I don’t even know what. I don’t think I want to know.”

I laughed at myself, a little bitterly. He simply stared with his brow set.

“Excuse me?”

I cleared my throat, dropping the butt of the now-gone cig into the ashtray atop the garbage can.

“He goes out a lot. Doesn’t usually come home until the next morning,” I said, letting out a soft breath. “Or until a few days later.”

“Why do you put up with that?” he asked, voice sharper now.

I raised my brows, not expecting the reaction.

“I don’t know. Security, I guess. We’ve been together a few years now…”

“You deserve better,” he said, eyes terrible and beautiful and sincere.

I groaned. “You suck.”

He furrowed his brow, taken aback.

“What?”

I didn’t know what to say with him looking at me like that. His gaze was intent. It felt like he was looking right into my soul. Everything about him was horribly picturesque, especially in the neon lights from the sign above us.

I shook my head, “I should probably go.”

“Why?”

“Why?” I mimicked, a small smile on my face. “What’s up with the twenty questions, anyway?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like avoidance.”

“Again: you suck.”

He put out his cigarette on the ash tray, then turned back to me, hands on his hips.

“Alright, pretty girl, let’s get you back inside. It’s cold out here,” he said, looking towards the door.

I fought a smile from showing up, and fought butterflies even harder.

‘Pretty girl’. He’s one to talk about being pretty.

“What if my boyfriend shows back up?”

He raised a brow. “You’re gonna dump him anyways.”

“How can you be so sure?” I asked, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of the sentence.

“Cause,” he shrugged. “Would you let me go home with you otherwise?”

I froze, my eyes widening. “I’m going home to my cats, actually.”

“Ah, I see,” he nodded, a borderline-shy smile on his face. “You can really just say no, you know?”

I hummed, giving an unsure shrug.

“I don’t really want to say ‘no’, is the problem.”

His smile morphed into a smirk again, hand brushing against my lower back to lead me back into the bar.

Rather than going back to the bar, he led me to a table in the dark. I followed along, letting him guide me with his hand still on my back.

“What are you up to?” I asked at last when we sat down.

He sat on the same side of the booth as me, an arm slung over the back of the seat. He smelled even better now that he was closer than ever.

“I’m gonna convince you to break up with him,” he stated simply.

“Why’s that? Why not just take me home?”

“Not into cheating.”

“Huh,” I nodded. “Who would’ve guessed? Dean Winchester has rules about revenge when it comes to fidelity?”

He rolled his eyes, somehow still looking sexy doing it.

“So, you just want to use me to get back at your boyfriend?”

I paused. “Actually, I don’t. That would just be an added bonus since he’d totally be pissed I moved on with someone like you.”

“Someone like me? What’s that supposed to mean?”

He brushed his hand against my shoulder, leaning in a little closer. I realized there was no use in pretending I wasn’t giving into him now.

“Someone absolutely gorgeous.”

His smirk faded a little, eyes looking into mine more now.

“You’re really too sweet to let some crap-bag walk all over you, you know?”

I watched him a moment longer, then readjusted myself in the seat. I pulled out my phone, typing out a quick message.

- we’re done. you can get your crap out of my apartment later this week :)

I hit send.

“Here, look,” I said, handing him the phone.

He read the message, nodding lightly as he did. He then turned it off, set it on the table, and had his lips on mine so fast my head was practically spinning. Those lips were softer than they looked, and finally having his hands on me felt better than I thought it would.

He rested one palm on my thigh, letting the other stay around my shoulders. His tongue tasted like lime salt and smoke. I ran one of my hands up his arm, nibbling at his bottom lip as he started pulling away. The gravity of making out with him in a crowded bar probably would’ve embarrassed me if it weren’t for the fact that he leaned in closer to whisper to me:

“Think I can meet your cats when I’m out of your room tomorrow morning?”

I smiled. “Oh, they’ll love you.”

—————

dean winchester taglist:

@deanwithscissors @hyunjaebaby @simp4olderm3n @king-of-milf-lovers @allonsy-yesiwill @xoxovienna @grapejuicestand @lyarr24

[jinkieswouldyoulookatthis]

Anti-destiel Wank (sorry but I have to)

If you hardcore ship Destiel, please just scroll on by. Please.

Ok, I'm gonna get myself in trouble, I'm sure, but I gotta get this off my chest...

Destiel may be a perfectly fine ship,

but,

IT'S JUST A SHIP.

In the actual context of the show there IS NO ROMANTIC OR SEXUAL TENSION/RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN DEAN AND CAS.*

Full fucking stop.

Subtext can be interpreted in ANY WAY YOU WANT. It is subjective. You will find whatever you look for in it. Please stop waving subtext interpretations around as if they were objective facts, they aren't. Subtext, by its very definition, relies on implied meaning and understanding, this means it is a subjective interpretation of the media that varies from viewer to viewer. The inherent variations are what make it fanon/headcanon instead of canon.

If you see tension of that sort there and it makes you happy to postulate the what if, then go ahead, that is what fanon and head canon and fan fiction is all about. But if the fact that the tension you think you see isn't being addressed in actual canon makes you grumpy, maybe you need to take some of the fanatic out of your fanning. If you are beginning to think the show creators are actively trying to repress Dean's "true sexuality and feelings" because they are evil, you might need to consider that you've dug in too deep.

Because, like I ship wincest. Yeah, I said it. But I am aware that canon doesn't actually include any level of sexual or romantic (in the modern sense) relationship between Sam and Dean. Wincest is not canon.

Now, are Sam and Dean the real "love" story of the show? Yes, yes they are. That has always been 100% the entire point of Supernatural, the great love story of two brothers struggling to save the world together. It's about family and everything that means, but at its heart, it is about Sam and Dean WInchester. Not all kisses and cuddles and sex kind of love, but love nonetheless. Full stop.

Now, the fact that Destiel is such a popular ship is not surprising to me in the least. Jensen and Misha are two gorgeous guys who share a lot of chemistry on screen and off. And, it is canon that Cas loves Dean. That has been evident since Lazarus Rising (4x01) when Cas was introduced. Castiel's love of Dean Winchester has been his character's main motivation all along and culminated with Cas sacrificing himself to save Dean, after telling him that he loved him in Despair (15x18)

But Dean's main motivation has always been to watch out for his brother. And though Castiel became Dean's best friend, he still comes second to Sam. Nothing against Cas, he just isn't Sam.

So why are so many people so absolutely convinced that Destiel is so real within the context of the story?

Well, I'm pretty sure that it is the same reason that they are so opposed to the idea of wincest.

As we all know, incest is bad, mmmkay? Incest is probably one of the biggest, strongest, cultural taboos we have. So it makes perfect sense that the idea of two blood-related brothers having sexual or romantic feelings for each other is considered icky. It's so off putting that it is a complete no go for even fantasizing about for most people. And that's probably a good thing, tbh, incest should be taboo. But where does that taboo spring from? Why is it so deeply off limits? There are several reasons, but the two main ones are:

That incest can lead to inbreeding.

That incest too often involves molestation or rape of children.

Both of these are seriously bad enough that we all pretty much collectively agree to avoid incestuous relationships. But, do either of these two reasons really apply in the case of Sam and Dean?

The short answer is no. Primarily this is because they are fictional characters that are being played by unrelated actors. But to humor the objectors we'll look at it closer.

We can take the first one right off the table. As two cis men, neither of them is capable of becoming pregnant, so outside of the mpreg (male pregnancy) or gender bending subsets of fanfic tropes, this is not applicable.

The second reason only becomes an issue when talking about the characters earlier in their lives, pre-show or flashbacks. Weecest or teencest, or whatever, are things, but these typically have separate ship names for a reason, because even when dealing with fictional characters this squicks a lot of folks who are otherwise down with the wincest ship. So most content is tagged or labeled as its specific flavor, so anyone can find it or avoid it. But wincest that involves adult Sam and Dean (the specific pairing I'm referring to in this post) doesn't apply to the second reason listed above.

So there really is nothing morally wrong with Sam and Dean having sex with each other. I know that statement is going to bother a whole lot of people, but it is true. Just because something is taboo does not automatically make it morally wrong. Being gay used to be taboo in our culture, and is still taboo for way too many people, even though there is nothing morally wrong with homosexuality.

Now, I wasn't in the fandom back at the beginning of the show, but I've heard tell that the very first Sam/Dean fic was posted just a few hours after the pilot episode aired. A few hours, that's all it took for some highly motivated fan to type out a story where they were more than just brothers. The story is called Reunion. If you watch the pilot, even with your anti-incest goggles on, the chemistry between Jared and Jensen is palpable throughout. There is a reason the show lasted for 15 years, and that reason is that Sam and Dean just work on screen so well together. So if it only took one episode for that ship to be born, what did all the future destiel shippers do? Well I imagine they felt somewhat uncomfortable for the first 60 episodes.

Flash forward to season four and the introduction of Castiel. Finally there was another male character for fans squicked by the notion of sweet, sweet brother loving to focus on! Cas was clearly fixated on Dean more than Sam, which followed the plot since Cas had been instructed to rescue Dean from Hell. As it would turn out, the brothers were destined to be the meatsuits that Michael and Lucifer wore to the big prize fight to determine the fate of the world. Prepping Sam for Lucifer involved him consuming demon blood, which made most of the angelic host view him as an abomination, a factor that Cas had to learn to get past in his relationship with the younger brother. But Dean was ready to go right out of the box, no assembly required for Michael. Castiel, and many of his angelic brethren, as well as a lot of Demons, seem to be drawn to Dean in a way that they just aren't drawn to Sam. Is this fair? Hell no. But I mean, look at him! Jensen has sexual tension with literally everything he comes in contact with, people, food, his car, the man oozes sexual attraction. Don't get me wrong, Jared is a sexy fucking ball of sunshine, and our Sammy is a damned attractive man, but he tends to be more repressed and less openly sexual than his brother, so it is what it is.

Where was I going with this? That's a good question. I got a bit distracted, sorry. Oh right...

At its root, destiel is a reactive projection. There is undeniable tension between characters in the show. Since all of the main cast are male, that tension is highly homoerotic. The two main characters, who are undeniably emotionally enmeshed and co-dependent with each other (a very well established canon fact btw), happen to be blood-related brothers. Oh no! Where is all that tension coming from since we cannot admit or accept that it's coming from them? Ah ha! Here is a new male character that we like, yes, it is obviously coming from his interactions with one of the brothers, even though he wasn't in the first 60 episodes. Yes, it all makes perfect sense now, all that tension was merely foreshadowing.

I've read through all the destiel subtext posts. I've gone back and watched all the scenes they reference multiple times with the express purpose of finding destiel. I'm telling you it is just a fanon ship. Which is 100% fine and good, ship that ship, just stop declaring it more canon than canon, because it's not.

And if you don't like fictional incest, cool, cool, you don't have to. But the underlying sexual tension existed in the first 60 episodes prior to Misha being cast on the show, so it was coming from somewhere. And it'd be cooler if you learned how to scroll past people shipping wincest, like I'm sure you do for all the other weirdass, squicky shit that people post all over the internet. But if it makes your heart beat a little faster to imagine that Dean and Cas have eyesex but that Dean and Sam don't, that's fine. I think it's delusional because neither ship is actually canon and both are 100% A-Ok in fanon, and honestly Jensen doesn't seem to be able to control his eyes, which is not something anyone should feel bad about (it's fucking marvelous) but you do you.

*Castiel does love Dean. He confessed as much, but Dean did not reciprocate. What I am referencing is a mutual romance or attraction, which does not exist.

[impala-dreamer]

Save Me - Part Two

A Short Story

~ Sometimes, when life seems the brightest, shadows creep in. After announcing their engagement to the world, Jensen's fiancé is kidnapped. With the help of a friend, she tries to fight her way back home to him.~

Jensen Ackles x F!Reader, Dean Winchester (cameos by Misha Collins and OCs)

7,160 Words Total. Part Two: 3,950

Warnings: My kind of Super Angst. Blood. Injury. Kidnapping. It's really sad...

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "No one's coming to save you. Get up!"

PART ONE ~ PART TWO

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

Snow was falling from a gray sky. Big flakes landed on his shoulders, dusted his hair, melted on his cheeks. His lips were frozen; his fingers numb. 

The cherry of his cigarette fell to the icy sidewalk and he huffed. He fumbled with the lighter and lit back up, pulling at the filter as if he were trying to set his lungs on fire. 

Maybe he was. Maybe he wanted to set the hotel on fire, the police station, the entire city.

Jensen tipped his head back and exhaled, sending the smoke to mix with the clouds overhead.

“When did you start smoking again?” 

Misha appeared next to him, one hand stuffed in his pocket, the other holding a jacket. He was visibly cold, bouncing a bit for warmth even as he settled next to Jensen. 

“I don’t know. When did the world implode? Four days ago?” He licked his lip and then took another drag. “Then.” 

Misha shook his head sadly and Jensen rolled his eyes. 

He flicked the butt into the street and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“Put your coat on at least,” Misha suggested, tapping his shoulder with the jacket. 

Jensen looked down at it as if he’d never seen anything like it. 

“No.” 

Misha sighed. “It’s freezing. You’re gonna get sick.” 

“So?” 

Not wanting to fight, Misha draped the jacket over Jensen’s shoulders and gave him a friendly squeeze. 

“Y/N needs you to be strong. You can’t go off and get pneumonia.” 

Jensen turned his head and glared; green eyes narrow and angry. “She doesn’t need me to be strong. She needs me to fucking find her.” His jaw clenched so hard he could feel his pulse beat in his temples. “She needs me to save her.” 

Heartbroken, Misha closed his eyes and dropped his head. “I know. But there’s nothing you can do right now.” 

Jensen scoffed. “Isn’t there?” 

“No. The police are-” 

Enraged, defeated, hopeless, Jensen spun away, kicking at the snow and pushing Misha’s care away. “The police aren’t doing shit! It’s been four fucking days!” 

“I know…”

“They can’t even figure out who took her. The fucking- the security cameras in the parking garage weren’t fucking working! What the fuck good is that!”

The louder Jensen’s voice grew, the smaller Misha felt. There was nothing he could say, no way to comfort his friend. 

Jensen wouldn’t be comforted even if Misha knew how. He wanted to rage at the universe. To put his fist through the brick wall behind him. To drive a truck through the Starbucks across the street. To run away from everyone and everything in this godforsaken city and find her. He had to find her. 

A snowflake landed on his nose and he batted it away, slapping himself in the face. 

He calmed. 

His heart ached.

His voice crackled with tears. 

“Odds are,” he whispered, “She’s dead already.” 

“Don’t say that.” Misha choked back his own pain and cleared his throat. “The detective said there’s no reason to assume-”

Jensen laughed bitterly. “Forty-eight hours, isn’t that what they say? If you don’t find them in the first forty-eight hours you’re not going to. Or they turn up dead on the side of the road or in a shallow grave behind some psycho’s house.” 

“Jensen…” 

Green eyes closed to the world. 

He was trembling, shaking from the cold and the pain of uncertainty and loss. 

“I just…I don’t know what to do.” 

They stood there in silence, letting January seep into their bones. There was nothing to say, nothing either of them could do. 

It just was what it was. 

And it was impossible. 

A deep shiver moved through Jensen’s body and he shoved his arms through the jacket sleeves, thankful that Misha was looking out for him and the little things. He was too shattered to care about staying alive. Not right now. 

He turned back to his friend and the revolving doors, deciding it was time to go back in and shake away the cold. 

Flashing lights pulled his attention to the street and he held his breath as the police car turned into the hotel lot. The world moved in slow motion as the car parked in the nearby handicapped spot and Detective Lassiter hopped out. He held a clear bag in his thick fist and his countenance was heavy. He looked at Jensen and shook his head. 

Jensen’s universe cracked. He bit his tongue, needing to feel the pain to keep himself conscious as the detective explained what had happened. 

“They’re not asking for a ransom,” he said, speech rushed and emotionless. “Not yet, anyway. But this- this is good.” He handed the bag to Jensen. 

Y/N’s diamond engagement ring glistened in the dim gray light. 

Jensen closed his fist around it. The platinum prongs dug into his palm. “How?” His voice broke. “How is this good?”  

“Means they want something. They’re not just going to kill her and be done. This is the kidnappers opening a line of communication.” 

Jensen couldn’t hear him, couldn’t follow his words any longer. His fist tightened and the diamond cut through the thin evidence bag. He squeezed until it hurt, until his skin broke, until he could feel the warm trickle of blood. 

A drop fell from his fist and painted the freshly fallen snow.

It was hard to stay awake, hard to think. 

The pain was still there, but she couldn’t feel it much anymore. It didn’t feel as intense, as if she were getting used to the constant stabbing and shredding of her insides that accompanied every breath she took.  

She couldn’t feel the cold anymore either. Her flesh had simply become part of the concrete, all of her warmth had been drained into the darkness. 

In and out of the dreamless sleep of unconsciousness, she lay on the dirty floor, barely able to think let alone move. 

“Why you?” she whispered, watching burgundy flannel pace back and forth by the steps. 

Dean stopped short, his boots making a dull thud on the floor. 

“What?” 

She lifted her head, cringed at the hurt that erupted in her shoulder. 

“I said, why is it you?” 

His forehead creased and he shrugged. “I don’t know. Who else would it be?” 

Y/N rubbed her right eye. It was dry and it hurt to blink. She was dehydrated and starving; her body was failing, her mind was slipping. 

“It’s just odd, I guess.”

Dean sat on the bottom step, his elbows resting on his knees. “I don’t think it’s that weird. You need someone to talk to, you need someone to help. I’m pretty good at that shit.” 

Y/N sighed. “But you don’t exist. I’m just talking to myself.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“Not really.”

“There should have been way more demon Dean.” 

Jensen laughed and shot her a look that would have knocked her over had she not already been sitting down. 

The couch cushion between them seemed as wide as an ocean, but neither were ready to swim across. 

“You like bad boys, huh?” He licked his lips and watched hers as she answered. 

“I guess everybody does at some point,” she said. “But there was something special about Dean as a demon. It was like… he was finally free for a little while. Like he was on vacation. Just hanging out and getting laid-”

Jensen grinned. “And murdering innocent people.”  

She dipped her chin and looked up at him flirtatiously. “Is anyone ever truly innocent, Jensen?” 

His smile faded and he stared harder. His lips parted slowly. “Are you?” 

She blinked, painted lashes fanning over enchanting eyes. “I can be when I need to be.” 

Her hand slid across the space between them and she bit her lip, daring him to match her move, begging him to meet her halfway. 

He dropped his hand to the cushion, fingers landing a breath away from hers. 

“What about right now?” he asked, leaning close. 

She could feel the heat pushing off of him, smell the lingering scent of his faded cologne. 

“Honestly?” she smirked. 

He nodded. “Always.” 

Y/N leaned in dangerously close. “I’m not feeling too innocent right now.” 

A tentative kiss. The first taste of his lips; the first feel of her skin.

There were footsteps above her head. Someone running; heavy shoes falling on old wooden planks. 

Y/N lay on her back and stared up at nothing. There were long beams above her and she wondered what it would take for them to come crashing down and crush her to death. 

It wasn’t that she wanted to die, she’d never want that, but she knew it was happening. She could feel her body giving up. Her skin was hot but she shivered. Her blood had dried but the wounds wouldn’t stay closed. Her thoughts were fuzzy and shadows played tricks on her.

She couldn’t tell how long it had been since they’d tossed her down the steps; didn’t know how far from help she was. Time meant nothing. It could have been hours, a month, a week mostly likely. There was no way for her to guess. No windows to help count the sunsets, no ticking clock to pace her breaths to. 

Sometimes, she counted her heartbeats just to have something to do, but they were unsteady. Too fast at times and then far too slow. It scared her to pay attention to the erratic pulse of her blood, so she tried to ignore it. 

Mostly, she remembered things. 

Mostly, she remembered him. 

In moments when the pain overwhelmed her and her eyes refused to stop leaking, she would pull up his face, try to remember the placement of every freckle, count each thick eyelash. She could still feel his hands on her skin, smell his breath first thing in the morning. She could taste the salt on his neck after a workout, hear his delicate whispers in the heat of night. But his eyes were fading away. She couldn’t get the shade right in her mind; couldn’t remember what shirt made them darker, what time of day they looked the lightest.  

The green was washing away. 

Last winter. A break in filming. Sand beneath their feet; ocean breeze filling their lungs. 

The sun was so bright it hurt her eyes, but she refused to close them, unwilling to miss one single second of time with him. 

He was already burning in the sun; his shoulders tanning, his chest turning red. Every now and then, he’d take off and run into the water, dip below the perfect blue horizon and cool off. She loved those moments the best, when he came back to her dripping and laughing, his hair wet and slicked back behind his jet-fin ears. 

He’d always come back to her, always fall down over her, hold himself up on his big arms and let the ocean water dribble down onto her bare stomach. He’d block the sun for a few precious moments, and all she could see was the halo around him and the love in his eyes. 

“Y/N…” 

She couldn’t open her eyes. They felt so heavy, so dry. It was all so pointless. 

“Y/N, wake up, sweetheart.” 

Dean was hovering again, crouched down at her side. His giant hand was hovering over her forehead as if checking her temperature like a mother would for her child. 

“Don’t- don’t call me that,” she croaked. Her eyes fluttered open and she was met with his worried smile. 

“What should I call you then?” 

“A cab.” 

He laughed softly. “You’re still funny. That’s good.” 

“Is it?” 

She tried to sit up but her spine felt like gelatin. She tried to speak but her throat was ripped to shreds. She tried to cry but her eyes were dry and nothing came out. Her shoulders shook and she moaned pitifully. 

Dean’s jaw clenched, dimples popped above his lip. “You gotta get out of here. You’re not doin’ so well.” 

Y/N curled in on herself, knees and shoulders meeting somewhere in the middle. “Go away.” 

“No.” 

She covered her face. 

He shifted onto his knees. “You gotta get up and find a way out.” 

“There is no way out. We’ve looked a hundred times.” 

He exhaled hard, frustrated and desperate. “You gotta try again. You gotta get out.”

Her eyes fell closed again, her breathing slowed. “He’ll find me. He’ll save me…”

Y/N was still confused when the elevator door opened. Jensen had refused to tell her where they were going or why they were dressed like they were being photographed for GQ. 

‘Wear that purple dress,’ he’d said on the phone with no explanation why. 

Her hand clasped in his, they stepped out into a large empty ballroom. Floor to ceiling windows looked out on a gray morning; the L.A. smog was thick and hung like rain clouds in the sky.

Jensen led her deep into the room and turned to face her. He was nervous, she could tell. His chewed his bottom lip, rubbed his thumb over her hand quickly, breathed a little too fast. 

She laughed gently. “What’s going on?” 

He took a big, calming breath. 

He licked his lips and smiled. 

“Eighteen months ago, we were both here for that HBO after party. You wore this purple dress and I was wearing…” He looked down at his crisp black button down and charcoal slacks. “Well, this.” 

She smiled. “I remember. It was the first time we met.” 

He swallowed hard and held her hand in both of his. His palms were damp. 

“But what you don’t know is that I saw you the very second you walked in.” He bit the corner of his mouth and took a second to collect his racing thoughts. “I was over there by the window talking to Eric and you walked in… It was like the crowd opened up for you. Every head turned; the music stopped.” 

“I don’t think it was that much of an entrance,” she laughed. 

“It was for me.” 

Her heart raced. 

“Jen, what’s going on?” 

He smiled and bent down to kiss her lips. He held her face in his hands, ran his thumbs lightly over her cheeks. She kissed him back, licking at his plump lips.

“I wanted to do that the moment I saw you,” he whispered. 

Her eyes fluttered open and all she saw was green.

“And this…” 

He let her go and dropped down onto one knee. 

He took her hand. 

She held her breath. 

“Marry me, Y/N…”

“I need you to calm down.” 

Detective Lassiter was tucked behind his messy desk, his beer gut smushed against the edge. 

Jensen refused to relax. He paced in front of the man’s desk, his hands rushing through his hair; fists beating at the stale air. 

“I can’t fucking calm down, OK!” His face was red and his jaw hurt from holding his tongue for so long. “You people can’t do shit, you know that? It’s been six fucking days.” 

“Mr. Ackles, please-”

“No. No. No.” He turned to the detective and slammed his hands down on the desk. He leaned in, close to growling. “You need to save her.” 

The older man sat forward. “We are doing everything we can. They’re working on the emails right now. Still hoping there’s traceable DNA on the ring. We will get these bastards. We will find her.” 

Jensen closed his eyes, felt a thousand more tears brewing in his chest. He didn’t know how much longer he could go on without having a complete breakdown. There wasn’t enough bourbon in the world to soothe his soul. 

Only one thing would do. 

Only Y/N.

He was coughing so badly she was sure he was dying. She could hear him from the kitchen, his wet cough rattling above the sound of the screaming kettle. 

She poured the boiling water onto the tea bag and grabbed some Tylenol from the cabinet. 

The room was dark but the light from his cell phone guided her across the soft carpet. 

“Hey…” 

He groaned miserably. 

“You feelin’ any better?” 

He shook his head. “I feel like death.” 

Y/N set the mug of tea down on the nightstand and switched on the lamp. 

He cringed at the light and shielded his eyes with a forearm over his face.

“You better not die on me, Ackles. I’ve still got plans for you.” 

He smiled and sat up a little bit, reaching for the tea. “You can’t get rid of me this easily. Even if it is your fault.”

She gasped in mock offense. “It is not my fault!” 

“You got me sick,” he chuckled and took a sip. 

“Yeah. You’re right. It was all part of my master plan to steal the Impala from you.” She pressed her fingertips together and gave him an evil grin. “Everything is falling into place.”

He laughed. It triggered a cough and she took the tea from him as his body shook. 

“Oh, god, Jen.” Her brow creased with worry and she pressed a cool hand to his cheek. “You’re burning up, baby. I think we should get you to the doctor.” 

Jensen shook his head and grabbed her wrist. He closed his eyes and kissed her palm. “Just stay with me, please.” 

She smiled and settled in next to him. “They couldn’t pull me away…” 

There was screaming coming from above. The words were muffled but the emotion was clear. 

They were coming for her. 

Y/N lay face down on the floor, her fingertip tracing a crack in the concrete. She was tired, so tired, and cold again. The air touching her skin hurt, the strands of hair that touched her forehead felt like knives. 

Dean was standing at the bottom of the stairs, his body locked in a tense defensive pose. He listened to the shouts, eyes narrowed and ears struggling to understand. 

“That’s it,” he huffed, spinning around toward Y/N. “You gotta get up. You gotta go. Now.” 

Boots pounded above. 

Y/N sighed. “It’s fine. He’s coming for me. Jensen is coming. He’ll save me.” 

Dean grit his teeth and knelt down beside her. His voice was deep and firm. “Listen to me. You can still fight. You can get up and fight.” 

She laughed. “I can’t. Look at me. I’m… I can’t fight. They’ll kill me.” 

“Then you go down swinging. You’re not some damsel in distress, Y/N. Get up and fight!” 

Gingerly, she rolled over and looked up at him. “Maybe I am. Maybe I just have to lay here and wait for the cops to show up.” She sighed and closed her eyes, waving him away. “I’m tired, Dean.”

The fight upstairs was growing louder, the boots getting closer to the door. 

Dean slammed his palms against the floor by her head, making her jolt awake. 

“No one is coming to save you. Get up!”

Navy uniforms blurred in his vision. People rushed past the big window, but he stayed put, frozen in the chair beside Lassiter’s desk. 

Jensen was in shock; tired and lost. He had barely heard the detective when he explained the situation. 

They’d tracked down the kidnappers. The S.W.A.T. team was on their way. Just a few more hours and Y/N would be home. 

He just had to wait. 

Finally, Dean got her to stand. Her legs were shaky, but her head was clearing. She knew what had to be done. 

Behind the staircase was an old, rusted tool box. Inside it, a hammer. 

She gripped the wooden handle tight. 

Dean urged her to stand in the shadows beside the staircase. He held her gaze, reassuring her every second that she could do this. She could fight her way out. She could run. 

The boots above stopped. The kitchen light turned on, illuminating the seams around the door at the top of the stairs. 

Y/N steadied her breathing. She bent her knees, planting herself on the spot. 

The door creaked loudly as it was pulled open. 

Her hand trembled. 

Dean nodded reassuringly. “You got this.” 

Heavy footsteps bounded down the stairs and a large man appeared, gun in hand. 

Y/N’s blood was racing, adrenaline coursing through every cell. 

The man turned to the right and Y/N leapt from the left. She lunged forward, swinging the hammer with every bit of strength she had. 

She missed his head, striking him in the forearm. 

The gun fell. 

She pulled her arms back and the claw of the hammer dug into the flesh beneath the man’s chin. He screamed and doubled over, taking the old tool with him. 

Y/N stared down at him, eyes wide with shock and terror. 

“Now!” Dean clapped his hands, stealing her attention back. “Run!”

She could still feel the warmth of the lights on her face; hear the cheers from the crowd. 

Jensen pulled her close and kissed a trail down to her lips. He kissed her forehead, her nose, the top of each cheek. By the time he met her lips, she was laughing into him, so warm, so happy. 

His arms folded around her, his beard tickled her cheeks. 

She clung to his shirt and sighed. 

“I won’t be long,” he whispered. “Just gotta go smile for a thousand photos or so.” 

She groaned. “I don’t wanna let go.” 

He laughed and squeezed her tight. “Me either.”

The kitchen was bright, the lights burned her eyes. She stumbled into a chair and hit her foot against the island. 

Dean was there every step, calling her name, leading her through the worst pain she’d ever experienced. 

“You can do this,” he shouted, urging her to move faster. “Just a little farther. Come on!” 

She pumped her arms, dodged the sparse furniture in the living room, raced for the front door. 

It was locked, bolted and chained. 

“Almost there, kid. Almost there.” 

She focused hard, willing her fingers to cooperate. 

The man shouted from the basement, loud and angry. Dean looked back over his shoulder, and flinched. 

“You gotta hurry, Y/N-”

The chain was the hardest part. Her fingers were numb and tingling; she slipped more than once. 

Boots thudded on linoleum. 

“Come on!” 

She wrenched the door open and tumbled out into the cold night air. The moon was full and bright, the sky clear and inky black. 

She took a breath and steadied herself; bare feet sinking into the snowy lawn. 

Dean was across the street already, silently urging her on with a waving hand and desperate expression. 

Flashing lights pulled her gaze away and she smiled. They’d found her. 

Sirens blared. 

She took a step toward the street. 

Dean shouted her name. 

She smiled. 

A shot rang out and her world fell into darkness. 

Jensen collapsed. 

His knees hit the ground first, then his hands. His palms scraped against the gravel but the sting was irrelevant. 

Someone was touching him, grabbing at his shoulders, trying to help him up, but he shouted and pushed them away. He didn’t want help. He didn’t need comfort. He didn’t want anything. 

His chest burned, his heart raged against his ribcage. The earth beneath him opened up, shattered like his soul. 

“Jensen…” 

He looked up into his own dark eyes. Eyes he’d seen in the mirror for years. Eyes that he’d cried with, laughed with, died with a thousand times. 

Dean sighed. A single tear slid down his cheek.  

“I’m sorry.”

Jensen closed his eyes and Dean faded into nothingness, swept away by the freezing January wind. 

“Keep her safe, Dean,” he whispered. “Stay with her.” 

“Always.”

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@alwaystiredandconfused @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @suckitands33 @the-wounded-healer05  

[yourmomxx]

a pearl ⋆ .ೃ ࿔ *

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: There were many things in life that Dean Winchester learned to regret. Taking the mark of Cain in order to kill Abbadon and save the world had not been one of them. Until everything just gets way too much for him to handle, and you are the one that has to burn in the crossfire.

Warnings: canon violence, blood, angst, spoilers but not really, moc!dean, swearing so if you’re the CW look away

Word Count: 2.6k

Flashbacks are written in italics

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGAUGE

━━━ ❝ Iᴛ’s ᴊᴜsᴛ ᴛʜᴀᴛ I fᴇʟʟ ɪɴ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ᴡᴀʀ ❞ ━━━

Regret is a funny thing, somehow. At least I think so.

When you do something terrible, you can feel regret or remorse. So much, you get overwhelmed, forget to show it. So much you might start treating the people around you different.

“Sam?” Dean urged through the phone in a pressed voice. His breathing was ragged when he talked. “Sammy please, I need you to come here quick, something … something happened!”

“Dean it’s alright, calm down, where are you?” Immediately, Sam slapped his laptop closed.

Over the phone, he heard his brother stifle a sob. “I don’t … I don’t know Sammy, just please hurry, I-” His voice broke. “I think I fucked up, Sam, big time.”

“It’s alright Dean, just hang in there, I’ll come and get you.”

“Thanks.” Dean’s voice was small as he answered.

You can feel regret and decide that the outcome of the situation was worth it, and do it again.

When Sam arrived at the old warehouse and saw Dean, kneeling on the floor and covered in blood, he was worried.

You can feel regret, ask for redemption and forgiveness, but don’t get it.

As he let his gaze wander and it fell upon you, laying limb in Dean’s bloody arms, he was worried sick.

And even if you do get forgiven, who is to say that the guilt will stop haunting you?

“The doctors took her into surgery.” Sam carefully looked at his older brother, whose hands and shirt were still stained with your dried blood. “They said that she might not make it.”

“She will make it,” Dean said. The doctors were wrong, they are always wrong. They would be wrong this time, too.

Regret is buried deep in Dean Winchester. Rooted, even. He regrets many things. He was forgiven, then he was not, he pushed away the people around him in trying to not repeat his last mistakes, sometimes succeeded, sometimes he didn’t.

There were many things he felt guilty for. Too many, if you asked his brother Sam.

“What exactly happened in there, Dean?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Dean said. But that was a lie, because he did.

But he didn’t want to admit what he had done. Why he had done it. It turned his stomach around. There was a reason why Dean hadn’t looked Sam in the eye since he arrived.

He was sitting in your room again.

He was feeling regret about what happened. Again. He was doing that a lot, too, lately.

After the … incident, he mostly avoided talking to you. That had been just a few days ago.

He had even avoided seeing you since you returned to the Bunker, unless absolutely necessary.

Because just as he predicted, the doctors had turned out to be wrong: you had actually made it. After a light coma and a surgery, but you had made it.

When the nurse had told them you were free to go, Dean had been the one to bring you home. Still wrapped in the white clinical sheets and clothing that the nurses had given you, but he had brought you home.

So no, he hadn’t talked to you in days. Not seen you either, for that matter. Just cut you off like that.

And, to his genuine surprise, you had let him.

Normally, you would try everything in your power to talk to him, talk him out of his drowning thoughts, convince him that what had happened wasn’t his fault.

But not this time.

And that only substantiated his feeling that you truly hated him this time. Weren’t able to forgive him. And how could he blame you? He couldn’t even forgive himself.

But he missed you and it tore at him.

He missed the way that you would hold him when he ever so rarely let himself cry, and he missed the way your voice would whisper sweet words of reassurance in his ear in a low tone.

He missed your fingers gently scarding through his hair, and at his scalp, to soothe him.

He missed you humming the low tunes of some made-up song in the late evening, when you were laying in each other’s arms, right before falling asleep.

And he missed dancing with you. Just putting on whatever vinyl it was you could find in his room and then swaying to the sound of the music, wrapped around each other and being at peace, even if it was just for a few minutes.

He missed you so much.

On the shelf, leaned against the wall, the TV played some cheesy 80’s romance movie. It was the late night program.

Dean was tuning it out. He had stopped listening a long while ago, anyway.

No, his mind was playing a movie on its own. One that was specially designed for Dean Winchester. Written by Dean Winchester, starring Dean Winchester - and Y/N Y/L/N.

A tragic love story, with drama, hurt, betrayal, forgiveness.

In his mind, Dean could still feel the heavy weight of the blade resting in the palm of his hand. It hadn’t felt like this in the warehouse - or had it? He wasn’t sure.

Who was he lying to, it had felt light. Perfectly shaped for him, and him only. In that moment, everything had felt perfectly shaped.

It took the sound of the weapon driving through your skin and into your organs, that made him realize that nothing was perfect. Or carved out for him, that the blade wasn’t light but actually weighed too much to carry, that’s why he let it fall out of his hand and clatter to the ground, that’s why he rushed to your hurt body on the floor -

“Hey.”

Dean’s head shot up at the sound of your voice clear next to him, fast enough to probably break his neck.

He threw a quick glance at the door, then you again. “Hey,” he said back.

You stood awkwardly a few steps next to the bed, fumbling your fingers and trying to hold his gaze.

The only sound was the program still playing on the television and Dean decided that he should perhaps turn it off if he hoped for a conversation to start.

While he was fumbling for the remote, you turned your attention to the movie playing on the screen.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of Sixteen Candles,” you said, and so you were the first to talk.

“I’m not.” He found the remote, and pressed the small red button to turn off the TV.

You put your hands in the back pockets of your jeans and slowly whipped back and forth on your feet.

Dean’s thoughts were short circuiting and he felt his heartbeat fasten. He tried to not look into your direction too much, and his eyes flickered back and forth between the many items in his room.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he realized that you had moved to sit down on the bed next to him. Funny, he hadn’t even felt the mattress dip.

Dean straightened his back and moved his knees closer together, to minimalize every possibility of you guys accidentally touching each other.

He hated that, so did you. But neither did anything to change it.

You cleared your throat awkwardly, indicating that you were meaning to start a conversation, but somehow, you said nothing. Just sat there, looking at him, brows furrowed in concern.

Every once in a while, your gaze would flicker around his room, unsure of what to do, and eventually land back on him again.

“We should probably talk.”

“About what?” Dean knew the words were nonsense as soon as they left his mouth. Of course he knew about what, but part of him didn’t want to realize that you were finally here for it.

“About what happened.” Your voice was strong as you said it. He admired you for it.

Tears were burning in his eyes, and God, how he hated himself for it, because he had cried enough that day.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. Your demeanor didn’t change.

“About what?” It was your turn to ask, your voice soft and silk and catching his fall. Dean almost laughed at you.

“What I did to you,” he sniffled, and shit, when did the tears start actually falling? He wiped them away aggressively. This is not at all how he figured this would go.

“Dean.” The feather light touch of your fingers on his naked skin made him turn. Goosebumps started rising where you touched him, your hand was so cold.

“This wasn’t your fault.” Now he was laughing. Bitter, biting and short, but it was a laugh. Unbelieving.

“Right. I was just the one that drove the Blade through your organs.”

You didn’t even flinch at his wording. Or the dark glare that followed after. Your eyes were so soft, and adoring, eyebrows scrunched together, and Dean knew he had never seen something as beautiful as the woman before him.

When you reached out to rest a hand on his cheek, he found himself leaning into your touch. Your fingers were still cold.

“Dean,” your voice barely above a whisper, and when had he closed his eyes?

“I know that wasn’t you. You were controlled by something so purely evil, that it was eating you up. You had no control over the things that you did. Look at me.”

Dean shifted his gaze. “I know you would never hurt me.”

And you said it with such force, and certainty, that Dean felt it practically piercing through him. His shoulders slumped, a hard breath left his mouth, and before he could register what happened, he was slumped against you, breathing in your warm scent of woods and perfume, and wrapped his arms around your torso to hold onto you for dear life.

He noticed your hands carefully scarding through his hair, and thought, that this was all he had been dreaming of for the past few days.

He loved you so much.

Minutes felt like hours, and those felt like seconds, as the two of you held each other, bathing in the other’s presence, warmth, comfort.

A pathetic whine almost left Dean’s throat as protest when you carefully pushed him off you, but he held it back.

He watched as you stood up, smooth and elegant, and walked over to a different corner of his room. Your steps were eaten by the carpeted floor.

Dean saw you take a vinyl from the shelf and carefully pull it out of the cover, laying it on the record player.

A crackling sound was the first thing to be heard, before the needle reached the engraved lines.

Then, the first tunes of Kitty Kallen’s It’s been a long long time sounded through the room.

You took a few steps closer to him, hips swaying lightly to the tune. Your arms were stretched out in an invitation, and at the sight of your joyous grin, Dean couldn’t do anything else than smile back.

He knew if it came to it, you could make entire armies fall knee to that smile.

He took your invitation to join you gladly. Your skin didn’t feel as cold against his anymore, though that could be only because his hands were warm.

The smile didn’t leave both of your lips as you dragged him closer.

And though he wasn’t inhaling, to Dean this felt like the first breath he had taken in days. Your lips were soft against his, and he felt feverish, in the best possible way one could do.

It was soft, and loving, and he adored it.

As you pulled away from him, you carefully nestled your head under his chin, resting right on top of his chest.

Absentmindedly, Dean closed his eyes, let the tunes of the song wash over him, and lazily swayed side to side with you in his arms. He was sure you could hear his heartbeat under his shirt. A heart that beat only for your love.

This was what his hands had been shaped to do, since the dawn of time. Not for the blood, or the murder, or the irrationality. No, for this right here, holding you close to him, his head on top of your hair and bodies pressed against each other as if it was the last time he would ever see you.

“Kiss me once,” you drew your head back from his chest, a mischievous glint in your eye, “Then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again.”

Dean smirked and raised his eyebrows. “You’re unreal.”

“I know.” You grinned and pressed a chaste kiss on his pink lips.

When you looked back at Dean, a soft grin was tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“What are you smiling about?” You asked him reproachfully, but your playful undertones gave you away.

“I just love hearing you talk,” he admitted.

Then why did you kill her for it?

“Is that so?” you asked him teasingly.

I didn’t.

“Yes.”

Your smile was beaming up at him and filling him with the warmth of a million suns, and he suddenly didn’t know how he could believe that you would ever be able to hate him.

He pressed a kiss to your hairline, a kiss that said more than his words possibly could, and with a comfortable sigh, you snuggled into his chest and closed your eyes.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and never wanting to let you go.

He would never let you go.

—

The sound of the slow song carried through the hallways, a faint melody like the whispering breeze of a wind.

Sam Winchester heard its soothing tune from where he was standing in the library, next to him a black haired man in a trenchcoat, an angel, Castiel.

The pair was looking at the massive wooden table that the hunter and his brother often used to keep their research. Today, that table was empty, empty of books and laptops that was.

A bundle was laid on it, wrapped in white linen and laced up with split thread. Like a macabre package.

Sam felt sick, staring at the covered, dead body of another fallen friend. A sister to him. And to Dean … to Dean a lover. A rock. A spark of good in his sea of bad.

Sam still didn’t know what exactly had happened in the warehouse that night. All he knew was that Dean had his blood on your hands, in the literal sense of the word, and that his eyes had held a vacant expression.

He remembered the moment the doctor’s informed him about your death and how he had grieved you, and how he told Dean, but how it didn’t seem to get through to him.

He remembered Dean carrying your body out of the hospital, and retiring to his room the moment they had reached the bunker, and how he hadn’t come out since.

We need to bury her, Sam, Cas had said. It can’t go on like this.

Sam’s answer had always been the same. Let’s just give him more time.

But Sam knew that Castiel was right, there was no use to dragging this out any longer, and still, he hesitated.

No, he wouldn’t hold the funeral without Dean. And Dean was nowhere ready to attend a funeral.

“We should tell him,” said Cas. His gaze was fixed on the white bundle lying on the table.

Sam slowly nodded. “Yeah, we should.”

But neither of them moved an inch, not even as they heard Dean’s soft mumbles out of his room, while the slow record in the next room gently came to a harmonic end.

━━━━━━ ❝ ɴᴏʙᴏᴅʏ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ᴍᴇ ɪᴛ ᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ❞ ━━━━━━

[lychello]

Headcannons on Dean Winchester falling for a male hunter reader, and how he would go about asking reader out?

-🪿

romance headcanons | d. winchester

pairing : dean winchester x hunter male reader

wc : approximately 450

a/n : hi i actually get so underwhelmed when people don't mention mentally ill character's mental illnesses in headcanons and especially when it comes to love so i'll take this question into my own hands to add some headcanons about it myself :3

content warnings : referenced trauma, dean's mental illness, anxious avoidant attachment, self sacrifice

at first dean doesn't comprehend that he likes you in a romantic way. sure, he's been comfortable around you for however long it's been since he developed feelings for you — but he doesn't process that it's romantic love.

in the first stages of crushing he finds himself gradually becoming weirder around you — his jokes start to get messy, his appearance becomes well thought out, and he reacts a lot more strongly to any of your joking flirts.

for months on end, after he realizes, he constantly acts hot and cold when talking to you. if you made him feel too much the first day, he'd distance himself the second subconsciously; then he'd return a day later because he misses the sound of your voice, or your random informal mannerisms he'd began to pick up on himself.

that doesn't mean he doesn't try to make it up to you. he always makes sure that you're okay, fed, happy; far more than anyone else he feels comfortable around.

a lot of the time when dean thinks about you, it's an overwhelming trip — most of the time ending up as a self sabotage attempt to save you from everything the world has already ripped away from him — "you can't get close to anyone because everyone you love is always lost" that's his mentality, even for hunters like yourself.

when it comes to dean being in love, it's not an easy trip. it takes a lot for dean to actually feel the emotion that is love; and when he does, it's full forward, but it is a gradual process for him.

after he comprehends that he should in fact ask you out, you'd find him reciting lines into his mirror over and over again, trying to perfect any line that comes across as blunt, discouraging, or even a turn off.

when it is time for him to actually confess his love, he can't really do it; at least not directly. he's been in denial about it for so long that he knows to say it directly is to ruin everything. he doesn't want to ruin the friendship you already have so he waits... and he waits... and he waits again...

eventually you notice and realize you're going to have to come forward yourself.

you do, and for sure he's excited. moreover he doesn't believe you at first, but you welcome him with open arms into vulnerability and he takes every chance at it, even if it is hesitant. because you love him —and he loves you more than you could ever live (or die) to understand.

[bloodydeanwinchester]

fuckkk okay so this is the first time in a while that i've watched all of the episodes leading up to faith before watching it and man the series of events leading up to him finding out that he's dying is just so brutal.

like first he has to work a case involving the house where he saw his mother burning on the ceiling AND it turns out to involve her ghost no less. and he calls his dad for help and he's crying because he just really needs him. but his dad can't even be bothered to call him back.

and then, once that case is over and he and sammy are fighting about their dad and their dad is sending them a case via a text with nothing but coordinates in it and he and sammy are still fighting about it and about how dean always follows his fathers orders without questioning them (but what sammy doesn't know is that dean DOES know what happens when he questions his orders and even at 26 he's still avoiding that at all costs) and then they're in the asylum and sammy is saying awful things to him that he knows are at least partly true and he's pointing a gun he thinks is loaded right at dean's face and pulling the trigger. and when it's over sammy is trying to apologize and blame it on the ghost but dean knows that's not the full truth, that sammy does believe the things he said to him

then FINALLY their dad calls them and it's the first absolute confirmation they've had in six months that he's alive but he just calling to tell them to stop looking for him and to give them a case and dean's following his orders and sammy's pissed again and he's taking it out on dean and they're fighting and then sammy's leaving and it's just like stanford all over again except this time their dad isn't even there so really it's just dean that he's leaving isn't it?? and sure sammy ends up coming back and saving him in the end but dean knows deep down that he'll never be able to please both sammy and their dad and he doesn't know what to do about that

and at some point during these events, dean turns 27 and then they're on another routine hunt but it doesn't quite go the way it's supposed to and this intense pain just lights dean up and then he's floating away and the next time he wakes up he's hearing that his heart is ruined (but it's always felt a little bit ruined to him anyway) and he's going to die very soon but he's always expected to die young so he's just accepting it and he knows he'll never see his dad again and he'll never truly know what it's like to be loved by someone who really knows him and of course, he thinks sammy is just gonna leave him there to die alone

like how could anyone watch this series of events and then see dean in his little hoodie just wanting to die in peace and not love him more than anything else in the world???????

[frostgears]

We Who Serve

"Lookin' good, Coda! Got something for ya," the student mage said, rolling the shimmering violet soul gem between her fingers.

"Heya, Bree," the artificer grunted. "You look, as always, like a teenage delinquent who styles her own hair using alchemical process runoff."

"Well, I'm hardly going to wear an Academy uniform down to this end of the artificers' quarter. And I don't give you shit for wearing the same reagent-spattered leather apron every time I see you."

"It's shop gear, sweetheart. Some of us have to work for a living. And I see your gem, but it better not have a dream-junkie soul in it this time," Coda grouched. "Remember your last bright idea? Remember the one that was convinced she was still dreaming? Remember the repair work when she tried to fly? Turns out a service compulsion built right into your corporeal form doesn't do jack if your mind is so scrambled that you think you're asleep."

"Dream-junkies usually die alone and unremembered, Coda. And nobody, I mean nobody, cares about them once they start using heavily. I'm practically saving lives, right?"

"Sure. Saving lives. So where's this one from?"

"You really wanna know? Thought you promised me not to ask where the souls come from, when we started doing this thing together."

"Bree. I don't want another attempted flight on my hands. Especially not off a balcony and into the middle of the owner's gala for his daughter's debut. Lost a big client there and had to eat the repair bills. No good, get me? Another like that and we're through."

"And you'd get animating souls for your dolls from where, then? But no worries. No worries at all. This one's from far away, and guaranteed worth the juice it took to bring them here." Bree's smug smile suggested repair bills would be the least of anyone's worries this time around.

"How far away?"

"The other side of a summoning circle."

"Bullshit." The artificer folded her powerful gloved arms across her chest. "You told me you looked into that, and it'd take a dozen mages as powerful as your dean to even try."

"Oh, I didn't do the summoning. Someone else did. You see, I just happen to be in the top twelve of my class…"

Coda raised an eyebrow. "You?"

Bree pouted. It was a good pout, a practiced pout; it had been the undoing of several of her classmates. "Do I not look it?"

"Academy uniform or dancehall grunge, I can't imagine you studying; that's the real fork in the mind's eye."

"I do study! I just… study best when I've got something I want to study, that's all! Anyway. So. Here I am, right? Top twelve in my class. Invited to see, for my education, a ritual that takes place at most once a decade: the Calling of a Chosen Hero."

"That time again already?"

"Evil never rests, or so they say. Anyway, it was very impressive. The best archmages in the Kingdom chanting up a hullabaloo around this huge summoning circle carved into a slab of obsidian. Candles. Incense. Wardlights glowing like a solstice tree. And they literally reach outside the boundaries of this world, Coda, and pull a soul from another one. Very heavy shit, very potently executed. Except just as they've got the soul on this side of the boundaries so they can start building a body for them, Archmage Eldreid has a stroke."

"Well, that can't be good."

"Wasn't great. Ritual falls right the fuck apart. The slab shatters and the circle with it. For a moment the combined light of the wardflames is like a stained-glass sun, but I can see the summoned soul glittering naked in the chaos, and, well," she paused and ran her fingers through her multicolored hair, "I keep my soulcatcher on me at all times because it's illegal as hell, right? Can't leave it lying around the dorms. So, me, soulcatcher, soul… my reflexes kinda took over. Next thing I knew, the docents are rushing all us students out of the room so they can get a healer and a fire crew in there."

"Bree, what the fuck is wrong with you?"

"So here's the final thing," she said, ignoring Coda. "I inquired, as soon as possible, as any nervous teacher's pet would, after the health of Archmage Eldreid and the fate of the Hero. Eldreid's gonna be fine in a few weeks. And the conclusion of the other archmages, or at least the one that could be bothered to talk to us, is that 'the Hero's soul simply returned to its own world', and that they'll have to try the ritual again in a month. Which means I have the soul of a Chosen Hero in my hand, and it's untraceable, Coda. Missing and not from this world. You've heard of what they do. Just imagine how good your next doll is going to be."

The artificer took a moment to process this. Then she nodded. "You're mental. But lucky. Happens I've been working on something special. Have a look with me, Bree."

Coda proudly uncovered a draped figure at the far end of the workshop. The doll glistened, caressed by even the fading afternoon light. Its skin was fine white matte porcelain, its many joints glistening darkly iridescent metal barely visible behind ceramic limbs, and its shape a figure of idealized human perfection that any sculptor would have been proud of. Soft cotton ropes in contrasting black wrapped every limb in complex twisted bindings.

Bree whistled. "Wow."

"A cut above the ones you've seen so far, right?"

"It's gorgeous. If it was ensouled right now, I'd be asking if she was single." The student mage bit her lip. "Wait, why's it all tied up so prettily? Coda, you absolute alleycat, is she not single?"

"Gods, the imagination on you, girl. The ropes are just to hold everything in place on the stand during assembly and storage."

"Is it done?"

"Frame was finished weeks ago, shell last week, but the cosmetic detail work took forever. I attached the last of the hair this morning, installed the eyes — so, yes, I suppose it's done."

"Then let's make it go!"

"Eager to get paid, Bree?"

"No. Well. Yes. Academy studies aren't cheap even on a scholarship. But you showed me this wonder, and now I am entirely believing my own bullshit. You're a godsdamned artist. This soul has to go in this doll, Coda. It's too perfect."

"You get the money on successful ensoulment. As always."

"Tch!"

Bree carefully marked a diagram for ensoulment on the floor, enclosing herself and the stand, then, chanting lines in a guttural voice almost entirely unlike her usual, reached around behind the doll's neck to press the soul gem into a hidden receptacle there. The diagram flared into life, a curtain of green sparks drifting upwards from the shop floor and then vanishing in directions named only by mages.

"—y'glacht nissat ephed, be thou whole and one with yourself, itisc, drah, nyen."

A shiver passed through the doll.

Clearing her throat, the mage said, "It's done," and carefully scuffed the diagram with the toe of her shoe.

It was then that the door exploded, and a blazing silver radiance filled the workshop.

"What the fu—"

"JUSTICE."

Bree and Coda could barely make out the general shape of a skeleton, winged, within a halo of silver light.

It awoke to a very loud voice, a bright light, and a body that couldn't move.

"—CRIME THAT CANNOT BE UNDONE, YET FITTING PUNISHMENT HAS BEEN FOUND FOR BOTH."

Sleep paralysis again? Can I make something move anyway? It tried to flex, found immediate resistance everywhere.

"THE ARTISAN HAS SOILED HER HANDS WITH STOLEN SOULS, BUT THOSE THAT HAVE BEEN STOLEN WALK IN HER BODIES, AND THOSE MUST BE CARED FOR. THE ARTISAN IS BOUND FOR THE TIME BEING TO CREATE NO MORE BODIES BUT ONE, AND ONLY TO SERVICE HER CREATIONS TO THE BEST OF HER ABILITIES AND AT HER OWN EXPENSE. LET HER ATONEMENT BEGIN THUS."

Silver sparks flared from the left. Someone screamed.

"THE MAGE HAS STOLEN SOULS, AN EVEN GREATER TRANSGRESSION. LET HER EXPERIENCE WHAT IT IS LIKE TO BE SEVERED FROM MORTAL FLESH AND BOUND TO HER ACCOMPLICE'S WORK. HER FLESH SHALL BE HELD RANSOM, AND HER TASK FOR THE TIME BEING SHALL BE TO SAFEGUARD AND PROTECT HER MOST RECENT VICTIM, UNTIL AND UNLESS SAID VICTIM MAY RELEASE HER FROM SERVICE, SATISFIED. LET HER ATONEMENT BEGIN THUS."

More sparks. A ripping sound, a brief shock in the air as if a taut string had snapped.

Then a hand under its chin, a face that was no face, only shining bones, and a voice that reverberated inside it.

"THIS IS NOT A NIGHTMARE, UNWILLING TRAVELER. WE REGRET THAT YOU CANNOT GO HOME. THE SKEIN OF DESTINY IS TANGLED, BUT JUSTICE MAY YET BE DONE HERE. YOU WILL BE WATCHED. GOOD LUCK TO YOU."

Then the silver light was gone.

It still couldn't move.

Later, it heard the sound of bitter laughter. A woman with close-cropped hair wearing shop leathers held a shimmering violet gem in one hand, a scroll and a carved stick in the other. She waved the objects in front of it. "Look what's become of my business partner," she told it. "She'll need a body soon. Like yours, I think. Bree liked yours. You'll help me. You don't have a choice, by the way."

She busied herself with its restraints. When a critical knot was loosened, it suddenly collapsed to the ground. It should have hurt; it didn't. It stood up, taking a proffered hand from the woman in shop leathers.

"Hmm. We should get some clothes on you. Should be a uniform your size in that box over there. Mirror on the left."

It opened the box, held up frilly black and white pieces of cloth, some vaguely recognized.

A dress? But… I'm…

It looked down on unfamiliar curves rendered in ceramic and metal, and collapsed again.

A hand hauled it back to woozy verticality.

"You'll get used to that body soon. Just stand, I guess. I'll put it on you." Hands brushed its side. Fabric dropped over its head and into a snug fit. Ties were tied.

"Better. Mirror."

It walked, slowly but more steady with each step, to the mirror.

A doll looked back at it, wearing the tight-fitting dress and apron of a maid.

It spoke, and its own voice sounded strangely musical to it: "Who am I?"

"Do they not have names where you come from?"

"I don't remember mine."

"Hmm. I'll call you after your design, then. Your name, doll, will be Lyric."

"Lyric."

"Coda," the woman said, indicating herself with a thumb.

It curtsied, feeling that this was somehow the thing to do, and then asked, "Doll?"

"Yep. But like I said, you'll get used to it. Welcome to Coda's." She sighed. "You can start by sweeping up what's left of the door."

It would have time to wonder later why sweeping felt like the right thing to do. Why obeying felt like the right thing to do. How "JUSTICE MAY YET BE DONE HERE" had anything to do with chores. But for now, it had the broom. Now was fine. It could stay in now. So it did. □ --- next: We Who Will Not Bow

[samwinchesterdefender]

sam winchester and dogs - analysis

nobody really seems to talk about this. the other day, i saw that clip of sam and dean going through the memory of the time sam ran away for the first time in a while, and it made me think. we only see sam with dogs a handful of times in the series, at least owning them, and there’s a reason for that— dogs are a symbol of imperfect happiness for sam winchester.

⚠️there will be MAJOR spoilers in this post⚠️

example 1 - bones

we see bones in the episode when dean and sam are going through some of their best memories. one of sam’s is the time he ran away for two weeks and hid somewhere with a dog he found—bones—and lived off “funions and mr pibb”. people often criticize him for this in favor of dean, because dean tells him that john beat him for losing sam. however, people don’t really seem to mention the backstory for this (probably? not all the details line up, but this is seemingly the first time sam ran away) that we got for this later in the episode with sully.

in the episode, we get flashbacks of one part of sam’s childhood: dean and john were on another hunt and wouldn’t let him come with. he had asked sully, “ever think… about running away?” which sparked a conversation about sam’s future which ended in sam deciding to actually run away and ended with a cut back to present day.

sam had decided to run away because he was tired of feeling unvalued and hated the way he was currently living. he didn’t really hate his family— he was just a kid sick of being alone with no promise of change soon. when he ran away, though, he was still alone. he was just alone without promise of dean and john being home in a few days. he thought it would fix his problems, but it didn’t. he didn’t have the greatest relationship with john, but he did love dean. he didn’t really show it as a kid but dean was the only one who showed him real love, and he needed that. he didn’t have that anymore.

this is the first instance sam is shown owning a dog, and it comes after sam ran away for something he thought would fix his life but ended up not really measuring up in the end. he was ripped back from his little adventure right back into his old life. he couldn’t escape. he was free,

but he didn’t have dean.

example 2 - riot

one of the WORST plot lines on this show. i’ll say that. weird choice for sam. regardless, it stands with the analysis.

we all know how sam hit the dog and went to live with amelia instead of looking for dean. it came from the idea that dean used that one time they had evidently agreed on where if one of them died, the other would live a normal life. personally i don’t think sam would have actually done this at this point in the show, but whatever. dean had lisa and ben, and this was sam’s version. sam’s chance at normalcy. we see bits of his life with amelia develop over multiple episodes, and he was even living with her. amelia made him happy. and they really showed that dog a lot.

the dog lived with them, obviously. the second instance of sam owning a dog. sam was trying to start this new life for himself of being a guy who settles down with someone and lives his life in peace. of course, that didn’t really end up working for him, as he left amelia to go back to hunting.

yet again, we have a dog present during a time sam was trying to escape his problems and start over. sam was starting to get this life for himself that he never really thought he would have, but that he always had as an unattainable dream. he was free,

but he didn’t have dean.

example 3 - miracle

the final instance shown of sam owning a dog. dean had found this one, which, as we’ve seen from the takeaway of the two previous examples, was actually foreshadowing of dean’s death in the final episode.

unfortunately, we all remember how 15x20 starts with sam and dean in a semi-normal life. they’ve beat chuck. they’ve saved the world multiple times, and lost so many people in the process. they finally get some normalcy, while still keeping up the little hunting jobs. and then dean somehow dies on that damn rusty rebar.

immediately proceeding is what i can remember through heavy tears as an extremely sad montage of sam living his life without dean, permanently, with parallels to earlier scenes in the episode. then we get that shot of sam and miracle watching dean’s body burn.

dean had unknowingly found sam a companion before he died. this was what sam had left of his big brother. a dog. he took that dog with him when he left the bunker, and took care of him until the day he died. they had both loved that dog. sam had gotten a taste of a free life— a free life with his brother, unshackled by world-threatening evils. that was then forcibly taken away from him in an instant. he was once again alone. alone with miracle. he was free,

but he didn’t have dean.

[scoobydoodean]

ok so I deeply love and respect your thoughts on supernatural because the majority of them line up with what I've been thinking for years but you said something the other day that I keep turning over in my brain and it was something along the lines of carver liking dean more than sam - I know you're in the middle of rewatching s4 but I would love to hear you expound on that (if you have time) because I remember being in the fandom while carvernatural was airing and it was pretty much when the deangirl exodus started. in fact I think people tore into him worse than dabb even 😭

feel free to hold onto this until later when you start the carver seasons if you wish :)

<3 I'll go ahead and answer this one, because it's more of a "broad strokes" thing for me, and I've been rewatching very slowly (on purpose) so that could be a very long wait.

This is so funny because I can just picture Sam fans reading it and turning red and their blood boiling with the fire of a thousand suns but the TL;DR is that season 8-11 (Carver era) broad strokes to me are:

Sam sucks and is a worse brother and person than Dean.

Sam spends the first two seasons of Carver's run thinking he's a better person than Dean anyway and then the second two knowing he sucks, deciding to embrace his moral flexibility to keep Dean alive no matter the cost, and trying to mend things.

Dean is circled by many potential suitors who also in a sense represent Sam replacements because Sam sucks: Benny, Cas, Crowley, and Amara.

Dean knows that Sam sucks and part of him wants to get tf away from him very badly but another part of him feels guilty for wanting that. Family is suffering. Family is a chain around your neck keeping you tied to them via guilt. (Demon Dean represents the desire for escape, as does Amara).

Everybody wants to be with Dean, be Dean, and/or be loved by Dean. Dean is love. Dean is the world. Dean is the reason for existing. Everybody is lovesick about him. Sam is just there.

Sam needs to stop blaming Dean for so many things and learn to own his own choices.

That was fun to write down.

Longer commentary/explanation below the cut.

Season 8 (Carver's first season) literally begins with a Sam character assassination. It begins with us learning that Sam knowingly left Kevin to spend the rest of his life kidnapped and tortured without even telling a soul what happened to him. Not only did he abandon Dean and Cas as well but he didn't even look for them, and refuses to give a satisfying answer as to why.

Season 8 Sam's abandonment as distinct from previous behavior

I have had people this year who I love and respect tell me they don't view this as a character assassination and say they believe this is in character for Sam. I simply do not agree with that. I talk about this as it relates to Kevin here.

Sam has displayed selfishness and a big ego at many points in the series up to season 8. He's told a lot of lies (sometimes to the point of gaslighting), he's gone behind Dean's back to do things that affect Dean's life, he's taken traumatic experiences Dean opened up to him about and ultimately harmed Dean with them, he's shown resentments and anger, he's displayed jealousy, he's displayed a sense of superiority. He has never abandoned his brother to die without even trying. The Sam of season 3 would eviscerate season 8 Sam for this.

Sometimes Sam says and does things he shouldn't, but his crimes do not include "abandoning Dean to die without even looking for him" up to season 8. Many of his crimes happen at least partly because he really really doesn't want Dean to die or is desperate to save his life. He lets go of his anger at John and returns to make sure Dean is safe in 1.11. He refuses to give up and finds a way to save Dean in 1.12. In 1.22, he's willing to put John's life at risk for revenge, but in 2.01 he gets into an outright screaming match with John in the hospital under the belief that John's prioritizing the demon over Dean. Sam spends all of season 3 raging and angst-ing about not being able to save Dean to the point of considering and doing some shady as hell things/abandoning some of his more stalwart moral stances (3.05, 3.11, 3.15, 3.16). Dean's death and later, the desire to secure his safety/future, is one of the catalysts for Sam's descent into drinking demon blood (3.09, 3.16, 4.04, 4.09, 4.12). When he dies in "Swan Song", he urges Dean to pursue a normal, safe, life because he knows that at that point in time, Dean wants to get out but has always felt trapped (2.09, 2.10, 2.20, 3.01, 4.12, 4.16). Even Soulless Sam (who isn't the same as regular Sam) tried to look for Dean in 6.09 "Clap Your Hands If You Believe"—it was simply that when leads for the night dried up, he hooked up with someone because he had nothing more to go on and in soulless Sam's head that was the reasonable thing to do. But soulless Sam also certainly isn't representative of the real Sam—the fact that he doesn't care as much is supposed to point us to differences between him and regular Sam. Season 8 opens with Sam abandoning Dean in a context that makes him arguably worse than his soulless self.

(I talk about why Sam actually abandons everyone in season 8 in a very long post here).

Season 8 and 9 more broadly

So Carver has Sam abandon Dean to die without even trying. Then he has Sam refuse to give any kind of actually reasonable explanation that makes sense to anyone who was paying attention. Then he has Sam say that he's going to leave the life and Dean needs to get over it and accept that Sam's new life will not include contact with Dean (just like his life at Stanford didn't). While saying he's going to leave, he still wants to exert control over Dean's relationships and leverages the threat of leaving (as if he were going to stay) to get Dean to shut up about Sam abandoning him and then again to try and get Dean to cut ties with Benny. He wants to kill Benny before knowing a single thing about him. He assigns someone (Martin) who he knows is mentally unstable and has a more black and white perception of monsters to track Benny and gets Martin killed. He watches Martin knock Dean unconscious and chain him up in a room and doesn't stop it because he wants Benny dead that bad, but then has the audacity to act as if Dean sending him a fake text is worse than Sam literally chaining him up in a room to prevent Sam from killing an innocent person (someone Sam would normally—btw—defend based on episodes like 2.03 and 4.04 or even a few episodes ago with Kate in "Bitten"). He tells Amelia he wants to fight for their relationship then the moment Dan says they should leave the choice to Amelia, he leaves so that it becomes his choice, and then he returns for one episode just to be a homewrecker. He insists on doing The Trials while promising to survive them and giving a big speech about how he's going to save Dean from his own suicidal ideation and then drops the promise as if it never existed two episodes later. Sam loses confidence in himself to complete The Trials and then acts like Dean is the one who doesn't believe in him because Dean is caring for him and insisting he rest and this is an unforgivable offense. At the end of the season, he basically says he's going to commit suicide because Dean has friends besides him. He acts as if he deserves to be Dean's most trusted confidant after an entire season of him being an absolutely fucking terrible brother and acts like Dean is just a big meanie whose feelings are irrational.

After all of this, he has the audacity, in season 9, to suggest that Dean is a bad person who can't stand the thought of being alone. He tells Dean he's the worst person ever and they can only be work partners from now on because Dean is so so bad and evil for stopping him from committing suicide and then not telling him about Gadreel. At the end of the season he admits this was a lie. He just wanted to punish Dean (9.23).

I can see how—if you were watching live at the time (I started watching when season 11 was airing) you'd lose hope. You'd quit the show over all of this, because it seems to go on forever. It's like torture. I would drop kick season 8 Sam into a pit full of lava without hesitation so I get it. If I believed that Carver was actually saying "Yes so true Dean is The Worst™️ and Sam is morally superior <3" for two seasons straight I'd quit the show too. But that isn't what he's saying. We're supposed to read between the lines and realize how unbelievably full of shit Sam is—how deeply selfish and hypocritical he's being. How yes—Dean has made mistakes—but Sam is NOT a better person than him and has gotten away with some absolutely rancid garbage. And season 10 and 11 go on to beat you over the head with it if you didn't get it the first time.

Season 10 and 11

Season 10 opens with this dialogue from a demon:

I heard the rumors. I said "no, that can't be." A Winchester, one of us? But it's true, isn't it? Whatever soul you had; whatever boy scout code you cuddled up to at night; it's all gone. Leaving what? Look at you!

We're meant to think she's talking about Dean who just woke up with black eyes, but then the camera cuts to Sam torturing her, demanding to know where Dean is.

In 10.03, we learn that Sam talked a man (Lester) into selling his soul so he could use him as bait. Demon Dean ends up being assigned to fulfill Lester's deal (to kill his wife for cheating on him). Dean immediately clocks Lester as having cheated on her first and kills Lester for being an insufferable hypocrite... and while he's doing it, I'm pretty sure he's also thinking of Sam's flaming hypocrisy.

SAM: I never meant— DEMON DEAN: Who cares what you meant?! That line that we thought was so clear between us and the things that we hunted, ain’t so clear is it? Wow. You might actually be worse than me! I mean, you took a guy at his lowest, used him, and it cost him his life and his soul. Nice work.

NOTE: 10.03 also recalls 4.21—an episode Sam fans have always tended to emphasize as a "Dean crime" episode where Dean risks Sam's death to force a detox. Sam does the reverse—pumping Dean full of human blood here in 10.03 and explicitly risking his death.

Sam gets Suzie killed in "The Werther Project" while searching for The Book of the Damned.

SAM I’m sorry, okay? I’m so sorry. SUZIE Lot of good “sorry” does me. Look at me. Look….at….me. [She points to her corpse.] There she is. The first casualty of your misguided mission. But what’s another human life to you? Anything’s worth it, as long as you two make it out alive. And how’s that search going? Any closer to a cure? SAM This isn’t real. You’re not real. SUZIE You think Dean’s the wild card, the loose cannon. But don’t you see? Making deals with witches, opening Pandora’s box down there? You’re the reckless one. You’ll do anything to keep clinging to that doomed brother of yours. How many more will die, Sammy? You know it. You have to be stopped. And the only one who can stop you is you!

A few episodes later, Sam orders Oskar's death for a spell to remove the Mark of Cain. I've seen hilarious posts before about how he had no choice but to do this because MoC Dean is so scawy and bad but that quite explicitly is not his motivation. They could have done so many other things. Throw him into space. Bury him in a really deep hole. Put him in something like The Cage. But Sam didn't like any of those options, because all of them meant being without his brother, and he's realized he doesn't want to be without him no matter the cost (10.18).

SAM So, awhile back, we had a chance to, um…close the gates of Hell. And in order to do that, I would’ve had to die. And, I was okay with that, and I am okay with that, but Dean was not. And so, he uh… CHARLIE He saved you. SAM Yeah, he saved me. CHARLIE And let me guess, in doing so, he did something you didn’t want, and that pissed you off. And you said something that hurt him? SAM Yeah, that sounds about right. [...] SAM You know, when Dean came to get me at school, I-I told myself… one last job, you know? One more job. And then when – when I, um…. When I lost Jess, I, again, told myself one more job. There’s always one more job, you know? And one more job, and one more job, and then I was gonna go back to law and – and to my life. CHARLIE You were the Dread Pirate Roberts of hunting. SAM Yeah. I guess I really understand now that….this is my life. I love it. But I can’t do it without my brother. I don’t want to do it without my brother. And if he’s gone, then I don’t…. CHARLIE I got it. I-I do.

This all culminates in 10.23, where a very mentally unstable MoC Dean attempts to reason with Sam about them both being evil and needing to take themselves out:

DEAN: Remember when we were in that church, making Crowley human, about to close the Gates of Hell? Well, you sure as hell were ready to die for the greater good then. SAM: Yeah, and, Dean, you pulled me back. DEAN: And I was wrong. You were right, Sam. You knew that this world would be better without us in it. SAM: No, no, no, wait a second. You're twisting my words here, Dean. DEAN: Why? Because we -- we track evil and kill it? The family business? Is that it? Look at the tape, Sam. Evil tracks us. And it nukes everything in our vicinity -- our family, our friends. It's time we put a proper name to what we really are and we deal with it. SAM: Wait a second. We are not evil. Listen... We're far from perfect, but we are good. That thing on your arm is evil, but not you, not me. DEAN: I let Rudy die. How was that not evil? I know what I am, Sam. But who were you when you --when you drove that man to sell his soul... Or when you bullied Charlie into getting herself killed? And to what end? A-a good end? A just end? To remove the Mark no matter what the consequences? Sam, how is that not evil? I have this thing on my arm, and you're willing to let the Darkness into the world. SAM: You were also willing to summon death to make sure you could never do any more harm. You summoned me because you knew I would do anything to protect you. That's not evil, Dean. That's not an evil man. That is a good man crying to be heard, searching for... some other way.

Dean is saying a lot of shady shit here, but some of what he's saying... isn't wrong?

Sam is willing to let The Darkness destroy the world, and he does, and then standing in the aftermath of a town being destroyed by the force he unleashed, Sam says:

SAM: I unleashed a force on this world that could destroy it . . . to save you. DEAN: And I told you not to. SAM: And I'd do it again. In a second, I would do it again.

Thousands of people are dying and Sam says he would do it again. This post about Sam's actions versus Dean stopping Sam from closing the gates of hell is highly relevant.

Season 11 continues with Sam taking a little more responsibility for his own decisions, while praying for Dean to live (11.02):

SAM: So . . . I know it's been a long time, but . . . Dean and I, we've -- we've been through a lot of bad. But this is different. This is my fault, and I don't know how to fix it. And if I have to die, I've made my peace with that, but . . . Please. Dean deserves better. Dean deserves a life. There are people out there, good people, who are going to suffer because of me, and I am not asking you to clean up my mess. Hell, I don't even know if you're out there, but . . . If you are . . . And if you can hear me, I, um . . . We need your help, God. We need to know there's hope. We need a sign.

And then there's the VERY long-awaited apology:

SAM When I was with Lucifer, he, um... He showed me things. It was like a highlight reel of my biggest failures. DEAN Yeah, he was messing with you. That's what he does. SAM Give me a sec. I should've looked for you. When you were in Purgatory, I... I should've turned over every stone.

Family (Sam) as chains

While all of this is happening, we also have Benny and Cas and Crowley and Amara.

Benny is contrast—someone whose goodness and selfless loyalty only makes Sam's horrible flaws stand out more sharply in season 8. Under the influence of the specter, Dean says, "Benny has been more of a brother to me this past year than you have ever been" and Sam can't stand it. It haunts him so bad he tries to kill Benny, and can't get over it even after the end of the season when Benny is fucking dead. He is unable to accept that the contrast between himself and Benny is his own fault.

Crowley and Dean's flirtations begin in season 9, as Sam suffocates Dean, and at the end of the season, Crowley has literally convinced Dean to run away with him. In 10.01, there is a delightful phone call where Crowley rubs it in Sam's face that Dean is with HIM:

SAM I don't know how you did this, what kind of... Black-magic stunt you pulled, but hear me --I will save my brother or die trying. CROWLEY You know what tickles me about all this? It's what's really eating you up. You don't care that he's a demon. Heck, you've been a demon. We've all been demons. No, it's that he's with me and he's having the time of his life. You can't stand the fact that he's mine. SAM He's not your pet. CROWLEY My pet? He's my best friend, my partner in crime. They'll write songs about us, graphic novels. “The Misadventures of Growley and Squirrel." Dean Winchester completes me, and that's what makes you lose your chickens.

It's this cruel callback to Sam's jealousy of Benny and Cas in season 8—how Crowley convinced Dean to finally ditch his smothering, controlling brat of little brother who can't stand him having friends, and now Dean is having the time of his life howling at the moon. The problem is, Dean also feels a little bit like maybe Crowley wants to control him too, and that isn't working for him.

Amara in season 11 goes on to further speak on terrible brothers who think they're better than you, who leave you betrayed and diminished, who abandon you. She's raging against the concept of family as chains—she wants revenge... but all the while she's in pain because she still loves her brother. Amara's attraction to Dean is based on that commonality—what she feels is a shared experience and how she wants to cut the last remaining pieces of love she feels for her brother away so she can finally be free of the pain of him—and she doesn't care if she destroys everything—including herself—in the process. (See: Dean slowly losing his identity through the MoC arc). Sam and Dean's relationship is in rehab over this whole season though, and so Dean's role ends up being to convince Amara not to destroy herself—to instead do what Sam and Dean have done and make up and work on improving their relationship.

[wolfgiselle]

Cage Wi-fi

"Can I ask, once again, how it's even possible we get wi-fi down here?"

Adam knew he was beating a dead horse, at this point, by getting worked up over this, but he was only human. Even in these trying times of Angels and Demons—of cages in Hell that were supposed to hold the literal Devil but, for some reason, also currently held him and the Archangel Michael—he needed things to make sense. Nothing had been going as it should lately. Not for a long time. Yet, here he was, trying to find logic where it seemed none existed.

"I assume the computer and its 'wi-fi' are here for entertainment purposes. There's not much else to do down here," Michael murmured. His face was practically hidden behind the screen. It had been for the last few days. At least, Adam thought it was days (Hell time was different, Cage time worse). Adam hoped Michael wasn't becoming addicted—that was all they needed—but there wasn't anything he could do to get it away from him.

Lucifer, at least, seemed to find Michael's newfound fascination and obsession amusing. "The demons snuck one down. I enjoyed the machine last I used it, so I, uh…let's go with 'asked' them to bring one down."

Adam should've guessed Lucifer was behind this. Even when he searched his brain, he couldn't figure out how a simple laptop could cause much, if any, damage. The whole situation seemed harmless. It was because Lucifer was the one who wanted it that he couldn't help but be suspicious.

His relationship with the Devil was mostly cordial. Michael had made it clear early on his vessel was off-limits when it came to torture or harassment. But the warning had ended up being unnecessary. Lucifer had, at first, focused all of his attention on his own vessel, Sam.

Adam had felt a bit bad then that Sam was experiencing such a thing while Adam was getting off scot-free. But, as he'd understood it, it was Sam's fault they were down there. Sam had decided to jump and take Lucifer with him—dragging him and Michael along for the ride. For such reasons, Adam also couldn't help but feel a little vindictive himself after all was said and done. All Adam had wanted was to see his mother and help save the world.

Lucifer did torture Sam for a while, but he must've gotten bored or finally calmed down because one day—for no discernable reason—he stopped. Sam didn't react as though he'd stopped, though. Instead, he kept screaming and tearing into himself, yelling words like "Stop!" or "No!" even though Lucifer was no longer touching him, basically torturing himself.

It almost made him relieved for Sam's sake (as well as his own) when, not long after, they saw Castiel appear. He shot into the cage with as little subtlety as a flaming meteor to snatch him, somehow managing to grab Sam's body but fly off, leaving his soul behind. He hadn't even spared a glance for Adam, despite Michael's (very much appreciated) attempt to get his attention and remind him.

The results of Sam existing in the cage without his body were a trial of their own. If Sam had seemed off or unhinged before, he was an absolute basket-case now. Lucifer even became desperate enough to try and calm him down, to no avail.

Then, once again, they had a visitor. This time 'Death' of all things. (And had Adam mentioned before he wasn't cut out for this?) While Adam was busy trying to fathom the idea of Death having a physical manifestation—on top of still trying to come to terms with Angels, Demons, and… well, everything else he'd ever thought was fantasy being real—Death retrieved Sam's soul.

Death, at least, was polite enough to acknowledge them. Adam included.

"I'm sorry, but the deal was only for one. Dean made his choice," he had said to him.

He'd immediately understood. It hurt, but he wasn't surprised. Their relationship had been short and brief, and for all they'd gone on about family and tried to appeal to him with that argument, he'd meant what he said when they first met. His mom was his family. She was the one he'd been doing all this for.

After Sam was gone, Adam worried Lucifer would get bored and come after him. After a while of showing no such inclination, though, Adam relaxed.

Adam was also surprised when Michael and Lucifer didn't fight each other. He'd been under the impression that had been the whole point of the Apocalypse. Michael had pointed out that neither could kill the other as long as they were down here. The cage kept whatever was in it alive. Fighting would be an exercise in futility.

The two of them still argued. But it was more like your average brotherly back-and-forth (if you considered disagreements over whether God would return and save them, or whether humans deserved to live or were insignificant ants that polluted and destroyed all God's other creations average).

Adam was doing okay. He figured for a guy stuck in Hell (possibly for all eternity), he was holding together pretty well. There was just some confusion over the computer.

"If we can get a signal down here, could we send messages to Earth?" Adam asked.

"And who were you planning on sending messages to?" Lucifer drawled, his human manifestation sprawled out against one of the corner cage walls. That was another thing that confused Adam. This wasn't their 'true' form he was seeing.

When Michael first appeared to him, he had been pure light. His presence had been so bright and heavy it'd felt both like staring directly at the sun and, somehow, being surrounded by it. Michael had later told him it was a miracle he'd been able to look upon him at all. Apparently, it was common for people to burn their eyes out when directly looking at them outside of a vessel. The Winchester blood that'd made it possible for him to be a vessel for Michael period must have saved him.

This meant he'd seen Michael before and had at least an idea of what an Angel could look like through human eyes. He also thought he'd caught a few glimpses of Lucifer when he was still torturing Sam. But he wasn't sure if what he'd seen was accurate after so long. Or if what he'd seen at the time had been distorted by Michael back then, trying to keep him coddled up within his…well, wings in an attempt to keep the awful things happening in front of him from view. As if not seeing Sam's torture made him any less aware of it happening. In some ways, the not seeing, the not knowing, was worse.

Lucifer's image—if his sneaked looks had been accurate—gave off the opposite impression of Michael's. If Michael was the sun, then the Devil was a black and oily hole, primed and ready to suck off or destroy any of the light that wandered near.

Adam wondered if Lucifer stayed in this humanoid form lately (despite his proclaimed hatred for the species) because he hated what had become of his original form or if it would be presumptuous of him to believe he chose to look that way to ease any discomfort Adam might've once shown at his true but now contaminated, visage.

Surely, the Devil would prefer for him to be uncomfortable? No matter how well they seemed to get along, it made little sense for Lucifer to play nice with the vessel of the brother he'd set out to kill. He'd never question such things out loud, though. Or admit to his confusion regarding the…Angel? Archangel? Devil…? Oh—whatever classification he considered himself now. Adam figured as long as he wasn't getting tortured, the status quo was best kept as it was.

"I don't really have anyone to message," he replied, remembering Lucifer's question after way too long a pause.

"Not even the Winchesters? They're your family, after all." Lucifer said it with little inflection, not at all as if he was intending mockery. But Lucifer knew he hated to be reminded of his blood ties to the brothers and how little such a tie had come to mean. Sometimes, Adam thought Lucifer missed Sam, and that was why he always brought them up when they were no longer a necessary topic of conversation.

"You know, very well, I wouldn't wanna talk to them, even if I could. They already know I'm down here. What else am I gonna say to 'em? 'Hey guys, it's your brother—you know, Adam? The guy you left in Hell? Yeah, remember him? That's me.' Nope—not at all interested in having that conversation. I was speaking in hypotheticals. Like, does social media work down here? Could we actually, like… set up a Facebook page or write a blog and call it "The Hell-Cage Experience? That would probably get a lot of page views even if nobody took it seriously."

"Yeah…I didn't understand half of what you said right there, but the computer should be capable of everything it was when it was on Earth. Of course, if you order something, we're obviously not getting it. I learned that lots of humans used that machine or ones like it to acquire food."

"Yeah." Adam brushed his hand through his hair, mentally shaking his head again at the added absurdity to this already mind-breaking situation. What was his life that he was having a casual conversation about computer usage with the Devil? In literal Hell? Adam needed to get over this. He was starting to sound like a broken record.

Music suddenly started playing from the computer for the first time since the device had appeared. Although Michael's human manifestation (an almost duplicate of himself with an added Angel aura) didn't jump or display any sign of startlement, the place where his wings would be visual when displayed distorted and, for a moment, the room became slightly breezy, portraying the Angelic version of the same thing.

Adam didn't recognize the song but could admit it was catchy. What was Michael even watching? He could admit to being a little jealous that he didn't have his own computer down here to whittle the time away—If Lucifer was going to insist on ignoring the laws of reality and physics by having a working computer down here, couldn't he have at least gotten them all one? Why was Lucifer even letting Michael hoard the thing in the first place if Lucifer had it brought here for himself? No way was he about to ask, though. Not for his own computer or about whatever his Angel companion was watching.

Lucifer had no such compunctions, of course. In fact, looking at that human face, which showed his emotions maybe a little too well, Adam would say the Devil looked a little too much like the cat that had captured the canary but wanted to play more with it before he ate it. Adam was instantly suspicious.

"Sooo…what's that you're looking at, Michael?" Lucifer asked, sounding almost like he already knew and just wanted to hear the answer aloud. The whole thing made the human nervous, and he wasn't even sure why.

Adam glanced back at Michael. He didn't seem horrified, angry, or any other emotion the human might've expected if some joke or prank had been pulled on him like he had every other time Lucifer had gotten the better of him while down here. In fact, if he had to guess based on familiarity with his own facial expressions, he would say Michael looked curious.

"It appears to be a live performance of the Winchester Gospel," Michael said. As if that simple sentence alone was self-explanatory.

"A live performance of…what?" Why were the Winchesters being mentioned again? And by Michael of all people. His Archangel roommate usually agreed with Adam that it was best they weren't discussed. The topic had negative connotations for them all. It only led to bad moods and tension.

Suddenly unable to hold back his own curiosity, Adam deduced that it was safe enough to leave his claimed corner of the cage to approach. It was only Michael, after all. He'd already spent a lot of time cuddled up within his wings. He'd felt what it was like to have that being inside him: for some moments, what it was like to share all thoughts and feelings with another without walls separating their personhood. There might as well be no more boundaries left between them to break.

Once he was practically on top of Michael—trying to get a good look at the screen he'd become affixed to—the Archangel, still perfectly attuned to him and his needs from their joining, moved the computer from his lap to in front of him and bundled him into the cleared space. Now, nothing stopped him from getting a good view of the computer. He was a lot more comfortable, too.

It only took him a couple of minutes to register what he was seeing. An 'understanding' of what he'd seen didn't end up following close behind.

There on the screen, clear as day, were Sam and Dean. At least he was pretty sure it was Sam and Dean. If not, these people were dead wringers, and…. wait, no…that was their Impala. It was definitely them.

"What the fuck am I even watching right now?"

"Weren't you listening? Michael said it was a live performance of the Winchester Gospel."

Adam jumped slightly at hearing Lucifer's voice suddenly coming from behind him. He hadn't even noticed him move. He'd been too distracted by the video—whatever it was supposed to be. Michael rested his cheek on his forehead and held him tighter as if trying to offer comfort.

"Yes, I heard him," Adam answered, trying not to sound too smart or snappish (just because Lucifer had, so far, respected Michael's demand to leave him alone, that didn't mean he was going to push it by being purposefully rude) "I just don't know what you mean by Winchester Gospel. Do you mean the prophecy that said they were supposed to be your vessels for the Apocalypse? What does a…, um, TV show?—with them in it—have to do with that?"

"The Winchester Gospel isn't the prophecy, exactly. Not in the way that you're thinking, anyway. But I guess you could call it that since it was written by a prophet."

"Prophet?" That was the first he'd heard about them. Adam supposed he shouldn't be surprised that prophets were real, too, since it seemed pretty much every other imaginary thing had turned out to be.

"Prophets are humans born with the ability to read and understand God's word. The Winchester Gospel was the written version of the Winchester's story leading up to the Apocalypse. A prophet would have been able to see it himself for documentation purposes; think of a modern-age Bible with the brothers smack-dab at the center of it."

Adam tried to take in this information while being distracted by the scene of a horrified Sam screaming up at his girlfriend as she burned to death pinned to the ceiling.

Yikes.

He wasn't particularly fond of either Winchester right now, but they did get the shitty end of the stick, didn't they? The people around them, or in any way connected to them, seemed to die in rather gruesome ways.

"Wait," he said, realizing something. "If it's like a new-age Bible written by a human, does that mean it's available for anybody to read the same way the actual Bible is? And if it's about the Winchesters and the Apocalypse, we're all in it, too, right? Even me?"

"I am soooo glad you asked," Lucifer replied. It didn't escape Adam's notice that he sounded practically giddy. He moved to where Adam could see him, shooting him a wide smile (frightening) before he huddled beside them and took control of the computer.

Lucifer exited the TV show—which had continued on to another episode—with a casual, "We can watch the rest of that later," and typed something into the Google search bar. Seeming to find what he was looking for with a satisfied "ah, ha," Lucifer turned the computer back around. "See for yourself."

Adam had been briefly distracted by wondering why Michael hadn't fought for the computer when Lucifer grabbed it but focused again as soon as he processed what he was looking at.

"What on Earth? Are you fucking serious!?"

"Well, we're certainly not on Earth anymore…" Lucifer started, but Adam wasn't listening.

The website the Devil had switched to seemed to be some sorta fan-made page. The background was all black, the continuing image of pentagrams a recurring theme. There was a banner with a picture of the Impala in it and a stylized font spelling out the word 'Supernatural' over the top of it.

There appeared to be books for sale on the site with the same series title. Was this supposed to be the Winchester Gospel? These books looked like cheap drugstore romance-novel-trash… Much like the kind Adam's mother would buy and sneak into the cart and then hide under her mattress when they got home. They were one of the only splurges she made for herself. Kate Milligan never realized that her son snuck into her room when she wasn't home (often) to read those secret books. It was the closest sometimes Adam could get to porn before he'd had his own computer at home. These books couldn't be as important as the Bible: Not looking like this.

He reached out and scrolled over to an icon titled 'characters,' determined to answer his question on whether he was included in this trash.

Did he even want to be?

No, not really.

But the idea of being forgotten, not just by the people who'd claimed him as family but by the entire world, instilled a sudden existential dread.

It took scrolling through tons of names he didn't even recognize to finally find his own, and it was with a strange mixture of relief and trepidation that he clicked on it.

A page with a picture of himself and some general information popped up—which was weird enough, but he could get over it; he was most disturbed by the info section and its accuracy despite the brevity.

"Apparently, I'm only in about four episodes of this show and two books. But one of my main appearances doesn't count because it was a ghoul pretending to be me, and the other doesn't because it was Michael. That's bullshit!"

Adam wasn't even sure why he was mad. It's not like he wanted people to be able to watch his life unfold. As he continued to look through his character page, though, he couldn't help but feel robbed—or like he was being made a mockery of somehow.

"Yawn. This is getting boring now."

Lucifer took control of the computer back, and Adam let him, unsure where else to go and not sure he even wanted to see more. He had the sneaking suspicion that being bombarded with this crap had been Lucifer's intent all along and that he and Michael were just along for the ride. 'Why' Lucifer wanted to watch, read, or interact with any of this was beyond him. Maybe he just wanted to watch himself, but Adam didn't think it would be fun to watch the events of their last year or so re-enacted when it was already such a misery experiencing them.

"It'd take forever to read through these books or watch the show. I'm sure none of us want to spend all our time staring at Sam and Dean's ugly mugs, no matter how limitless it currently is. Sooo…I say we check out some of this fan content first. Music videos, fanfiction, blogs, pairings: I don't even know some of these terms, but they all sound interesting. Humans come up with some of the most depraved—"

"Fanfiction!?" Adam practically yelped, interrupting what was sure to be another 'humans suck' rant from Lucifer he wasn't quite in the mood to withstand. Adam hadn't even given a thought to fanfiction. An old friend of his had been obsessed with Star Trek to near insanity and had introduced him to the concept by forcing him to read a story they'd written using the show's characters. Adam had learned a lot about his friend that day, and he'd never been able to watch an episode of Star Trek with a clean mind again. It had made his mother's erotica seem like child's play.

"Well, that's an interesting reaction," was all Lucifer had to say. Damn it! He should've controlled himself better. Adam could already see the cursor heading towards that 'cursed' word.

"Wait! You really don't want to…see any of that…" Adam trailed off, seeing Lucifer was no longer paying attention to him. Michael's eyes were still glued to the computer, and Adam wondered if he'd glanced away from it even once since it'd appeared down here.

"So 'fanfiction' is 'fan' stories written by fans about certain characters and events. I don't see the problem here. What wouldn't I want to see?"

"Weren't you just saying, 'Humans come up with some of the most depraved—' and so on? You telling me you can't imagine what could be terrible about stories possibly written about 'our' lives?"

Adam knew he shouldn't be saying this even as it came out of his mouth. It'd be smarter to let Lucifer think the topic is dull. Maybe part of him wanted Lucifer to suffer what he'd once had to endure. Then again, the Devil had a strange sense of humor. He was just as likely to find the whole thing amusing. What the fuck did Adam know? He'd almost suspect torturing him, and Michael, with fanfiction, was actually part of his motive here if it weren't for his seemingly ignorant confusion on the topic. If Adam had learned anything, it was that Lucifer was manipulative. But he never lied.

"Depraved?" Lucifer asked with new interest, his face inching closer to the screen.

Yeah.

He wasn't faking that.

Adam resigned himself to the inevitable and braced for impact. Being a minor 'character' might be his only saving grace here.

"I wouldn't get too excited. Don't say I didn't warn you when you find something you don't like," Adam warned. Lucifer getting pissed off would benefit none of them.

"Oh, I see. So, this is where pairings come into play. I wonder…"

Adam caught Lucifer's glance at him out of the corner of his eye and the following smirk. So much for that 'saving grace'. He was clearly Lucifer's first target.

"You were so upset about not having many appearances. About being the unimportant brother—the spare—even here."

"Brother—" Michael finally chipped in again, and Adam recognized his warning tone. Lucifer sure liked to kick below the belt and, not so surprisingly, play with fire.

Adam tried to control his face enough so his scowl wasn't obvious, but had a feeling he'd failed spectacularly. He snuggled further into Michael's arms—his only comfort down here—and felt his body relax when the Angel squeezed him even tighter.

Thankfully, Lucifer only rolled his eyes and mumbled what Adam was sure was 'so sensitive' before continuing with his clicking, undeterred.

"Well, look at that! Most of the 'fanfiction' here involves you and Michael in a sexual or romantic relationship. Wow, big brother! Never thought I'd see you degrade yourself this way. Even if it's only in a piece of fiction written by humans."

Michael's posture straightened, and he could almost imagine the look of contempt he'd be sending Lucifer even with his back to him. Adam rubbed the Angel's arm, attempting to return comfort and calm.

"Not that I can blame the humans for speculating about how you two act. You're way too soft on your vessel, Michael. You might as well glue him to your side and be done with it."

"If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it."

Lucifer hummed and continued messing with the computer.

"Here's an interesting summary: 'Michael has a boner but doesn't know what to do with it. Adam teaches him one of the pleasures of being human.'"

Adam cringes but isn't surprised. Yeah, that was to be expected. Adam supposed it also made sense that any fan-made material would focus on him in conjunction with Michael. He was the 'character' he'd interacted with the most. He'd literally been inside him (yes, he could grasp the erotic implications).

Adam snuck a look at Michael, relieved to see he looked more confused than angry. He thought about what he wanted to say.

"You realize you've probably been paired up with everybody at least once yourself, right? You're too important. You probably had plenty of 'screen time' or 'page-time,' or whatever the fuck we're going with here."

"And why should it bother me what humans write about me?"

"Well, as you've probably gathered, most of it is porn. Here, let me see the computer for a minute?"

Lucifer arched an eyebrow at him but pushed it over. Adam was clearly being humored; he hoped he could find what he had in mind.

It was easier than it should've been to navigate the website. And it took less time than it should've to find something inflammatory.

"Look at this," Adam said, passing the computer back. Adam took a perverse amount of pleasure in the blank expression that came over Lucifer's face as he realized what he was reading. Adam might not agree with most of Lucifer's anti-human dogma. But he could get behind his belief in their depravity. The human imagination could be downright vile.

"Did you want to read the summary of that one out loud? Or maybe you'd like to check out the story itself." Adam hoped Lucifer didn't call his bluff and actually attempt to read what he'd found. Adam had no desire to hear such things and was sure Michael would find it equally traumatizing. It might even have Michael agreeing with Lucifer about humans being disgusting and all deserving to die. Now that he was thinking about it… showing Lucifer such a thing and daring to taunt him might not have been such a good idea.

"We're moving on to something else. There's nothing of value to see here," Lucifer growled. His hands were clenched, and his eyes glowed a burning red. If Lucifer had had laser vision, the computer would be a smoking, charred pile of unworkable parts.

Adam relaxed.

Lucifer was clearly pissed, but it wasn't at him.

"How about some videos, or… Oh, here's a fan song."

The look on Lucifer's face now scared Adam. More than the one he'd given the computer after reading the summary of the story that ‘must not be named or explained.'

A tune started up, and Adam frowned at the almost immediate mention of Sam and Dean. Adam wasn't sure what he was supposed to be waiting for. Lucifer was watching him with what could only be anticipation. It was clearly an Apocalypse song, and he could only assume he'd be getting a mention. It was nearing the chorus when he heard the first hint of himself: a mention of the writers forgetting someone. He just knew that had to mean him.

And then he heard the actual chorus.

"We are never ever saving Adam ever!? Really?"

Someone had written an actual song about how forgettable he was. Sam and Dean's perspective added extra sting to already painful mockery. Was this all he was to anyone who knew his story? An unremarkable, unimportant joke.

It was one thing for Lucifer to tease him: Lucifer was just being Lucifer. And this was obviously his revenge for managing to make him uncomfortable. It was a separate issue to know his fellow humans could think so little of him when he'd only ever tried his best to be respectable. When he'd been willing to give his body over to do what he'd believed to be right. When he'd only wanted to see his mother and now might never be reunited with her again.

Lucifer smiled at his reaction. But Michael, who'd always been so unnaturally attuned to his emotional state, straightened up. He flared his wings in a way that made his presence seem towering and finally put in his two cents.

"While I'm not averse to studying the Gospel—as it may have answers to our current predicament and shine a light on what has been happening among the host since I have been gone—I have to protest this obvious targeting of Adam for your sick entertainment. I've told you time again that my vessel is off limits."

"And you haven't seen me lay a finger on him. Have you?" Lucifer sneered. Adam wondered if this would escalate into another 'bitch-fight-argument.' (Man, was he glad Michael wasn't currently paying attention to his thoughts.) Experiencing more of this Winchester-based crap didn't appeal to him in the slightest: Not with how he'd been depicted. He wasn't much in the mood for listening to them go back and forth, either, for however long they'd decide to have a go.

"Can't we just decide on something that won't make any of us angry? Maybe get started on that learning Michael mentioned. Because he had a point, you know? There's a good chance we could learn about what's been happening while we've been down here. It hardly benefits us to be uninformed."

Some of Michael's tenseness relaxed, and a slight breeze from his wings told Adam they'd also been put away. Adam turned to look at Lucifer again.

"We could get info on what's been happening in Hell too." Adam's careful not to say what he's actually thinking: that Lucifer could see Sam again and learn how he's doing. Lucifer's obsession was one best not spoken of; he'd deny it anyway.

Both Angels agreed with Adam with only a little grumbling and a couple murmured insults from Lucifer that Adam pretended not to hear. Lucifer was just upset they'd managed to ruin his fun.

Now that they had a plan, they just needed to put it into motion. Adam reached towards the computer again slowly, wondering if Lucifer would put up a fight about handing it over, but he shoved it at him instantly. Adam guessed Lucifer didn't want to have to put in the work if he couldn't fuck with them anymore. Adam wasn't about to complain.

Adam settled the computer into a position far enough from him so Lucifer could still see the screen. It'd been paused on the YouTube video for the song he'd been so hurt by. With a quick type of 'Supernatural mvs' in the search bar, it directed him to other options. Lots of options! Man, this show was popular. He hardly knew where to start.

Adam clicked on a couple random vids but got nothing out of them beyond further confirmation of Sam and Dean's life sucking, their codependent relationship, and the strange homoerotic tension between Castiel and Dean which the fans not only noticed but seemingly loved.

"Well, those weren't very helpful. Why don't we look up some videos focusing on the Angels."

Adam did so, and this time hit paydirt. These videos focused a lot more on the Angels and what they'd been up to. Some of it was hard for him to follow without the context, but he was focusing on trying to absorb everything until—

"You killed Gabriel?" Michael didn't yell, but his voice seemed to boom and almost shake the cage from being so powerful. The grip Michael still had around him was equally strong. Adam was grateful he couldn't actually die down here. And that he didn't need to breathe. Otherwise, the hold would have already suffocated him. Adam tried to pay attention to what Michael was actually saying.

Gabriel?

Right, Gabriel.

Apparently, Lucifer had killed him.

The video was still going, but nobody was paying it any mind. He reached a hand out to pause it, trying not to attract the attention of either of them. Michael was angrier than Adam had ever seen him. Adam trusted Michael to not want to hurt him, but that didn't mean he couldn't end up collateral damage. His ribs could attest to that.

Would this be the inciting incident? The thing to finally turn them to violence? Adam supposed Lucifer's response might be the determining factor.

Lucifer looked surprised. Adam wondered if he'd forgotten that he'd killed Gabriel or if he simply assumed nobody would ever find out.

"It wasn't Gabriel's place to interfere. He helped Sam and Dean get away, kept waving his Angel Blade around in my face, and seemed very protective of the humans, above all else. He'd clearly been down on Earth too long and became too accustomed to their ways. What else would you have had me do?"

"Maybe not kill your brother. You were always Gabriel's favorite: The only one to enjoy his pranks. The only one who could understand his jokes. You taught him to fly. Even during our fights, he never once took sides. He had to know you were in the wrong, but his love and worship for you prevented him from ever truly standing against you. Were you truly incapable of subduing him long enough for you to get away? You couldn't appeal to him… or talk him down—someone who once loved you that much?"

Lucifer, for once, appeared lost for words. (Talk about family drama. And he thought his issues with his own were bad.) Adam suddenly had a lot of questions he'd never thought to ask: What happened to an Angel when they died? Did they stop existing? Did they have their own afterlife? Was it better than here? He supposed it had to be.

There was still no answer from Lucifer. Adam knew better than to dare ask any of his questions now. His mouth would stay firmly shut while letting them sort this out. No way was he getting in the middle of this.

"Your silence might as well be an admission of guilt." Michael was trying his best to sound all-commanding and unemotional. The bond between him and Adam that let Michael perceive what he was feeling, however, worked both ways. Right now, he was feeling a grief Adam hadn't yet felt from him before. Not even their fall into the cage had elicited such an emotional response; he'd mostly just been angry then.

"Like you're squeaky clean being Dad's loyal soldier. You'd have killed him yourself if it'd been an order from God. Just like you threw me down here on his orders. You're the last person who'd have any right to lecture me on betrayal: on family loyalty." Lucifer sneered again as he practically spat the words.

Michael glowered and shot right back: "Your actions led to me striking you down—not just God. If you'd just listened—"

"—Here we go again: 'If you'd only just listened and followed orders like every other Angel, we wouldn't be in this situation right now. If you'd only just listened and been a good puppet soldier, none of this would've happened,'" Lucifer mocked with a roll of his eyes. "Don't take any accountability for your own mistakes. The 'Great and Powerful Archangel Michael' doesn't make mistakes. He's just Daddy's perfect boy. Well, it doesn't seem like he's coming down here to rescue you, does it? God has abandoned you too! Despite your enduring loyalty and stupidity."

"Faith is not stupid," Michael retorted. "And must you insist on talking poorly of our father?"

"He's the reason we're both down here, Mikey. The reason we're all down here. Apparently, he doesn't care about your vessel, either—despite insisting we prioritize these humans above all else. What excuse can you even give for that, huh? Are we meant to believe that he just… what? Didn't notice our Apocalypse: Didn't notice one of his Archangels dying and another falling into the cage? 'He who supposedly sees all'? What's more likely? That he hasn't realized or doesn't care? About any of us."

Adam didn't much appreciate being brought up in this conversation, especially when said conversation was a reminder that nobody seemed to care that he was here (aka: In Hell). Secretly, though, while he'd never tell Michael, he agreed somewhat with Lucifer; God didn't seem invested in any of them. One of the things that had brought him closer to Michael—that had made him sympathetic—had been his…well, 'toxic' relationship with his father. Even easier to empathize with was Lucifer's hatred towards that same father due to a disillusionment Michael had yet to overcome.

"We're down here to pay penance," Michael shot back in defense. "Father is hardly going to reward failure."

"Well, he certainly doesn't reward loyalty. What's your human paying penance for? What did he theoretically do wrong in this scenario? He was just doing what he thought was right, wasn't he? Doing what you and the other Angels told him to?"

Michael seemed to struggle with this, and Adam tried peaking up at him to see if he could catch his expression. Adam was curious what excuse he'd come up with for this one, if any; he wouldn't even be mad at the insinuation that Adam could've done something deserving of spending an eternity down here when he'd managed to make it into Heaven before.

Michael's arms clenched around him again, but softer this time and without the anger. Adam didn't manage to get anything from his expression (Adam admitted to stupidity in hindsight; Michael's face was hardly a display of emotion, and there was no reason for this time to be any different), but Michael let out an almost audible sigh. His Archangel's emotions, unlike the rest of him, were anything but tame. Adam could feel the conflict and confusion as strongly as if they were his own.

Lucifer seemed to grasp from Michael's sudden silence that he'd scored his first point in this back-and-forth because he smirked, suddenly confident from this small but important victory. At any other time, Adam might have been amused and grateful that Lucifer was getting through to Michael on the whole 'God issue.' Right now, though, Lucifer trying to use this to distract from him having killed their brother and then throwing Adam into the argument made Adam furious.

'Screw it,' Adam thought, 'I'm done shutting up.'

"Look, obviously, none of us are having the time of our lives down here, but it doesn't really do to dwell on the whys and hows. We have to make the best of our situation while still being ready to take any chances that turn up to get out of here. This, right here—" Adam shook the laptop to remind them both that it was there. "—this is the closest we've gotten; the only information we have available."

Lucifer stared at him. He could sense he had Michael's attention as well.

"Michael's got a right to be mad. His brother's dead, and he's only just found out. Lucifer, you have a right to be mad too. About being stuck here again, I mean. But that doesn't mean you have to take it out on Michael since it wasn't even his fault this time. You told me, yourself, that fighting down here's pointless, so maybe stop trying to instigate one." Adam glared at Lucifer, trying to look braver than he actually felt. "And stop using me to antagonize Michael. It's hardly very creative of you."

"Your vessel's got bite, Michael. Real Winchester trait."

"Milligan," Adam corrected in further irritation. "Can we please just—" Adam shook the computer again in frustration. "We were really getting somewhere. Do you two wanna keep fighting about something neither of you can do anything about, or do you want to get educated? Cause I'm telling you, right now, if it turns out there was some way outta here we didn't know about that this did and we miss it, I'll find a way to make the both of you regret it…" Adam took another look at the both of them as they stared at him—Lucifer with an arched brow and Michael curiously—and felt his temporary bravery abandon him.

"…somehow," he muttered in a much weaker, lower voice.

For some reason, his outburst seemed to kick the two of them into gear. Michael suddenly arranged the laptop and the both of them so he had better access to the controls while still having a firm grip on him. Adam wondered if it was a good idea for Michael to be in charge—given his previous immersion (more like obsession) with said computer—but Adam figured he'd already said his piece. For now, he just wanted to feel like he was accomplishing something.

Neither Lucifer nor Michael apologized, but Adam assumed by their behavior that it was implied. Lucifer, at least, would never lower himself enough to do so—and Adam knew Michael would never do it in front of Lucifer, who'd no doubt use it as an excuse for further mockery.

Sometimes, seeing the devastation that was their relationship made him happy about never being able to build anything real with his own brothers. If having siblings caused one this much pain and drama, maybe he was better off without them.

Michael continued with the video route since they'd already proven useful. (And Adam's heart did ache for Michael about the Gabriel situation. Of all the stories Michael had told Adam of Heaven, the ones involving the trickster Angel had been his favorite.)

These videos involved more Angel drama: Drama that Adam still lacked some context to entirely understand. He could tell it was bad, though. And not just from the tenseness and feelings Michael was projecting from their bond.

"Raphael is dead too," was Michael's next despondent comment. The hurt practically emanated from him at this point—a dark rolling cloud of misery over his usual sunny brightness.

"Well, you can hardly blame me for that one. I think Castiel might have single-handedly done more damage in these videos than I managed during our entire apocalypse escapade. I'd be in awe if it weren't so insulting." Lucifer certainly didn't look amused.

"Much as I hate to agree with you, there is something seriously wrong with that Angel. He seems incapable of following orders or respecting authority. There's no need to make light of our prophesized battle by referring to it as an escapade, though, Lucifer."

"Sure. Disrespect of authority. That's the problem." Lucifer's eyes rolled back so far in his head that Adam feared they'd get stuck that way. His sarcasm was so thick Adam could drown in it.

The videos kept going and kept getting progressively worse.

"At this point, the question we should be asking is if there are any angels left. Also…what's so special about Castiel that his death never seems to stick."

Neither Michael nor Lucifer appeared to like the implications. They both had to know the most likely reason for Castiel's constant revivals was God's favor. How Castiel could have earned said favor without trying when even Lucifer and Michael's fanatical bids to garner attention had resulted in radio silence, Adam didn't know. It just left the increasing impression of God being that crappy, absentee father Lucifer had painted him as, whether Michael was able to admit to it yet or not.

Purgatory, Soulless Sam, The Trials, The Angels Falling, The Mark of Cain, The Darkness: The hits never stopped. And…wait, was that supposed to be God? The guy writing the Winchester gospel and pretending to be a Prophet? What? When Michael and Lucifer said nothing, Adam decided to do the same. They either hadn't reached the same conclusion (noticed) or didn't want to discuss it and were ignoring it. Adam could get behind that.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this—feel free to slap me if I'm being ridiculous, 'cause I'm probably way out of line here—but…do you think maybe…we might actually be safer down here? Everyone up there seems to be cursed or something."

Apropos of nothing, without the slightest warning, Lucifer disappeared.

Adam stared at the now empty space. Gone. Just like that. Adam tensed and grasped onto Michael's arm around him, worried he or Michael might be next. Michael held on just as tight, also wary. Only after a few minutes of neither of them going anywhere did he lower his guard.

"Was it something I said?" Adam asked, suddenly feeling the need to whisper. "Did I jinx it?"

"Of course not. Lucifer must have been summoned."

"Who would or could summon Lucifer out of the cage?" He asked, then almost knocked himself out from the force of his own palm meeting face at his stupidity.

"Winchesters," both Adam and Michael ended up saying simultaneously.

"But why?" Adam asked.

"They must need an Archangel for something." And, boy, was Michael mad; the increased thunder and lightning noises from outside the cage evidence (representation) of his vast displeasure.

"They needed an Archangel, and they chose Lucifer?" That was dubious. Lucifer might help—especially if Sam was doing the asking—but he'd hardly do it for free. God knows what other mischief he'd get into while up there.

Given how they'd just been talking about a curse, there was also a good chance Lucifer would be killed. Adam felt weird thinking about it. Lucifer drove him crazy, and he was hardly a pinnacle of moral righteousness. But Adam would miss him. Adam had gotten used to thinking of Michael and Lucifer as his eternal companions. Now, one of them was gone. He couldn't help but grip Michael harder again, still slightly scared that he'd vanish, too, and Adam would be alone. That would be the end of his sanity right then.

"If the darkness destroyed the world…or whatever it is she does, would it affect us, too? Could Lucifer even defeat it?"

"Everything would be affected. The last time the darkness had to be shut away, it took the combined power of God and all four of his Archangels. Even then, it was still difficult and resulted in grievous injuries. I don't see how it could be accomplished unless God has returned to fight and decides to bring us all back."

Michael didn't even look hopeful while saying it, proof this new information and situation had him out of sorts. Adam just had to hope that if Michael was summoned, Adam would be taken as well. The Angel would still need a vessel, after all. Adam doubted Dean had suddenly changed his views on possession. Adam could also admit to jealousy at the idea of Dean taking his place in this instance. Dean hadn't wanted to be Michael's vessel, but Adam had been filling that role for so long now he no longer knew any other way to be.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

"There's nothing we can do," Michael admitted reluctantly. Adam knew Michael hated feeling helpless and not being able to do anything. Michael hadn't known a day of idleness until he found himself here. Adam had promised himself if they ever escaped, he'd insist on a vacation. They both deserved one, and there were so many places Adam had never gotten to see while alive that he thought Michael might get some pleasure from now.

"We should be on our guard, though, I'm guessing?"

Michael nodded against his back.

For a moment, Adam wanted to say, 'screw this,' and hide again in his angel companion's wings as he had so long ago. To forget everything and make that feathery embrace his entire world. It was strange, almost, how that seemed like a simpler time. It certainly hadn't seemed simple at the time.

"You just wanna watch some more of this Supernatural crap? It won't take our mind off anything, but I'm sure there's still much to learn. Why don't we look up some videos about ourselves? I'm sure we must have at least a few. Oh, and your brothers! We could find some about them too. See what they'd been up to before…well, just before. I hope this computer doesn't run out of power. Now that I'm thinking about it, it already should've run out if it was going to. You'd been messing with it for days before we'd even commented. I'm not even going to ask what had you so engrossed." Adam knew he was babbling but also knew Michael wouldn't mind. He'd told Adam before that he liked knowing what Adam was thinking but had difficulty figuring it out.

Adam rearranged himself again until he was comfy and brought YouTube back up. He was determined not to think about their imminent demise, the possibility of Michael disappearing, Lucifer being dead, or the Winchesters (despite them being prominent in everything and, therefore, impossible to ignore).

No.

None of those things existed right now. Adam and Michael were watching fiction. Pieces of a TV show. It had nothing to do with their lives at all. If he thought of it that way…maybe it would make these viewings easier to bear? Put less of a strain on his heart and his mind.

Adam took a deep breath, ready to start the next set of videos.

"You ready?" He asked Michael.

"It's only pragmatic to learn all we can. You said something similar yourself."

"Okay, what have I said about using my own words against me?"

"To not do so. Though I'm slightly confused about whose I should be using if not yours."

Adam sighed and shook his head.

Angels.

Hopeless.

All of them.

"Let's just get watching."

[enokian3310]

hooked on a higher dose

explicit / 3.6k words / ao3

“Dean?” Castiel shifts closer on the couch, eyes stormy and dark. He touches Dean’s leg tentatively, like he's unsure if this is allowed. “You’re okay.” It’s as if he’s looking right through Dean, straight at his charred, twisted up soul and library of issues. And Dean decides to lock that box back up.

“Absolutely,” Dean agrees, and crashes their mouths together.

It feels wrong, being alone in Bobby’s house. Sure, Dean’s spent enough time there over the years to not feel like a guest, but he’s still on high alert. Like Bobby’s gonna turn the corner any moment now and chew Dean out for putting his shoes on the table. 

He begrudgingly repositions himself with his feet back on the floor, sinking deeper back into the shapeless, sunken cushions. 

The owner of the house is state over hunting down some book he didn’t have, for a lead on something — anything — that could help them shove Lucifer back in his cage. It’s not like the angels have been particularly charitable with their Apocalypse knowledge, and “read the Bible” got old real fast. Dean’s read the goddamn Bible. He knows how it ends, how the world as they know it ends. They’re after a different ending. And it would be great if the ghost population of the Midwest could understand that, and calm their tits and not make him fight ghouls on top of every fucking thing else with Castiel as his only backup. 

(He hasn’t seen Sam in days. Last text came this morning, three little words taunting him from the screen. Look, don’t worry. And good people were dying in an undeserving neighborhood and Dean had to save them because no one else would. Or could.) 

He helps himself to Bobby’s liquor stash and has a brief flash of feeling like he’s a kid raiding his parent’s cabinets while they’re out of town, but then he shakes his head. He’s not a fucking kid. Bobby’s not his dad. And besides, he needs this. His hands are still trembling and his heart still races, there's really only one cure for that.

Castiel chooses that exact moment to flutter into existence, scanning the room until he finds Dean. He’s tough to read even in broad daylight, and right here and now in the shadowy living room he could be mistaken for a mannequin, that’s how perfectly unmoving he is. Staring at Dean, following his every movement.

If you asked Dean, the angel looks a little tired.

“Look who finally decided to show up. Want a drink?” he asks, offering Castiel the bottle because he doesn’t have the energy to get glasses from the kitchen. The angel shakes his head, and Dean sinks back down in the ratty, familiar couch, pouring whiskey down hist throat. Fuck. The hunt earlier tonight had been too close of a call. Stuff doesn’t shake him anymore, but this… yeah, he’s still a bit rattled. 

“What is it like?” Castiel asks, like he’s trying to make conversation. That is, if possible, even more bizarre than spending the night alone in Bobby’s home. 

Only… he’s not alone.

“What, this?” Dean stops to take a look at the bottle in his hand. “Uh.” 

His dad drank to forget, but Dean doesn’t need to forget, he just needs to come down. Drinking washes away the remnants of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated fear that’s still echoing through his system and caging his heart. The familiarity of it calms him, like coffee in the morning and his little brother in the passenger seat. He survives, and he drinks. It’s just how it is. Castiel couldn’t understand; fucker’s probably never been scared of anything. And what does he have to fear, anyway? When he died, he had God looking out for him, putting him back together and placing him right back on the chessboard. And really, why should Dean worry? Dear old Michael would probably do the same for him. He puts the cold rim to his lips again. Maybe he would like to forget, after all. Just for one goddamn evening. “My prize for getting through the day,” he says. “C’mon, you’re weirding me out. If you’re gonna hang out, at least get comfortable.” Dean pats the cushion next to him and Castiel obediently walks over and sits down. Dean thinks his hands might be trembling so he clutches the bottle harder to keep it from showing. “Why do you ask?” 

Castiel gives him an inquisitive look. 

“You’re using it to self-medicate.” 

Dean rolls his eyes hard. 

“Who are you, my fucking doctor?” 

Castiel frowns. The only source of light is coming from the kitchen, softly illuminating his silhouette. Jimmy Novak was a good-looking man , Dean thinks, not for the first time. Really, it’s — jarring. Straight nose, full lips. Eyes you could get lost in, if you had a poetic bone in your body. Dean can’t think like that — he just can’t. But then that attractive face turns to look at Dean again and always – always so fucking close, it’s not like he stands a chance here. And whatever his life is, a gospel orchestrated by the God Squad or whoever’s in charge of the universe, whichever prophet wrote the fucking Bible, he knows for a fact it wasn’t supposed to be this . Him, and this angel, over and over again. 

“Do you need a doctor?” He sounds concerned for Dean, eyes searching Dean’s face and Dean has to close his eyes because he can’t take it. All that misplaced tenderness that Dean isn’t worthy of. Having his eyes shut makes it easier to say the next things, too.

“No. Just you.” 

Even a whisper feels too loud in this empty house. And Dean’s still scared of being found out and he’s not sure what would be worse; facing God after what he did to one of his soldiers, or facing Bobby and Sam – not that he thinks they care where he sticks his dick (or the fact that he lets guys stick theirs in him), but because then they’d know . That his dad was right all along, that he’s a fucking sissy. That he can’t get anything right in this godforsaken life. That he came back from hell wrong. 

“Dean?” Castiel shifts closer on the couch, eyes stormy and dark. He touches Dean’s leg tentatively, like he's unsure if it's allowed. “You’re okay.” It’s as if he’s looking right through Dean, straight at his charred, twisted up soul and library of issues. And Dean decides to lock that box back up. 

“Absolutely,” Dean agrees, and crashes their mouths together. It’s not romantic, but it doesn’t need to be. Castiel’s big hands are circling his face and they’re warmer than they have any right to be, and his mouth is wet and impatient and he’s kissing Dean like his life depends on it now that Dean's given him permission. He shudders as Castiel attempts to get even closer by swinging a knee over Dean’s lap and sitting down on top of him, escalating at a pace that can only be attributed to him still being endearingly new to all of this. Dean still gasps, trying to adjust to the turn of events, hands coming up to rest awkwardly at the angel's hips. Is this what he hoped for when he insisted Castiel stopped by later?

Maybe. 

Dean is learning what Castiel likes, and it’s a thrill like nothing else to feel Castiel get all worked up under his hands and mouth. Castiel has a body, perhaps for the first time in his existence, and he loves to be touched. He’s got one hand on Dean’s shoulder, right there , bracing himself, and he uses the other one to cup Dean’s neck, holding him in place so Castiel can kiss him deeper, but Dean’s giving as good as he gets. Using the angel in his lap as an outlet for all his pent-up frustration and residual fear. He’s heavy and solid and very close and Dean’s dick is finding all of this extremely interesting. He’s tugging at Castiel’s hair, running his fingers through it, kissing him frantically. And it’s difficult to be scared when his body’s focusing on the thrill of making out with a freaking angel , one who - despite his clumsiness and experimentation - makes Dean feel so good inside and out he can temporarily forget the fact that his body was only really brought back to ultimately be used and abused by someone else.

It’s not like they’ve made a habit out of doing this, but it’s happened a handful of times. Castiel had been a virgin, for Christ’s sake. The world is ending, in the literal sense. Any night could be their last, and kicking the bucket without knowing what it’s like to come when it’s someone else’s doing… That was just Dean being a good friend. And they tried with the brothel, but when that didn’t pan out, Dean figured he might as well do it himself. Get Castiel off, no strings attached, a quick jerking off in the back of the Impala. A favor for a friend. Then Castiel had returned the favor, and it’d been the best damn thing he’d felt since he crawled out of his own grave, all those months ago. Because it had been Cas. Not some random one night stand. Someone who actually gave a shit about him. 

Fast forward a couple of months and Castiel’s hand is worming its way between their bodies to cup Dean’s crotch, making a satisfied sound when he feels the effect he's having on Dean.

“Can we...? I need you to...” Dean mumbles, face hot, hardly able to look Castiel in the face as they grind against each other, wearing far too many layers. It comes out choked, desperate. They’ve only gone all the way like that once, but that’s a particular scene that’s been featuring a lot in his dreams lately. The heat and weight of Castiel when he thrusted inside Dean, who bit down on the pillow just for something to do with his mouth. He can still taste the low thread count cotton on his tongue. Remembers how excruciatingly good it felt to be so close, skin to skin with someone who would go to hell for him and bring him pleasure worthy of heaven. He doesn’t deserve any of this. They shouldn’t be doing this.

“Yes,” Castiel says breathlessly. “Yes.” He’s hard too, not-so-subtly grinding down on Dean’s crotch, and Dean wants more of that pleasure. Wants to feel something that isn’t pain and fear. Anything, really. 

“Upstairs, then,” Dean sighs at a particularly inspiring thrust. When Castiel makes no move to get off him, he puts one hand on each of his shoulders and pushes. “Upstairs, come on.” He’s not doing this in the goddamn living room. He would never be able to look Bobby in the eyes again if he did.

Castiel looks as debauched as Dean feels; hair messed up from Dean’s restless hands, erection tenting his slacks, a pink flush rising from his collarbones to his cheeks making his eyes look impossibly brighter. And still wearing too many damn layers of clothes. God, it’s all he can think about. Cas, Cas, Cas, the way he tastes, the way he feels, the way he looks at Dean. Lube is also there in the back of his mind. They’re gonna need lube. Lucky for them, Dean is a hopeless horny idiot who never goes anywhere without it these days. You never know when the angel’s gonna come knocking. Should be right there in his duffel bag.

He wonders if Castiel would like it as much, to be on the receiving end. If he’s up to it, if they ever get the chance, Dean — shit, he would love to try. Would love to see what kind of noises Castiel would make when he’s the one being fucked. Dean’s cock is straining his jeans uncomfortably, heavy, dampening his boxers, fabric clinging to the sensitive skin. He pulls Castiel with him toward the stairs, and Castiel keeps close, not touching but close. Dean can’t help the smirk as he pulls Castiel inside the guest room where Dean’s stuff is. There’s a narrow bed in one corner, in which Dean’s spent many hours in the past week staring at the ceiling and wishing desperately for sleep to come and knock him out. He starts to pull off Castiel’s coat, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. His hands still tremble, but he's pretty sure it's not out of fear anymore. The room would be dark if it wasn’t for the moonlight leaving just enough light to make out features and silhouettes and Dean feels his way around his chest, nails scratching gently, gently down Castiel’s sides until Dean can feel goosebumps rise in his skin. Leaning in to kiss his collarbones, then his nipples, barely able to help himself, brain blissfully empty apart from the slew of Cas and please. Castiel is undressing him quickly, pulling impatiently at his shirtsleeves to make them let go of his wrists. Dean smiles while biting down on his swollen, stinging bottom lip, leans away to reach his bag and the tube he rolled up in a pair of socks, hiding it as much for himself as for anyone else. 

Once his boots and jeans are off, and once Castiel has kicked off his slacks and well-worn dress shoes, Dean lies back on the bed and thinks that he’s still not brave enough to face Castiel while they do this, but nothing in the world could make him turn away now. Castiel is on him in an instant, kissing wherever he can reach: his mouth, jaw, catching his earlobe between his teeth and breathing hot near his ear, and Dean’s back arches off the bed. 

His head is swimming and he’s so worked up he worries this is going to be over before they even get started, but he resolutely pours lube on his own fingers, not really able to see what he’s doing and probably getting a fair amount on the sheets, and wiggles until he can reach behind himself. He never really figured out a good angle for this, but he gets one digit inside, and Castiel watches him intensely, holding himself up with one arm while the other hand is on his own cock, stroking slowly, overwhelmed and hungry. 

Fuck, that’s hot. Dean forces the finger deeper inside, straining. Back and forth, trying for a rhythm. He looks up at the ceiling, because he thinks that if he looks straight at the naked angel kneeling between his legs he’ll lose it. It’s not until he’s awkwardly added a second finger that Castiel asks if he can do it, and Dean bites his lips again, nods. Last time Dean did all the work while Castiel watched, but his angel is a quick learner. Castiel’s touch is gentler, he's got one careful finger stroking his rim slowly, and then proceeds to finger him open at a pace that is entirely at odds with the frantic look on his face. It’s the carefulness more than the physical sensation that has Dean writhing in the sheets. When Castiel finds his prostate it sends him straight to that almost-edge, and the angel looks pleased with himself, sitting upright so he can touch himself with his free hand. The slick sounds of Castiel’s hand and fingers working in tandem fill the quiet room and fuck it, Dean hopes the heavenly host is watching what Castiel is doing to the Michael Sword. He’s deriving a sick kind of pleasure from how messed up this is, how dirty and unholy. Involuntarily, his muscles clenches around the fingers inside him. It’s inching past uncomfortable towards good, and his breathing is coming out unevenly. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, prays. 

“I won’t.” Once he’s three fingers deep Dean pulls his other thigh up, face hot but so desperate that he doesn’t care, he just really needs this to happen now. 

“Now, Cas,” he demands, sounding wrecked even to his own ears. Castiel wastes no time, wiping his messy fingers on the bed sheets (yeah, Dean’s gonna have to do laundry before Bobby comes back), the head of his cock bumping against his entrance, and with some guidance of his hand carefully pushing inside. Castiel groans close to Dean’s ear as he inches forwards, and it hurts, but everything feels good, even the pain. Jimmy Novak was hung , and Dean doesn’t even know if Castiel picks up on stuff like that, if he knows that his equipment is bigger than usual. Probably not. Dean loves it. 

Once Dean’s adjusted, Castiel fucks him steadily with bright eyes and his kiss-bitten mouth hanging open. The starving black hole in Dean’s chest causes him to keep pulling Castiel down so they can kiss, which leaves Castiel with little leverage left and throws him out of his rhythm, but it’s worth it. Dean’s not twenty anymore, and he’s got a feeling he’s going to be sore in more places than one tomorrow. He really doesn’t give a shit, though, bent in half like this. And more than he wants to orgasm he wants to feel Castiel’s arms around him again, all that skin-to-skin contact, cause nobody’s ever really held him like Castiel does, but for some reason it’s easier to ask to be fucked than to get a goddamn hug. 

“Harder,” he says, eyes shut, but he means closer. Castiel leans back up on his arms, and finds his pace again, jolts of pleasure sparking through him. Not close enough, but it's getting more and more difficult to think, which is probably for the best.

When he opens his eyes again he can see how the outer rings of Castiel’s irises are glowing a soft blue and how his wings keep flickering in and out of this plane of existence behind him. Dean hooks his ankles around Castiel’s waist, slipping a little on the sweaty skin, trying to meet his thrusts. It’s getting really, really good like this. 

“Bring ‘em out,” Dean begs, greedy for anything he can get. A look of exasperation flickers across Castiel’s face. “Want to see your wings while you’re fucking me.” 

“That… requires… concentration,” he grunts.

“So?” 

Castiel cock hits his prostate again, sending lightning through him. “Mmm. Keep doing that, right there.” At that, Castiel stills, fully sheathed inside Dean. Staring down at him with fully blown pupils, keeping him in place. 

“You’re very demanding.”

Dean pulls him in with a hand around his neck again and presses an open-mouthed kiss to his mouth in an attempt to collect himself. Never in his life has the simple act of sex felt so stupidly monumental. He’s had great sex, but not even with the partners he was certain he loved, like Cassie or Lisa, did it feel like this. Like the turn of the Earth hinges on whichever way Castiel will touch him next.

“Sorry,” he whispers. Castiel starts to rock inside him again, and suddenly they’re there, massive, feathery wings, filling the room. Pitch black and more than a little impressive. Dean buries his hands in them curiously and this time it’s Castiel who groans, to Dean’s delight. They feel softer than anything he’s ever felt, silky smooth and light. 

“God, you’re gorgeous.” It tumbles out of him before he can stop himself. Nothing matters except his rebellious angel, naked and beautiful, and the only damn angel allowed inside this body. Dean has been balancing on the edge of his climax for a while now and it only takes a few more minutes with a hand on his cock and the other gripping Castiel’s wing tightly for him to come, explosively, long stripes of semen painting his own chest, painting Castiel’s. Castiel follows closely after, emptying himself deep inside Dean while his wings trash wildly, and Dean can’t only lie back and take it. After he’s pulled out, he wipes one finger through the mess on Dean’s chest, popping it into his mouth with his eyes firmly on Dean’s face. And Dean’s not a prude, but Castiel is so shameless in his want that it makes Dean’s ears burn. To his mild disappointment, the wings have disappeared back to whatever dimension they reside in. Damn, he really wanted to get wrapped up in one of those bad boys. 

“Weirdo,” he mutters, but he doesn’t really mean it. Castiel raises one eyebrow and licks the rest straight from Dean’s chest. And when he’s done, when he lies down on his side between Dean and the wall, it’s Dean who rolls over and kisses the taste of it from his mouth. He’ll need to get up and wash the drying come off his ass and thighs, but… in a moment. Honestly he’s not sure his legs would carry him to the bathroom even if he tried. It’s still tingling pleasantly while the cold air chills his sweaty skin, making him shiver. Yeah, it’s a real shame about the wings, but he’s not sure he can ask for that again either.

“You could have been killed tonight,” Castiel says quietly. Some of his old reservedness and awkwardness is back, like a curtain that has been drawn, and he doesn’t make a move to hold Dean with his arms. It’s not something they do. Still, in a moment of weakness, Dean laces their fingers together. 

“You could’ve brought me back,” Dean counters. Castiel looks down at their intertwined hands on the bed between them. 

“Your life is precious.” 

“My vessel is precious,” Dean corrects, detangling his fingers in order to jokingly pat his own naked ass. “And for good reason. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Right now, it is feeling very good, all loose and relaxed. A bit sore, but in a good way. And Castiel seemed to enjoy himself fine. The black hole yearning for something more, some love, maybe, is a minor detail, pay it no mind. Castiel watches him and he doesn’t look very amused.

“You need to be careful,” he says, barely audibly. “I don’t think I could stand to lose you.” 

Well, fuck. 

“Don’t worry, Cas. I’ll be fine. I’ll always be fine.”