takasinakamura83

[ghomsts]

I know destiel fans love joking about the "me and dean share a more profound bond" line because it's funny as hell. But I can't help thinking about the fact that it's soulless Sam he's talking to. So potentially just the left over brain neurons and meatbag body left over from the Sam with his soul present that Cas would most recognize as his dear friend.

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

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The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 1! “Harvest”

My first ficlet for Suptober! Read under the cut :)

Pairing: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: Mature 

Word Count: 2,218

Tags: Fluff, Disaster Bi Dean Winchester, Daydreaming about hot farmers, Some suggestive language (and swearing), Angelic wheat harvest assistance, The Dom Brow makes an appearance, Sam Ships It, Mini Case Fic  

On AO3 here.

“All right,” Dean announces as he stomps into the hospital room, trailing mud with every step. “You’re not gonna have a problem anymore, Randy.”

The man propped up on the hospital bed cushions glares at Dean from under bushy eyebrows. “Well, it’s about time,” he snaps. “First these-- these things terrorize my fields for weeks, then y’all show up and are so useless that they maim me after you’re already on the case, and now I’ve lost the prime window to harvest a year’s worth o’ growth ‘cause I’m laid up in this godforsaken facility. So don’t you tell me I ain’t gonna have a problem anymore.” 

Dean sinks down onto the rickety plastic chair next to the bed, moving gingerly to avoid jostling his (probably) dislocated shoulder, courtesy of some extremely vengeful spirits. He fixes Randy with an even gaze. 

“Man, I’m sorry about your leg. I am. The spirits had a wider range than we thought and we figured you’d be safe at the house.”

Randy snorts in obvious derision, his scruffy mustache fluttering comically. Dean presses on.

“But, we’ve put them to rest. Your great-grandparents aren’t gonna give you any more grief.”  Even if the rest of your family did totally fuck them over.

He stands again, awkwardly, and pats Randy’s good knee. “Sorry about your harvest, though. Can anyone help out? Neighbors? Friends?”

Randy glowers. “I ain’t takin’ no charity.”

Dean quirks his lips and nods. “Right. Take it easy, Randy.” He leaves the still-grumbling farmer behind, following his own trail of mud back down the hallway. A tall janitor lurking around the corner sends him a death glare and Dean tries for an appropriately apologetic smile. 

It’s been a real headache of a night. 

The pair of spirits haunting Randy Johnson’s wheat fields ended up being way more pissed off than Sam, Dean, and Cas had anticipated. By the time Cas located the heavy brass key to the farmhouse that was apparently tethering the property-line-obsessed spirits to the material plane, Dean and Sam were long out of rock salt. In their retreat, they’d ended up waist-deep in a pebbly creek, splashing and wobbling as they beat off the screeching spirits with crowbars. Dean has an unfortunately-placed boulder to thank for his dislocated shoulder -- he went down hard and clumsy just as Cas reappeared next to the stream, the old key melting dramatically in the bright glow of his palm. 

The spirits burned away in a shower of sparks, along with Dean’s dignity.

To top it all off, Dean drew the short straw to go tell Randy the case was closed, and he may have stomped off in a sulky huff before thinking of asking Cas or Sam to put his shoulder right. 

Oh, well. At least it’s dealt with. One more night in their more-stained-than-usual motel room, and first thing in the morning they’ll get the hell outta Dodge (almost literally - they’re up in Osborne County). 

Dean thinks of a bright July morning on the open road and sighs in relief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He doesn’t get his wish.

“I just feel bad, Dean!” Sam protests as Dean gesticulates incredulously at him. (His shoulder was very pleasantly healed by Cas the night before, and if Dean noticed that Cas’ warm hands lingered a little longer on his skin than was technically necessary for a cursory dislocation repair, he didn’t mention it.)

“God, Sammy, yeah, it sucks about the guy’s leg, but maybe if he wasn’t such an asshole to everyone he knows, somebody’d help him out! It’s not-- it can’t be our problem.”

Sam crosses his arms stubbornly. “It’s not about Randy. His fields are part of a huge supply that feeds a ton of people. Do you want people to go hungry, Dean?”

Castiel chooses that moment to materialize directly next to Dean, his nose inches away from Dean’s cheek. He’s holding two steaming cups of coffee and Dean immediately grabs one. Cas squints and tilts his head. “Why does Dean want people to go hungry?”

“Oh my god.” Dean throws his free hand up. “Fine. Fucking fine. We’ll find someone who’s willing to plow the dude’s fields. That’ll be easy.”

Sam opens his big mouth, probably to say something about having faith in humanity, but Cas beats him to it. Still planted firmly in Dean’s bubble, he sends a puff of warm air against Dean’s face as he speaks.

“Oh. I can do it.”

Dean and Sam both look at him. Dean shuffles back a couple steps and wills his eyes away from the guy’s lips. He really spends too much time staring at them.

“Um--” Sam clears his throat. “You can harvest Randy’s wheat?”

“I can plow, yes.” Cas nods firmly. Dean’s first sip of coffee comes spraying back out. He pounds his chest and wheezes. 

“Like-- like-- with a combine?” 

Cas furrows his brow. “Is that a machine? No, I don’t require machinery. This is a very basic task.”

“Plowing,” Dean says weakly.

“Harvesting,” Cas corrects, tilting his chin down and narrowing his eyes. “Humans have been doing it for a very long time. I used to help, now and again. I can’t imagine the process has changed much.”

Sam slaps his thighs as he stands up from his bed. “Well! Look at that, Dean. Cas doesn’t want people to go hungry.” 

Dean flips him off, but it lacks the usual heat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An hour later, they find themselves on the edge of a vast, lazily undulating expanse of gold. They’d skirted the north edge of the field extensively while working the spirit case, since the activity was strongest there along the creek, but in his single-minded focus Dean hadn’t really paid much attention to the field itself.

It’s big. Like, squint-into-the-distance-and-you-can’t-see-the-end big. 

“You’re really gonna plow all that?” Dean asks, glancing at Cas. The morning sun is turning the tips of Cas’ hair a chestnut gold. 

“I will cut down the stalks, separate the grain from the chaff, and deposit the edible grain into a large truck, which apparently takes it where it needs to go,” Cas says matter-of-factly. “I visited Randy early this morning to make sure I knew which truck it was.”

Sam laughs. “Oh yeah? How’d good old Randy take that?”

“He seemed dubious,” Cas says. “And rude. I assured him that despite his unsavory attitude, he would come home to harvested fields.”

“Very angelic of you,” Sam remarks. 

“So how’s this gonna go?” Dean lifts a hand to block out the steadily-rising sun. “You gonna be flapping back and forth? Probably not smart to let the locals clock an angel doing the harvest.”

Cas arches an eyebrow at him, somehow gazing down at Dean despite being an inch shorter. “I don’t flap, Dean. I may have wings, but their movement in the ether is beyond your comprehension.” 

Dean rolls his eyes and turns his face away in a show of studying the field to the north, but mostly to conceal the flush of his cheeks in response to that eyebrow. 

For Christ's sake, keep it together, Winchester.

“I can’t explain to you how it will look,” Cas continues, oblivious. “You’ll just have to watch. Anything you see will be for your eyes only. I guarantee no locals will ‘clock me.’”

Dean looks back just in time to see the tail end of the finger quotes. Cas is staring right at him, that damn eyebrow still up, a subtle challenge, daring Dean to make a move.

Maybe not so oblivious. Asshole. 

Dean smiles sweetly and gestures at the wheat. “All right then. Have at it, buddy. Show us what you’ve got.”

With no further ado, Cas is gone. Dean’s left staring through the previously-Cas-occupied space at his brother, who’s grimacing with an air of great suffering. 

“What?” Dean demands. 

Sam sighs heavily and gazes out over the field. “You two are so weird.”

Dean’s about to respond with something really witty when Sam perks up and points into the distance. “Holy crap, look!”

Dean follows the path of Sam’s outstretched finger and his mouth drops open. On the horizon, at the far end of the field, there’s a cloud. No-- a mini tornado. A golden tornado. A… sparkly tornado?

“What the--” Dean cups his hands around his eyes like blinkers. Even with the glare of the sun blocked out, though, the tornado is just as bright -- a swirling, racing funnel criss-crossing the field way faster than a combine, or even Baby, could drive. 

“Why is it-- what’s the sparkly stuff?” 

Sam’s squinting too. “I think it’s the pieces of the stalks he’s separating? And they catch the light as they get tossed around.” 

The tornado’s already halfway across the field, approaching them steadily. It���s about as tall as an oak tree, and as it gets closer Dean sees that Sam was right: thousands of little stalks and bits of grain and -- what had Cas called it? -- chaff are whirling and flitting amid the twisting golden dust of the tornado. The effect is a bit dizzying, kind of like that ocular migraine Dean had one time as a teenager, when an aura of tiny flashing spots obscured his vision, right there in his eye yet impossible to focus on. 

He steps back instinctively, Sam mirroring his movement, when the tornado grows close to them. It whips past, blowing Dean’s jacket open, and where there was once chest-high golden grain, there’s now just dirt littered with aborted stalks. 

“Damn,” Dean whispers. He’s seen Cas do all kinds of badass things, of course, but they’ve been more of the smiting and heavy-lifting variety. This is a new level of cool. In a farmer-y way. This, of course, leads Dean’s traitorous brain directly to images of worn flannel stretched tight over biceps; of a blade of hay dangling jauntily from chapped lips; of long, strong fingers gripping a pitchfork--

“--Dean!” 

The pleasantly-evolving bubble bursts. Dean twitches as Sam elbows him in the ribs.

“Dude! Cas is done, come on.”

Dean blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality (a reality with wheat-harvesting angel tornados) and realizes that Sam’s heading north along the field to where a normal-sized, non-funnel-cloudy Cas is standing, brushing off his trenchcoat. Dean follows his brother and takes in the scene; the whole field really has been reduced to nothing -- just a flat, dappled expanse.

“Damn, Cas,” he says quietly as he reaches Cas’ side. His voice comes out strained and a little breathless. “That was some good plowing.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Can replies gravely. He tugs on his cuffs and some wheat dust puffs out. “It was an effective harvest. I disguised myself from mortal eyes -- including yours -- as I transported the grain to the truck, but I trust you saw the rest?”

Sam nods enthusiastically and launches straight into a barrage of questions about the physics and techniques and yadda yadda before Dean has to come up with a response. Yeah, I saw it. Yeah, it got me all tingly. That’s normal. He takes a few deliberate, slow breaths to calm the pounding in his chest.

Still tuning Sam out, he zeroes in on a single piece of wheat still stuck in Cas’ hair. It’s poking up toward the blue summer Kansas sky -- a tiny, trembling link between earth and heaven. Dean sidles up to Cas before he can overthink it. He slips his fingers into Cas’ wild, dark hair and plucks the wheat out. 

He throws it on the ground. It belongs to the earth. 

Sam falls silent with a choked-off laugh and Cas turns his trademark unblinking stare onto Dean. But this time there’s a slight crinkle to the edges of his eyes. A quirk of his lips. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says again. He reaches out and -- Dean stops breathing -- brushes another piece of wheat out of Dean’s collar. His warm fingers graze Dean’s throat and all Dean can do is watch the little stalk flutter to the ground. 

Well. So much for a steady heartbeat. 

“Hey, I’ve got stuff in my hair, too,” Sam announces, voice thick with amusement. “Anyone gonna help me out?”

Dean tears his eyes away from the enlightening piece of wheat and points a finger at Sam, leveling him with his sternest shut the fuck up face. He prays his cheeks aren’t flaming. 

“If you need assistance, Sam--” Cas says, starting toward him.

“--He’s fine,” Dean interjects hastily. Maybe a little loudly. He coughs to cover it up. Smooth. “Let’s go. I wanna hit the road.”

Sam’s already jogging away before Dean’s done speaking. “I’ve still got the keys,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll warm up the car. You guys can catch up!”

Cas and Dean are left at the edge of the empty field. Dean rubs his neck and shuffles his feet, acutely aware of Cas’ piercing gaze. It’s nearly warmer than the morning sun. “Uh-- that was really cool, Cas. Thanks for letting us see it.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas replies, measured and deep. “I enjoyed sharing that with you.”

Wow. All right. Dean needs to get moving or he’s going to explode. But not before filing that particular comment away for extensive mental perusal later, in the privacy of his bedroom. 

He flashes a grin and punches Cas’ shoulder. “Come on, farmer angel. Let’s go home.”

[bourbonbees]

Suptober Day 6- Cemetery Boys

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34336042

Rating- G Jack POV

Jack has discovered there are a great deal of things that he loves about being human, he loves eating cake, taking his dog for walks, and swimming, but there’s nothing he loves more than his family. His family is not conventional, he’s got three dads, one of which is an angel, but all of them love him unconditionally. It’s rocky at first with Dean but after some quality time spent listening to Zep and going fishing together, the grumpy hunter warms up to him. It also doesn’t hurt that Jack’s first dad, Castiel, is also Dean’s partner and therefore holds a lot of sway over him, whether he likes it or not. Sam, his third dad was the best! He’s the one that establishes family movie night, Jack’s favorite night of the week!

Sam lets Jack pick the movies pretty much every week, much to Dean’s dismay. This week Jack chooses Ghostbusters as his pick. It’s great, he especially loves the jokes and the Stay Puffed Marshmallow man. He isn’t sure where the writers did their research for the movie though, his experiences with ghosts contain a lot less whimsy and a lot more salting and burning. The movie is just wrapping up when it hits him, they don’t have a name, every great team of heroes has a name.

“Hey, why don’t we have a name?” Jack poses the question, looking to Dean for a response.

“Kid, how much candy have you had? Are you sugar crashing? Remember, me Dean, you Jack, that annoying guy over there, Sam, this adorable ray of sunshine, Castiel.” Dean is concerned, he feels Jack’s forehead and looks him over, his parental instincts kicking in.

“No like a team name! Like there’s The Avengers, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, uh The Fellowship of the Ring.” Jack lists off, Sam sending him a proud smile at the last one.

“Jack, hunters don’t really do teams. We’re kinda solitary, it’s our nature.” Sam explains, causing Jack even further confusion as he looks around at his family. They do everything together, live together, celebrate wins together, spend holidays together, work together, is that not a team?

“We’re not a team? Isn’t a family a team?” Jack frowns, worrying that he’s misread a long series of social cues. He is prone to that sometimes, his brain working a bit differently from his dads, neurodivergent, that’s what Sam had called it.

“Jack, oh, of course we’re a team. But more than that, we’re family.” Cas swoops in, reaching over and patting Jack on the shoulder. Cas is always the gentlest of his dads, he gives really good hugs, and is the one Jack goes to on the days where being a human is too much to deal with.

“Would it make you feel better if we had a team name?” Dean offers, following Cas’ lead. Jack doesn’t miss when Cas sends Dean a small nod of approval. Dean has a different parenting approach, sometimes he’s a bit harder on Jack. Jack doesn’t like that but he understands that Dean is trying.

“Yeah, I was thinking Cemetery Boys!” Jack says right away, looking around the room expectantly. Sam chokes slightly on his beer while Cas smiles approvingly, Dean laughs softly, shaking his head at Jack.

“Well we do spend a disproportionate amount of time in cemeteries, so it makes sense to me.” Jack defends, his cheeks feeling hot, blushing, that’s what Sam had told him it was. Sometimes Jack hates being human, blushing is embarrassing and makes him feel a bit like a baby.

“Shouldn’t we be cemetery men?” Dean questions, raising a quizzical brow at Jack.

“Technically speaking, Jack and myself are neither male nor female. So, no.” Cas supplies, shrugging his shoulders at Dean and earning an eye roll. Jack doesn’t understand why his dads enjoy teasing each other so much, maybe annoying someone was another human way to express love?

“So, you’re telling me, I came out as bisexual for nothing because, I’m not really dating a man?” Dean blanches, gently smacking Cas on the shoulder. Hitting people is another love language Jack has learned, but not too hard, he learned that after accidently punching Sam a little too enthusiastically on the shoulder. Play fighting is good, actual violence is bad, he had explained that to him.

“We’re non-binary! Claire taught me that.” Jack is happy to interrupt, always happy to share the latest things he’d learned. He loves Claire for that reason, she’s always full of new things to learn, she is an excellent big sister. “Claire, Me, Cas, and Dean, we’re all LGBLT? Or is it LGBTQ? Either way, Claire is a lesbian, she also taught me that. And Dean, you’re a bisexual! Cas, you’re gay, I think? So, you didn’t come out for nothing, you came out for your non-binary partner.” Ha! Jack is very proud, this is one area he feels confident he knows more about than Sam, Dean, or even Cas.

“You’re surprisingly well informed for a toddler.” Sam compliments, tipping his beer bottle at him.

“The toddler age range ends at 3, I assure you, Jack is 4. He is no longer a toddler. I read all the development books.” Cas corrects, earning a laugh from Dean and a groan from Sam.

“He did, trust me Sammy, made me read some of them as well. Babies are weird man. Glad you came out fully formed kid, it was a relief.” Dean chuckles. Jack is relieved he came out fully formed too, it’s a lot more fun hanging out with his family when he can talk to them like this.

“I’m a celestial being, age doesn’t exist for me. I am as old or as young as I want to be at any given minute. Isn’t that neat?” Jack prides himself on choosing this form, a teenage body, he likes it because he can help his family. He likes going hunting, driving cars, and helping Dean cook dinner, a baby couldn’t do any of that!

“He really is your son-uh I mean they really are your child?” Dean self corrects, Jack notices he does that a lot more lately, again he really is trying to be better. Jack admires that about Dean, it’s something he tries to emulate as best as he can, always working to be a better person and make his mistakes right.

“Oh, I’m comfortable with he/they, just like my dad! I do feel like a boy most of the time.” Jack looks to Cas who nods along with him. They’d talked about it once, Cas explained that Jack could change a number of things about himself if he wished, if it would better match his soul. But Jack is really and truly happy with who he is. So is Cas.

“Yeah that’s my son.” Cas says fondly, pulling Jack into a hug. This is a good hug, the kind that makes Jack feel safe and cared for. Cas always makes him feel like he belongs, that no matter what he has a place in his arms.

That night, Jack sets a plan into motion. He waits until everyone is asleep and gets to work on creating gifts for his family. He uses his powers to manifest a set of matching black crew neck sweatshirts with the words ‘Cemetery Boys’ embroidered on the front in white thread. He then designs a magnet, putting a little ghost and tombstone on it. Once he’s satisfied he goes through the recycling and finds a box to put the sweatshirts in.

The next part is the most dangerous. Jack, creeps down the hall to the door that leads into the garage attached to the bunker. His eyes glimmer when he finds his target, the black 67 Impala, sitting dead center in the garage. Dean had just waxed her the day before so she was extra shiny. Jack likes when Baby is shiny, it makes the sun reflect on his face, nice and warm. He takes the magnet and carefully places it on the bumper, making sure not to scuff or scratch the shiny metal. Then in a flash, he is back in his room, laying in his bed as if nothing has happened.

Dean doesn’t notice the magnet until they are packing for a hunt the next day, a simple salt and burn case in Wisconsin. The whole family is going! Dean has even promised Jack that he will take him to Wisconsin Dells if it goes well and they will go to a place called Deer Park where he could pet and feed a bunch of deer. Jack likes animals, sometimes more than people, they’re much less complicated.

“Oh my god! My Baby is a whore! You gave her a tramp stamp?” Dean gasps, pointing to the offending ‘Cemetery Boys’ magnet on the bumper.

“You like it? I made it myself!” Jack beams with pride, hoping Dean was speechless because he was blown away by his ability to create magnets.

“Also, the term you’re looking for is sex worker. You need to be more sex positive Dean, especially for someone, who from the sound I hear coming from your room at night, seems to enjoy sex a great deal.” Jack blurts out nervously when Dean doesn’t respond. Jack tends to do that, he wishes he could stop, another part of what makes him different from most people.

“Oh, for the love of Christ. Please Jack, no.” Sam is doing something Claire told Jack is a facepalm, meaning he was either embarrassed or frustrated, perhaps both?

“Do not be ashamed of our healthy sex life, Dean. But do but ashamed of your gendered slurs and generally overdramatic demeanor. The car is unharmed, it’s a magnet.” Cas steps in, doing the teasing thing again. Jack really doesn’t understand his dads, but he’s glad they seem happy together.

“I swear one day Baby and I will drive away and leave you all behind. Traitors.” Dean threatens, this is a joke, Jack measures. Dean does that a lot, uses sarcasm and empty threats, at first they used to confuse and frighten Jack but now he just accepts it’s part of his nature. Dean is grumpy. Loveable but grumpy.

“See your theatrics are quite comical. You couldn’t leave us if you tried. Who would open the pickle jars for you, darling?” Cas smirks, Jack remembers witnessing this scene, Dean saying all the “no words” at a jar of gherkins as he struggled for a good 5 minutes, until his dad took the jar and opened it within two seconds.

“It was one time! And I swear I loosened it!” Dean glowers, clearly ashamed by the great pickle debacle of last week.

“Dads, stop. I will remove the magnet.” Jack decides it’s his job to play peacemaker, he steps up and gently takes the magnet off baby’s bumper, Dean visibly sighs in relief. Jack tries to hide his disappointment, he’d meant the sticker as a gift.

Cas notices his mood shift and is by his side, pulling Jack into a side hug. “Hey, you can put it on my truck.” He offers, rubbing Jack’s back and making him instantly feel better, must be magic dad powers Jack figures.

“Thanks dad, this is why you’re my favorite.” He says without thinking, Sam and Dean giving him matching offended expressions.

“Uh-what about me, I’m the one that sneaks you candy when Cas isn’t looking.” Sam makes a good point, he is exceptionally good at sneaking. He and Jack have so much fun together, that’s how they ended up with Miracle the dog. Sam had helped Jack smuggle him into the bunker and once both Jack and Cas had bonded with the dog, Dean couldn’t kick him out. Though Jack knows that Dean loves the dog just as much, he’s caught him slipping Miracle some of the good bacon when he thinks no one is looking.

“No Dean is the one that gives me candy. You help me pull pranks!” Jack laughs as Dean, flinches, quickly busing himself with packing all their bags in the trunk along with the weapons they’d need.

“Dean!” Cas says in his low, ‘oh no you’re in trouble,’ voice. “We’ve dicussed this, Jack’s intake of high fructose corn syrup is frighteningly high. He needs to eat real food.” He adds. Nougat is a food, Jack thinks privately, nougat might be his favorite food in fact.

“He’s a kid, he’ll be fine. Dean and I lived on that shi-stuff as kids and we turned out alright.” Sam, usually the vegetable police, surprisingly comes to Jack and Dean’s rescue, earning a matching raised brow from them both.

“Did you though?” Cas challenges, hand on his hip, sometimes dad gets sassy. Jack likes when dad gets sassy because it’s funny, makes him laugh.

“Well damn, don’t sugar coat it or anything babe.” Dean says in disbelief, opening the passenger door for Cas, Sam climbing into Baby’s backseat before Dean motions for Jack to come sit behind him. “Do I even want to know?” He sighs as he spots the box Jack is carrying.

“Well you’ve all been distracting me, I almost forgot.” Jack pauses as he opens the box and holds up the Sam sized sweatshirt. “I made us all shirts! Team shirts, we’re the Cemetery Boys!” He says proudly, shoving the shirt at Sam, then two at Cas, one for him and one for Dean. Jack pulls on his own shirt right away, stretching his arms and modeling it for them all.

“Can you all wear them for me?” Jack pulls out his trump card for this one, using the ‘look’ that Sam had taught him. He made his eyes big and kept them open just long enough so they were watering slightly, then bit his lip.

“I really screwed myself when I taught you my secrets. Really, using my own puppy eyes on me. Really short sighted of me to teach you that.” Sam sighs as he pulls on the sweatshirt, Cas doing the same.

“Nope, still not doing it. I don’t do matching shirts.” Dean holds firm, shaking his head at Cas when he holds out the sweatshirt to him as they pull out of the garage.

“Dean, the couch in the library is awfully uncomfortable. It’d be a shame if you had to sleep there.” Cas is firmly on team Cemetery Boys, pulling out the big threats to get Jack his way.

“Ugh fine, but no one can ever find out about this!” Dean groans, waiting until he’s at a stop sign at the end of the road to pull it on. Jack lights up, his team is complete, all three dads are wearing his shirt!

“It’s funny how easily emasculated you are Dean. Life is a lot more fun when you stop caring about gender expectations.” Cas smirks, Dean rolling his eyes at Cas and mimicking his know it all expression.

“Dean is sensitive, dad, and he’s really good at making pies! I think he cares less than you think he does.” Jack pauses, pleased when Dean makes eye contact with him in the rearview mirror and smiles. “Besides, I saw the pink underwear he hides when I helped with that laundry that one time.” He adds, Dean’s smile quickly disappearing, his eyes wide as he tightly gripped the steering wheel.

“Jesus Christ, kid, stop selling out all my secrets.” Dean grits between his teeth, now he is blushing. Jack knows Dean hates blushing just as much as he does.

“Oh that’s good! Can’t wait to tell Claire that one!” Sam barks out a laugh, taking his phone out of his pocket.

“You wouldn’t!” Dean hangs his head in shame when they stop for a train.

“Already did!” Sam sing songs, holding up his phone. Jack is sometimes thankful that Claire doesn’t live with them, living with your sibling seems exhausting sometimes, if Sam and Dean are any indication.

“Alright that’s enough Jack, don’t spill all the coffee. Your dad is allowed to have his secrets.” Cas intervenes, gently patting Dean’s thigh.

“Tea, dad, its spill the tea!” Jack sometimes can’t handle how out of touch his dad is. Guess that’s what happens when you’re millions of years old.

“Oh right, what’s the difference?” Cas sighs, laying his head back against the headrest as if he’s exhausted, Jack knows it’s just for dramatic effect because Cas doesn’t sleep.

“Cas, there’s big difference! One is the nectar of the gods and the other is glorified leaf water.” Dean defends, holding Cas’ hand, it’s meant to be a private gesture, but Jack can see it and it makes his heart happy.

“Tea is good.” Sam tries.

“I rest my case.” Dean counterpoints.

The case is a rough one, it turns out to be a bit more than a simple salt and burn. The ghost, a family annihilator was coming from beyond the grave to try to kill his son who had survived his attack. They had split into two groups, Dean and Cas at the cemetery burning the bones and Jack and Sam with the victim, trying to keep him safe.

“Do you think maybe we can take a photo together in our shirts?” Jack asks offhandedly as he and Sam roam the house looking for any objects that might still tether the ghost to the house.

“Why do you care so much about these shirts and taking a photo together?” Sam asks curiously, making Jack pause to think for a moment.

“Because, I’ve been watching a bunch of shows and movies, and all the families in them, they have all these photos together. They make all these memories together and they display them in their houses for everyone to see. I want that. The fact that we don’t have that makes me kind of scared, like this isn’t real. Like you all are prepared to run at a moment’s notice if I go nuclear.” Jack explains, using air quotes around the word nuclear.

“Oh. Oh. Jack, hey, it’s not like that. I guess, well we’ve been so busy saving people and hunting things, we’ve lost track of normal family things. You’re family Jack. Promise.” Sam says right away, pulling Jack into a crushing hug. Sam is strong, Jack hopes to be that strong someday.

“Can we take a photo then, a family portrait?” Jack asks hopefully.

“Family portrait? Family portrait. Shit! Jack, the family portrait!” Sam gasps, letting Jack go and looking around the room with wild eyes.

“Huh?” Jack is trying to catch up before he spots the family portrait hanging above the fireplace, both the victim and his evil departed dad in the photo. He rushes to grab it off the wall and tosses it into the fireplace. Sam pulls out a container of salt and lighter fluid, coating the portrait, then Jack tosses a match, lighting it on fire.

“Good work kid.” Sam grins as the ghost appears and then bursts into flames. “I think you’ve earned that portrait.”

True to his word, the first thing in the morning, Sam helps Jack use the laptop to find the closest portrait studio. It happens to be a JC Penney portrait studio, making Dean groan and complain about cheesy backgrounds and awkward poses that they’d likely endure. With much coaxing and further threats from Cas to relegate Dean to sleeping with Miracle on the dog bed, he agrees to the photoshoot.

Jack gets several copies of the photos made. He hands out wallet sized copies to Mary and Eileen who both coo over how adorable they look. Cas gets it framed and hangs it in the library, Dean never admits he likes it, but Jack catches him stopping to look at it every day, a proud smile on his face.

This is Jack’s family. His team. His Cemetery Boys.

[icefire149]

An Angel’s Vow

Chapter Five (Read on ao3 | Read from the beginning)

Once the kitchen was clean, Claire put her other duffle bag on the table. She unzipped it. “It’s not much, but it works.”

Cas took everything out of the bag and examined it carefully. The bag contained: a machete, some silver bullets but no gun, a pouch of silver coins, an iron crowbar, a lock pick set, a coin Claire thinks is iron, a couple bottles of holy water, some spray paint, a half empty container of salt, a box of penguin band-aids, cleaning alcohol, and an angel sword. Cas frowned. “This is abysmal.”

Defensive, Claire crossed her arms. “The sword is basically a hunting equivalent to a Swiss army knife.”

“I don’t understand what military grade Swiss cutlery has to do with anything, but I do know hunting. You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Oh, so here we go! Hit me with the speech.”

Cas turned around bewildered. “What are you talking about? There’s no speech.”

“So you’re not gonna tell me that I’m being stupid and I should go live a normal life?”

“I’m not going to yell at you or tell you what to do.” Cas tried to keep his voice even. “Am I happy that you’re hunting? No. Am I frustrated that you’re hunting by yourself? Absolutely. But it’s your life and I promised to keep you safe.”

Claire rolled her eyes with her whole body. She went over to the refrigerator and snagged a juice box out. With a loud pop, she stabbed the straw in.

Sighing, Cas put his hands on the table. He looked over Claire’s hunting supplies again. “I don’t think you understand.” His voice came out much softer than before.

The juice box was half way to Claire’s mouth when she froze.

“I know you’re not going to stop now that your mind is set. I want to help you be a better hunter.”

“What?”

Cas looked over his shoulder, and studied Claire. Obviously, she was grown by human standards, but he could still clearly see the small child he devastated…..is continuing to jeopardize. His chest started feeling unnaturally tight. For a moment he thought that he could still see the baby from the shreds of Jimmy’s memory that remains with him. “I’m willing to share my knowledge of the supernatural with you. Afterwards if you’re still willing to be a hunter at least you’ll be better informed about what you’re signing up for.”

“Are you serious?” Claire tilted her head, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “How are we supposed to hunt with the kid?”

“We’re not hunting. We’re studying.”

Claire’s whole body drooped. “Studying what? I can’t imagine where you have lore books stashed here. This house is pretty bare bones.”

“Lore books would be nice, but I have a library right up here.” He touched his temple with his index finger. “And besides we have a ton of ground to cover before thinking about hunts.”

“It’s not like I haven’t been on a couple hunts already.”

“Yeah, but do you have the exorcism chant memorized? Or recorded? Can you make hex bags? Draw various devil traps? Read any Latin or Enochian? Tracking spells? Draw angel banishing-”

“Okay!” Claire burst. She put the juice box down on the table. Her voice softened. “Okay, I get it.”

Cas nodded. “Would you be interested in learning any of that?”

“You’re seriously willing to teach me any of that?”

“Of course. I want you to be safe, and I want you to be happy.”

The next thing Cas knew, he was trapped in a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” Claire mumbled into his chest. She let go just as fast and sat in the chair she used earlier during lunch.

Cas pushed the juice box into her reach. She took it and started drinking. He smiled, feeling the tension loosen in his shoulders.

“So….” Claire spoke with the straw still in the corner of her mouth. “When does hunter school start, professor angel?”

“We could probably start tomorrow. Does that mean you’re planning on staying for a while?”

Sitting up straight, Claire’s expression morphed from jovial to serious. “Is that okay? Is it even safe with…”

They both glanced towards the living room for a moment. Cas crossed his arms. “Of course it’s okay. You’re free to come and go as much as you please.” He sighed, uncharacteristically running a hand through his hair. “But your second question...I honestly don’t know. And that frightens me.”

Cas pulled the chair closest to him and sat down. “You’re not safe if you leave now.” He gestured at her hunting supplies on the table. “I know Heaven is after Jack. I’ve been careful to keep us hidden, but it’s not without flaws. Jack’s birth should have attracted a ton of attention. I’m shocked we haven’t been discovered yet.”

“You’ve been doing good so far. Maybe they won’t find you,” Claire said, leaning her elbows on the table. She rested the side of her face in the palm of her hand.

“They will at some point….I just wish I knew what’s taking them so long. I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Is there any kind of warding we could put up? Spells?”

Cas smiled softly. “Angel warding would be useless in this situation. Yes, it would keep Heaven away from this house, but it would also keep me and Jack out.”

“So what have you done?”

“After Jack was born….the moment we could flee, I etched Enochian sigils into his ribs to hide him from every angel.” Cas subconsciously rubbed a hand over the tattoo on his side. “My body is hidden from angels in a similar way.”

Stunned, Claire stared at Cas in silent horror.

“Actually that reminds me-” Cas turned his whole body towards in Claire’s direction. “I wanted to give you those sigils as well for protection.”

Claire slowly leaned away in her chair. “Why….would I need protection from angels?”

Cas’ eyebrows furrowed. “There’s always a chance you might stumble into an angel related case, but most importantly you should be hidden from them in case anyone remembers your ties to me. You’re important.”

“Because I can function as your vessel?”

“That does put you in a lot of danger.”

Her whole body drooped as she sighed. “Great.”

“At this point I doubt that there are any angels that remember which bloodline begets my vessels, but I’d rather err on the side of caution.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No. You’ll never notice it.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Cas got up and positioned himself to stand directly behind her. Claire closed her eyes. He placed his hands on the top of both of her shoulders for a few seconds, and then he went back to his chair.

Claire opened her eyes. “You didn’t do anything?”

“I did and it’s done.”

She burst out of her chair, running her hands down her arms and looking over her body. “Everything looks the same.”

Cas smiled fondly. “Your ribs. You won’t be able to see anything without an x-ray.”

Her eyes snapped back up at him, wide with curiosity. “That was so cool! I can’t feel a difference.” She sat back down again. “What does the warding look like?”

“Oh.” Cas sat up straighter and glanced around the room. “I can draw them out for you, but…” He frowned. “We’re going to need to buy some pens and paper.”

That pulled a laugh out of Claire. “Figures. We need to go school supply shopping.”

Confused, Cas turned his head to the side just a bit. Then it clicked. “Yeah. We’ll need to go supply shopping.”

“So the warding will be enough to keep us hidden while we’re shopping?”

Cas sat back in the chair. “Technically, yes. The reason why it isn’t perfect is how angels communicate.” He touched the side of his forehead for a moment. “Dean calls it Angel Radio. I can turn it off when I want to, but in general angels can contact and find each other through our minds.”

Claire stared at him for several silent moments while his words processed, and then the gears turned. She glanced towards the living room.

“I don’t know if he’s connected,” Cas said simply. “And I don’t want to reach out to him that way until he’s older….and understands.”

“Huh.” Crossing her arms, Claire turned back towards Cas. “He’s really got us in a pickle.”

The puzzled look on Cas’ face was evident, but he chose to nod instead. Claire cracked a smile. “Hopefully Heaven is too scared of the idea of Jack that they’ll keep their distance.”

“Hopefully.”

After a quiet pause. “Sooo...does this place have decent WiFi?”

“I believe so. Kelly was frequently on her laptop.”

“Excellent.” Claire’s smile widened. “You wanna watch a movie?”

Cas’ expression softened. “I’d like that greatly.”

“Be right back then,” Claire said hopping up and leaving the room. On her way through the house she glanced at Jack sound asleep in his play pen. He was on his back, and the foot of a stuffed lion toy was clenched in his tiny fist. Amused, Claire shook her head and continued upstairs to her other duffle bag.

It was only a minute or two later when she descended down the stairs with her laptop charger clunking into each step. “Is there anything in particular that-”

Her voice cut off seeing the pained look on Cas’ face. He was seated on the living room couch, but he looked miles away. “Cas?”

Startled, his whole body uncharacteristically flinched. His blue eyes looked dull and sad. “Sorry. I didn’t hear you coming.”

Claire slowly walked over to the couch and put the laptop down at the opposite end. “Are you okay? You look sick.” She kicked the charger cord to the side and sat down on the middle cushion.

“I’m fine.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Wanna try that again?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I told you in the past that angels can pick up on more than just verbal prayers. Longing. Strong feelings of intent. They’re like…..indirect prayers.”

“Yeah. So who’s praying? Dean?”

Cas sighed. “He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, but I can feel that he’s perturbed.”

“Well yeah.” Claire pulled her legs up, crossing them. She then turned her whole body in Cas’ direction. “Jody told me Sam is like ready to tie him down so he’ll stop clawing at the walls. He’s trying to find you.”

Mildly irritated, Cas shook his head. “He’s yet to actually pray to me so I can’t imagine he wants to speak to me that badly.”

“That’s fair. One point to Castiel.”

Cas raised an eyebrow at that.

“So why are we letting Dean sweat? What did he do?” Claire grinned. “Depending on what he did, I bet we can get Jody to boot his car.”

“I’m afraid to ask what that means, but I have no doubt that Dean would never speak to me again if we did such a thing to ‘his baby’.”

Claire shook her head. “Never mind that then.”

Cas took a deep breath. His gaze slid over to Jack’s sleeping form. “Dean and I didn’t part on good terms. I spent much of the past year tracking Jack’s mother. She wasn’t easy to find.” Cas’ head turned and he met Claire’s eye. He frowned. “And my original mission was to terminate the pregnancy.”

A sudden chill crept up Claire’s spine. “Oh.”

“Dean understood the complexities of my mission. I didn’t want to hurt Kelly, but….a child like Jack is…..he could cause a lot of harm.”

Arching her neck up, Claire tried to get a better glimpse of the baby. He seemed to be sleeping with his face squished into the playpen floor. “I get the idea,” she said quietly. “Archangel power. Prince of Darkness. But…” Claire pointed her thumb in Jack’s direction. “I don’t think he fits the bill.”

“When I did find Kelly,” Cas continued. “And I rescued her from Dagon, one of the Princes of Hell…..Jack called out to me. He showed me a peaceful world. A vision of the good he’ll be able to do.”

“And that’s why you’ve gone all dad mode.” Claire crossed her arms.

“He asked.”

“And Dean?”

“To hunt Dagon I had to trick Dean and steal a special gun he prized.”

Grimacing, Claire quipped, “I bet that went over well.”

“At the time him and Sam were pitching ideas of removing Jack’s grace.”

“What would that even do to him?”

“Make him human I suppose…”

“But you don’t know.”

“No. Not for certain. And Kelly wanted her son to be whole.”

Claire nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Jack should be allowed to be his entire self. No hiding. No changing or compromising for others.”

Cas smiled softly, and then it fell while he stared at his hands in his lap. “I suspect now that Dean is mostly upset about the disappearance act, but...I’ve been keeping the distance so I don’t have to lose everyone. My siblings already dislike both Winchesters.”

A small laugh escaped Claire. “Figures.”

“And….I do actually quite like this house. It’s peaceful here. Unlike their bunker...which is filled with rooms of unknown and dangerous items.”

A glint of excitement shone in Claire’s eyes. “Are you sure? Sounds like a fun place to explore and grow up in.”

Cas shook his head. “Jack deserves sunshine and windows...and a life unmarked by hunting…..well for as long as I can give him.”

Claire nodded, and they both sat there in silence with their thoughts for a while. Eventually, Claire’s eyes moved back to Cas and the sorrow exuding from him. “If Dean left the bunker to help you with Jack out here….would you want that?”

Cas was silent for a long time. Claire couldn’t make heads or tails of his expression. Eventually he spoke in a hushed whisper. “I miss him.”

“You should ask him instead of making his decisions for him.”

Cas’ eyes darted back to her for a moment. He stared, and then he pointed at the laptop. “So what kind of movie were you thinking?”

[bookerlausanne]

Now That I’m Free

A Destiel Secret Santa gift for @i-like-to-think-i-am-cool via this year’s @destielsecretsanta2020 ;)

I hope you have a wonderful holiday and that you can enjoy this fluffy, ridiculous mess I typed after 5 glasses of wine.

Summary: Dean finally has the words if he can only give them voice.

Warnings: I just had a breakup this week #2020, so this is the schmoopyiest, melodramatic, harlequinesque, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written. I’m sorry it’s so short.  Post season 15. In no way canon compliant.

 “Now that I’m free to be

Myself, who am I?”

Mary Oliver, Blue Iris

 It was Christmas Eve and Dean Winchester was alone.

He sat in front of a beautiful tree filled with generic ornaments – nothing saved from his and Sammy’s childhood, nothing much to speak of on the road with their- with John. He wore his Star Wars ugly Christmas Sweater and sat staring at the lights with shitty cooking Bourbon in a chipped coffee mug sitting untouched and sweating next to him.

Sammy and Eileen are headed his way tomorrow, plans adjusted to accommodate Eileen’s eight-month pregnant body having trouble sleeping in anything other than her own bed. Dean would have been more than happy to drive to them, but the change of plans came too late to reach their house in time and the concern on Sam’s face begrudgingly prevented him from any teasing or complaints. Jack will be (Dean’s willing to bet) in pj’s and drinking hot cocoa in this very spot just waiting at 4:30 in the freaking morning for the rest of their family to arrive.

And Cas-

Well, Cas might show up, might not. Not like Dean’s his keeper or his bosom sister or his confidant or possibly even his friend, certainly not his lover-

Dean eyed the mug full of Bourbon and breathed out slowly. His jaw clenched and unbidden the last two years flashed before his eyes: Cas getting pulled into the Empty, defeating Chuck, Jack becoming the new Big Man Above, and Cas – fuck – Cas alive and standing in the middle of the Bunker with nothing more than a “Hello, Dean.” a perfunctory hug and an adios back to Heaven. Yet, again.

Dean knows he’s not being fair. Cas still half lives with him in the bunker. Well, not lives lives. Ok, so he does technically live here but in his own room and with barely any contact with Dean. Not really, not anymore. And Dean knows it’s been a rough time coming off something like what happened, what he endured – yet again – what he said. Confessed.

Dean shifts in his chair, closes his eyes, and tilts his head against the wall behind him.

“Fuck.”

It’s his fault and he knows it. He has always known. It’s always him. The air between him and Cas is nothing less than intense. Fraught. Cut it with a stone thick. Because for all that Cas found the courage to say everything he did that night, Dean has felt thick tongued and uncomfortable ever since. Which, of course, Cas has noticed and tried to give him space for. Which, of course, has hurt Cas’s feelings and created a seemingly vast distance of space between them. Which, of course, as previously mentioned, is all Dean’s fault.

But be it Kismet or Karma or just Jack, tonight that is going to change. It has too.

Because Dean isn’t getting any younger. It’s not like he’s unaware but it’s something he thinks about much more frequently than he used too – especially while working on fixing up the bunker to accommodate the next round of Hunters. A Bunch of Badass Bitches as Claire likes to say. Dean smiles at the memory of the exasperated look on Cas’s face hearing her say that.

“Suck it up, Buttercup.” He mumbles to himself before taking a moment to just breathe. He gets up and clears his small amount of dinner dishes and the mug to the kitchen before coming back to the tree. He stands there half transfixed, grits his teeth for a moment and begins.

“I pray to the angel Castiel – uh, hey Cas, look, I don’t know if you’re busy but I just need you to listen for a minute and uh yeah,” Dean clears his throat and takes a moment. “Back when, when you said what you said – look, I- I know things are strained right now and I take the blame for that, ok? You deserved a response then and after and now and I –“

The unmistakable sound of Cas appearing behind him makes him pause. And he knows, god knows Dean can sense Cas around him like they’re tethered heart to heart in any plane of existence. There is a brief silence filled with so much expectation it’s almost unbearable and Dean knows – as sure as he’s ever known anything – that this is the most important moment of his entire life. He feels sick. He feels a bead of terrified, anxious sweat roll down the side of his face. He continues.

“I- I don’t have to tell you some sob story about an unloving parent who heaped a bunch of homophobic shit onto his too-pretty son. At this point it’s hardly a secret that my dad was an ass. But that kind of fear that you develop…” Dean stops and shakes head. “Look, what matters is that I couldn’t respond to you that night. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know and – yeah maybe that makes me the biggest asshole in the world to be so blind but I – I didn’t know. And I didn’t know what to say. And, when you came back, I still didn’t know what to say. I was frozen.”

Dean feels the tension behind him wind tight and he knows – god he knows he’s fucking this up but he has to try. He opens his eyes to the lights of the tree in front of him and fights to hold it together.

“I was frozen in the eye of a storm – because, Cas, I’m not the hero in this story. I’m not the good guy – no matter how hard I try. I-I’m not worthy. I’m not – fuck – I’m selfish.” Dean’s terrified but he must turn around. He must face this. He turns with tears in his eyes and sees Cas standing there just as wide eyed and teary as he imagined he would be. He’s hanging onto Dean’s every word because it doesn’t matter if he knows every piece of Dean’s heart, he still needs to hear it. Dean walks over to Cas until their positions are a perfect match for that night. Cas sees the struggle and determination on Dean’s face – still beautiful – and begins to hope.

“Cas, I love you.”

There is one moment where both men feel as though caught in the eye of a storm. The shock of Dean’s confession stills both until suddenly –

“I love you, too. I should have said it then, that night. I should have said it then. I should have torn down the walls of the deepest pit of Hell, torn down the foundations of Heaven myself to find you and tell you that I love you, Cas. Because I do – fuck – Cas.” Dean’s hands are cupping the sides of Cas’s face, thumbs trailing through tears of joy and shock and awe streaming from his too-blue eyes. The sight of his tears cuts into the marrow of his bones and Dean realizes that he has never, will never love anyone like he loves Cas.

And then Dean kisses him. Soft and sweet and so full of love he feels like he could die with it because  despite every negative, horrible, shameful thought that tries to break loose and tear up his mind Dean finally understands. He finally has processed and internalized and begun to believe. As Cas laughs and pulls him close murmuring his own words of love before making Dean’s breath catch at the passion of his kiss – how he slides a hand in Dean’s hair and tilts him as he likes, tasting the sweetness of his hot, wet mouth. And when Cas breaks their kiss to sweep Dean in his arms – making them both laugh at how ridiculous they must look - just to spin him around and shout with joy… that belief within Dean grows even stronger.

He is worthy. Worthy of love.

And he’s finally ready to fall.

[sylvanfreckles]

Eye of the Beholder

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Sam encourages Cas to try to express himself by taking up drawing. It seems to be a lost cause...until Castiel tries to draw Sam’s soul.

(Something warm and soft and hopeful after FebuWhump)

* * *

Sam leaned  against the low wall surrounding the picnic area park and let his head tip back to catch the warmth from the sun. They'd hit this town to check on rumors of a demonic possession at the local college, only to find Claire and Kaia had beat them here and pretty much had the whole thing taken care of. Now, he was enjoying just keeping an ear on the banter as Dean checked over the girls' gear and Jack chattered enthusiastically about the old fantasy novels he'd found on one of the rooms at the bunker (apparently Kaia had heard of the author and they were bonding, much to Claire's amusement).

A hint of movement at his side had him cracking one eye open to see Cas settle into a similar posture. Watching Dean and the kids with a fond look on his face, Cas caught Sam's eye with a smile. “He's good at that.”

“Dean's always been good with kids,” Sam agreed. “Probably because he still acts like he's twelve.”

Cas gave a very un-angelic snort, and Sam shifted around enough to watch the angel now. He couldn't remember when life had been this peaceful before. There were hunts still, sure, but it finally seemed like there wasn't some big bad pulling the strings behind it all. He couldn't remember a time in his life that had been like this—just the routine of the hunt and home, with their own network of friends and family.

It took him a moment to realize Cas's attention wasn't on the others anymore. The angel was looking out across the park at a mural painted on higher wall that ran around the park's perimeter. He was pretty it was a memorial to the town's history as part of the underground railroad, based on what he'd learned before they got here.

“I think the high school kids work on that every year,” Sam commented, nudging Cas with his shoulder. “When I was researching the town I found an article that said it was one of their graduating projects, and every year a group of students repairs and restores the mural.”

Cas shook his head and looked back at Sam. “Humanity's capacity for creation will always amaze me.”

Sam blinked. He hadn't...thought about it like that. Dean had always said Cas was just a weird little nerd, but was that why he always seemed to stop when he saw a statue, or a carving, or a painting? That it wasn't a type of art he preferred, but he was appreciating the human act of creating art?

“Have you ever tried?” Sam asked, trying to be casual about it. “Making something, I mean.”

The look Cas shot him was quick, but Sam thought his friend looked grieved. “Angels weren't made to create. We can only replicate.”

Sam started to protest, but hesitated. Zachariah's Beautiful Room...he'd offered Dean things from Dean's past, not some idealized thing he'd want. Gabriel had pulled from human television to make his TV world. Even Lucifer, in creating Jack, had used a human body to impregnate a human, not some celestial act of creation.

“Have you ever tried?” he repeated.

Cas pushed away from the wall. “There's enough in this world to admire,” he replied, though he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes and his shoulders remained tense. “You don't need my...'pitiful scratchings'.”

* * *

Cas's words twisted through Sam's head as he followed the others through the small downtown area back toward the hotel. Had Cas ever tried to make something around them? Had one of them said something like that? Or was this some distant event from heaven, some other angel stomping out any fraction of individuality?

He pulled up as they passed a small, disorganized craft store. “Hey, go ahead without me,” Sam called when Dean turned around. “We need a couple things.”

Sam waited until the others turned away, giving Jack a reassuring nod and smile, before pushing the door open and slipping inside the store. It was cramped inside, with shelves and bins overflowing, and the smell of cinnamon and beeswax filling the air. It wasn't completely a lie...they always needed things like natural pigments and scraps of leather for hex bags, and some places sold essential oils or crystals he liked to keep on hand for emergencies.

It just wasn't why he was here now. He squeezed past a rack of wooden beads and nearly knocked a dressmaker's mannequin over, but finally found the drawing section. The sketchbooks were easy enough to sort through—he grabbed a large one with a dark cover that had an elastic band to keep it closed when not in use. The pages were about the size of a standard sheet of printer paper, so it was big enough for Cas to have lots of room to experiment on each page but small enough to travel with him. The drawing supplies, though, were a little harder.

Sam stared at the selection of pencils, paints, and markers. If Cas had truly never tried something like this before, where could he even begin? Would he want something like colored pencils, that would have a smooth texture on the page but need to be kept sharpened? Or paints, which might be easier to blend and shade but wouldn't be portable? Or start with the very basics and get a box of crayons and hope Cas didn't think it was too childish?

A long, flat box at the end of the shelf caught his eye. Pastels. He had a flash of memory of one of Jess's friends in college who worked with pastels, the way their hands swept over the canvas to leave bright ribbons of color and then darted back to smooth and shade. Sam could suddenly imagine Cas, pastel stick in hand, a smear of pigment on his chin, brow furrowed in concentration as he filled a canvas with bright color.

He bought the sketchbook and pastels plus some silver charms to make a stronger protection hex bag for Claire's car, to make it seem like the drawing supplies had been a spur-of-the-moment thing. By the time he got back to the hotel Dean had already ordered pizza, while Kaia and Jack had Claire sandwiched between them on the couch as they tried to convince her to watch an old fantasy movie with them (Sam was on their side, Willow was awesome). Cas looked up from picking at the label on his beer bottle when Sam walked up to the table, eyes widening further in surprise when Sam set the bag from the craft store down in front of him and presented the drawing supplies with a flourish.

“I thought you might like to try,” Sam explained as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Cas at the room's little table. “I mean, I'd kind of be interested in seeing an angel's...uh...'pitiful scratchings', you know?”

Cas hesitantly ran the tips of his fingers over the dark cover of the sketchbook. “Sam...”

“Just try?” he suggested. He scooted closer so that his shoulder brushed Cas's, knowing the physical contact helped when the angel was dealing with something new or difficult. “No one's gonna laugh if you can't do it. Well, maybe Dean, but he's an ass.”

“I heard that!” Dean shouted. As far as Sam could tell, his brother was completely focused on something on his phone. That was obviously just an automatic response.

The angel was quiet. Then, slowly, he tugged the pastels out of the bag and lifted the lid of the box. The colors almost seemed to glow under the room's overhead light, and Cas gently brushed the bright gold stick with the tip of one finger. “I'll try.”

“Good,” Sam bumped Cas's shoulder with his own, then leaned a little more closely against him, grounding him. “I can't wait.”

* * *

Sam bit his lip as he flipped through the first few pages of Cas's sketchbook. The angel leaned against the table almost despondently, arms folded across his chest and head tipped forward so that Sam couldn't see his eyes.

“These are good,” Sam said, trying to sound encouraging. “I mean, they look just like the, uh, things you were sketching. That's...that's good.”

Technically speaking, the sketches were good. There was a vase of wild flowers Kaia had put on the kitchen table the second day of her and Claire's visit. The bust of one of the old Men of Letters. Jack's profile as he read from a large leather-bound book. They were perfect and lifelike and exact, yet somehow...empty.

Cas took the sketchbook out of his hands and gently folded it closed. “Angels weren't given the breath of life,” he said, his voice quiet in the stillness of the library. “We can't...we can't create, Sam. All I can do is copy. These are copies of life.”

Sam winced. “Maybe you just need some practice. I mean, this is your first time, right? Nobody's perfect their first time.”

His friend's smile was sad when Cas finally looked up at him. “I feel no inspiration, Sam. I look at the world and nothing calls to me. The flowers and Jack...I chose those because I knew that was what a human might choose. I could have just as easily chosen the scalpels in the infirmary, or the backseat of the Impala, or every doorknob in the bunker. There's no...it's not creation, Sam. They're just copies of life.”

With a sigh, Sam ran one hand through his hair. “Cas, a lot of artists struggle with that. Maybe you just haven't found the right thing yet. With some more time I bet you could find the, the soul of a vase of flowers, or whatever.”

Cas grunted. “Flowers don't have a soul.”

“You know what I mean. Artists, they...they capture a part of themselves in the world around them. Their art reflects their own soul, you know?”

“I don't have a soul either, Sam.”

“You know what I mean.” Exasperated, Sam took a few steps away, then paced back again. “When you look at something that kind of pulls at your heart, you can make something that has a bit of your soul in it, you know? It's what humans have done for thousands of years, even longer.”

Cas let out a mournful sigh and rubbed one hand over his eyes. “If you could see your own soul you might understand,” he said wearily. “Compared to that even an angel's true form is inadequate.”

Sam huffed out a breath. He'd just wanted Cas to have a new experience, maybe find a hobby that could bring him joy. He hadn't meant to start some kind of identity crisis. Then his friend's words caught up to him. “Wait...Cas, are you saying you can see my soul?”

His friend gave him a flat look. “I am still an angel.”

“No, no, I mean...you can see my soul?”

“Of course, Sam.”

Heart pounding, Sam spread his arms out. “Then draw that!”

Cas stared at him for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “Why would you want to see something like that?”

“Are you kidding? Of course I want to see it!” Sam turned in a full circle before grabbing one of the library chairs and dragging it in front of Cas. “Is this good? Or, wait, do you need better light?” His soul through the eyes of an angel...who wouldn't want to see that?

There was still hesitation in Cas's movements as he slowly picked up his sketchbook and lifted the cover off the box of pastels. “You're sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Cas flipped to a clean page and stared over the top of the sketchbook at Sam. Sam waited, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Do you need me to do something?” he asked, when Cas made no move to start drawing.

Cas frowned, then reached in the box for a pastel. “Just talk. About one of your passions.”

A passion...okay, Sam could do that. Like Dean had always said, he was a huge nerd. “Oh, I found that book about cuneiform we were talking about,” he said, sitting up a little straighter. “You were right, the author was completely ignorant of the language schism toward the end of the Bronze Age....”

He talked on and on while Cas drew. The angel glanced up at him from time to time, a little smile brightening his face. It was almost exactly the image Sam had conjured in the craft store...Cas with a smear of pigment on his chin, bright colors filling the page in front of him. As he drew the angel seemed to relax, the perpetual slump of his shoulders easing back, the worry lines in his forehead smoothing out.

Sam could have pumped his fist in victory. He knew this had been a good idea.

Then Cas set the pastels down and hesitantly pulled the lid over the box. He seemed unsure of himself again, tipping the picture up to makes sure Sam couldn't see it.

“Is it done?” Sam asked. “Can I see?”

For a moment he was afraid Cas would refuse, then the angel slowly turned the sketchbook around.

Sam had seen human souls before...or at least he thought he had. They'd been wispy balls of bluish light, nothing too amazing. This was...this was something else.

The page was a riot of colors. Sweeping and dazzling, greens and blues with threads of red twisting through them, all turning back in on themselves over and over. There were jagged cracks in the swirling shapes, but they'd been filled in with a golden color so vivid he almost brushed his finger over the page to see if it felt warm.

“In some cultures,” Cas's voice was quiet as he explained, “when an item is broken they mend it with gold, so it is more beautiful and valuable because of the cracks.”

Sam drew in a breath. “This is how you see my soul?” The cracks...memories of Lucifer and the Cage, everything they'd lost, the darkness he'd hidden for so long...Cas saw them mended in gold?

“Oh, Sam,” Cas's hand was warm on his shoulder and he looked up, surprised to see tears in his friend's eyes. “This is you.”

He swallowed and looked back down. There was so much...so much hope. Despite it being almost incomprehensible swirls of color on paper, he could feel the hope and faith and trust nearly radiating off the page. Was this...was this really what Cas saw in him?

“Whoa, am I interrupting something?”

Sam pulled back, scrubbing a sleeve over his face. He hadn't even heard Dean coming. “We were just,” he tried to explain, gesturing at the page.

Dean was staring, tilting his head to one side. “Okay, man, call me crazy, but why does this look like Sammy?”

He let out a shaky laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “That's my soul, man.”

“You drew this, Cas?” Dean was leaning in even closer. “Ha, yeah, there's the little part that died when I told you Santa wasn't real. It really is your soul.”

Sam couldn't help but smile at his brother's antics and looked up to meet Cas's eyes. “Can I have this?”

“No way,” Dean interrupted, putting his hand on Cas's wrist.

“Dean, it's my soul.”

“Yeah. We're framing it,” Dean took a step back and held his hands up, like he was envisioning the drawing in a frame. “This is going next to the family pictures, Sammy.”

“We don't have family pictures, Dean.”

“We do now,” Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. “You should do Jack next. I'll get 'im.”

“Wait,” Sam lunged after his brother. “What about you?”

“Not happening,” Dean replied, easily twisting away from Sam's hand. “Let me go get the kid.”

* * *

Jack, predictably, was thrilled. He sat in front of his adopted father, eyes bright, as he talked about his first memories of Castiel. Sam stood behind Cas's shoulder and watched the picture take shape—all interlocking golden halos bursting out of a dark shadow, radiating a light that was somehow yellow and blue at the same time that banished that darkness away. It was peace. It was strength. It was family.

It was Jack.

Claire and Kaia were next, crowding together into one of the big armchairs with their fingers intertwined. Sam had been expecting some kind of double drawing, maybe two pages side-by-side, but the drawing Cas produced was somehow Claire, somehow Kaia, and somehow a blend of the two of them that went beyond anything the human eye could see.

“That's what it looks like to be soulmates,” Cas explained when Sam asked.

When they went back to Jody's house with the girls, Jody sat for a drawing. Her soul was all graceful arcs swooping around a central, solid core. Sam could almost feel it extending beyond the page, pulling them all together around the woman who had chosen to care for the motherless.

There were others, as hunters checked in at the bunker or they met them in the field. Eileen's soul was a fury of purple and silver, sharp with the kind of love that dove into battle with sword held high. Bobby's was a blend of muted shades that spoke to the loss the older hunter had experienced, and his determination to carry on.

Sam was dropping a new sketchbook in Cas's room one day, a few weeks later, when he spotted a few loose papers that had fallen out of the old one. Meaning just to pick them up and shuffle them back in, he was startled to find he had a picture of Dean's soul in his hands.

It couldn't be anything else. While Sam's had had cracks mended with brilliant gold, Dean's looked like it had been broken and pushed in on itself over and over, more like overlapping plates of ice from a lake that had been melted and refrozen. There were layers and sharp edges, and a few twisting shadows of darkness that lingered in odd corners.

But it was warm. Despite the cracks and the broken parts...despite the trauma and ache and pain it was good. It was the soul of a man who loved so completely he would—and had—lay down his life for his family.

He heard a shuffle from the doorway, and turned to see Cas was standing there, staring at the paper in his hands with something like guilt on his face. “Sam, I...”

“When did you draw this?” Sam asked in a whisper. “He kept saying he didn't want you to do it.”

Cas hesitated, then approached close enough to gently take the drawing from Sam's hands. “It was from memory. Dean and I have always had a connection, since I pulled him from Hell.”

Sam almost laughed. “A more profound bond?” he teased. Cas's lips twitched in a smile and he nodded. “We should hang it up with the others.”

Shaking his head, Cas frowned down at the drawing. “He keeps saying no one would want to see it.”

“Well, he's wrong,” Sam looped an arm around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, I know where he stashed the extra frames.”

[deans-asscot]

LatAm Dub Voice Actor Panel: Translation/Transcript

Hello all, I have taken it upon myself to translate the panel with Guillermo (Memo) Rojas: Dean's LatAm Voice Actor. There is a lot of confusion and I think it's best if you read for yourself to come to your own conclusions. The translator in the panel failed to translate important things and also added in her own opinions/interpretations. I also think there were times when they were talking about different things. I don't blame her, because I'm sure she was nervous/excited and live translating is hard! I would like to thank her for doing  the panel and trying to get us answers! I have added my own opinions/notes in red. I have included some time stamps so you can follow along in the video. I tried to focus on all the important parts regarding the dubbing and also useful background info. Please note that everything is translated by me except for the Translator's own translations, I left those in English as she said it. I apologize if there are any mistakes, I did my best.

[9:54]

Memo: I got covid in the last two... I don’t remember if I got it during.. uh, during.. the last episode of the season or during the special or during both. I have doubts, cuz I still haven’t recorded them. I have to record them from what I understand.

[Translator translates]

[10:37]

Translator: [Spanish] We’re going to start with the easy questions. Because there’s one... I’m not sure if you know but you guys in the Mexican dub broke the internet. 

Memo: Yes

Translator: [Spanish] Oh, you already know?

Memo: Yeah, sorry to interrupt you. A lot of people reached out to me and I feel bad not being able to, broadly speaking, answer all of their questions. But I was in the middle of my covid situation and a tracheal situation where I couldn’t talk without choking. Now I’m working in therapy with this situation. And if that wasn’t complicated enough it seems like I have 2 sequels: one is confirmed the 2nd not yet. So I couldn’t respond to EVERYone that was reaching out to me on the internet. From various means, from Insta, Facebook, Youtube. Actually a very old channel that I’ve never used. With respect to the situation with Dean and the other guy.

[11:49]

Translator: [Spanish] How different is the process between directing for live action and directing for animation? And which do you prefer?

Memo: Okay, so what’s the difference between one and the other: basically, you can say that it’s a little similar. Because we’re talking about a certain quality that we have to respect or give, in this case. There are guidelines [interrupted by Translator] that we have to follow.

[12:10]

Translator: [translates] It’s very similar because we have to give the same quality in both senses. There is a process that we have to follow.

Memo: Yes, correct. Now the guidelines are usually given to us by the production company, in this case, what we call the client.

Translator: [translates] The lines are given by the producer house or what we call the client.

[12:31]

Memo: In this case, so we have to stick to the guidelines that they ask for. The ones which go hand in hand in regards to the production that is being worked.

Translator: [translates] We have to follow the rules. Which go hand in hand with the kind of production we are doing, either animation or live action.

Memo: Yes, actually, saying that both are the same would be lying to you. Because we could have 2 live actions and they’re not the same. Guidelines: there are basic technical points to follow but when it comes to acting and theatrical production, they change.

[13:03]

Translator: [translates] I would be lying to say they are the same because if you  have two different live actions they are going to have different procedures. So when you are acting them that is when the change come in.

Memo: The greatest difference I could tell you would be the technical points to follow in each of them. And for the acting part, in this case, it would be to give 100% from each and every one of us.

Translator: [translates] and uh, in the technical those are the differences but in the acting sense I can tell you that  the important thing is to give 100% every single time.

[...talk about other acting jobs...]

[17:42]

Memo: [Talking about the show 911] I don’t think there’s a piece that I enjoyed more watching being dubbed by a translator and directed by Fogatry. Who has an amazing gift to not only direct but also adapt dialogues. And there has been great synergy working on this series and others that he has done me the favor of supporting me as an actor to give me roles. And that I enjoy doing a lot. Not only his directing but also... I don’t know we have a certain synergy so he can direct me and I can act how he indicates and he makes me feel it, you know? It’s... it’s something interesting.

Translator: [translates] It is one of the series I most enjoy as... I also  enjoy to be directed by Fogarty because of special synergy. He makes me feel the characters better so we work very well when he directs me.

Memo: Yes, I sincerely love working with him.

[...talks about voice acting...]

[19:51]

Translator: [Spanish] Well now that you already mentioned the guidelines, and I mentioned in the beginning: comes the big questions. What were the guidelines in that final line in Supernatural that broke the internet?

Memo: Its a curious thing because... because I don’t even think the director nor the translators had any idea of the tendency (inclination) that existed. Because there wasn’t information that said previously that something like that could happen.

Translator: [translates] It is very funny because neither the director nor I had any idea of what was coming. We didn’t know that something like that could happen.

[...talks about his birthday and eating cake...]

[20:52]

Memo: Yes, so uh, being honest, when we recorded it, it was very like, “blink blink (squints)” [takes off glasses and looks confused] “What’s going on? What’s happening?” But, we did it, you know? But none of us in the production team saw anything in him during filming that would say something like that.

Translator: [translates] When we saw it, it was like a blinking moment and we did it. But at the time we never thought that it would happen./ [Spanish] And here I have to ask for clarification. Because obviously we are referring to the fact that Castiel confessed to Dean after ...12 years... of intense stares. [Memo laughs] But the main question is Dean’s response. Because everyone heard, in your voice, very clearly “y yo a ti” (and I, you).

Memo: [same time] “Y yo a ti” (and I, you).

Translator: [Spanish] where did that “Y yo a ti” (and I, you) come from? Was it in the script? Was it you? What happened there?

[21:50]

Memo: The adaptation was completely from my director. And the guidelines for acting came from him and I did what he asked me to do.

Translator: [translates] Everything was...okay everybody I asked about “and I you” I know that Tumblr was waiting for this moment. And he says, everything came from the director. He adapted it, he gave me the guidelines. It was his fault.

(Note: Memo only knows what his director told him. Adaptation = edited translated script for lip synch etc.)

[others laugh]

[22:16]

Memo: But we all love him. We all loved it. We never saw it coming so directly.

Translator: [translates] But everybody loved it everybody wanted it at the end. We didn’t see it coming so directly but it was great.

[22:28]

Memo: If we remember correctly, from the length of all of Supernatural we rarely see a situation where Dean is seen being involved with a woman. It didn’t happen. Unlike his brother.

Translator: [translates] If we remember all the seasons of Supernatural, we never saw Dean romantically involved with a woman unlike his brother./ [Spanish] Here I will just correct you as a fan, it did happen a few times but it was before your times. (He started voicing Dean after season 12.)

[22:52]

Memo: Yes, it was before my time but it was never more than a general empathy.

Translator: [translates] Yeah it was before me but it was never farther than a general empathy.

Memo: He was never involved. Neither directly nor [cut off]

Translator: [translates] He was never involved, not completely.

Memo: It wasn’t his thing, right?

Translator: [translates] It wasn’t his.

[23:10]

Memo: Especially, because we can compare him with his brother.

Translator: [translates] Especially because we can compare him with his brother.

Memo: We remember the last relationship he had in the last 2 season.

Translator: [translates] We remember his relationship that he had in the last 2 seasons./ Uh, Eileen, the deaf woman.

Memo: Exactly, with Eileen, that was really intense. And [gets cut off] at the end.

Translator: [translates] Was very tense and painful at the end.

[23:33]

Memo: Dean basically didn’t suffer that. Like for me, to a certain point they tied him more emotionally with the fact that he lost his mother...more than once.

Translator: [translates] With Dean, he didn’t suffer what Sam did, because he was emotionally more tied with the fact that he lost his mom more than once.

Memo: Yeah, so uh [gets cut off]

Translator: [Spanish] We have a question. So  it’s not a “rogue translator”, it’s a “rogue director”? Says [asker’s name].

Memo: uh... yeah yeah, I’m seeing it [the comment] yeah [laughs] Look, Fogarty has a tendency... Fogarty has really intense abilities. [gets cut off]

Translator: [translates] Fogarty has an intense ability.

Memo: Yeah and one of them is adapting the dialogues.

Translator: [translates] And one of them is to adapt dialogue.

[24:16]

Memo: When you see a piece that Fogarty translates and he manages to adapt when he has time to do it, even if he won’t direct it, and he’ll leave it for you in Spanish.

Translator: [translates] You see a work by Fogarty when he is going to translate even if he is not going to direct and he leaves it in Spanish.

Memo: So, the dialogue goes like this, if I remember correctly, it said “tambien yo (me too)” or it said something like that.

Translator: [translates] The dialogue said, if I remember correctly, “tambien yo” “and so do I”. If I remember correctly.

Memo: Exactly. And then we changed it to “Y yo a ti” (And I, you).

Translator: [translates] And then we changed it into “Y yo a ti” “and I, you”.

Memo: For the effect of lip syncing, rhythm, and more things.

Translator: [translates] Because of the formation of lip vowels and other things./ Before you came in I explained it as a translator. My absolute hate for the lip... [Spanish] my hate for the lip syncing.

[25:12]

Memo: [laughs] Yeah, it’s an impressive topic to discuss. Now a days with the speed of production that we have it’s difficult to give attention to that part. Which we should, that much is very clear to me of course. But not all of us have the ability that Fogarty has in that sense specifically. We don’t have the speed that Fogarty has to adapt like that [snaps fingers](to adapt fast).

Translator: [translates] Uh, we don’t have the time now a days to do it, we should but we can’t. But we don’t have all the...brain cells and the speed that Fogarty has to make those changes.

Memo: We all have different abilities. And when we work together, but well not everyone pitches in all of the different abilities that they have, and Fogarty does his part.

Translator: [translates] we all have different skills and when we work together we all put all job there, and Fogarty does his part.

Memo: We all need a Fogarty in every company.

Translator: [translates] [laughs] We need a Fogarty in every, in every enterprise... in every company./ [Spanish] I have to make a pause cuz you saw my cat pass by...

[...talks about her cat hating Sam...]

[...redirected to comments...]

[27:35]

Translator: [reads comment in English] They are asking a lot about if you know what Dean said in the original English Script before Fogarty got his hands on it. [translates to Spanish] If you know what was on the original script before Fogarty changed it?

Memo: Again. What? [Did not hear/or did not understand the question]

Translator: [Spanish] If you know what the original script said. What it said originally.

[28:00]

Memo: Yes, If I remember correctly... yeah, yeah, it was... it was something allusive, WOW, it was totally correct of course. [get’s cut off]

Translator: [translates] it was uh...

Memo: “y tambien yo” (and me too) or “tambien yo a ti” (And I, you as well) it said something like that. [gets cut off] (so its difficult to understand what he says next but sounds like “unmistakable, unmistakable”)

Translator: [Spanish] Ladies, the original script said “yo tambien” (me too) okay so [name] asks if you listened to the original while dubbing?

Memo: Yes, of course.

(NOTE: I think for Memo, the “original script” was the first Spanish draft before they adjusted/adapted for lip synch and what not.)

Translator: [Spanish] No. Say that (unclear) [laughs] yeah

[28:30]

Memo: No, immediately I would’ve been like [takes off glasses and leans in] “What?”

Translator: [Spanish] Yeah, yeah. What happens is that. Supernatural has a very intense, very loyal fandom. As you can see now [points to the comments] so it’s been uh...which the change brings the big question [gets cut off]

Memo: [reading comment in English] Someone translate it! [laughs]

Translator: [Spanish] What was your favorite episode to dub for Supernatural?

Memo: With my short term memory, this last  episode.

Translator: [translates] So I asked him which one was his favorite Supernatural uh Episode to dub and he said that with his short term memory, the last one

Memo: It’s cuz, it says a lot, it says a lot.

Translator: [translates] It says a lot.

[29:19]

Memo: It says a lot. In one scene it says everything.

Translator: [translates] In a scene it says it all.

Memo: So it’s very impressive, it’s really nice. I never... I never saw it coming. Never saw it coming.

Translator: [translates] I never saw it coming. But it was beautiful.

Memo: Yeah, yeah

[...talks about breaking Tumblr, Dean finally getting a dog, Memo watching Supernatural...]

[31:40]

Translator: [Spanish] Once more, you broke the internet. And they’re asking: if the original script said something in regards to Dean’s feelings for Cas, [Memo says “no”] or was it all added in by the director Fogarty?

[31:54]

Memo: no, no, no. Actually the original booklet that we had never had any indication that told you that he was in love or that he reciprocates the love and that they knew. No. Nothing. Really, that phrase was what topped off the entire series.

(NOTE: I think Memo is talking about the first Spanish script he saw and all the previous scripts, saying he saw no indication UNTIL that one line.)

Translator: [translates] Okay guys. I’m going to go slow with this so it’s put to rest. No. The original did not say it. It was not... stated clear. With the last phrase was what concealed the whole series. The whole thing.

Memo: None of us saw it coming.

Translator: [translates] No one saw it coming.

Memo: No.

Translator: [translates] No one saw it coming but... it was the director adding it because that was what made sense. (NOTE: Memo never said this part about the director!!!)

[32:46]

Memo: Actually, when they started to bombard me with a bunch of questions on the internet, I started to investigate what happened, right? And yeah, I saw clearly, how the director and the writer decided to take a very hidden tendency with respect to them both. In various scenes, in very, very simple dialogues. In which they made that like allusion that they both had feelings for one another. But it was so, so faint that almost no one noticed it.

(NOTE: I think Memo is referring to the English writers/directors and the questions people asked him were in regards to being surprised that Dean reciprocates.)

Translator: [translates] He is saying that uh what the director... the dubbing director saw that... the director in English were creating this love story but it was so subtle and so “tenue (faint/dim)”... so discrete that no one saw it coming./ Which brings us to the fact that yes, this man is a heller.

[33:41]

Memo: I think that it’s clear to all of us that the fact that it broke the internet with this information, it was a surprise for absolutely everyone. Because well, we would all say, right, that if you want to be a real man, you gotta be like Dean.

(NOTE: I think Memo thinks that people were shocked Dean reciprocated because everyone views him as a manly man. I don’t think Memo is referring to the English/Spanish dubbing differences.)

Translator: [translates] I think that with the great effect.../ hold on [Spanish] You are going to break the internet again with this.[laughs] [translates] Okay I think that we... have to see this is... that how we can because after all everybody says that if you want to be a real man you have to be like Dean Winchester./ And Dean Winchester is in love with Castiel. [laughs]

[34:35]

Memo: And to me... it’s... actually it’s something really beautiful for me. Because it doesn’t have to do with gender it has to do with the feelings. And it... it was a marvelous play made by the writers. Marvelous. Marvelous. You didn’t see it coming. And look at that, you liked it.

Translators: [translates] I believe... that it’s very beautiful it was a play by the original writers, by the American workers, that you didn’t see coming but when you see it, you like it. And you end up loving it.

Memo: Yeah

Translator: [reads comments in Spanish] Um, we have 2 questions. One is from [name] that asks if something got left out of the translation?...

Memo: No.

Translator: [Spanish] No, nothing. [translates] Nothing was out of the translation. [Spanish] And the other is that they ask if they ever called you back to rerecord that “Y yo a ti” (and I, you)?

Memo: No.

Translator: [translates] No./ The “Y yo a ti” isn’t going to be redubbed people, calm down.

Memo: [laughs] No

Translator: [English] He was not called to remake the dubbing.

Memo: No... no, no, no. It’s clear to me that my director understood perfectly the context of that text.

Translator: [translates] It is very clear that the director understood perfectly the texture of this text./ [Spanish] I have a question. From experience, because at one point I got to dub, I got to translate, dub some lines, not that controversial... but very complicated that the client returned it. The client, when he heard it he said, “No, we can’t do this” Okay the line was, you’re gunna see why they returned it: “I’ve listened to jazz since I was a sperm in my father’s testicle.”

Memo: Okay [laughs]

Translator: [Spanish] So... so the client told us, “No, change it.”

Memo: What did the original say?

Translator: [Spanish]  That’s what the original said!

Memo: [English] So, what?

Translator: [Spanish] It was in Japanese, but that’s what the original said. Uh but since it was for “kids” because it was anime, they returned it.

Memo: Ohh, okay, okay, okay. Maybe they asked you to smooth it over like “I’ve listened to jazz since before I was born” and that’s it.

Translator: [Spanish] Exactly. So my question is do you know if Supernatural has a quality control from Warner?

[36:52]

Memo: I would be lying if I said yes. But I have worked with Warner for a long time as an actor and director. And some very specific works like superhero type and things like that might have a filter like that. But series like Supernatural... I honestly doubt it. I think that the delegations and decisions on these situations would be totally up to the director.

Translator: [translates] Okay, so I asked him if there was quality control for Supernatural in specific and Memo tells me that he doesn’t believe so./ [Spanish] Okay, now comes the big questions cuz you broke the internet. [looks at comments] um, these are going really fast, ladies. Two people ask if you acted Dean as someone who was always in love with Castiel this whole time or did it surprise you  too?

[37:46]

Memo: No. Never. Same (also surprised).

Translator: [translates] No, it was a surprise.

Memo: Actually, I’m going to be very sincere with you guys. For me, Saying to a friend I care a lot about... to someone I care a lot about... to someone of the same gender, I tell them “Te amo (I love you).” I don’t have a problem with that.

Translator: [translates] I’m going to be very truthful with you. If I have a friend, a very close friend of my same gender I will tell him “Te amo” (I love you) and I don’t have any problems.

Memo: So, I felt it in that way. Honestly.

Translator: [translates] I felt it for that side./ [Spanish] And then you found out that no. (In regards to it not happening in English).

Memo: uh huh, exactly [laughs] “Hey, what happened?” [jokes]

[...talks about Jensen on The Boys, using Facebook...]

[40:42]

Translator: [reads comment in Spanish] Guillermo, what’s your opinion, now with all that you know, about the relationship that Dean has with Cas?

Memo: Okay, it was a revelation for everyone. Including me.

Translator: [translates] It was a revelation, first.

Memo: I love how they did it. Because nobody saw it coming. Not even us, who record it.

Translator: [translates] I love him.. I love how it.. how it come cuz no one saw it coming, not even we that we are recording it.

Memo: And I think that with all the personality and the psychology that we have of the character, we can reason that if someone knows how to hold back their feelings, it’s Dean Winchester.

Translator: [translates] And we can tell by the psychology of the character that if there was someone that knew how to keep his feelings at bay, was Dean Winchester.

[... talk about co-star, deep voice, and Memo not seeing the finale yet until he records it...]

[...he’s asked to say “Hello, Cas” in Dean’s voice if Cas were to return from the Empty...]

[44:40]

Memo: Oh, It’s assumed that I told him I loved him too, as long as he didn’t come back! [jokes]

[...talk about his ideal finale of a peaceful happy ending for TFW...]

(In conclusion I don’t think Memo saw the original English script. And to him the “original script” is the first Spanish draft before they adjust for lip synchs. He thinks his director is great and did his job correctly. Memo’s shock was in Dean being in love with Cas (not necessarily the dubbing discrepancies) but he understood why it happened once he researched and saw all the hidden allusions left by the writers. I don’t think adding “rogue director” to the discourse is helpful because I don’t think Memo knows either. Here is a link to the director’s dubbing fandom page (it’s in Spanish): Adrian Fogarty.)

[lifblogs]

#SPNDBCC | Domestic | @foundfamily4eva

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To Sam Winchester’s utmost surprise, he was starting to enjoy doing laundry. Yes, it was something he’d always had to do, but without having to hunt, it was different. There was no sorting through his pile of clothes that had just grown larger over two to three weeks without getting washed to see what ones had to be thrown out. Before, he’d keep the jeans with a bullet hole, or a tear, a still reddish-brown bloodstain. It was small, so what was the point in throwing it away? However, he did used to have to throw away severely bloodied clothes that hydrogen peroxide, antibacterial soap, and stain remover couldn’t take care of.

He threw those shirts and jeans out now too. Even had to throw out some boxers. (Blood could seep in deep.) His laundry had only been unwashed for a week now, and he actually had time to do it. Some part of him still found it unbelievable.

So after sorting through his clothes, finding which ones he had to throw away, he sorted by fabrics and colors. He liked doing it, and this time of retrospection, doing this alone in his room, he found himself humming a Green Day song. Wow, he hadn’t listened to Green Day in forever. It was always Dean’s music that serenaded his ears with extraordinary guitar techniques, and while he did like it, he liked soft rock, older alternative… that kind of stuff.

The night before he’d actually had time to listen to his own music choices, and he’d fallen asleep to Billy Joel.

After sorting, he decided it was time for breakfast. It was nothing fancy, just eggs, bacon, and toast. But he got to eat breakfast with Dean, and they didn’t have to rush, or outright skip it. There was no hunt to go on, no pressing matters, no world to save, no hurts to fix. With Cas back, Dean was happier than ever, and he was trying to indoctrinate Cas into the domestic life, teaching him how to sort and do laundry, how to iron clothes. Sam found it absurdly amusing. Cas still didn’t seem to know what he was doing.

Lately, Dean had even been out shopping, buying Cas t-shirts, jeans, flannel… Sam actually liked seeing him in his new clothes. He looked part of the family. Which he was.

Cas had sat beside Dean for breakfast, probably with a hand on his brother’s thigh. Once Sam finished up, he cleaned the dishes. His shoulders and chest felt free, not like there was a fifty-pound weight on him. He was light, airy. Relaxed. No more problems would come their way. Cas had fixed Heaven, which Sam was very proud of him since Heaven was what had hurt Castiel so much. He’d now faced it and fixed it for himself, and he seemed to be healing at an accelerated pace. With their son as God (who popped in just about every day for game night, movie night, popcorn, to snuggle his teddy bear, to eat Krunch Cookie Crunch and find the toy in the box, to go out shopping for groceries with his dads) there certainly wouldn’t be any problems. 

As Sam went to go brush his teeth, and then throw his first pile of laundry into the wash, he just sat on the dryer, contemplative.

He should teach Jack. He’d started at one point, even reading up on how to handle gifted children. Yes, he’d learned about his powers, and hunting, but he was three. There was so much more he needed to know, and the chance of regular schooling had never existed for him.

Throughout the day, Sam finished his laundry, waiting in between the loads by watching movies in the Dean Cave with his family.

“Sammy, I can’t believe you’re being so responsible,” Dean mused, a little bit of disbelief sharp in his tone.

Sam gave him a flat stare, which made Cas let out a chortling sound. “Dean, I’ve always been responsible with chores.”

Dean shrugged. “Not always. I’m the one usually doing the cooking and cleaning.”

Sam put a hand out, arguing, “Yeah, that’s ‘cause you like it.”

His brother tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Yeah, you’re right. I do. Speaking of, I think the library needs to be dusted.”

The credits were rolling for the movie, and Cas took care of turning off the TV and the player after popping the disk out. He put it away in the entertainment center, and then he followed Dean out.

Sam went to his room to fold his clothes, enjoying how soft they were, how clean they were. He’d been able to luxuriate with them; using fabric softener, dryer sheets, a strong and fresh smelling laundry detergent.

Afterwards, he went to the library, compiled a few books, and some articles and lessons on his laptop, along with notebooks, a pen, pencil, and a highlighter, and he prayed to Jack.

Jack arrived immediately, raising his hand in greeting, smiling so brightly.

“How are things?” Sam asked.

“Good. They’re good.”

“So… I thought, maybe, you should do school,” Sam surmised, rubbing the back of his head. “You never had the chance, and you’re… in a way… technically a toddler. I think it’d be nice for you to learn some subjects.”

Jack’s smile grew, and he took a seat beside him. “Of course, Sam!”

So Sam taught him, and Dean actually decided to teach Jack literature. Sam was smiling at that. He’d always known Dean was a book worm when it came to classics and ancient texts. Now he had time to relax and explore that more.

Sam started off with teaching Jack math, and then switched to the sciences. Castiel stepped in to teach him history. Then, at Jack’s request, Castiel added Latin and Enochian to his classes. Sam was able to help a great deal with that.

Jack would visit for his classes every day, and he’d laugh with his dads, and hug them, and even help Dean and Cas with chores. He let Sam do his laundry and go clothes shopping for him as well.

They were relaxed. This was the domestic life, and Sam never wanted to give it up for anything.

[malfoysqueen54]

Beginning Of The End  Part 1

Dean X Reader

Warnings: Illness, cussing.

Dean had known her seven yrs, how could he not know, not be able to tell. How could someone he would never look twice at change his life. What happens when he changes hers before it ends?

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Y/N was a lot of things but mainly, she was the Winchester’s research assistant. However to Dean, most of the time she was sarcastic , biting, homely and unpopular. Technically he didn’t know her like the others did, she wasn’t the woman anyone would notice when she walked in a room. Yet, even though he and Sam had known her for the same amount of time, going on seven years, his little brother knew her better. 

It led to the conversation in the bunker library one night between the brothers after watching her leave. Y/N never really looked up, never spoke to Dean directly unless she absolutely needed too. Her behavior had suddenly changed towards him and once his mind started working, it piqued a curiosity. Why was she like that with only him? What had made her change around him? She had never pulled punches when it came to their few encounters before.

Dean set his beer down and looked at his brother who was still buried in a book. “What’s Y/N’s deal?” It was an odd, left field question.

Sam set his book down, brow furrowing confused, “What do you mean?”

“Well, we have known her the same amount of time, yet I know nothing about her,” Dean replied like he finally realized that himself.

Sam gave a soft laugh, “Well that’s because you don’t Dean. She has no patience for your bull in a china shop personality. Plus, it’s not like you even notice her 90% of the time she is here. No need for you to know her. She isn’t your type.” Sam shrugged and picked his book back up.

Dean’s face twisted in an offended manner as he slapped his beer down. “Hey, I am not all about looks!” He exclaimed pointing at his brother which got him a dry derisive look.

“Ok I am not ONLY about looks. She has always been snappy with me though. It’s off putting.” He pursed his lips picking up his beer once again.

A snort from the taller brother garnered his attention. “Right, Dean. Sure, that’s what it is.”

The elder Winchester slammed his beer down again. “ I am not vain about women,” he protested.

Sam actually looked kind of pissed as he slapped his book down. “Dean, she isn’t voluptuous enough for you. You wouldn’t care if a  woman couldn’t recite the alphabet,if she is pretty, it doesn’t matter,” Sam shook his head, “you would still screw her. You don’t have meaningful relationships beyond a few hours or a night. That’s just you. Plus, Y/N has no time to waste, so she doesn’t bother with vain romantically self-centered males.” Dean was put off by his brother’s words, and peeved tone.

“I am not, I can have a meaningful relationship and they don’t have to be a ten,” he snapped in response. Irked that his brother thought so low of him. He chose not to drag a woman into this life with him. The uncertainty, the danger, the consequences. He had a heart, he could love, but he steeled up a wall to prevent that years ago. His decision.

Sam shook his head, “Does not matter Dean, truly. She wouldn’t give you the time of day, she is good at protecting herself.”

“Woah, Woah, what does that mean?” Dean asked, taking his feet off their resting spot on the table and leaning on it towards his brother.

“It means she knows better. You would never look at her twice, even with her crush on you.. She is the strongest woman I know. Everything she has and is going through. You can’t tell. She is here as soon as we call with whatever we need, every day, every crisis, anything we need,” his little brother almost growled. “So, what now? Years later you suddenly realize she is there and happen to ask, fuck you can be a dick sometimes.”

He was flabbergasted, he blinked furrowing his brow. “Wait, a crush? On me?” he asked pointing to himself.

“Well yeah, it’s why she steers clear and stays in the shadows,” Sam replied with pursed lips.

“Also what exactly has? Or is she going through?” he asked.

Sam clenched up like a clam with that one though. His face slackened and his lips smacked shut shaking his head, “none of your business.”

“No, no! You tell me.” He followed his brother who was packing up to retreat to his room. “What’s up with her? She can tell you and others but not me?”

“You don’t talk to her, Dean,” Sam whirled, snapping on his brother. “You don’t even notice she is alive more than half the time!”

Dean stopped in his tracks. “Of course I do,” his face twisted. “I always see her or notice her. What is up?”

Sam scoffed and sighed. “Not in any way Dean, you don’t.” He paused looking to the floor,“You should at least appreciate her because before long, she won’t be around.” Sam’s eyes met his brothers. “She has cancer, Leukemia.” With that bombshell he turned and walked away from his elder sibling, leaving Dean gobstruck. 

Y/N did not look ill. She never showed signs of health issues that he remembered. His brow creased as he looked to the ground trying to flush through his memories of her in the bunker. Quiet, reserved till prodded, besides hunting or fighting. She was always there, did everything and anything they needed. Deans hand ran over his mouth in shock, she couldn’t be that sick, could she?

“Why is she living with this, why doesn't she just get Cas to heal her?"

"She wants to live her life the way it was intended to be," Sam said simply. 

"Well thats fucking stupid." Dean took another pull from his beer.

Sam scoffed, turning to leave. “Not really if you consider it. Look at our history.” Then he disappeared down to his room to research leaving Dean to stew in his thoughts.

Over the next few weeks, Dean watched Y/N discreetly, but his eyes were trained on her. She seemed pale at times, but not all of them. She breathed shallow it seemed. Breathing issues; after researching, seeing the things he did and asking an aggravated Sam, he realized she was in treatment. Chemotherapy was ravaging her system, yet there she was smiling with the fellow hunters, and his family every day. Him, he noticed it once he really looked, she wouldn’t show it but she left any room they were in alone together, she went out of her way to avoid him, from speaking to eye contact. If she had information, she asked someone else to relay it. It made him think, this confident, well besides when it came to him, woman was struggling personally and never talked about it unless prodded. Well, from what Sam and Castiel says. She never brought anyone down, she always had an answer, and maybe it was an everyday look but she was beautiful. She just didn’t feel she was. He recognized that insecurity in her eyes. That is one thing he could see. Dean knew it was probably because of her illness, also if Sam was right, it was because of her crush on him. The man that only dated 9’s and 10’s , when it came to women. He huffed heavily letting his head fall back to the wall behind his bed, he had to do something.

That is what led to the encounter in the kitchen. Y/N and Sam were making sandwiches for everyone laughing, which ceased once he entered to grab some beers.. He looked at the two of them and she switched her feet nervously betraying her unease. 

 He watched them for a second before opening his beer.  He took a gulp of it and started a conversation. “So, y/n how have you been?”

Sam and her both looked at him like he was crazy, pausing what they were doing, which made him rear his head back some.

“What I can’t ask?”

“No, you can, you just never do,” she replied snarkily, “but I am fine. Thanks for asking.” She then returned to her task of sandwiches.

Dean bit his lip “What are you doing Saturday?” He questioned, suddenly getting an idea. Sam and Y/n both turned back to him. Sam’s eyes widened when he realized what his brother was doing.

 Y/n looked at him, “Nothing.” She wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

“Well, you think we could go out then?” He asked, leaning on the counter.

She looked confused. “No.”

She said it so simply. Like the idea was absurd. He was taken aback by that. He saw Sam shaking his head behind her back. “What? Why not?” Dean continued though.

“Did you lose a bet or something?” was her reply.

Dean chortled. “No! Why?”

She finally turned to him, eyeing him. Sam was motioning not to do this emphatically. “Because I am nowhere close to the realm of females you date Winchester. Plus, you don’t know, and barley speak to me.”

“That is also on you, but it doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”He smiled pointing towards her and ignoring the glare from his brother. She just looked at him- skeptical. “Please?” Dean added with that charming smile.

She sighed, “fine. Saturday.”

His grin was huge. “Saturday. I will pick you up at six?”

She nodded and then turned and left stunned by what just happened. He watched her walk away smiling till Sam smacked him in the back of the head. “What the hell, Dean?”

The elder shrugged. “What’s that for?”

“Really? This is not going to go the way you think” Sam shook his head. “Just, don’t hurt her.” With that he turned and left the room, leaving unfinished sandwiches. Dean couldn’t understand what was wrong, why this was a bad thing. He could take her on an amazing date, they could have a great time. Why was it bad that he could do that for her? It was the least he could do. Little did he know Sam was right.

@thorne93​ @pegasusdragontiger​ @my-proof-is-you​ @emoryhemsworth​ @winchest09​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @magellan-88​ @waywardbeanie​ @katehuntington​ @atc74​ @anathewierdo​ @janicho88​ @talesmaniac89​ @deanwanddamons​ @superfanficnatural​ @flamencodiva​ @jensengirl83​ @smol-and-grumpy​

[anika-ann]

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.4

Learning to Breathe

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

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?)    Word count: 2600

Summary: You must get on the road so things finally start moving. One little thing tho - you really need some clothes of your own. ...yay?

Warnings: swearing, amnesia, Dean being Dean being themselves

The briefest guide to SPN characters of Team Free Will (at the end of the post)

Story masterlist

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You grew tired of staring at the screen after a while. There was so much information to look up, but you didn’t even know what you should be looking for. You had to mentally confirm Dean’s earlier words – brains were weird, like really freaking weird. You couldn’t remember your favourite drink or food or the reality of soulmates. On the other hand, you knew how to operate a tablet and what the Internet was. The names Natasha and Ryan popped up in your mind with no obvious reason, Rogers downright striking something in you.  

You wondered if any of those had to do something with your soulmate; your mind always ended up with him (and you were ninety percent sure they were a ‘he’), still fascinating you.

You shut the tablet down and eyed the couch. You knew you weren’t tired enough to fall asleep, your brain was too frantic for that, not to mention you had been sleeping (read dead, apparently), so you had your fill, but you didn’t have too many options. Your feet itched to take a walk, but you resisted – Sam had been right, you couldn’t just walk, less so in the middle of a night. The alarm on a nightstand read 4 a.m. You had no clue when Sam and Dean were usually getting up.

You didn’t know the men and their behaviour was puzzling you. They seemed to have never met you before, yet they were inclined to help you – with no outlook for a reward. God only knew why they were doing what they were and maybe quite literally the God. Castiel claimed to an angel after all. They had spoken of monsters. Who the hell were these guys?

It was hard to doubt their words – with little knowledge and unreliable sources on the internet, there was neither confirming nor denying their words. Then again, seeing Castiel just vanish into a thin air was pretty convincing.

You felt a headache starting to build up and decided to lie down on the couch at least, not even daring to hope for getting a shut-eye.

You were out in no time.

Gentle voice of a man you couldn’t remember guided you into the dreamland while whispering senseless words; there was one though that struck something deep inside you, making you jolt awake with a gasp and a faint pleasant taste on your lips.

“Doll…” the soft sigh followed you to full consciousness, echoing in your ears, tingling your spine.

“Morning, Natasha,” a different male voice greeted you and you yelped, spinning its direction, memories of yesterday events flooding your brain.

The tall long-haired man standing in the bathroom door was Sam and the man sitting on the bed, looking like he just woke up, short hair sticking in every direction and expression utterly confused, was Dean.

“S-sam,” you stuttered, your mind elsewhere.

Doll. Doll.

It definitely sounded like an endearment. A pet-name. The man’s voice was laced with emotions, gentle and warm, powerful and tender. You knew him. You must have known him, his name was on the tip of your tongue, begging to roll off and yet no sound came out when your lips parted. You blinked several times, chasing your dream, unable to add neither a name nor a face to the voice.

Your chest tightened, making it hard for you to breathe in, an inexplicable fear squeezing your lungs, sudden tears gathering in your eyes.

“Natasha?” Sam’s voice sounded from distance, strangely muffled. “Natasha? What’s wrong? Can you hear me?”

Your eyes automatically snapped up when a gentle hand appeared on your shoulder; Sam’s face was blurry, making you blink the salt droplets away.

Then, as if someone snapped their fingers, the suffocating feeling vanished and you welcomed the change with a fierce inhale.

“Natasha?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you panted. “I’m fine. I’m okay. Sorry to scare you first thing in the morning,” you tried to smile at him, probably failing.

He gave your shoulder a hesitant squeeze, his green-brown eyes mirroring concern. He exchanged a glance with Dean, who seemed way more awake than a minute ago.

“You good, kid?” he threw at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

Kid? Fire Princess? Sweetcheeks? What would come next? The ‘doll’ one? You hoped not.

Funnily enough, the addressing brought you back to reality better than anything else, your mind set straight; well, as much as it could be when you still didn’t know your own name.

Dean behaviour towards you was different than Sam’s and you couldn’t tell whether you liked better or not – it was just… different. And it ignited a spark inside you.

“I’m good, dad,” you hummed back, raising one corner of your lips, this time succeeding.

“Looks like she’s alright,” Dean smirked at Sam and the taller man rolled his eyes.

“It was just… a strange dream. It was probably nothing,” you explained, which caused Sam to finally release you. You found yourself missing the soothing weight of his hand and wondered what it said about you.

“Okay. We should get something to eat and get on the road. Dean?”

“Food. Coffee. Then think,” the man explained, making you chuckle. You stomach growled in agreement, blood rushing to your cheeks at that.

“Sounds good.”

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Running the facial recognition brought no results, much to Sam and Dean’s annoyance. It was ‘all quiet at Castiel’s front’, which was a statement you didn’t quite understand, but you assumed the expression was a private joke.

In other words, you had no clue who you were besides your soulmarks, the made-up name and a pleasant male voice following you from your dreams – not that you shared that with either of the brothers.

The name on the other hand….

“Uhm…” you started intelligently, as Dean and Sam were finishing their coffee (and yours, because you found out that coffee was not quite your thing), catching their attention. “I looked up some names common in the US and… uhm, Rogers-“

“Okay. That’s cool. Common enough, not too obvious like Smith. Good choice, Nat.” Dean glanced at you briefly. “You don’t mind being called Nat, right? ‘Cause I will call you that, it’s shorter.”

You blinked, confused. Huh? What did Dean mean? “Good choice…?”

“Well, yeah. We need to make you an ID. We should be heading to the bunker…” Dean mumbled absently, staring into the cup as if he wished there was more of that disgusting liquid.

“ID? Like… a fake one? You can do that?!”

They could make a fake ID? Seriously, who were they? Was Dean and Sam even their real names? You tried not to panic, because they had been nothing but kind to you, seemingly genuine and honest, but… but.

“You need to have one. We could just drop you at a police station and call it a day, but we think it’s better if you stay with us. For that, you need an ID,” Sam hurried to explain and you honestly didn’t know how to react.

You didn’t like the idea of lying about your identity to anyone, then again, you couldn’t remember your actual identity and apparently had been brought back from the death, so you were out of options so to speak.

“Okay,” you sighed, ignoring the unpleasant knot in your stomach. “You talked about… a bunker?”

Which didn’t sound ominous at all. Or creepy. Nope.

What did they do for living again?

“Yeah. It’s our base of operations.”

“For?” you urged Sam, your shoulders tense. Here it came; the fearsome reveal of the truth. Sam sighed and eyed you warily, as if agreeing with your unspoken thoughts.

“This is gonna sound crazy… but the unhuman things we talked about? We hunt them. We are finding strange crimes all over the country and go there to investigate them, finding the ‘cause’, which usually is some kind of a… monster….”

“And you kill the monster,” you finished breathlessly, feeling your heart jump to your throat.

Wow. Wow. You had no idea what to say to that announcement. There was no doubt Sam wasn’t lying. Why would he even make up such thing? They were killing monsters… things that were hurting people. It was unimaginable, incredible and impossible to wrap your head around, but strangely, it kinda…. made sense.

It only meant one thing.

“So… you’re heroes,” you exclaimed breathlessly, astounded.

The brothers stared at you blankly, frozen at your words.

What? What did you say wrong? They couldn’t be offended at that, right?

Dean chuckled and patted your shoulder. “Thanks, kid. I wish more people saw it this way…”

“Oh,” you paused, your mind racing. Right. They were able to make fake IDs. They probably didn’t have the jurisdiction to do what they did. And they were probably impersonating police officers of something like that to ‘investigate’, which meant they were technically outlaws. The revelation should give you creeps… but somehow, it didn’t. Knowing the truth actually calmed your nerves.  It probably had everything to do with the fact that knowing anything at all was better that knowing nothing – which seemed to be the standard for you now. “Right. Your lives must be peachy. Thanks for having me nevertheless.”

Now you most definitely broke them, didn’t you? They looked like you broke them. Dean’s expression was wary as he stared at you blankly and you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

“That’s it?” he asked, his green eyes looking like seeing the bottom of your soul. Ha! Was that a thing? Could he see your soulmate there?

Never mind…

“Uhm… yeah?”

Dean turned to Sam who was watching you with equally weirded out expression on his face and met Dean’s gaze as the shorter brother spoke up again.

“I love her.”

Your eyebrows shot up at that, but you recognized he wasn’t exactly confessing his undying love to you. Yet, you couldn’t deny that both brothers seemed happy about your reaction. It was strange, but all of what they were apparently doing, the way they lived… it didn’t feel that unreal.

For all you didn’t remember about your life and the world in general, you couldn’t help a distant feeling that there was a certain level of insane you should be used to.

Momentarily, you were grateful for that, because otherwise accepting all of this madness might actually cause you to fold like a house of cards. Instead, you just shrugged when Sam looked at you, relieved.

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Breakfast absolutely was the most important meal of the day for Sam and Dean. You spent almost an hour with it, but you couldn’t complain – they fed you, they clothed you (though the way they did was beginning to be a problem, people stared and you didn’t really feel comfortable wearing that), they were patient with you not knowing shit… . You didn’t want to be too much of a burden to them; there wasn’t much you could pay them back with. At least not yet.

You were in the town of Clayton in Ohio. You somehow understood that it was in the United States, you knew there was such thing, but you were glad to have it shown in a map – not that it told you much. The names of towns and cities didn’t remind you of anything. Nothing seemed familiar.

It sucked.

Apparently, the famous bunker Dean had mentioned was in Lebanon, Kansas, which was about a 13-hour drive. You were horrified, but once again kept your mouth shut, knowing very well that you had no right to say a word besides ‘thanks’.

You obediently climbed on a backseat of a fancy black car, not forgetting to compliment it instinctively. Dean flashed you a pleased grin, patting his ‘Baby’ on the roof before taking the wheel.

Funnily enough, he pulled over after what could be five minutes, earning himself your puzzled gaze. Huh? Sam seemed equally confused until he looked outside, nodding and catching your eye in the rear-view mirror.

“So, Natasha… ready to do some shopping?”

You weren’t; apparently, Dean wasn’t either, because he excused himself, taking a beeline with the car to get gas and left you alone with slightly uncomfortable Sam.

“I… I promise that when you manage to… help me get on my feet anyhow, I’ll pay you back,” you said quietly, worrying your teeth over your lower lip.

Sam quickly fixed his expression, his face inviting once more. It made you feel worse. He was suffering just like his finances… wait, how did they get finances? People didn’t pay them for what they were doing, were they?

“Don’t worry about that. I’m just wondering if I’m the right person to help you with shopping.”

You chuckled at that, imagining Sam carrying tens of shopping bags.

“I won’t need much, Sam. In fact, I wouldn’t need anything really-“

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head, his long hair swaying around his head. It was cute. “You need your own clothes. Dean’s too big and… his wardrobe is not exactly for women.”

“Well, I probably should merge with the crowd, right? And you’re the only crowd I know, so…” You looked around the shop, a slow smile spreading on your face when you found what you were looking for. You held up a female plaid shirt, clearly surprising Sam if his confused expression was anything to go by. “What do you think?”

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Shopping wasn’t terrible; you only picked necessities, blushing like a tomato (did you like tomatoes?) when you headed to certain department Sam didn’t dare to follow you to. You didn’t bother with cosmetics – you could use theirs and as far as you were concerned, you didn’t need the particular set of supplies for women just yet.

It took you only half an hour, Dean already waiting in front of the shop in his Chevrolet, lightly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel in a catchy tune. He grinned a boyish smile when he saw you, not at all bothered by your presence and continued enjoying the music from the radio. He was downright adorable.

Two men built like rocks who hunted monsters for living and you both found them cute within an hour. They were incredible goofballs. You loved it.

“Look at you, all in plaid and yet looking like a woman,” he hummed and your cheeks coloured in intense red.

“Dean, shut up,” Sam scolded him, eyebrows furrowing as he circled the car and took the shotgun seat.

“What?” Dean complained, turning his palms up. “That was a compliment.”

“It was accepted,” you assured him and smiled at both him and Sam, which caused the driver gesture towards you as if he was saying ‘see?’ to Sam – he only rolled his eyes in response.

“You don’t mind music, do you?”

“Not at all,” you replied to Dean, not even considering a different answer. Even if had been annoyed at it, you sure as hell wouldn’t say.

“I might actually love you, Nat,” Dean threw over his shoulder, staring the engine. “Oh and we’re not heading to the bunker. I found us a case-“

A case? As in… a monster case?!

“We already have a case!”

“It’s witches, Sammy. I couldn’t ignore that.”

You caught Sam’s expression in the rear-view mirror, his nose scrunched in disgust, which spiked your interest despite the worries twisting your gut.

“Oh God, I hate those.”

“As do I, Sammy, as do I,” Dean agreed grimly. “It’s in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Oh and Garth agreed to make Nat an ID and deliver it to Bedford, which is on our way.”

Your lips parted in silent shock. What? That fast? Who was Garth? Also… just how much Dean managed to do while Sam was playing your walking wallet?

“Good. Thanks for taking care of that.”

“Thanks,” you echoed Sam’s words, too taken aback to speak out loud. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Sure thing, Nat. Sure thing. Now let’s get this show on the road.”

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Part 5

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Heya, lovlies!

I’m not posting another chapter for at least a week, because life, but I hope tha wait will be worth it. We’re gonna take a step back and see how Steve has been doing and how spy!Natasha is onto something. Thank you for reading!

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Tags: @cxptain​​​ @smilexcaptainx​​​ , @murdermornings​​​ @irepostthingsiwanttoseelater , @polarcrystall​​​ @eliza5616​​​ @rayofdawnworld @victor-criss-bish​​​ @skychild29​​​  @elysianecho​​​ @simmisblog​​​ @scentedsongrebel​​​ @orions-nebula​​​, @sergeantrosabellaswan​​​ @songofcosplay​​​, @ilovesupersoldiers​​​ @wxstedhexrt​​​ @silver-winter-wolf​​​ @guardian-tn @janieavalos  @vxidnik​​​, @patzammit​​​ , @annathesillyfriend​​​ @maravderofthephoenix​​​

Anyone wants in or out, shoot me a message or an ask :)) It’s (usually) no problem ;)

[laufire]

I wanted to say that I recently followed your blog and I am in love! The terror twins, werewolf Claire, and Belastiel are things I never knew I needed in my life!!! 💖 I was wondering if you had any thoughts on Emma, the half-Amazon daughter of Dean in the context of those AUs? She just deserves more love 💕 thanks for ruining such an amazing blog !!

Thank you! Those are all AUs that live very close to my heart. After Monday I'm done with exams (....... this year smh), so I hope I'll be able to dedicate more time to them and other WIPs, even if I'm also going to have to work lmao ^^U

Admittedly I have less headcanons about Emma than about the other kids in the show (my own OCs included asñdlfkajsdf. I still cannot believe I'm planning to write kidfic, technically speaking xD). Part of that is that we know more about those characters: Jack, Claire (even my OCs since they come from Ruby, after all), while Emma is in one episode during very little time.

Another reason is that, admittedly, I'm a lot more interested in exploring fatherhood for Sam and for Castiel, especially after seeing them with Jack :D, than I am with Dean (where I'm ambivalent tbh. It'd be interesting, for sure, but. Not the kind that *I* would find engaging to write). That, obviously, conditions which kids awaken my imagination more.

However, I found the Amazon lore in the show quite interesting, and would enjoy exploring it more in a fic someday, particularly with Emma -a character that's so tied with our main characters, with such a bizarre backstory.

Regarding those AUs: for now, I only plan to stick to s4-s5 for the Belastiel story. BUT I'm quite enamoured with it, and I wouldn't rule out writing "missing scenes" from other seasons. And Bela meeting Emma? I hadn't thought about it until your ask, but that could be fun to write, actually! I mean, Bela meeting a girl from a culture of daughters trained to commit parricide (in a pretty brutal way may I add)... it compels me, idk xD. So does the idea of Emma talking to someone who committed parricide for the reasons Bela did.

The werewolf!Claire AU is set in s12 so Emma wouldn't quite fit there, but it could be interesting to have the two of them interact (even if it's with regular ol' Claire) in a different fic. Same with Emma and Jack, the two weird miracle kids lol.

That leads me to the Terror Twins AU, because that's the one that's made me think more about Emma. I think a Sam that's already bonded with his half-demon twins might have more reticence regarding killing Emma, and that he and Dean (who in all fairness, I don't know if he'd been able to kill her) would've been more inclined to find other methods; by which I mean imprisonment, ofc. Which, you know. Still awful for Emma lol. But here it'd allow her to live, to bond with the twins (who'd be... idek with this show's timeline. Four? A little older if I decide to accelerate their growth slightly), with Jack, Claire, Sam, Dean, Ruby... etc. etc.

And given that messy relationships with maternal figures was what caused that WIP series, I'd love to write about that Emma eventually reuniting with her mother. IMO, like in canon, Lydia and the other Amazons would assume that Emma died and left to continue with their... thing. But perhaps news about an Amazon roaming the world reached them and they decided to investigate. Or perhaps Emma was the one that went looking for her mother in the next cycle (2 years, IIRC).

[440mxs-wife]

Christmas Surprises

"Dean?" you called out. "Have you seen those three red plastic totes? They have some holiday decorations in them," you explained. You wanted to avoid saying "Christmas" because that particular day has not always been the merriest for the boys.

"No, and I don't know what you're talking about, either. I'm trying to get some work done, so look for them yourself!" Dean shouted.

You grimaced, thinking of the large task ahead of you in searching all of the storage areas in the bunker. You had already searched through some of the rooms, so you went to a new one you hadn't looked through yet. At that moment, Castiel had popped in, and was leaning against the doorway when you came up empty.

"Hello, Cas! What brings you here today? Anything we can help you with?" you asked, with a smile.

"I was hoping to assist you, if I may," he smiled back, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

You looked deep into his blue eyes and blushed. "Th-that would be lovely, thank you. Two sets of eyes are better than one," you remarked. You have been harboring a secret crush on the angel that you didn't think anyone, including Sam and Dean knew about. Cas had saved your life when you were kidnapped by demons, who were looking for Sam and Dean.

"What are we looking for?" Castiel asked.

"There are three red plastic totes that have holiday decorations in them. Well, for one specific holiday, really. The one after Thanksgiving," you hinted.

He cocked his head to the side in confusion. "Black Friday? I didn't think you celebrated that day with such enthusiasm or decorations. I can't wait to see--" he started.

"No, no, Cas," you laughed. "I mean....Christmas," you whispered.

"Why are you whispering it?" he asked.

You looked around to see if Sam or Dean was within earshot before answering. "Because for Sam and Dean, that particular holiday hasn't always been one for celebration. It's one more reminder of friends and loved ones they've lost, of the Christmases they didn't celebrate for one reason or another. For me, though, Christmas was always a magical time. Back before I lost my family," you added wistfully.

You first met Sam and Dean on a hunt about 15 years ago. Your parents and sister were killed by this vengeful spirit when you were 17 years old. You had just moved into a new house, and had only been in it for a few months before it took your family. You were out with your friends that night, even though you were technically grounded. If you had been home, you would've been killed as well. After that, you trained to be a hunter and were successful in your solo hunts.

When you met the Winchesters, it was because of a case where a new family had moved in to your old house and had met the same fate. You did your research, and found out how to kill the vengeful spirit. Afterwards, the boys invited you to live with them in the bunker, and you've been with them ever since.

As you and Castiel moved from room to room, you told him of your favorite Christmas memories and about your family traditions. Your grandparents always had a flocked tree, which they would decorate with only blue lights and blue ornaments. How you always had to get up so early on Christmas Day, because you had to travel to three different relatives' houses that day. How it was tradition that every year, your dad would make that famous party mix with the cereal, pretzels and nuts.

"Wait, so your mother stopped putting names on the gifts and only put numbers on them?" he asked with a grin.

"Yes, and it was my sister's fault, too! She would look at all of the gifts and try to guess what she was getting. It annoyed my mother, because she liked the surprise. She loved seeing the reactions on our faces when we opened what she knew was the perfect gift," you explained.

"Did your mother assign one of you even numbers, and the other odd numbers? Something like that? How did she know who got which gift?" he asked.

"There was no rhyme or reason to the numbers. She assigned the numbers according to the order that she wrapped the gifts," you replied. "She kept the master list in her room, until it came time to unwrap gifts. Whoever passed them out called out the numbers, and she said who to give the package to," you said.

"That sounds like a perfect way to keep the element of surprise," Cas remarked.

"Yeah," you said softly. You wished with all your heart that your mother could be here with you. To see what you've done with your life, all the people you've helped. How strong and independent you are, thanks to her and your dad's guidance.

Sensing your mood, Cas came over to you. He put his finger under your chin and tilted your face upwards to look into his vibrant blue eyes. "I can sense what you're thinking," he started. "You wish that your mother could be here now, especially at this time of the year. Know this though: I am positive that she would be proud of the woman you have become. I myself am honored to be your friend," he finished, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles.

"Thank you, Castiel," you said quickly, blushing. "I am honored to be your friend as well," you replied, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek.

You didn't seem to object, so he kept hold of your hand as you continued on your quest. "Here's the last room. They have to be in here," you said as you searched the shelves. "A-HA! Here they are!" you exclaimed. You grabbed one tote from the shelf, while Cas took down the other two. Together, you went out to the main living area of the bunker to sort through the contents of the red totes.

You eagerly ripped the lid off of one tote, and found it was the one that held your ornaments. Every year, your grandmother would give you and your sister an ornament. She wrote your name and the year on it so you knew when she gave it to you.

Then there were the ornaments you had picked up for yourself over the years. These were mostly from small-town hunts, when you were browsing through the little shops on the square. You continued your grandmother's tradition of writing your name and the year you purchased the ornament.

You picked up each ornament and held it in your hand as memories worked their way to the surface. Cas watched the changes in your facial expression, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He could see you almost reliving the memories of when your grandmother gave you the ornament, and you thought about what each one meant to you. At a few points, you wiped away a couple of tears before they could fall.

Cas sat next to you and put his hand on your shoulder. "Lot of memories, huh?" he remarked.

"Yes, there are," you tried to smile through the tears. "Good ones, too. Hey, we need to get a tree! But, first we should decide if it should be real or artificial. Let's ask the boys," you suggested, holding out your hand to Cas. He took your hand, and when he reached a standing position, his face was very close to yours, noses almost touching. "I-I think I m-might have seen Dean go th-this way," you stammered, pointing to your left. Still holding hands, you went in the direction you last saw Dean.

"Dean? Where are you? I need to ask you something," you started.

"What? I was on my way to the showers, so make it fast," he finished, glancing at you holding hands with Castiel.

"I would like to decorate for Christmas. Yes, I know it's not your favorite holiday, but it would mean a great deal to me if we could. I wanted your opinion about whether we should get a real or an artificial tree?" you asked.

"How should I know? You are absolutely right, Christmas is not my favorite holiday. So, I don't care what you do," he retorted. Looking at Cas, Dean silently asked if he could talk to him in private. You released Castiel's hand and slowly walked back to your red totes.

"Cas, is there something going on with you two? You were looking kind of cozy, holding hands," Dean smirked.

"I don't understand, Dean, friends hold hands, right?" he asked.

"Yeah. No, buddy. Do you like her? I mean, really like like her?" Cas hesitated at Dean's question. "Come on, though, what's not to like, right? She's smart, she has a hot body--" Dean started.

Cas inched closer to Dean's face. "Do not speak about her with such disrespect," he growled. "Yes, she is smart, but she is also kind, caring and nearly always puts others before herself. Her beauty goes far beyond her physical traits because she also has a beautiful soul. She has the most sparkling hazel eyes that I could lose myself in, and the most musical laugh I've ever heard. Her smile lights up her whole face, and I could listen to her speak on end about any subject."

Dean held up his hands in surrender. "Whoa, Cas, just making an observation. You know what, though? Sounds like you love her, man," Dean remarked.

Cas pondered Dean's last statement as he watched his friend walk towards the showers. Cas decided to get Sam's advice on love. But first, he wanted to catch up with you after Dean had given you his "opinion" on a Christmas tree.

He found you sitting with your totes, putting everything back in the container. You replaced the lid and pushed it away from you in frustration. You leaned back against a pillar and stared at your hands resting in your lap. Cas sat down next to you, your shoulders touching. "So, have you decided whether we should have a real or artificial tree?" he asked.

"No, not yet, Cas. I'm a little tired right now. I think I'm going to take a nap," you said absently as you rose from your position on the floor.

"Are you sure you're all right? What about the tree?" Cas asked.

"Cas, you heard Dean. He doesn't care one way or another. In fact, I think he'd rather that I drop the issue entirely. Maybe I should," you said sadly.

Cas reached for your hand, taking it in his. "I don't think you should. Maybe you'll feel differently after a nap. If you want to sit on the couch....I'll sit with you until you fall asleep," he offered. You gave him a small smile and nodded, then the two of you walked over to the couch.

He waited until you sat down and got comfy, then he went to your room for your favorite blanket. He wrapped you in the blanket, then removed his trench coat. Cas sat down on the couch next to you, draping one arm across your shoulders and drawing you close to him. You rested your head on his shoulder and your hand on his upper chest, then closed your eyes. Cas threaded his fingers through your hair and whispered sweet words to you in Enochian.

When you had fallen asleep, Cas carefully extracted himself from your embrace. He laid your head on a pillow, placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and made sure you were covered in your blanket. He went in search of Sam, who was getting a snack in the kitchen. "Oh hey, Cas," Sam greeted him.

Cas said there was something he needed to speak to him about. Sam asked him if it had anything to do with you, at which Castiel nodded. "I believe I'm in love with her. How do I find out if she feels the same, and what do I do about it?"

"After what I saw out on the couch, I think it's safe to say she feels the same, buddy. Have you kissed her yet?" Sam asked. Cas shook his head, but Sam could tell that kissing you had crossed his mind. "Here's what you do," Sam said as he started to formulate a plan with Cas.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When you awoke, Castiel was no longer on the couch with you. Probably had angelic duties to attend to, you thought. Get real. He can't and probably doesn't want to spend every waking moment with you. You went to the kitchen for a bottle of water and a snack. As you passed through the library, you noticed a remarkably tall and somewhat full Christmas tree had appeared. The pine scent permeated the air and you got excited about the holiday again.

Sam and Cas came out to see you admiring the tree. Castiel immediately noticed the change in your thoughts and smiled. "Do you like it?" he asked, now standing behind you with his hands on your shoulders. "Sam and I went to Hoffman Tree Farm and picked it out while you were asleep," he explained.

"I love it! It's the perfect tree," you replied. You turned around and found yourself wrapped in Castiel's arms. "Thank you so much, Cas," you gave him a lingering kiss on the cheek and hugged him. "How about we go and decorate the tree?" you suggested.

"Sounds good," Cas replied.

The lights were put on and plugged in, courtesy of both Sam and Dean. You reopened the red tote that had your ornaments and started hanging them on the tree. You remembered that you had purchased some new ornaments in town, so you went to your room to get them. You had also bought some tinsel, which you always loved to see sparkle on the tree.

You handed a new ornament to each one of the boys, with the year and their initials on it. For Sam, his ornament was shaped like an open book. Dean's was a chef's hat, in honor of his famous burgers. Castiel's ornament was a honeybee with a Santa hat on it and a big cheesy grin.

Also among your purchases were ornaments for John and Mary. You handed them to Sam and Dean to hang on the tree. They were touched that you remembered their parents, and each gave you a hug. Cas winked at you in support, causing you to blush.

You continued to add ornaments to the tree, some old and some new. Feeling a bit mischievous, you took some tinsel and placed it in Cas' hair. When he didn't notice, you put a few more strands in his hair. Some must have drifted to where he could see it, because he turned around, only to see you with another few strands in your hand, ready to put in his hair.

For a moment, he looked upset, then he tried to return the favor by grabbing some tinsel and tossing it in your direction. You ducked just in time, so it landed on the floor. You stuck your tongue out at Cas, which he interpreted as a challenge.

He began chasing you around the bunker with the box of tinsel, intent on getting his revenge. "You'll never catch me!" you taunted, then suddenly realized you were backed into a corner.

"You were saying?" Cas teased, a wicked grin on his face as he moved closer to you. You tried to move to either side, but it was no use. Cas' legs were slightly spread apart, so you took the opportunity and dove between them. You scrambled to a standing position and the chase continued.

When you had reached the doorway back to the library, your foot slipped on some tinsel that had fallen on the floor. Cas swooped in and caught you in his arms. "At last you are my prisoner," he grinned. "Have you any last words before I pronounce sentence?" he taunted.

You looked up and saw a bunch of green leaves with white berries attached. You tilted your head in confusion. "Is that....mistletoe?" you asked.

Cas followed your gaze and confirmed that it was indeed mistletoe. "A Christmas tradition that Sam explained to me. One that I am very much looking forward to following," Cas said softly.

"Well, who am I to break tradition?" you asked breathily. Cas raised you to a standing position, but did not release his hold on you. At this point, your lips were only a fraction of an inch apart. Your heart was hammering wildly, and you were certain that Cas was aware of it.

The moment that your lips met, it felt like fireworks were exploding. You closed your eyes and melted into the kiss, which was deepening with every passing second. A small moan escaped your lips, further encouraging the angel to continue. Your fingers ran through his short, jet black hair, while his hand cupped your face and his thumb caressed your cheek.

"Oh, Cas," you whispered.

"Yes, my love, I feel it too. I've been dreaming of this moment for some time now," he admitted.

"You have?" you squeaked out. "And?" you asked.

He grinned. "Honeybee, I promise you. Reality is SO much better," he answered before diving back in for another kiss. 

When the kiss was broken, Cas leaned his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath. He took your hand and intertwined your fingers. "Shall we finish decorating the tree, my love?" he winked. You nodded, blushing slightly and walked with Cas back out to the library.

You saw Dean and gave him a hug. "What was that for?" he asked. "For helping with the lights, for making this truly a 'family moment'. That's what Christmas means to me, family. So thank you, Dean," you answered.

Dean quickly cleared his throat. "You're welcome, kid," he said gruffly. Gesturing towards Castiel, he said, "Take good care of him. He loves you, you know."

"I know, Dean. I love him, and I promise to take the best care of him, just as I know he will do the same for me," you replied softly.

[fanfic-corner]

Writer Castiel

4/12/20 - I have wanted to be a writer since I was ten years old, so maybe I’m biased here, but I absolutely adore the idea of Cas being an author if he lived a different life!

Tabula Rasa by Dangerousnotbroken on AO3. (78,240 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Bartender Dean, Past Relationship, Pervasive Themes of Memory, Magic, Canon Typical Violence, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of Past Child Neglect, Mental Illness, Witches, Ghosts, Bi!Dean, Bi!Castiel, Referenced Past Minor Character Death, Angst, Slow Burn, Memory Loss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Once upon a time, Castiel Novak had everything. He had a happy home life, a full scholarship, and, if he played his cards right, a promising journalism career. And on top of all of that, he had Dean. Then tragedy struck, as it tends to do, and Castiel lost everything. At thirty six, he’s got none of those things. He’s got no family to speak of. He’s got a job investigating purportedly true tales of the supernatural for a magazine no one reads. And worst of all he hasn’t seen Dean in nearly twenty years. So when research for an article turns him on to a witch who apparently grants wishes in exchange for stories, Castiel figures it’s worth the risk. If making a deal with a witch can get him Dean back, what has he got to lose?

Notes: This was absolutely amazing; both written beautifully and with a fantastic plot.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance on AO3. (31,820 words).

Tags: Horror, Psychological Trauma, Domestic Violence.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Notes: Excellently written, made me cry, and the ending was brilliant. Technically it isn’t tagged as Cas being a writer, but he does write some poetry throughout, and I couldn’t help myself.

Lost and Found by whelvenwings on AO3. (7,762 words).

Tags: Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Demisexual Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “Chuck Shurley? Sure, I’ve read his books. Kinda Vonnegut, but like, Kilgore-Trout Vonnegut, you know?” Dean took another gulp of his whisky, and smacked his lips like an adult. The guy sitting beside him at the bar, however, did not look suitably impressed. In fact, he was staring down into the bubbles of his cider, not even noticing the way that Dean was smiling at him, giving him the eyes. “I thought his stuff was pretty good, in a kinda metamodern way,” Dean added airily, and a little more loudly. The guy only nodded gloomily. Dean almost clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in frustration. C’mon, dude, I’m trying to impress you. Twenty minutes of talking and all Dean had to show for it was a weird first name, a series of dour stares and the strangest need to know more about this – Castiel.

Notes: This was written so well that I wanted to cry at Cas’ story of the stars, even though it wasn’t particularly sad. Now I want to go and stargaze with someone.

The House on the Ocean Road by coffeeandcas on AO3. (111,351 words).

Tags: Single Parent Castiel, Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Baggage, Hurt Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Car Accidents, Past Character Death, Adopted Children, Mentions of Suicide, Slow Burn, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Near Death Experiences, Hospitals, Explicit Sexual Content, POV Dean.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is on the run from his life. He's done something unforgivable, and can't face his family or friends ever again. So he does what any rational person would do: fakes his own death and vanishes into the ether. Wandering aimlessly along country roads, he succumbs to the elements during a violent storm and wakes up hours later in the home of a stranger: a single dad living alone in an isolated beach house, with a haunting past of his own. Cas is sweet and shy, but welcomes Dean into his home and tells him he can stay as long as he needs, never prying into his life or asking him to spill his secrets. As they rapidly forge a close friendship, Dean finds that the quiet life by the ocean with Cas is exactly what he's been dreaming of. He only hopes his past never catches up with him.

Notes: This was so gorgeous and the plot was fabulous! Also, I loved Jimmy, and Dean and Cas as parents were adorable. Weirdest use of Cole’s character that I’ve ever seen though.

What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.

(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.

Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(

I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).

Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.

Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.

‘Star Wars is Overrated’ by leftdragonpainter on AO3. (38,186 words).

Tags: Soulmates, Pining, Drinking, Writer Castiel, Mechanic Dean, Neighbours, Swearing, Winchester Logic, Clueless Dean, College Student Sam, Awkward Dates, Dean Cooks, Castiel in Glasses, Slow Burn, Injured Sam, Fixing Cars, Smut, Costumes, Drunk Texting, Temporary Amnesia, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: When Dean Winchester turned sixteen he was disappointed by the words that appeared on his chest. He never expected that it would take so much to find his soulmate. He never expected to not remember meeting them...

Tags: Every time I thought I knew what was going to happen in this fic, something completely different happened, which I loved. 

Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet. 

Darkly Dreaming Dean by Duckyboos on AO3. (29,008 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Alternate Universe - Police, Detective Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, Serial Killer Dean, Alternate Universe - Dexter, Established Relationship, Murder, Top Dean, Bottom Castiel, Anal Sex, Innocent Castiel.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester has the perfect apple pie life with his shy-but-sweet boyfriend in the suburbs. He has a steady, well-paid job with the LAPD and he’s charming and attractive. Really, he’s living the American Dream. It’s his extra-curricular activities that some may disagree with, as he’s also an accomplished serial killer. To date, his kills amount to around 36 and he’s never been caught. He’s employed by the law, remember? He knows how these things work.

*

A new serial killer arrives on the scene and despite the sloppiness of their work, Dean is intrigued by them and what they're trying to achieve, because their MO is the same as his; killing bad people. He makes it his mission to track the other killer down before the police do, and he’s left reeling when the 'Basin Vigilante' turns out to be someone a lot closer to home than he could have ever imagined.

Notes: I sort of watched Dexter a few years ago, and I absolutely love the idea of Dean as a vigilante serial killer. I only wish that the synopsis was a bit different, so the end was more of a surprise.

Finding Home by Desirae on AO3. (42,828 words).

Tags: Baker Dean Winchester, Writer Castiel, PTSD, Past Childhood Trauma, Childhood Kidnapping, Mistaken Identity, Dean Whump, Castiel Whump, Best Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester lived a quiet life running his bakery. Aside from family, Dean had no desire to let anyone inside. The more people you cared about, the more you had to lose; A hard lesson he'd learned at the tender age of eight when Dean’s best friend was kidnapped right before his eyes. Dean was forever haunted by the event, although he hadn’t realized quite how much until Emmanuel James Milton breezed into his life; waking his sleeping heart with a complete lack filter and achingly familiar eyes. An author, with no family and traumatic past of his own, Emmanuel never felt like he belonged anywhere until he walked into The Honeybee Bakery and met Dean. It’s not long before they find out that there is a reason for their profound bond.

Notes: It was obvious what was going on here from the start, but that just made it even cuter as they fell in love again.

I think it is a shame we didn’t get more human Cas content, but I guess it is too late now. I hope you enjoy these fics, and if you ever have a specific list you want me to make, feel free to ask!

[chipper9906]

Bound To You - Chapter 11: Always Happy To Bleed For The Winchesters

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 7,338

Overall Word Count: 84,673

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (11/?)

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The smug, knowing look that crossed Claire’s face was not one Dean was expecting at his stuttered answer (if it can even be called an answer), the young woman turning to Kaia with a roll of her eyes and a good-natured slap to the arm. “See, what did I tell you? Knew he’d do it eventually…”

“Uh… do what?” Dean asks.

“Oh, not much,” Claire says with a grin much too sly for Dean’s liking. “Me and Kaia just had a bet going on which one of you would confess to the other first. I bet Cas would do it first. Kaia bet you’d do it first, but I said you were way too emotionally constipated to manage something like that.”

“You just cost me ten bucks…” Kaia mumbled in Dean’s direction.

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Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

  The second time Dean rides as a passenger in the Impala since… the incident… is different from the first time. That car ride home was nothing less than awkward, of stale silences and anxious side glances from his brother.

This time? Dean has a smile on his face. The mood is light, the silence replaced with soft rock blasting from the cassette player, of airy laughs from Eileen whenever he taps her shoulder from the backseat and tries to sign the lyrics to a song he’s taken a particular liking to, and Sam’s grunts of telling him to knock it off and stop distracting him; even when he’s got a smile on his face, too.

To put it simply… the hope is palpable. They’re celebrating like they’ve already got Cas back. Like they’ve already won.

Dean tries his best not to let his nerves at that show.

“You really should have let me call Jody ahead and let her know,” Sam throws at Dean over his shoulder as the sign for ‘Sioux Falls’ flashes by them.

“You telling me you’re not looking forward to seeing the look on their faces when they see me like this? And find out that Cas is chilling up here with me?” Dean retorts.

“But did you have to knock my phone out of my hands?” Sam complains, turning the Impala towards the exit ramp of the highway. “Concrete floors aren’t great for fragile glass screens, you know.”

“Your nerdy ass loves any chance to tinker with toys. I gave you a reason to replace your screen. You’re welcome.”

‘Considering you two live off of scammed credit cards, you’re very care-free with your expensive electronics.’

‘Thanks to Charlie, we don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff anymore. Nothing better than scamming credit card companies, Cas. Bastards do all they can to bleed people dry.’

‘If you say so. Perhaps you’d see it differently if you were actually earning a wage.’

‘Oh God, I forgot you didn’t properly get to ‘meet’ the us from the other world… They got paid to hunt monsters, and you know what? I’d rather live off credit card fraud and be myself than be… whatever the hell they were… assholes had their own damn plane…’

‘Are you saying you wouldn’t want your own plane?’

‘Don’t like flying Cas. Prefer to keep my feet on the ground, thank you very much.’

‘You don’t like flying?’

‘Hell no. Trapped in a stuffy metal tube with hundreds of other people, babies crying throughout the whole damn flight, eating overpriced and stale snacks? Oh, and the fact that I’m not in control of the plane whatsoever? And even if I was - if something were to go wrong? Not much you can do but hope you go quick.’

‘Oh. I suppose it’s different for me. I love… um, I loved flying. Plus there’s the fact that we as angels were designed for flying whereas you… were not.’

‘Yeah… and you have a few billion years’ experience over me with flying. Probably as natural to you as walking.’

‘Hmm… I suppose that’s where angels and humans are different. Our ability of flight… it’s part of who we are. A major part of what makes up our true form is our wings. The ability to travel the entire globe, even to anywhere within the Universe if we so pleased – in the span of a second? I’ll admit, it was something I took for granted.’

‘You still miss your wings, huh? I mean, I know you still have them, but…’

‘But they’re broken. It’s okay Dean, you can say it. And, yes, I still miss them. I always will. But it gets easier. You adapt to these things. You learn… there’s more important things.’

‘Yeah… that’s… that’s some words to live by, Cas. Kind of wish I could have seen your wings. I mean, I know you did the whole shadow puppet thing when we first met to show off – and don’t deny that wasn’t what you were doing; I got that smug face of yours seared into my brain. Hell, not even just your wings. I wish I could have been one of those ‘special people’ who get to see your true form.’

‘You… you do?’

‘Course I do, Cas. Sure, I think of you and I see Jimmy’s face, and… well, Jimmy’s face and his body are you now, in a way, but… I don’t know, you’ve seen both my physical form and my soul, and then… I’ve never been able to see the real face of the angel I’ve fallen for.’

‘I don’t think you’d truly want to see me… an angel's true form is… ‘unsettling’, to say the least.’

‘Cas, I don’t care if you’re really ‘the size of the Chrysler building’ and have multiple animal heads like Zacharia did. You’re Cas. You could be in Jimmy’s body, in some random dude's body, your true form, whatever. It doesn’t matter to me. So long as I know it’s you in there? I’ll love whatever is staring back at me.’

‘…what if I was possessing Sam?’

‘Not only did you ruin the moment, but you made it super weird. I’m kinda impressed.’

“What are you two gossiping about now?” Sam’s amused voice brought Dean back into the present, realizing with a startle that they were already pulling into Jody’s driveway.

“Eh, nothing much. Cas just wanted to know If I’d still bone him while he was possessing you.”

“What?!” Sam spluttered, slamming on the brakes a little harder than he intended.

‘That’s not what I meant!’

“That’s messed up, Cas!” Sam turned wide-eyed to face Dean, his startled and disgusted look boring straight through to Cas. “I hope you told him no, Dean!”

‘Technically, you haven’t said no-.’

‘NO, Cas! I would still love you, but that is a line I am not willing to cross.’

“What the hell is happening?” Eileen had her arms braced against Baby’s dash, not at all expecting the rather sudden stop.

“You don’t want to know,” Sam signed towards Eileen, giving Dean one last offended look before switching off the Impala’s engine.

Sam and Eileen had only just transferred Dean from the Impala into his wheelchair when the front door to the Mill’s home swung open, an already welcoming smile plastered on Jody’s face as she took in the sight of Sam and Eileen.

“I thought I heard the Impala’s obnoxiously loud engine,” Jody joked, leaving the front door open a crack as she steps out into the driveway. “Where’s-,”

Jody’s face dropped as Sam shifted to the side, catching sight of an oddly cheerful-looking Dean Winchester sat within a wheelchair. She hadn’t meant for her mouth to drop open the way that it did, or for her mind to fully expect for Dean to jump straight out of the wheelchair and all three of them to burst into laughter at her reaction in what would be some sick prank. But he doesn’t. Instead, he wheels closer to her, the cheerful smile on his face wavering as the seconds tick by.

“Okay Sammy, maybe you were right… Probably should have warned her…”

“What is…” Is all Jody can get out at first, clearing her throat and shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the situation. “What happened?”

“Now that is one hell of a story…” Dean says with a half-hearted laugh. “And it ties into the reason we’re here.”

“I did want to tell you first, but Dean decided he wanted to be an asshole about it,” Sam offers, giving Jody an awkward wave. “Oh, and… this is Eileen.’

“Hello…” Eileen greeted the sheriff with a wave that was somehow even more awkward than Sam’s.

“Right… well, um… you should probably come in…” Jody says, glancing back to the front door. “I’m guessing you’re not just here to catch up?”

“Afraid not. We, uh… we actually need to speak to Claire, too.” Sam said.

Jody frowned at that, crossing her arms across her chest as she stared them down. Typically, when the Winchesters needed to speak to you, it was either because you were in trouble, or they were about to get you into trouble. “…What for?”

“It’s probably best Claire joins us first. Just so we can get the whole story out in one go.” Sam tells her.

“You’re telling me that the reason Dean is… you know… ties into you needing Claire?”

“Sounds weird, but yeah,” Dean says.

Jody can only sigh at that, uncrossing her arms and waving at them to follow as she turns back towards the Mill’s family home.

“You boys do like to test me…”

 * * *

Dean had never felt so out of place. Sam and Eileen were sat comfortably on the couch in the living room whilst he was sort of just… off to the side in his wheelchair. Yeah, he could have sat on the couch if he wanted to, but a) he’d rather not be squashed up against Sam and Eileen, and b) …he’s too lazy to move back and forth from the wheelchair.

Plus, even though he feels bad for how distraught Jody looked at the sight of him, he still kinda wanted to see Claire’s reaction.

Sam’s right, he is an asshole…

Speak of the devil, those bounding ‘taking two steps at a time’ footsteps stomping down the stairs could only be those of teenage angst, two other pairs of footfalls following just behind, though much calmer than the ones of the blonde-haired girl that appears in the doorframe leading to the living room.

“Sup dorks-,”

It seemed that Claire is taking after Jody more and more every time that Dean sees her, considering the fact that her expression is pretty much identical to Jody’s, her eyes drawn to Dean sticking out like a sore thumb in the room.

“I know,” Dean says as seriously as he can. “I just get more handsome the older I get, don’t I?”

Claire was so frozen in place that Kaia, who had been following just behind, nearly ran into the back of her. Kaia’s eyes widened upon seeing them, partly hidden by Claire with a hand hanging onto Claire’s sleeve as what could ever be a comforting gesture for Claire, or an attempt to ground herself.

“Oh my God…”

“Nope, we took care of him,” Dean joked.

“Jack took care of him,” Sam corrected him. “We got our asses handed to us.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on then,” Jody’s voice booms from the bottom of the staircases, striding into the living room and brushing past Claire and Kaia as she went. “Apparently, we’ve got a story to hear.”

Claire finally snapped herself out of her frozen trance, taking a few timid steps into the living room with Kaia following close behind as usual. “How bad is it?” She asked Dean, unable to tear her eyes from his limp legs.

“I can’t walk so, you know, not great. Still got my arms and the use of little Dean though, so-,”

“Let’s not get too detailed,” Jody cuts him off, holding out a hand to stop him with a grimace. “Did you… did you break your back?”

“More like shattered. But, uh… probably best we go from the beginning, like Sam said.”

“Wait…” Claire stopped Dean before he could start, her eyes darting between all three of them. “Where’s Castiel? And no offense, but uh… who’s this chick?”

“Claire!” Jody scolded her surrogate daughter. “It's not a crime to remember manners every once in a while, you know.”

“I’m Eileen,” Eileen answered, the off-rhythm tone of her voice getting Claire to raise her eyebrows in recognition.

“Oh! Are you, um… hard of hearing?”

“Lost all my hearing as a baby to a banshee,” Eileen answers. “I can read lips, though.”

“A banshee? Does that mean you’re a hunter, too?” Kaia piped up, starting to shift away from her hiding space behind Claire.

“Born and raised, pretty much,” Eileen answers.

“We met Eileen a few years go on a banshee hunt – the same banshee, actually,” Sam adds. “She, uh…”

“I was killed by a Hellhound set on me by the British Men of Letters,” Eileen finishes the sentence Sam struggled to say.

“Oh…” Claire is just about able to get out, staring bug-eyed at the female hunter in front of her. “And now you’re…?”

“Don’t worry, she’s alive. And human,” Dean reassured them. “Sam went all witch-mode and brought her back.”

“You… Sam, you did what?” Jody spluttered in her mom voice.

The power of ‘the mom voice’ had Sam instinctively cowering in submission. “The spell was mostly completed already…”

“Okay…” Claire butt in before Jody could scold Sam for dabbling in witchcraft. “So… where’s Jack and Cas? Could they not make it…?”

“Technically… they’re both here, in a way,” Dean says with a grin.

Sam sends yet another classic bitch face his way. “Dean-,”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop being cryptic,” Dean mutters in defeat. “So… you remember when Jack got sick? After he died… Cas found him in Heaven. Along with the Empty… Cas decided to be a dumbass and make a deal without telling us. Jack came back and… Cas’s life was exchanged for it.”

The grief-stricken look that passed across Claire’s face had Dean scrambling to continue. “He’s not dead! Not right now, anyway. He, uh… he sacrificed himself for me. Death was coming for us – and I’m talking the literal Death here – and Cas used his deal with the Empty against her.”

“Wait, I’m confused-,” Jody interrupted Dean’s story. “What exactly was the deal Castiel made?”

 “He took Jack’s place in the Empty. Except, the Empty decided it wanted to be a dick about it. It would only take Cas once he ‘experienced a moment of true happiness’, so…”

“So… Cas forced himself to experience a moment of true happiness to… save you?” Claire asked. “How does that work?”

“The Empty… kinda had a grudge against Death. When Cas summoned the Empty to us, the Empty took Death along with Cas.”

“Oh… and, um… the moment of true happiness? What was that?”

Dean’s words froze in his throat, reluctant to leave his lips. There was something about the fact that he was saying it to Claire… the daughter of the guy his angel wears… he could only hope she didn’t find it too weird…

“Well… uh… he…”

The smug, knowing look that crossed Claire’s face was not one Dean was expecting at his stuttered answer (if it can even be called an answer), the young woman turning to Kaia with a roll of her eyes and a good-natured slap to the arm. “See, what did I tell you? Knew he’d do it eventually…”

“Uh… do what?” Dean asks.

“Oh, not much,” Claire says with a grin much too sly for Dean’s liking. “Me and Kaia just had a bet going on which one of you would confess to the other first. I bet Cas would do it first. Kaia bet you’d do it first, but I said you were way too emotionally constipated to manage something like that.”

“You just cost me ten bucks…” Kaia mumbled in Dean’s direction.

“Excuse me-,”

“The only way I could see you making the first move would be to kiss Cas at some random ass time, panic that you did it, and then run away,” Claire told him, counting the events on her fingers.

“I…” Damn, she was probably right… “Uh… you knew?”

Claire scoffed at that, feeling comfortable enough to walk further into the room and drop down into the armchair opposite, leaning back against the cushioned pillow with her arms crossed. “Please. I don’t have many memories of my dad, but I remember the way he would look at my mom. Cas has the same damn look when he looks at you.”

‘Well… it IS his face…’

‘Yeah, and that probably freaks her out a little so… maybe not mention that?’

“Hey, me and Eileen had a bet going too!” Sam says jovially, the amused smile on his face slipping away as he caught sight of Dean’s fiery glare. “Sorry…”

“Alright, alright, everyone knew me and Cas had a thing for each other before either of us did. We got it…” Dean grumbles, copying the moody teenager opposite by crossing his arms, glaring at the concealed smiles of the others in the room.

Claire perks up as she picks out something Dean had just said. “Uh… did you just say we?”

‘Time to shine, Cas…’

Jody, Claire, and Kaia startle at the piercing blue light that overtakes Dean’s eyes, unsettled by the unnaturally blank and tense posture that comes over Dean. Three pairs of frantic eyes shift over to Sam and Eileen, only relaxing marginally when they see the two aren’t phased by what was happening.

The blue slowly fades away as Dean slumps back into his chair, shaking his head and blinking sluggishly as the disorientation of possession switching clings to him. He raises his eyes up, settling on Claire with a light smile that was oddly familiar to the teenager, yet looked so foreign on Dean…

“Hello, Claire.”

She didn’t know how, but she knew straight away. Perhaps it was the strained, constipated sounding way he spoke, or his voice dropping deeper (which she thought was impossible already), or the way Dean’s eyes had lost that playful and joking edge they usually held with her, replaced with a much softer and more… more fatherlike look.

“Castiel? Is that… is that you?”

“It is for now, yes,” Castiel answers. “Dean and I… we are currently sharing possession of his body. To repeat Dean’s earlier words, Dean decided to ‘be a dumbass’-,”

‘How dare you-,’

“-during a hunt and got himself injured.”

“Like… ‘shattering your spine’ injured?”

“More than that,” Sam says darkly, gritting his teeth against the harsh memory of that night. “It was a pack of Vamps that had been around for a while. And when I say a while, I mean our Dad once tried hunting them. One of them managed to get ahold of Dean and it… it shoved Dean into a rebar.”

“The rebar pierced through his back and into his chest,” Cas embellished, the others grimacing at the image. “It punctured his heart, along with a lung. And, as you can imagine, it did some devastating damage to his spine. Fortunately… Dean made the decision to pray to me. Dean saved me from the Empty, and in return, I saved his life. But… my grace is running low. I used a majority of it healing Dean’s wounds, but it wasn’t enough-,”

“I thought your grace recharged itself?” Claire asks.

“It does, usually. I’m not entirely sure the reason for it, though I believe it may be connected to Heaven’s weakened power… Either way, it’s still not replenishing itself. In fact… it’s doing the opposite.”

“You’re running out of your grace?” Claire leans forward as she says this, her brow pinched in worry. “What does that mean for you? Will you…”

“I could die. Or I may live in Dean’s body, forcing him out and killing him.”

“Oh… And, um… what happened to… to my dad’s body?”

Castiel frowned at the way Claire’s voice seemed to shrink on itself as she asks him this, for a moment seeing the frightened little girl that stood in the doorframe, asking for her daddy as an alien being takes him away from her forever.

“That’s the reason we’re here, Claire,” Castiel tells her. “I know I’ve taken so much from you already. And now… I have to ask more of you again.”

Claire shuffled uncomfortably under Castiel’s intense and sorrowful gaze. Kaia is by her side within seconds, hovering near the armchair as she senses Claire’s clear discomfort. “Is this going to be dangerous?” Kaia asks on Claire’s behalf.

“No, it shouldn’t be,” Cas answered, unable to see Sam looking uneasily at him in a quick side-glance. “I am asking you… for your permission; your permission to use your father’s body once more as my own. We believe it might be the only way to keep me alive, as transferring me to another vessel may just use up the last of my grace, but seeing as I already had your father’s permission…”

“Right…” Claire mutters, clearing her throat and dragging her line of sight back up to face Dea- no, Castiel. “I’m not going to lie to you Castiel, it’ll always be kind of weird for me. But… I know Dad’s up there with mom, and that they’re happy, and… asides from my actual dad, you’re the closest thing I have to one, so… If this means I don’t have to lose you too, then yeah. You have my permission.”

Claire stubbornly fights back the burning tears in her eyes at the watery smile Castiel gives her, always taken aback to see the once stoic and hard-ass angel showing such raw emotion.

“Thank you, Claire. There’s… one more thing I need to ask of you.”

“Actually-,” Sam interrupts, much to Cas’ surprise. “There might be two things…”

Both Eileen and Cas frown up at him, racking their brains to try and remember the extra ingredient that they apparently needed from Claire.

“We found a spell that might be able to re-create your dad’s body without needing his soul,” Sam begins to explain to Claire, ignoring Eileen and Cas’s inquisitive stares. “One of the ingredients requires a vial of blood from a relative of the vessel. And… you’re the only surviving relative that we know of.”

“That… seems easy…” Claire says, suspicious at how simple this was all sounding.

“That one should be no problem, but uh…” Sam sighs, switching his gaze over to Castiel. “Listen Cas, I didn’t want to bring this up back at the bunker because I kind of had a feeling you’d shoot it down before I could even ask Claire.”

“…Sam…. What are you talking about?” Castiel asked, already dreading the answer.

Sam sighs deeply once again, tearing his gaze away from Cas and back to Claire. “Thing is, we need to use Cas’ grace for the spell. Problem with that is that there’s not much for us to use, and… we don’t really know what could happen if we don’t use enough. The last time this spell was used, the spell caster used pretty much all of the angel’s grace. I’m guessing we need all the grace we can get, and um… I was thinking about it, and… you see, the thing about possession is that the angel typically leaves a piece of their grace behind inside the previous vessel. And, if I remember right… Cas once possessed you.”

“No,” Castiel said sternly, the harshness in his tone making everyone in the room startle at the reminder of the powerful angel in their presence. Castiel knew what Sam was getting at. He knew what this was leading to.

“It’s worth a shot, Cas,” Sam argued, not backing down from Castiel’s ticked off glare. He holds Castiel’s gaze for a few moments before breaking it, turning back to Claire as he continues. “There was a time when I was possessed myself by an angel. We were able to use a, uh… kind of like a big needle to extract the grace from me-,”

“And it nearly killed you!” Castiel spat out. “We might not even need that much of my grace for the spell. Sam, it is not worth the risk-,”

“We don’t know that. And we won’t go all the way, Cas,” Sam assured him before turning desperate eyes back to Claire. “We won’t, Claire. I promise we won't. We managed to extract some grace from me without killing me. It won't extract all of Cas’s grace, but… that extra bit of grace from you could be the difference between this experiment failing, or saving Cas’s life. It’s all up to you, okay? If you don’t want to do this, we won’t force you into it.”

Nearly everyone in the room looked uneasy at Sam’s plan. Hell, even Sam didn’t look like he liked his own suggestion, but mostly… it was a look of desperation, of understanding, patiently waiting when you’re on the edge of your seat waiting for the answer. Claire got to take this all in, along with Dean’s – or Cas’s, she supposed – conflicted grimace, unable to meet her eyes.

“What about this makes it dangerous?” Jody’s voice broke the tension. “You mentioned a needle?”

Sam nodded his head, reaching down to the duffel bag by his feet and unzipping it. All eyes in the room focused on him as he rummaged through the bag, their faces paling at the imposing metal syringe Sam held in his hands.

“The Grace has to be extracted from the neck…” Sam tells them, his own face twisting into a grimace at the reminder of his own experience. “That’s what made it dangerous. To get all the grace… you need to push the needle in further and further. But we’re not going to do that, okay?”

Sam placed the syringe to the side, picking up on how Claire was unable to tear her gaze away from the menacing instrument. “Cas can monitor you the whole time, right Cas? We’ll keep to a safe level, extracting what we can.”

Claire nodded her head, just barely noticeable, her eyes drifting across the room as she sits, lost in thought. “And… doing this… it’ll help you?” Claire directed the question at Castiel, her eyes briefly flickering up to meet Dean’s.

“I… I suppose so, yes,” Castiel begrudgingly admitted. “Every piece of my grace would help, but Claire-,”

“Then I’ll do it.”

Castiel’s mouth swung shut at her answer, taken aback by the assured confidence in her voice.

Kaia looked to Claire, torn between wanting to say what was on her mind, but also wanting to respect her decision. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Claire insisted with a soft smile at the girl behind her. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Cas is looking out for me.”

‘Huh… you know, you and Claire have the same smile. I mean, I know it’s Jimmy’s smile, but… you smile at me like that, too.’

“I can’t say I’m feeling all that jazzed about this decision,” Jody says. “But… I also know it’s not mine to make. Just… be careful. Please.”

“I’ll intervene before even the slightest bit of harm could be inflicted,” Castiel assured Jody in that sincere grovel of his that the Winchesters know mean he’s ready to sacrifice himself if it comes to it. “I give you my word.”

“Okay, let’s just…” Claire tried not to shudder at the thought of what that needle would feel like in her neck… “Let’s get this over with…”

* * *

Claire was able to hold back a wince as the marginally smaller needle slid out from the crook of her elbow, barely even able to get a glimpse of the puncture wound it left behind before Jody was swabbing at it with the gauze from the first aid kit.

She did get a glimpse of the small glass vial filled with a dark crimson liquid that was once running through her veins, now held in Sam’s hands. He carefully screwed the lid back on the top, avoiding spilling any of what was – technically – a precious ingredient to them now.

“Never liked getting blood tests taken…” Claire mumbled, rolling her eyes at the brightly colored care-bears band-aid that Kaia stuck over her arm.

“Better than having to slice your palm open a few thousand times for spells,” Sam said, handing the vial over to Eileen for safe storage. “Makes handling weapons a pain for a few weeks…”

“Maybe you guys should just keep bags of your blood around or something for that,” Claire joked from the couch. “With how often you guys get injured, it would probably be useful.”

‘Doubt a bag of blood would have fixed my heart, but it’s the thought that counts.’

The joking smile on Claire’s face disappeared the second the ridiculously big syringe was back in Sam’s hands, the sight of that long and sharp needle sending chills up her spine.

A small smile of sympathy hitched at Sam’s lips at the clear apprehension on Claire’s face. He takes the few steps over to the couch where Claire was sat, followed closely behind by Cas as he wheels himself next to Claire.

“You might want to lie down for this,” Castiel tells her. “The procedure is… unpleasant.”

Claire swallowed nervously at his warning, shifting around on the couch until her head was resting against the mountain of pillows that Jody had quickly built for her, placing trembling hands across her stomach as she waits for something that’s going to be – well, ‘unpleasant.’

Her eyelids flutter shut at the comforting touch of Castiel’s hand on her forehead, able to feel the gentle hum of Castiel’s grace just beyond the skin of his hand. It was weird to think that it was searching through her body, taking account of her pulse, her rate of breathing, the smallest sign that something was amiss.

“Are you ready?” Sam’s voice filters through her thoughts. Keeping her eyes firmly shut, she nods her head. She didn’t want to see the needle again. She especially didn’t want to see it going in her neck…

‘Unpleasant’ was not the right word, she very quickly decided. In fact, ‘unpleasant’ was pretty damn far from the word she would use to describe the burning pain that takes over every other sensation in her body. ‘Unpleasant’ was a word used for heartburn, or when you scrape your knee falling off your bike as a kid.

She finds her hands digging into the couch underneath her, gripping onto the soft material in a vice-like grip. She has no doubt that Jody isn’t going to appreciate the gouge marks she makes in the expensive leather with her nails, but that’s a problem for future Claire. Right now, present Claire has to focus on remembering how to breathe, on keeping the scream that wants to burst out from her lungs settled in place, on easing pressure in her jaw as she clenches her teeth in case she ends up biting her tongue.

The needle slides in further and, somehow, the pain gets worse. She didn’t think it could, but oh boy, was she wrong. It’s a damn miracle she’s able to bite back the scream, but even her tightly clenched eyelids were unable to stop the few tears that squeezed their way out. There’s a hand brushing through her hair – likely Jody’s – and another hand gripping onto hers almost as tightly as the other is burrowing into the couch – one she knows for sure is Kaia’s. She almost can’t feel them, but… they’re distractions. They take away from the pain in just the slightest, but quite frankly, she’ll take as much as she can get.

“That’s enough.”

Dean’s voice had never been so relieving to hear, even if it was in that freaky deep voice that sounded like Dean trying – and failing- to mimic Castiel’s. You wouldn’t think the feeling of a needle slipping out of your throat would feel good, but anything was better than the agonizing pain she had just been going through.

“There. It’s over.” Sam’s relieved voice finally gets her to pry her eyes open. The sight of the wispy, cloud-like blue gas shifting around within the syringe is almost mesmerizing to see. That grace was inside her – still inside her, in fact – and she had no idea. She can never feel it, it’s just… there.

Seeing five heads peering down at her was rather jarring, even if she knew they were doing it out of worry for her. “Jeez, could you guys back up a bit? I promise I’m not dying…”

“Technically, she’s telling the truth,” Castiel said, his hand slipping away from her head. “I can’t sense any permanent damage done. You might feel somewhat weak for a few hours, possibly a day, but you should recover fairly quickly.”

“How are you feeling?” Jody asks, the worry in her eyes remaining despite Castiel’s diagnosis. She offers a hand to Claire, who gladly takes it, allowing herself to be pulled up into a sitting position.

“About as well as you can after having a needle in your neck…”

‘I think she takes after me more than you, Cas.’

‘You passing on your sarcastic deflections is not something to be proud of, Dean…’

‘Hell yeah it is. Being honest is for losers.’

‘Huh…. For so long, I worried that Jack was going to take after Lucifer… I should have been more worried he’d take after you.’

‘Damn. Don’t get me wrong, that was a great burn, but also… screw you.’

‘Actually, I was waiting for you to do that.’

‘Ha, that’s… Wait, wha-,’

“This spell of yours better work after all that…” Claire tells Sam, getting one last look at the vial of Castiel’s grace before it joins the other vial of her blood that’s tucked away inside Sam’s duffel.

“Thanks to you, it just might,” Sam responds with a grateful smile.

A flash of blue pulls Claire’s gaze away from Sam, glancing over to see the last second of Castiel before being greeted by eyes she knows belongs to Dean Winchester. She can only grunt in surprise when Dean’s arms are wrapping around her back, yanking her towards in a rather clumsy and awkward hug.

“That’s from both of us,” Dean says quietly in her ear, his arms tightening around her side.

Claire chuckled at the unusual softness Dean was displaying, along with the fact that Dean was very nearly dragging her off the couch with his hug. “You went back into the bad place to get Kaia back, so… only fair I did what I could to get Cas back to you.”

Another laugh bubbled out as she felt the heartfelt hug turn into more of a tense hold, patting Dean’s arm in sympathy at what she knew was going to be an awkward question from Dean once he pulled away from the hug.

“Uh, actually, about that… Me and Cas were kinda wondering…”

“Just try and reduce the number of times you two suck faces around me once you get Cas back,” Claire tells him, much to Dean’s – and Cas’s – horror. “It’s gonna take me a while to not see it as you kissing my dad…”

“I’m not too sure what I just walked into, but it sounds like a juicy topic.”

The new voice in the room gets everyone to jump, those with weapons tucked away pulling them out in a smooth practiced motion, training them on the unexpected newcomer. Sam’s eyes widen over his pistol’s iron sight, lowering the gun instinctively once his brain registers that the woman smirking over at them was someone he knew.

“Rowena?” Sam splutters in surprise, gesturing for Jody to lower her own gun – which she did somewhat reluctantly. “How did you-,”

“Just a heads up deary, your devil's trap has been damaged. Think you might have some little micey’s nibbling away at your floorboard.” Rowena tells Jody with a sweet smile and an equally sweet-sounding voice.

“Who the hell are you?” Jody asks, pistol still held firmly in hand.

“Rowena. As Samuel over there just stated.”

Jody’s eyes narrow at the stranger in her living room. Sam’s judgment was the only reason she had her gun pointed to the floor, and not at this fiery woman. “Okay, I’ll be more specific; what are you?”

“Centuries-old witch. Freshly created damned soul. Demon. The Queen of Hell.” Rowena’s impressively fake friendly smile only widens at the discomfort that washes over Jody with every new title she provides. “Take your pick.”

“Sam...” Jody takes a step back from Rowena, instinctively moving closer to where Claire and Kaia were – nearly bumping into Castiel in the process.

“What are you doing here, Rowena?” Sam asks her, sensing the need to defuse the situation before Jody starts shooting.

“What I said I would do,” Rowena answers, sauntering over the armchair Claire was occupying not long ago and dropping into it like it was her own home. “Imagine my surprise when my demons pick up on an angel's grace on Earth that’s not occupying a vessel. I sent some of my men to investigate and… what do you know, they report back to me that the Winchester’s are involved. I could only assume this is a part of your little plan to save the angel?”

“I have a name,” Castiel grumbles from his spot by the couch, mostly blocking Claire and Kaia from view.

“Oh! I suppose that means Dean’s been placed in the timeout corner for the time being?”

‘…the timeout corner…?’

“If you’re asking me if Dean is currently the one not in possession, then yes.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, you guys are friends with a witch?” Claire leans away from Castiel to try and get a better look at the witch that was currently sitting in her favorite chair.

“Ah, well, you know the saying,” Rowena mused out loud, leaning back against the comfortable pillows of the armchair. “Keep your friends close…”

“Yeah… and I’m guessing you’re a powerful enemy to have?” Claire asks.

“Good instincts, that one,” Rowena notes to Jody.

“You still haven’t explained why you’re here,” Eileen interrupts, bringing Rowena’s attention over to her. “You were able to sense Castiel’s grace and… then what?”

“As I said, I can only assume this is a part of your plan to bring back Castiel here. I did say I’d help, didn’t I?”

“You? Are willing to help them?” Jody asks incredulously.

“Aye. It’s only fair I help them after they got me killed.”

“Um… you say that like you wanted to be killed?” Kaia asks.

“Oh no, not in the moment, heaven’s no. But it turned out that dying was the best thing that ever happened to me. No mother should outlive her child, but… it’s only right that I should take over my son’s throne, isn’t it?”

“Your son? Your son was the former king of-,” Jody stops as her brain makes the connection, looking between Rowena and Sam in disbelief. “Crowley? Crowley was your son?”

“You’re acquainted, I presume?”

Jody huffs out a laugh at that. “If you call trying to kill me on the first date ‘acquainted’, then yeah.”

“Ah, that sounds like my son… Both the ‘killing’ part and the ‘trying’… poor boy had so many ambitions, just always failed to reach them…”

“Are you saying your son ‘trying to kill me’ is an ambition-?!”

“Alright, alright, let's -,” Sam quickly jumped between the two ladies to defuse the tension, sensing an argument that could only end poorly. “Yes, we found something. One of the Men of Letter’s – our grandfather, actually – managed to create a spell with the help of a witch back then, uh… Anikka Whitmore?”

“Ah, Anikka…” Rowena drawls out the witch’s name, shaking her head in what Sam could only assume was fake pity. “Shame what happened to the poor girl… She just needed to help people… had a soft spot, you see… Every witch worth her money knows that helping the needy just attracts unwanted attention. She found that out far too late, I’m afraid…”

“Yeah, we… we found the pictures…” Sam says with a wince. “Actually, I have the spell on me right now…”

Sam hurriedly searched through his jacket pockets, pulling out the little folded square of delicate paper and rushing over to Rowena to hand it over. Rowena took the paper with careful hands, long nails unfolding the old paper before taking in the written spell.

“Hmm… Ah, that makes sense… perhaps a bit risky using angel's grace, but… the human blood should help to temper the grace’s volatile power…”

“Does it… does it seem like it will work?” Eileen asks, unable to stop herself from worrying over the fragile paper crumbling away in the witch’s hands.

“I don’t see why not, considering it says here that the experiment was ‘technically’ a success… just not in the way this poor lad was expecting…” Rowena tells them, handing the spell back over to Sam – much to Eileen’s relief. “Except…”

‘Ah, dammit. Of course there’s an ‘except’. Another ‘but’, or ‘however’. Always something… ’

“I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, boys. But I have to say it. The amount of grace is… it’s a problem. The grace is essentially the power of this spell. It’s… it’s almost like the glue that puts the body back together. Creates new atoms, replicating DNA from the blood, then binds it all together. And since you said Castiel doesn’t have much of his grace left…”

Rowena’s sentence drifts off at the sight of Dean’s eyes flaring blue, watching as Castiel fades away behind green eyes. Those blank, unoccupied eyes quickly shift to ones of worry, of impending doom as Dean Winchester once again takes control of his body. “It’s not going to work…?”

“I’m not saying that,” Rowena said gently, keeping her gaze focused on Dean alone despite the four other pairs of eyes staring at her. “It’s hard to know for sure when I have never performed the spell myself – as well as it only being done once. There’s every chance this could work with the grace you have, but…”

“Don’t sugar coat it for me,” Dean insisted, his voice coming out weaker than he intended. “We need to know the risks.”

“If it’s not enough… the spell will break apart mid-way through. The body will begin to disintegrate back to nothing as the grace burns away, and once it's empty? That will be it. Castiel will be gone.”

“Is there anything you can do?” Dean asks. Though, ‘pleads’ would probably be a more apt word… “Something that can boost the spell?”

“There’s nothing I can do myself, no. The spell is simple enough, able to be cast by whoever. I’m afraid it won’t matter who casts it, as the power of the spell all comes down to one ingredient: the grace.”

“What about using another angel's grace, or-?”

Rowena stops Dean's blabbers with a shake of her head. “It has to be the grace of the angel that possessed the vessel. Unless another angel possessed the vessel?”

“Uh… that would be Lucifer…” Sam mumbled uncomfortably.

“Ah. Probably best not to go down that route…”

“So… how likely is it that… that this isn’t going to work?” Dean asks Rowena. “What’s the chance that…”

‘That I’m going to lose him,’ Dean thinks the words his mouth can’t voice.

“There's a chance,” Rowena's answer doesn’t make him feel any better. “But you want my honest opinion? Make sure you say all you need to before the spell. Don’t leave regrets.”

Rowena stood up from the armchair, feeling an unusual pang of sympathy in her chest at the crushed look on the elder Winchester’s face. “If you do make it back to the land of the living, Castiel? I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

And with that, Rowena was gone as quickly as she had come, leaving behind a room of uneasy stillness. Perhaps, in another world, Dean would roll his eyes at Rowena’s parting comment. He'd brush off whatever snarky comment Sam would add, perhaps even make a joke of his own, pretending he wasn’t picturing what that would be like; a private wedding, most likely, small and familiar, just the people he cares about most.

He doesn’t want to picture that in this world, though. Maybe even just a few hours ago, he’d let himself delve into such dangerous indulgences, of things he never thought he'd have. Hell, things he didn’t even know he wanted.

Now, though… what was the use of imagining such things, when in a few weeks he might just be falling asleep clutching the trench coat of who was once the husband in those dreams?

Next Chapter - - - >

[wishfullyeternal]

Crowley x Reader- Hellhound

Crowley x Reader- Hellhound

Words- 1210

Warnings: Violence, fighting, gore descriptions, angst, death, language

A/N- A kind of different fic I went for here, more angsty and dramatic then most of the fluffy stuff I have been writing, my requests are open as always and of course, exercise caution as you read, this is not the worst, but certainly not pretty. Love you lovelies!

“Fuck” you hissed under your breath, Crowley scolded you,

“Language missy! I told you not to get into any trouble with squirrel and moose while I was gone-” You interrupted him sharply,

“Fergus!” You started, clenching your teeth,

“I know what you told me, and guess what?” You shrugged your shoulders, causing Crowley to put one hand on them to keep them steady, he was currently tending to a deep gash a vampire gave you.

“I,” You lowered his hands from cleaning the wound.

“Don’t,” Looking him in the eye you caught a glimpse of those beautiful brown eyes. He flicked them red and pushed you down whilst you hollered,

“Care!” Crowley put both of his hands on your shoulders, keeping you seated. You went to push him away but was met with a searing pain in your shoulder.

“Y/N!” He growled, “I was going to clean it so I could heal it better, but since you obviously want to disobey me and my orders, which are for your protection” He added,

“I might not” You pushed back your emotions and stopped resisting, Crowley sighed softly.

“There we go darling, now let me tend to that gash before I heal it, then you can get something special.” He winked at you before looking back to your wound that had freshly reopened, not like it had really closed in the meantime. Blood dripped down onto your blouse and you rubbed your hand to your shoulder to keep from staining it to no avail.

“Darling, just let me work my magic, okay?” You nodded and he grabbed a piece of gauze and doused it in alcohol. Molotov Cocktail anybody? You thought to yourself. He put it to your cut with no warning and it left you hissing in pain.

“Bitch!” You instinctively pulled away,

“At least warn me!” Crowley shook his head,

“And they called you the strongest hunter in the midwest.” You bit back a retort and resorted to sitting in the chair, letting him work his magic.

“Would you like me to tell you everything I’m going to do princess?” He mimicked you in a high voice. You stayed silent.

“I’m going to heal your gash now, princess.” He put a soft hand to your gash and a familiar warmth left his hand, the pain suddenly dissipated and you were left with new skin to injure again.

“Now don’t get into any more trouble with the Winchester boys, I don’t fancy seeing you hurt and I also don’t fancy giving them another visit, seeing what they did to me last time.” He cringed in remembrance.

“I’ll be seeing you soon I presume,” You shrugged,

“You know where to find me,” You winked at him, he waved goodbye and just like that, he was gone.

A few weeks passed and soon you were, ah, what was it? Praying? Praying to Crowley? God, it sounded rhetorical, but you needed to know what that present was going to be. Crowley, to your surprise, popped right into your bedroom.

“Hello love,” You heard panting and realized that there was a hellhound next to him.

“Juliet?” You guessed, Crowley shook his head,

“No, not quite.” Crowley held out his hand for you to hold and put it onto the hound’s fur. It tickled your fingers and Crowley said to you quietly,

“It’s your present darling.” You gasped,

“Me?” He nodded, “You need something to protect you since the Winchesters are…” He paused, looking for the word,

“A little, self-concerned so-to-speak,” You pet the hound a little more while he explained,

“So, to combat them whilst I am out doing King of Hell duties, you get to have this lovely little creature.” The invisible hound sniffed your hand as Crowley put your hand to the hound’s head. He murmured a few words under his breath and took away his hand, a sliver of your power seemed to be seeping into the hound’s fur and suddenly it became visible. A beautiful black coat with the perfect amount of sheen. Piercing red eyes that were paired with the body and strength of an Alaskan Malamute, your favorite dog.

“Oh,” You paused, asking Crowley the gender,

“He’s beautiful,” You corrected yourself,

“Handsome” You petted him more and he wagged his tail, just like a regular dog.

“So,” Crowley stated, “What are you going to name him love?” You paused for a few seconds, looking over the dog, and then Crowley.

“Romeo,” You said, Crowley smiled, the first true smile you saw him put on.

“Oh, I knew you’d find the right name.” You hugged Crowley tight and he hugged back. You found out a long time ago that the cruel King of Hell was one hell of a softie.

“Hey!” Crowley picked you up and laid you on your bed, he kicked off his shoes and climbed in next to you. Romeo jumped on the bed as well and laid towards the end. You put your feet gently against his fur and relished the hellish warmth he radiated.

“Crowley he’s like a damn radiator” You pointed to him and he chuckled,

“They are from hell, you know.” You blushed and cuddled up against him.

“You’re lucky I love you,” You said against Crowley’s chest. Crowley sighed and cuddled you closer. Romeo got up and managed to squeeze himself between the two of you. You cuddled with the both of them and slowly but surely, through the warmth of two of the most feared creatures in hell, fell asleep.

To tell yourself that Romeo didn’t help you was a complete lie, you loved him. He helped defeat vamps, ghosts, skinwalkers, and banshee’s alike. He got a little beat up at times, but Crowley would heal him and he would heal at three times the rate of a normal dog. He also could take on a lot more than the normal dog, a deep gash that would be life-threatening to a regular dog would be just a scratch to him. To say you didn’t spoil him would also be a lie. You treated him like royalty, making Dean build him a doghouse (even though he slept in your room most of the time), giving him the best food, (and no, not dog food) even though Romeo technically didn’t have to eat, he enjoyed the activity. So when Dean was cooking, or Crowley was snapping in a meal, they knew to make another portion for Romeo. A few months passed and every day started the same.

“Romeo!” You called, he came barreling into the room in puppy-like fashion, sitting at your feet obediently.

“Who’s a good boy!” He wagged his tail erratically,

“You are!” You pet him all around and he pretended to bite you. You heard the door of the bunker open and listened to the sound of Dean’s footsteps down the metal stairs.

“Dean!” You yelled to him, you received no response.

“Dean?” You asked again, Romeo growled,

“Romeo? It’s just Dean.” Romeo didn’t back down from his protective stance and backed towards you, barking loudly. Dean appeared in front of you and had a completely blank face to him.

“Dean?” You asked him again, “Stop fucking calling me Dean!” He yelled, what the fuck you thought. This was not Dean, Romeo barked again, louder, growling and baring his teeth.

“Back your hellhound off,” Dean ordered,

“You aren’t Dean,” You yelled at him,

“Who are you!” Romeo barked again as Dean took a couple of steps towards you,

“I’m the angel, Uriel.” You sneered,

“I’ve heard of you,” You yelled at him again,

“You hurt my friend!” He nodded,

“And I’m here to do the same to you,” You quickly prayed to Castiel and called to Crowley. Uriel laughed,

“Castiel can’t hear you from here, I’ve blocked angel radio.” Fuck you thought. Romeo kept to your side and you pet him comfortingly. Uriel pulled a blade out of his sleeve and charged at you, Romeo charged back and bit him in the forearm. Blood poured from the vessel’s body and you called to Crowley for help whilst looking for something to defend yourself with. Deciding on a dagger from a table Sam had been researching on earlier suited you. You didn’t care at that point if he needed it or not but you needed to get the hell out of here. Romeo went to your side as you parried the hit of Uriel and countered it by stabbing him in the side of the stomach, he lurched in pain and spit out red crimson blood. Romeo bit him again and shook his leg relentlessly. You screamed as Uriel brought the knife to Romeo.

“Romeo!” You screamed, the dog yelped in pain as the angel blade went through his shoulder. It poked out of the other side, diagonally through his body, cutting through the tough muscle and fat that surrounded the joint. You heard a sickening squelch as the knife was pulled and suddenly Crowley appeared.

“Y/N!” He quickly seized Uriel and avoided his stab. Putting a hand to his head he knocked him out and teleported them both away.

“Romeo…” You whispered to him,

“Oh, Romeo…” He laid on the ground, blood pouring from the deep wound on his flank.

“Romeo, Romeo, Romeo…” You whispered the rest of the quote,

“Wherefore art thou Romeo” Tears pricked at your vision as he laid there. He lifted his head from the ground, seeming taking an immense amount of effort. He licked your hand and laid his head back down. You screamed in your head for Crowley.

Crowley! Please help, Romeo, R-Romeo is gonna… You couldn’t finish the sentence. Crowley didn’t come, and you were left with your hellhound, unable to do anything. A regular dog would die, he would die too, his blood seeping out onto the wooden floor. You kissed him softly and sang to him. You didn’t even like the song but knew that Romeo would like the words.

Romeo take me somewhere we can be alone

I’ll be waiting, all you have to do is run

You’ll be the prince and I’ll be the princess

It’s a love story-

Romeo laid his head down and closed his red eyes, his flank stopped moving and he slowly let out his last breath. He was gone. My baby, my Romeo. My love. He was gone. You began to sob uncontrollably. Your hands were shaking as you kept stroking the every growing cold body of your once beloved hellhound. You screamed, your voice tearing through the rooms of the bunker, echoing around the space. Creating a tense volume of tears and bloodshed throughout the room.

“URIEL!” You screamed you kept on repeating his name, crying into your dead hellhound’s fur. Crowley appeared out of nowhere, seemingly drawn to your outburst of such raw unbridled emotion.

“Oh love,” He stammered, “Oh darling,” You cried to him,

“Crowley, t-there’s got to be something you can do, can you heal him, you’ve got to. You have to save my Romeo.” Crowley frowned at you,

“Darling, there’s nothing I can do, he’s already gone. You know I can’t bring back the dead.” You cried into the ground, crumbling into a ball. Crowley picked you up and laid you in a chair in the bunker, away from the sight of Romeo. He grabbed a washcloth and began to wipe the blood of your hound off your hands. You stared at the red blood, somehow wishing it could stay so you would have some memory of your friend.

“I’m sorry,” He started, he lost his words and stayed silent.

“What about Dean…Is he okay?” You felt bad for not caring about your friend,

“He’s fine love, Uriel didn’t use Dean’s body, he made it seem like it was him.” You asked Crowley again,

“What about Uriel?” Crowley answered softly, wiping off the rest of the blood off of your hands.

“I’ll take care of him, I have him captured, don’t worry, mourn your loss. I’ll be here whenever you call, you know that.” He washed the cloth and lifted you off the chair. He led you to your bed and tucked you in.

“I’ll make sure Romeo is taken care of, you can bury him later, or cremate him, whichever you prefer.” You nodded,

“Thank you Crowley, for everything.” Crowley kissed the top of your head before heading out,

“There’s no need to thank me love, I’ll always be here.”