#cas would say the weirdest shit

[shallowseeker]

Dean, who sometimes fantasized about being admired, about getting real meaningful attention, like how in Tall Tales he romanticized a love interest saying: “looking at you is like staring into the sun”

God I mean

no one talks like that outside of cheap romance novels probably but but but—

If Cas did get flowery

if he did happen to break out the poetry

Or words like beautiful

Dean would’ve never recovered

[derelictheretic]

Siblings Q&A | 𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝕊𝕀ℕℂ𝕃𝔸𝕀ℝ𝔼 𝕊𝕀𝔹𝕃𝕀ℕ𝔾𝕊

Thank you for the tag @inafieldofdaisies ! I love any excuse to talk about my sibling OC's (plus my own siblings OC lmao)! I might do this for Pip and Cas and the 2nd gen Sinclaire kiddos later because this was super fun! 🤗🩷

Note from OP: This Q&A can be used for any family member/friend who's close to your OC!

1. Who looks the most like dad?

Dean groaned, head dropping and his hand rising. Michael and Remiel both pet his shoulders in sympathy.

"It's really only the nose—and at least yours is the small cute version of it!" Remiel offered with a nervous chuckle.

"Don't lie to me."

2. Who looks the most like mom?

Michael and Dean both point at Remiel, their mouth falling open in offence.

"What the fuck you guys?" They whine, their brothers shrugging in unison.

"It's only the nose, but it's smaller and cute so that's better right?" Dean grins.

"Fuck off, shithead."

"Love you too."

3. Who eats the most?

"Me, don't even say it I know it's me." Remiel turns their head, refusing to look at their grinning brothers.

"Yeah, when you remember to eat." Dean snorts.

"Their stomach is a black hole." Michael mused, Remiel playfully sobbing in response.

4. Who has been in the weirdest situations?

The three paused, looking between one another as they mulled over the question.

"These two," Michael then said, pointing to Remiel and Dean, "they always get themselves into shit somehow." He shook his head. Remiel and Dean both shoot him offended looks and he just rolls his eyes.

"I think we get ourself into the normal amount of shit." Dean mutters.

"Yeah." Remiel agrees with a pout.

5. Who sleeps the most?

"Remiel." Michael and Dean don't miss a beat, Dean wrapping an arm around Remiel's neck in a pseudo headlock. They slap his arm but don't disagree.

6. Mom and dad's favorite?

"Their favourite first baby cigs." Dean joked, making both Michael and Remiel snort in agreement.

7. Most stable romantic life?

"That would be me!" Remiel announced proudly, breaking free of Dean's headlock to lean over and grab James' hand; their partner who had been politely sitting off to the side in silence.

"I would argue Alexys and I are pretty stable." Michael muttered.

"Yeah but Remiel and James are practically already married and they're like.... Both lil rays of sunshine, I don't think they know how to have a fight." Dean gestured vaguely and Michael just hummed unimpressed.

8. Worst habit of each one?

"Sleeping too much." Remiel sighed.

"Fighting as a coping method." Dean coughed.

"Not reading instructions." Michael shrugged.

"His refusal to use a cane or leg brace." Remiel and Dean argued; Michael just shook his head.

9. Who's the most dramatic?

"Remiel." Dean said, Michael and even James nodding in agreement.

"Hey, what the fuck."

"It's true baby, sorry." James pet their hand comfortingly and they just huffed with a small frown.

"It's not my fault you two are emotionally stunted and I can't hide how I feel." They snipped.

"We didn't say it was a negative thing!" Dean laughed.

10. Who had a weird phase?

"Dean." Michael snorts.

"Shut your face hole Mike." Dean snaps, hand shooting up to cover his mouth.

"Are we talking about the angry emo phase or the sad musical phase?" Remiel grinned, Dean spinning around to cover their mouth with his other hand.

"I actually hate both of you, shut up."

11. Best cook of the family?

Dean proudly stuck his hand up and Michael and Remiel gave appreciative nods.

"Michael's the better baker though, I can't bake for shit."

"True."

12. Best memory together?

"The first time we all went to the local pool in our hometown together." Dean decides and Remiel and Michael mull it over before nodding in agreement.

"We were diving for the hairties and coins at the bottom of the deep end and pretending to be mermaids." Remiel reminisced with a fond smile.

"Michael did some cool dives, he wasn't cool enough to be a mermaid though." Dean nods to himself, Michael scoffing.

13. Worst memory together?

"Too many of those." Michael smiled bitterly, Remiel and Dean nodding absently.

14. Dream trip together

"Japan! Just—everywhere in Japan!" Remiel near shouted and Dean and Mcihael both chuckled and nodded.

15. Would you rather not being able to shower for a month or have the same clothes for a month?

"Same clothes for a month." All three agreed.

16. Who's the older one?

"Michael, the ole' bag of bones." Dean grinned, patting Michael's back heartily.

"Okay, infant." He scoffed.

17. Describe each other in three words

"Michael is... Dependable, strong and grounding. Dean is grouchy but thoughtful and caring." Remiel held up their fingers as they listed off the words.

"Remiel is kind, a bit naive and very passionate. Mikey's more of a grouch than me, but yeah super dependable and cool as hell." Dean grinned.

"Dean is reckless, stubborn and loving. Remiel is empathetic, lazy and creative." Michael smiled.

18. Role model?

"Michael!" Remiel and Dean exclaimed, Dean wrapping his arms around his middle while Remiel leant over him to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

19. Who usually has the worst ideas?

"Toss up between these two." Michael nodded his head towards Dean and Remiel who both gasped in denial.

"It's Remiel"

"No, it's you."

"Nah it's not."

"Yeah it is—"

20. A GIANT insect is on the wall, who's taking care of it?

"Me, these two are chicken shits." Michael smirked.

"I don't fuck with anything that has more than four legs." Remiel grimaced, Dean nodding solemnly in agreement.

no pressure tags: @adelaidedrubman @deputyash @simplegenius042 @megraen @clicheantagonist @socially-awkward-skeleton @strangefable @kyberinfinitygems and anyone else who feels like it!!

[autisticandroids]

I do have to say that if like. dean getting super weirdly involved in cas' dating life in a triangulation of desire sort of way does anything for you, house will be great for you. in like the second episode house comes up with Wilson and is like so who's the chick you're having an affair on, what is this, your third wife now? and Wilson is like hi house nice to see you too. now uh what the fuck are you talking about. and house is like you're wearing new shoes. is it the blonde in reception. is it the pharmacist. are you fucking the pharmacist for fun pills Wilson? like all jaunty and shit and Wilson is like what a man isn't allowed to buy new shoes? an house is like it's not just the shoes you're wearing a new tie. you have a tie for every day of the week and this is a new one and you never buy new ties and this one's especially brightly coloured. you're trying to look pretty at work. who's your girlfriend? and Wilson is like house I love my wife. goodbye. and thats their c plot for the episode. house badgering Wilson about his pretty new clothes and the women he goes sliiightly off schedule to hang out with and house keeps demeaning the concept of love and Wilson fondly rolls his big doe eyes and is only mildly annoyed at being Caught about it. cos yeah he did want to look pretty at work. the video of the c plot later in the show about house annoying Wilson about buying furniture in the weirdest gayest way possible is the reason I started watching the show btw. plus the 8 hour video essay series about the show that i watched one time

no i KNOW i know. like i Would enjoy it. but also good grief

[self-loathing-angel-of-thursday2]

Beautiful Spouse’s Rewatch Thoughts SPN 07x04 Defending Your Life

“He’s a Grade A freak. Not an S level” “How many times do they say to the other to “trust me?” “Just trust me bro” ”that’s some intense frogger shit right there” “They really take their LARPing seriously” “No, you’re not ok” “Why do the sketchiest hallways have the best lighting?” “Sam doesn’t know Dean killed her?” “I was about to say that. Fkn dad jokes, man” “double crappy” “You could always go to NA, but he doesn’t have a problem so it’s fine” “The fuck was that look for? OH nice” “That was easy” “Just burn the bones montage and moving on” “oh yeah” “Fkn dog juiced him” “KRISPY KREMES?” “OH THAT”S TOTALLY DIFFERENT BAG. BUSTED” “Oh it’s the same bag.” “We’re just over here examining Jensen’s bag” “What’s his problem?” “He doesn’t eat apples?” “He could start an orchard and call it Jensen’s Apples and make so many corny jokes” “the fuck” “These aliens have got some fkn good roofies, man” “If I was this guy, I’d be more worried about those 2 guys. You’re sounding crazy but these guys take you seriously?” “both” “What’s his problem?” Dean tends to drink a lot after Cas dies

Laughter

“Yeah these kids aren’t crazy at all” “Decent line for what it’s worth” “boobies” Dean just had like 6 shots

“She’s not his usual type. She’s the bait” “oh getting fucked by farm implements” “yessss it’s red. Mmmm. Dirt like properties. It hits the ground like dirt would. It must be dirt” “He looks drunk as fuck. He never looks drunk really” “Who got snatched?” “Oh” “Dude. Is this guy going to piss into the cushion?” “You fucked up now. Jesus Christ” “To be fair, it wasn’t their best salt line” “Oh a neat tiny little pile of dirt. One dixie cup’s worth” “Sam sniffs dirt. I know the apple orchard this came from. The one with the implements” “What the fuck” “He speaks English really good. God damn” “What a fkn dick” “This is the weirdest Egyptian costume I’ve ever seen. It’s a judge outfit but it looks like they put red hots on the thing, too. I’m hungry for red hots now” “Is this an important episode or something?” “I’m mostly impressed that Osiris knows shit about American courtrooms. I don’t know shit about American courtrooms” “Who’s next? Another brunette? The woman with the kid” “I mean, that’s not who I thought it would be” “some poor-ass intern had to go all through the episodes to make that montage” “What if you’re a fucked up person and don’t feel any guilt? Does Osiris still care?” laughter

“What the fuck” “I feel like he forgot his line, said that, and then just went with it” “What does that mean? 24 hours?” “So all these people went to a barn and got judged by American Osiris?” “Is this like the Virgin Mary in the salt line? See how the salt line is fucked?” stared at the salt line disturbance for 5 minutes and discussing what it looks like “That’s a fkn nice ass room” “Swanky hotel” “Can’t they go to the Meijer and pick up ram’s horn? They’re in Dearborn” “That’s more salt”

“That’s how I carry my salt in an old used white gas can” “Who the fuck came out?” “Why is he such a guilty bitch all the time?” “what a gassy bitch” “jerky” “Beef jerky” “Why did she zap out right away?” “he’s not a scuzz bag now?” “could have made an asswiping joke” “No I see Lucifer when I wipe my ass” “Of course you wouldn’t use that line for some ass wiping butt stuff”

[ineedfriendsss]

cas is sooo weird

whenever he finally found out dean reciprocates his feelings he probably started saying the weirdest shit in public to him and dean is also weird so he didn't give a fuck

cas would just be like "i wish you laid eggs so i could carry them for you" and dean's just doing heart eyes and it all happens in front of sam's salad and everything

[ihatedean]

oh my god I’m so happy to find a spn fan who likes persona series as well. My favorite game is p5. Have you ever thought of a spn persona au/crossover?

hasdjh hi!! it's so cool to find people that share ur interests in the wild♥ you didn't ask, but my favorite is P3P!! i'm a huge minako fan and played the whole thing on my old PSP like four times. started reload too but as much as i love the characters and the story everything feels empty without her. i'm coping, i miss her a lot.

regarding the persona AU: i would LOVE to see them entering the midnight channel. it would be so fun to see them solve a case like that + they'd look soo pretty with glasses<3 maybe instead of saving some rando it's cas & sam looking for dean in a wild west themed dungeon while dean's shadow drives them insane by saying the weirdest shit ever. basically demon dean but worse, putting up a performance for the midnight channel :D

also sam: hanged man. i can't say i have a solid headcanon for dean i just need to say sam WOULD BE hanged man

[collecting-stories]

Ride - Fezco [Euphoria]

Request: Not really.

A/N: Someone asked if I watched Eurphoria and then I said I would try it out for Fezco and I haven't seen all of it but I felt like writing this. I guess...let me know how this is?

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Of all the weird shit you did, this was probably the weirdest. Two days back from her third stint in rehab, this time court ordered, and you were volunteering to buy your mom’s drugs when she asked. “It’s not like it’s gonna stick anyway, Cassie,” you’d insisted when you’d called her, always hating to walk to the convenience store on your own. Late at night, you always felt like every noise was a person and it made you a little paranoid…a lot paranoid.

“It might,” something about her tone sounded shrill through the speaker on your phone, judgemental in that way that made you want to punch her teeth in, “you’re feeding her habit.”

“I’m feeding her habit? That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard. She’s 40 fucking years old Cas, if she wants to shoot up when she gets home that’s on her.”

“Yeah and on my parents when you were asking for a place to stay for the three months she was gone!” Cassie reminded you, as if she hadn’t gone to bat for you to stay with her.

“I’m here so, I’m hanging up on you.”

It wasn’t weird that you were buying your mom drugs, the guy she used to go to had practically been a surrogate father when you were in elementary school, nice enough to pretend he wasn’t selling your mom heroin all those times he came around the house. But she’d skimped a couple payments and he’d threatened to blow her brains out in the middle of the afternoon when you were eleven. She’d gone through a few others since then, settling on Fezco two years ago when her old dealer’s girlfriend got pissed they were sleeping together. The first time she’d asked you to buy from Fez, you’d been indifferent. You didn’t really know him but you didn’t really care to either. A dealer was a dealer, as temporary to your mom as she was to you.

The weird part of it all, was that when she asked this time you volunteered. You got changed, did your makeup, and straight up offered to buy for her, not even asking for money as you grabbed your shoes and left the house. Any sane person would’ve been hoping for this trip to work, third times a charm and all that, but not you. When she asked you were secretly thrilled, because it meant you got to see Fezco and damn it if he didn’t make butterflies erupt in your stomach and all that other gross stuff crushing on someone did to a person.

“Hey,” you greeted at the same time as the bell above the door rattled and you silently cursed at how dumb you sounded. Faye stood behind the counter looking at you as if she was confirming that you did indeed sound like a moron, awkward and stuttering. Had you never used your voice before?

Fezco, for his part, acted like he hadn’t noticed the stuttered out greeting or the odd wave you’d done. Instead he looked genuinely surprised to see you, or maybe you were just imagining that. It’s been three months since you’d actually spoken to him. What do you say to your mom’s drug dealer when she doesn’t need any drugs? It’s not like you were friends with him and you felt weird trying to be friendly, you weren’t sure what kind of line he drew between himself and clients. Not that you were the one using. “Hey, haven’t seen you around in a while,” he lied.

He had, in fact, seen you around more times than he liked to admit, if only because he’d been looking for you. He’d seen you at the New Years party whispering by the drinks with Cassie but not sticking around long. He’d seen you outside the shop the few times you’d stopped by, lingering on the curb while whatever friend you were with came in. But it’d been a little over three months since he’d actually spoken to you.

“My mom was in rehab,” you shrugged, adjusting the hem of your sweater as you spoke, hands fidgeting. “Which obviously, didn’t work.”

He nodded, slow and appraising before finally standing up and heading to the back. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done business right there in the shop before but he also wanted a few minutes with just you, no interruptions. You followed him passed the blonde at the counter who didn’t look up from her phone. “You been a’ight?”

“Yeah,” the nervous fidget is still there as you stand in the back with him, “oh, here,” you rooted the money out of your back pocket, momentarily reminded of Cassie scolding you earlier at school for never carrying a purse and always shoving your cash in various pockets of coats and jeans. The bills were folded up, a small wad clutched in your hand as you held it out to Fezco. You liked the lighting in the shop better than the lighting back here, you could see his freckles and the ginger of his bread and his green eyes. There was probably a designated place in hell for people who kept feeding their mom’s addiction because they were in love with her dealer. Or at least, you really really wanted to fuck him. Yeah, you’d take that. You briefly wondered if next time you showed up, without the cash, if he’d take that as a trade. You didn’t wanna actually hope that he liked you too, that seemed borderline impossible. But you weren’t bad-looking, surely he’d be willing to… “yeah?”

“I said, you good? You looking a little dazed,” he repeated, tilting his head to the side as he regarded you.

“Huh?” You wanted to kick yourself for zoning out, trying to cut through the fog to think of a believable excuse for spacing on him. You took the proffered dime bag, stuffing it in your back pocket. Maybe you did need a purse, “just thinking I should’ve ridden my bike or something, I hate walking in the dark.” You grimaced, annoyed that you sounded like a little kid. Who gets afraid of the dark?

“You want a ride?”

Yes, yes definitely you wanted a ride. And then you were off again, receding back into your brain where a ride turned into pulling off the side road and fucking him in the backseat. “Yeah, that’d be cool. If you’ve got time, I mean. I don’t wanna like, keep you.” Except that you very much did want to keep him.

He shook his head, “nah, I’m free.”

The car ride home was decidedly not the ‘fucking in the backseat’ fantasy that you had envisioned when he’d offered to drive. Still, you much preferred it to walking the short distance back to your house, especially because it meant an extra ten minutes with Fezco, even if they were spent mostly in silence. The first eight, you just ran over possible conversation starters in your head, until he pulled onto your street and you realized the ride was coming to an end.

“I saw you at the New Years party,” you mentioned and then frowned. Did he really want you mentioning that? Hey, I saw you beat the shit out of Nate and by the way it was so fucking hot I wanted to jump you right there. Probably not a great intro. “I was gonna say hi-“

“You shoulda.” He cut you off, pulling the car to a stop right in the middle of the street, “woulda made a better party.”

“I’ll remember that for the next party.” You would have to actually remember to go to the next party, though the promise of being in the same vicinity as Fezco was a plus.

“You good?” He repeated his question from before, “everything good with your mom?”

“Yeah, yeah I just, offered to…buy her uh…” you gestured awkwardly to him, “I wanted to-“

Whether it was the dark of the car or Fezco himself, the expression on his face was unreadable, something between confusion and misunderstanding, “you wanted to buy her drugs?”

“No,” you blurted out, realising what an absolute asshole you sounded like. You didn’t want your mom to be a drug addict, you just didn’t mind that it meant seeing Fez. “No, I mean…I wanted to…uh, see you.”

“Why?”

You would either die from embarrassment right there in Fezco’s car or you would spend the rest of your life replaying this exact moment with overwhelming regret but either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything in response other than, “I better get inside,” you pushed the door handle and it opened. You practically tumbled over yourself to get out of the car, foot catching on the rim and you fell backwards, ass hitting the pavement. “Fuck.”

The driver’s side door clicked and Fezco climbed out, going around to make sure you were alright, helping you back up on your feet and holding your arm a moment longer than he needed to. “You good?”

“Sorry, I’m…sorry.” You huffed, looking back at your house and crossing your arms. “I should, get inside…my mom’s probably tweaking or something.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. He’d only ever met your mom twice, after that it was always you coming around. If he was honest it pissed him off that she had you doing that shit for her but he’d never say it. He liked seeing you too much. The last three months felt like thirty years, surviving off glances. All that love shit Rue talked about with Jules. “You sure-“

“I’m fine.” You promised, “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, you know where to find me.”

You backed up, careful of the curb, saving yourself the embarrassment of falling on your ass twice in front of him. Fezco shut the passenger side door before going around and getting in the car, lingering there in the middle of the street until he saw you get inside, the screen door flapping shut behind you.

[wormstacheangel]

Suptober Day 10: Crossover/ @tootiredmotel follower celebration: Reunite

wc: 587 tags: scoobynatural

One moment they were all in the kitchen sharing memories, laughing about the weirdest shit that has happened to them, and the next, there was a mystery machine parked in the garage with the Scooby gang passed out inside.

“What?” Dean put his gun away to check on them along with Cas. Eileen starred with her mouth hanging open, asking if this was something she needed to get used to. Dean hopes not. “Get Sam!”

“Is this-?” Cas opened the Mystery Machine to hover his hand over Fred’s face. “But why are they not cartoons?”

Dean shrugged, opening the other door to check on the girls. “Dude, the question should be, why are they here? But shit, look! We got Buffy!”

“I thought her name was Daphne?”

“It is but the actress-you know what, never mind. Let’s just make sure they’re okay and figure out how they got here.”

Cas opens the back door to check on Shag and Scoob when Jack runs in with a big smile.

“They’re here!”

Jack runs over, his hand ready to say hello, but Dean stops him to explain that this could be a weird trap, but then he realizes, “Wait. Didn’t you just watch this movie last night?”

He nods, guilt written all over his face.

“Cas. I think I found the reason for our little reunion.” Dean tucks Jack under his arm to lead him to where Cas is petting Scooby’s head. At least the best character is awake.

Scooby was trying to explain what happened to Cas, who remembers him, but Scoob might as well just be barking--actually, that would probably be best. Cas could understand barking.

“Dean,” Cas turned to him. “I think he is trying to tell us something.”

Jack moved from Dean’s arms and ran to hug Scooby. “Hello! It’s so nice to meet you!”

Today is going to be a weird one.

“Dean! What the hell?” He hears Sam walk in. “Did you wish really hard or something?”

“I didn’t do this!” Dean defended himself as his brother came closer. “The kid did!”

Soon the gang was all awake, with memories of their last encounter intact. They all stood around the mystery machine while Jack apologized for taking the gang out of their world.

“Well, now that we’re here,” Dean is gonna think of him as Freddie Prince Jr cause he liked Freddie Prince Jr--maybe a little bit too much according to his hot face, but that’s okay, he also liked his wife-- but he talked too much like Fred for it to really work. Whatever, Fred wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulders and brought him in close. “Let’s have some fun catching up! Come on, Dean, let’s go to a malt shop!”

“First of all, you can’t leave the bunker with your famous faces.” Dean unhooked Fred’s arm from around him and made his way to stand next to Cas, who was too busy talking to Scooby and Shaggy to notice his boyfriend was having a bi crisis. “Me and Cas will pick up some grub while you guys stay here.”

“We will?” Cas turned to him while Shaggy was still mid-explaining about what happened to Scrappy-Doo.

“Yeah, buddy, let’s go.” Dean grabs his arm and leads him to the Impala. “Eileen is in charge!”

“Yes!” He hears her say. He’s also sure that the high five was from her and Jack while Sam glared at him, but he didn’t look back to make sure.

Today was going to be a long day.

[dothwrites]

Cas using Enochian pick-up lines on oblivious Dean. Dean doesn't get them, Cas feels rejected each time, and Sammy is done with it all! Can I have that fic, pretty please?

ah, this has been sitting here for a WHILE, so i’m sorry that i’m trash 

lost in translation

---

It begins when Dean is pathetically trying to impress his crush. 

Or at least that would be Sam’s take, if Dean cared enough to ask him. 

Dean would rather say that it began with a simple misunderstanding, one which could happen to anyone. 

He doesn’t ask Cas’ opinion of the situation (and Cas would say that’s the whole crux of the problem). 

Whoever has the correct perspective, no one would argue about the beginning of the affair. It starts one afternoon when Dean is contemplating switching Sam’s creamer with buttermilk, just for a break in the monotony. Cas is with him in the library, his customary suit and coat exchanged for a hoodie and a comfortable looking pair of jeans which Dean suspects used to belong to him (there’s something vaguely familiar about that hole in the knee, and it wouldn’t be the first time Cas has pilfered his room for clothing; several of Dean’s shirts have ended up upon the angel’s body. Cas always seems perplexed when Dean calls him on his thievery, plucking at the shirt with faint confusion--Oh this? I found this down in the laundry room a few days ago and thought it looked familiar, do you want it back? And the question is phrased so forlornly that Dean can’t help but allow Cas to steal another article of clothing out from under his very nose.). Cas dresses down these days. And slouches. Right now, his chin is in danger of disappearing into his chest. The sight delights Dean. There for a while, he hadn’t been sure Cas was capable of relaxing.

It’s an overwhelmingly quiet afternoon. It’s nice, because Dean loves to spend time with Cas when there’s no imminent blood or monsters on their horizons, but it’s also boring. Dean sneaks a glance at Cas over the top of his book. Cas seems perfectly content to sit all day reading some godawful thick, leather bound tome. Dean finds himself less than content, but he doesn’t want to leave Cas. He sighs, shifting in his seat as he pretends to read. After a few more minutes, he sighs again, this time with a little more spite in the sound.

(Dean’s about three seconds away from kicking his feet and whining I’m bored, but Cas doesn’t need to know that.) 

Cas mutters under his breath. Dean recognizes the guttural syllables of Enochian, which is Cas’ go-to language for when he’s saying something hateful and he doesn’t want to get called out on it. Tough luck for him, though, because Dean’s heard one of those words enough to parse its meaning. 

“Did you just call me stupid?” he demands, slapping his book down on the arm of the chair. 

Castiel looks at him, his eyes wide with surprise. “You...understood that?” he asks. “You understand Enochian?”

Not in the slightest, is what Dean should say. He understands one word, and that’s only because Cas uses it enough as an insult that it managed to stick in his mind. But something that looks like fondness, and admiration, and other nice adjectives which Dean would like Cas to apply to him, shines at the edges of Cas’ eyes. So he rolls his eyes a little bit (the audacity of Cas! Asking him if he bothered to study something which was not strictly required!) and scoffs, “Uh, kind of hard not to at this point, you know, what with...” He waves his hand at Cas, hoping that the vagueness of the gesture will cover a multitude of sins. 

And really, he should come clean. If the past fifteen years have taught him anything, it’s that nothing good comes from lying to your nearest and dearest. But this is just a little white lie. Like when he was sixteen and he told Brandy Fletcher he could play a rocking drum solo, because he wanted to impress her and there was no way he would ever be called upon to perform such a task. This is just a little fib, made so that Cas doesn’t think he’s a fucking idiot. 

Plus, there’s something which looks horribly similar to gratitude shining in Cas’ eyes. The emotion brims over until those baby blues can hardly contain it, and Cas looks so goddamned happy. Dean’s not a monster. He’s not going to take that away from Cas just so he can come clean with a Gotcha! moment. 

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean. 

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish. 

---

After that, things get a little weird. Considering Dean’s general life, that’s saying something. 

Dean catches Cas looking at him more, like Cas is having a one-man staring contest with the side of his face. Cas staring at him is nothing to write home about, but his looks have gained new intensity. It makes Dean’s innards squirm with worry as well as something deeper. He’s not willing to examine that feeling any closer, though it is pleasant. 

As if the soulful looks weren’t bad enough, there’s also the thoughtful slant of Cas’ eyes to worry about. Every time he looks at Dean, he looks like he’s working himself up to something momentous. Since momentous decrees from Cas usually come hand in hand with world-ending events and revelations, Dean thinks he can forgiven for dodging Cas’ presence. 

It does him no good: the bunker, for all its space, is only so large in the end, and Cas was once a heavenly messenger who has the patience of millennia. Add that to the fact that Dean needs to eat at least twice a day, and the game of Cornering Dean becomes a game of cards, in which the deck is stacked firmly in Cas’ favor. 

Dean sneaks into the kitchen sometime between midnight and two am. If Sam caught him, then he would get a talking-to about the most appropriate times to eat, better digestive function, and the ravages of heartburn in a man his age, but it’s not his brother sitting at the table when Dean flicks on the light. 

It’s Cas, who blinks owlishly at him, before his face splits into his brightest smile. 

(Cas’ brightest smile is an awkward, crooked little thing. On a regular human being it would be considered unbecoming. On Cas, it’s a thing of glory.)

“Dean,” Cas greets him. Hearing his voice in that low, rough voice never fails to send a little shiver down his spine, and today is no different. “This is an odd time for a snack.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says, a little lamely. The shock of finding Cas in the kitchen has kind of killed his appetite, but it’s not like he can turn around and leave. “Just, you know, had a craving. Why were you here?” 

Cas looks around the kitchen, his mouth pursed. “I like it here. It’s peaceful.” 

Dean looks at him, waiting for the punchline. “You were sitting in the dark, dude.” 

“Oh. Well, I don’t need lights to see in the dark,” Cas says, as though the knowledge that his best friend has some freaky see in the dark cat eye nonsense going on with him isn’t the weirdest thing Dean’s heard all day. 

“Great.” Dean opens the fridge and pulls out a container at random. He spares one second to hope that Sam got rid of all the moldy food before he samples the contents. “Well, I think I’m going back to my room now.” 

He wants to get out of here, not so much because he doesn’t want to talk to Cas (he has no problem with late-night chats with Cas, it’s just that he would prefer such chats take place in his room, preferably in his bed, preferably while both participants were significantly less dressed), but because Cas is starting to get that look again, like he’s getting ready to drop an atomic bomb’s worth of shit on Dean in the middle of the kitchen. 

“Dean.” Cas stands up. He twists his fingers together before he realizes what he’s doing, and then places them flat against his thighs. He takes a deep breath. Before Dean can stop him, Cas opens his mouth. 

Low, rolling syllables flow through the kitchen, the harsh notations of Enochian softened by Cas’ voice. There’s a question in Cas’ eyes, and Dean would answer it, if he only knew what Cas was asking. 

The kitchen falls into silence. Dean gets the distinct impression that walking away is not the appropriate reaction. If only he knew what the appropriate reaction was. 

He settles for plastering a fake ass smile on his face and loosing a brittle laugh which threatens to shatter the lighting fixtures. The corners of his mouth hurt from the wideness of his smile, but not even the small twinge of pain can take away from the brief flash of hurt in Cas’ eyes. 

“Yeah. You bet.” Dean barely restrains himself from giving Cas a big thumbs up.

Cas’ face, if possible, turns even more disconsolate. Dean’s stomach twists at the sight. 

This would be the correct moment to confess. Cas, I don’t have the faintest idea what you said, but I’d really like it if you could say it again in English, so that I could maybe comment on it. Sorry I’m such a jackass. 

Dean does not confess. He reaches out and claps Cas on the shoulder, almost buckling Cas’ knees under the friendly contact. Dean almost stops, but he continues to his room, trying to erase the memory of Cas’ stricken face. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas says something in Enochian to him the next morning, a tiny, hopeful smile darting across his face. Dean gives him a weak smile in return and tries not to focus on the longing, almost desperate tone of Cas’ voice. “Ok, Cas,” he says, when it becomes clear Cas is angling for something more than a smile that makes it look like he ate some bad tacos. 

Cas takes him by the wrist. This time the syllables which come out of his mouth are almost frantic. His eyes are wide and imploring, and his voice cracks on the last word. 

The truth, Dean. Tell him the truth. 

“Look, I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean says. Confronted by the weight of his failings and his inadequacies, he flees. All the while, he feels Cas’ eyes on his back. 

---

It gets worse. 

Cas continues to mutter Enochian at him, alternating between frustrated, hurt, mocking, and pleading inflections. Each time, Dean looks at him in a mixture of helplessness and shame. 

The last time Cas tries, there’s a faint snap and tingle of grace curling around the room. Dean can taste it in the air, ozone and electricity, before it makes the lamp closest to him spark and pop. “Great, now you’re killing the furniture,” comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

Cas recoils as though Dean reached out and slapped him. He says something else in Enochian, his voice small and defeated. He won’t even look at Dean. 

If Dean were a better person, he would come clean. He would apologize to Cas and beg his forgiveness. He would take Cas’ scorn and irritation and lump it in with the rest of the shit that’s gone wrong with his life, and they would move past this. 

Dean’s not a good person. Hell, he’s not even an okay person. He’s a piece of shit who got a hell of a lot luckier than he ever deserved, and Cas is just naive enough not to realize that. 

---

It gets worse. 

Sam walks into the library one afternoon with a dazed look on his face which means he’s just emerged from being caught deep in a book. He runs his hands through his hair and only then seems to realize that Dean and Cas are sitting at opposite ends of the library, deliberately ignoring each other. The tension in the room is thick enough to cut. 

“You guys okay?” he asks, glancing back and forth between them. 

“We’re good,” Dean says shortly, flipping a page of his book with unneeded aggression. 

Sam flicks his eyes towards Castiel. Cas looks over the top of his book, his eyebrows twisted in a scowl. He mutters something most definitely not English under his breath, staring at Dean. 

Sam chokes on nothing. 

“You all right there, Sammy?” Dean glances at Sam, only to see that his brother’s face is bright red. 

“Yeah, I’m great.” 

Castiel says something else in Enochian, sounding more forlorn than angry. Dean didn’t think it was possible for his brother’s eyes to get any wider. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class?” Dean asks. He keeps his eyes on Cas, but the question is meant for both of them. 

“I think you two should really talk,” Sam says, looking back and forth between him and Cas. “I think you’re both missing some information.” 

“What do you mean--” Dean pauses as the obvious answer comes to him. “Hold on. You can understand him?” 

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room,” Castiel says, proving that he can speak English just damn fine when he wants to. Then, because Cas is an asshole whose main job is torturing Dean, he mutters something in Enochian. 

Sam snorts. 

If he didn’t know he would later regret it, Dean would put both of them in the ground. 

“Well, if you want someone to talk to you, then knock it off and speak English!” Dean snaps. “I’ve got no idea why you’re babbling on like that and looking like I kicked your puppy when I don’t answer.” 

Cas scowls, the full wrath of Heaven in his eyes. He starts what sounds like it will no doubt be a lengthy tirade (in Enochian of fucking course), before he’s interrupted by Sam. 

“Dean doesn’t understand Enochian, Cas!” he shouts. 

Two pairs of eyes snap to Sam. Dean’s are filled with furious betrayal, Cas’ with frustrated confusion. Sam ignores them both, rolling his own eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah, look, I’m sorry to cut in your drama or whatever, and I’m sure that you two could keep this up for another three weeks, but I value my sanity. Dean, nut up and tell Cas you don’t speak Enochian. Cas, stop running into a brick wall and tell him what you want. I mean, good God, it’s like I have to do everything around here myself!” 

Sam’s complaining never ceases as he peruses the shelves for the particular book he’s looking for. Both Dean and Cas are referred to multiple times as idiots, sometimes assholes, and once even idjits. Throughout his litany of abuse, Dean and Castiel refuse to look at each other, though Dean does feel a telltale prickling at the back of his neck several times. Every time he looks at Cas, however, the angel has his eyes firmly fixed on his book. 

Dean wonders if Cas would get more pissed if he told him his book was upside down. 

“You ever think about how much pain and agony you could save me if you two assholes would just talk to each other?” Sam finally snaps. Arms laden with books, he levels a fearsome glare at the both of them. “For homework, neither of you are coming out of this library until you’ve actually talked to each other like rational adults. And if you make any weird noises, I’m going to smother both of you in your sleep.” 

He stalks out of the library, leaving Cas and Dean alone once more. Cas looks up from his book, finally realizing it’s upside-down, while Dean puts down his own book. They stare at each other for a long moment, then speak at once. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t understand Enochian?” “What were you trying to say to me?” 

They stop. Dean swallows, gathers up all of his manly courage, and speaks. 

“So what were you trying to say to me? It must have been pretty exciting to get Sammy clutching his pearls.” 

Cas tilts his head. He considers Dean for a long moment before he crosses the space between them. Cas leans forward, putting his hands on the arms of Dean’s chair. The gesture boxes Dean in, a turn of events which Dean doesn’t struggle against. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t speak Enochian?” 

Pinned beneath Cas’ gaze, Dean squirms uncomfortably. Now that it’s just him and Cas, his deception seems childish. Would it really have been the end of the world if he’d told Cas he was too stupid and selfish to learn his language? It would have just been another disappointment in Cas’ life, but has it been worth these past few days of being at odds with Cas? 

Heat flushes along the bridge of Dean’s nose as he mutters, “I wanted you to think I was smart.” 

Damn super-angelic hearing. Cas doesn’t miss a beat, though his forehead creases. “You wanted...what? Dean, you are smart.” 

He says it so naturally, as though Dean doesn’t struggle over translations or speaking Latin or cross-referencing indexes or any of the thousand other things that seem to come naturally as breathing to Sam and Cas. “Yeah, sure, I’m a regular fucking genius,” Dean mumbles. 

“You’re capable of finding the problem with a faulty engine with a single look. You built your own EMF meter out of a spare Walkman. Despite your efforts to hide it, you’re very well-read, and you have an innate understanding of some fairly complicated mathematics. I’m not sure exactly what humans qualify as intelligent, but I feel as though all of those skills count.” 

Dean knows his whole face is red. Heat prickles along the tips of his ears and down his neck. “Jesus, Cas,” he mutters. Unable to withstand the force of those blue eyes, he darts his glance down towards the floor. “Most people don’t start sweet talking until the third date.” 

“Well, I’m an angel,” Castiel says, smugly, as though that solves every argument (not a bad strategy; that line’s worked for Cas for years. What else can you say after that?). 

“All right, I answered yours, now you answer mine. What were you trying to say to me?”

Amazingly, Cas’ cheeks color. 

“Come on, Cas,” Dean wheedles, when Cas doesn’t immediately answer. “I told you mine.” 

Cas looks off to the side. He actually shuffles his feet before he answers, “It was just a thought. I thought, maybe, we could...Never mind. It was stupid.” He looks back at Dean and rolls his eyes, showing how ridiculous he finds this whole trial. “I guess, roughly translated, it would amount of something like ‘If only he were as decisive as he is pretty, then there would be no problem’.” He forces a weak laugh. “I said it in the heat of the moment. I was frustrated.” 

Dean blinks in astonishment. Only one fact has managed to slip through the tangle of Cas’s words. “You think I’m pretty?” 

Castiel’s blush deepens. “Anyone who has eyes would think that,” he says, a little roughly. 

An automatic flush spreads across Dean’s cheeks, but he’s able to ignore that. He’s much more interested in what else Cas might have been telling him. “And what was something else you said?” 

Cas coughs. “’Your eyes are bright as the sunrise, yet they fail to see what is in front of them’,” he says. If possible, his already rough voice has deepened. 

“Another.” 

Cas doesn’t pretend coyness. “’You had my heart from the first time I saw your soul’,” he says, in a near whisper. 

Dean can’t hold himself back. He snatches Cas’ hoodie in his hands and drags Cas down to his level. Cas lets out a surprised grunt before he gracefully collapses atop Dean. He’s barely managed to balance himself on Dean’s lap before Dean’s lip are on his. 

Despite Dean’s rushed actions, the kiss is sweet and almost chaste. Cas’ lips are warm and chapped and utterly wonderful. At first, they’re stiff, but only for a second. Then Cas relaxes into the kiss, sighing happily as his hand cups Dean’s cheek. Cas’ stubble scratches against his chin. He’s going to bear the marks of Cas’ affection later, and he couldn’t be more thrilled about it. 

Cas parts from him, but not far. In fact, he’s close enough to Dean that when whispers a phrase in Enochian, his lips brush against Dean’s. 

A shiver of delight runs down Dean’s spine. Now that he knows the gist of what Cas was trying to say to him, Enochian fills him with illicit glee. “What did that mean?” 

Cas kisses him again, adding a cunning sweep of his tongue across the seam of Dean’s lips. “’Of all the stars in the heavens, you shine the brightest’,” he translates, resting his forehead against Dean’s. 

Heat floods through Dean once more. It’s everything he ever dreamed of hearing. It seems impossible that he could have it. There should be a rule against it. Dean Winchester doesn’t get what he wants. 

Except, apparently, Dean Winchester does get what he wants, as evidenced by his lapful of angel murmuring Enochian endearments into his ear. “Hey Cas?” Dean tilts his head to catch Cas’ eye. “When I first saw you, sparks flew. How would you say that in Enochian?” 

Cas thinks for a second before a smile spreads across his face. “I’ll teach you,” he promises, before he pulls Dean’s face towards him once more. 

(Sam’s warning about making weird noises makes a lot more sense now.)

[thisisapaige]

dean, sam, jack, and cas all meet up in heaven and have a holiday dinner and everyone is happy because TFW isn't happy enough

You're right! They aren't happy enough. If you follow me, I bet you won’t mind the Destiel. There’s a light bit of Saileen, too. Also, I decided to downplay the heaven angle a bit, so feel free to read it as an Everyone Lives AU. :) Word Count: 700. Have a prompt? My ask box is open.

"Alright. Weirdest hunt. Go." 

Yeah, Bobby was just trying to distract Dean from the fact that Bobby shaved but he'd be damned if it didn't work.

"That time I was a ghost," Jo said, reaching across the table for another helping of mashed potatoes. "Osiris? Really? Still can't believe that happened."

Dean handed Jo the gravy. "Wait. You remember that?"

Mouth full of potatoes, Jo mumbled a word that sounded like, "Yes."

"All of it," Kevin said. "Every single bit of it. The Word of God. The angels falling. And the frigging Leviathans. All of it. The guy called himself Dick."

Dean snorted. Yeah he did, didn't he?

Ellen stopped buttering her roll and stared at Sam. "Wait. Dick? Really?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "For real. We ended up killing him with a bloodied bone of a nun." 

Ash giggled from his corner. "He got boned."

Charlie high-fived Ash, giggling with him.

"I don't know," Bobby added, "I think the dragons were weirder."

Dean nearly spat out his wine. "Oh man, don't remind me."

"Dragons?" Rufus set down his fork. "Dragons. I come to this multi-faith non-denominational dinner that happens to fall on a certain holiday-- because I don't celebrate it, you see-- and you're telling me there are dragons."

"Not anymore," Cas said, nothing in front of him but a cup of coffee. "I suspect Dean killed the last one."

Dean tapped Cas on the shoulder. "I did?" At Cas's confirmation, Dean grinned. "Dude! I am the dragon slayer, bow down to me!"

The entire table groaned. 

Cas turned to Eileen, signing as he spoke, "Would you like to contribute to the 'weirdest hunt' conversation?"

Eileen put a finger to her lips, glanced at Sam sitting beside her and said, "Banshee. The last one. Because I met this long-haired weirdo and…" 

She trailed off, sharing one of those significant looks she had with Sam. It was adorable. It was also kind of gross. But, Dean didn't say anything because Sam endured over twelve years of those kinds of looks between Dean and Cas.

“Dodge City,” Jack said from his place at the head of the table once it quieted. 

“Dude. Dude!” Dean clapped his hands together. “I got to fight Dave freaking Mather.”

“It was only a ghoul who looked like Dave Mather,” Sam informed the group.

“Still man, so awesome.”

Jack nodded. “He really likes cowboys. He made Cas wear a cowboy hat.”

Jo snorted over her whiskey glass. “And you let him?”

Cas gave Dean one of those sweet, fond smiles that still made Dean's heart beat faster. “Yes. It was rather ridiculous. But I didn’t have my own set of boots.”

Dean nudged Cas with his foot under the table, cheeks heating. “Dude. Shut up.”

“I would not be opposed to you wearing them more often.” Cas calmly sipped his coffee-- the little shit-- while Dean squirmed in his seat. 

“Can you believe it?” Sam grumbled. “I thought it’d be finally over after you two finally got together but, no, you’re still gross.”

Dean was a mature, grown, adult hunter who defeated God, so he stuck his tongue out at Sam. Eileen snickered behind her hand when Sam returned the gesture. 

“Mom,” Dean said. “C’mon, defend me here.”

Mary hummed, pushing her empty plate away. “No.”

“Mom!”

Sam laughed. “She agrees with me!”

The rest of the table chimed in. All in the affirmative.

“Oh. Okay. I see how it is. It’s picking on Dean day.” Dean rested his head on Cas’s shoulder and gazed up at him. “What about you, sunshine? What’s your weirdest hunt?”

Instantly, Cas replied, “There was this one time I led an army of angels into Hell in order to raise the Righteous Man from perdition.”

He was so sincere. Every day-- every freaking day-- Dean was reminded about just how much his damn angel loved him. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “You calling me a weirdo?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, taking Dean’s hand, “but you’re my weirdo.”

When Dean kissed Cas, the reaction from the table was a mix of groans and sighs. However, when Dean glanced at his family gathered all around, safe and happy, every single one of them was smiling. 

[tintentrinkerin]

adelphopoiesis

Author: tintentrinkerin

Title: adelphopoiesis

Requested by: @schaefchenherde

Header by: @wincestismyheart​

Divider by: @firefly-graphics​

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Sam Drinks Dean’s Demon Blood, Anal Sex, Not Canon Compliant

Content: Chasing your baby brother around the bunker with a hammer is fun, right? But what if you tickle his thing for blood?

Read here or on AO3

Dean’s most effective weapon is not the hammer he destroyed the door with. The hammer that’s stuck in the wall now beside Sam’s head. It’s not his physical strength, radiating like utter heat from his body, showing in the tension of his neck, the firm grimace of his mouth, his pretty mouth. It’s not the First Blade. A blade powerful enough to kill anything and anyone, but Dean himself. 

Sam’s only weapon is a lousy knife. A demon knife, that will barely leave a scratch on a Knight of Hell. 

“It’s all you”, Dean says, leaning in the knife, leaning into Sam’s half hearted attack. 

The way Dean looks at his brother, it’s tearing Sam apart in so many ways. Ways he thought he’d buried under guilt and hunts and lore and his shame. Sam gives in and takes the knife away, he will regret it so bitterly, he knows. Of course he knows. He can’t even lay a single finger on Dean. The demon in front of him wears the face of his brother but there is nothing left of his soft side for Sam. His voice, how he calls Sam, how he says Sammy, the hair, the determined look, the tongue against his teeth. Like he’s a predator and Sam’s the prey. 

Dean’s eyes turn black.

It’s a whooshing sound and it darts Sam’s ears the moment he thought he’d surrender and then, the First Blade, fast as an arrow lands in Dean’s hand. There is not a blink for Sam to react before Dean looks at him with a triumphant smirk. The knife glides through Dean’s smooth skin of his throat like it’s warm butter. Blood spills. 

Blood

Spills

Blood is Dean's most effective weapon.

Its smell is so familiar, so luring. So intimate and so…powerful. Sam turns and runs. He needs to go. He needs to get away. 

“Oh Sammy, baby brother, don’t run away!”, Dean mocks. 

Shit, he’s right behind Sam and Sam’s judgement clouds already. He isn’t even fast. It feels like running through molasses. The air feels thick and strong, pressing Sam down, and the smell of iron and lust and Dean, oh my God, it’s Dean’s blood! - He needs to get away! Sam manages to worm through the destroyed door to the electrical room, but he catches several splinters. Some even bite his face and he gets stuck with the cast of his elbow. Spraining the right elbow, why, Sam, why did that happen? Everything’s against him. 

Memories of Ruby appear in his head. Of the smell, the taste, her body, the sex. The grunting and the mind blowing orgasm, the banging against walls everywhere they went. The power, the trip. His increasing power, a stimulant better than any human known drug. It resonates all within him with the odor of Dean’s musk and his blood. He can smell its potential, its strong taste. Sam even imagines how it would make him feel. Running away never felt so hard like right now. He remembers the withdrawal and the pain behind his eyes blinds him as he trips in the hallway and tumbles against a wall. Stinging pain in his arm, in his head and his legs feel heavy. It’s like he has Dean’s breath in his neck all this time. Even though he can’t hear him come close at all. It sounds like Dean is far away, in another world. 

“Come on, Sammy, I know you want a sip of it. Makes you all giddy, doesn't it? I can smell you. All of you.”

Sam yells something, but he can’t even make out what he says. 

“Keep runnin’ if you must, but you know I gotta find you sooner or later. It’s my home, too!”

The alarm is blaring again and Sam has no idea how far he can run. There won’t be any walls that might hold Dean back. He’s regaining strength, the human blood wears off. Even that Sam can smell. How much stronger Dean gets with every minute. 

“I taste delicious, Sammy. Just fuckin’ delicious.”

Oh, yes, Sam bets he does, that’s exactly why he needs to keep running. The smell gets even more intense now and Sam wonders how much Dean can cut himself up with the First Blade. He should’ve given the damn thing to Crowley when he had the chance to do so. 

“Stay away”, he croaks. 

There’s another hallway, one leading deep into the intestines of the Forbidden Bunker, how Dean and him called it jokingly, when they discovered it. An area full of locked doors made of the weirdest materials. Only one chance is left for Sam, when he finds that one door he unlocked in these months without Dean. He had learned a lot about witchcraft since Dean left this note on his bed, when he left Sam for Crowley and a life as a demon. When the only way to save himself from Dean was to hide himself in a panic room again, hallucinate again, he would have to do it. He rather sees Lucifer again, Mary, Bobby, all the victims they couldn’t save than to fall for Dean’s lure. Drink his own brother’s blood. This was perverted, disgusting, twisted. Even for them. The monster hunters, the monster fuckers, the monsters themselves. 

“The longer you run, the harder I bleed, brother!”

Sam tries every door on the way, but none opens. Sam’s eyes sting from the smell. What the hell is Dean doing? Covering the walls in blood? That would be insane. Even Dean would faint at one point. It must be impossible to drain a body so much before it dies. Dean isn’t possessing a body, he still has his own, whatever that means for him and his physis then. Sam trips again, he falls, on his right arm of course. He tears up from the pain that fills his chest, his arm, his shoulder. He can’t survive that long if doesn’t find a hide-out. 

It seems to be near, because Sam still can read the signs on the doors and when he finds room 616, he pushes the door open with a long and agonizing cry and slams it shut. It’s the door he unlocked already, a room, bleak as an empty tomb. Cold and pitchblack, there’s no electrical light, just candles, but Sam won’t be able to find them. He can just hide in here, pressed against a wall, praying to Castiel, to Hannah. He even cries for Crowley inside, someone needs to help him. 

Footsteps.

The smell of blood. The First Blade scraping on the tiles, Sam knows it’s that. 

“Gotcha! I really thought you’d be a bit cleverer than that. Where’s the fun when you cage yourself like a mouse?”

The door bursts open, way too easily. None of the sigils and runes seem to be an obstacle for Dean. And when light shines in the room and Sam can see not only Dean’s silhouette but also his face, he knows. Dean is covered in his own blood. His face, his slit throat, still pumping blood in long and rhythmic spurts from the wound. His arms are drenched in blood and now, with a biting smile, Dean looks at Sam and the Blade carves an S in Dean’s arm. 

“Come here, Sammy. Come to your big bro and lemme get you something real good

The stench is so intense now that Sam first vomits in violent jerks and then faints. The last thing he sees before the world turns completely black is Dean’s triumphant, sweet smile and his eyes. His normal green eyes. 

When Sam awakes again, he is tied up. Bound to a chair. They’re in the dungeon again, how did Sam come here? His head aches like it’s been run over by a stampede of bulls and his mouth tastes like vomit and blood. He tenses immediately as he’s present enough to realize his situation. Dean has tied him up here, and now he’s sitting on the desk in one corner, right beside the blood donor box that Sam got from the hospital. His legs swing and he hums a strange melody. 

“Oh, look who’s up.”

Dean jumps on his feet. Sam can see the First Blade, the damn Blade, resting on the table. Then Dean takes the syringes of human blood and starts spilling them. 

“You won’t need them anymore, Sammy. I think I won our little chase.”

“Dean, don’t do that… please. I can still…”

Dean hisses. His eyes turn black.

“You can still what, brother dearest? I already told you. I am what I am now, I am free. I’m finally free. Of humanity. I’m strong now. Efficient. Deadly.”

Sam winces when he moves in the ties. The ropes cut in his flesh and Dean removed the sling on his arm. His elbow hurts so much, it’s taking his words away. 

“You were deadly before already. The Mark made you powerful.” 

“But guess what, I’m even better now. Dean Winchester 2.0 - I’m all in for my upgrade. You see it as a bad thing, but what I see is … potential. Chances. Oh Sammy, I can conquer the world. Hell. Heaven. You really want the boring Dean back, huh?”

Sam shakes his head but that makes him feel dizzy, he stops.

“I want my brother back. The brother I loved.”

Dean’s black eyes target Sam like he’s prey again and he hates being looked at like this. It makes him feel less human, less Dean’s brother.

“I am your brother. Nothing ever changed that. But I told you to stay away from me, I told you not to look for me. But you did. You plotted against me, with Crowley, with Cas. You tied me up in this chair, you tortured me with human blood. Against my will. For someone who’s all over the place with autonomy and respecting boundaries you violated mine just perfectly.”

Sam squirms. The problem is that Dean is right. But Sam did it for the greater cause, didn’t he? Dean becoming human again was the best for everyone!

“You make me sound like the bad guy here, that’s not fair”, Sam mutters.

Dean laughs and it’s a deep, rough laugh that makes Sam’s skin crawl. This is so much Dean, even darker than usual. And it shakes Sam to the core. 

“Good, bad… Who cares. Human categories, bullshit. Nothing’s fair, Sam.”

“I need something to drink”, Sam says faintly now. 

He won’t make Dean untie him, that’s for sure, but maybe Cas will come to the rescue soon, he can maybe delay things. Also he needs to get rid of the taste of old blood in his mouth. Dean doesn’t reek of his blood that bad anymore, Sam is very much aware of the pink line across Dean’s throat. A scar. The blade will cause scars. Or at least the weapon delays even Dean’s healing. 

Dean smiles. 

“Sure. But why waste water on you when I kill you anyway?”

Sam’s heart sinks.

“Will you?”

Dean shrugs as if he doesn’t give a shit at all.

“Thinking about it. But you’re my brother, as you keep on reminding me. Maybe I should give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes and let you live?”

“And how would you do that?”, Sam asks, winding in his ties. 

Dean goes away. Doesn’t say another word. Sam is stunned and damn, holy shit, he’s afraid. Dean will kill him. But what is it with the possibility of letting him live?

The smell of iron. Like a perfume, soft and silky. No. No no no.

“Dean? Dean!”, Sam cries and fights the restraints harder.

He did it again. He slit his fucking throat, Sam knows it. And this time, he won’t be able to run, he won’t be able to fight back. He’s tied up, he’s in pain, he’s weak. It’s not like with the other hunters who wanted to force him to drink demon blood. He could fight them off, but now?

Emaciated. Sick. Depressed. A broken arm. Hungry. Tied up. The addiction is pulsating through his veins, giving him the chills. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Like crackling in the air, the heavy scent of blood and Dean, he can only say no.

Dean won’t take a no, why should he? He’s a Knight of Hell. Sam is human. His brother is back, his throat cut deep enough to see the structures of muscles, veins, nerves, his trachea, the pulsing blood. Sam vomits all over his shirt, but there’s not much left except bitter, yellow gall. 

“You’re sick, huh?”, Dean coos in a voice like he did when Sam was younger. It’s meant for comfort but now it just feels like mockery and Sam wonders how he deserves to see his brother slit his throat, twice, just to seduce Sam to drink it. It's so fucked up. It’s low, even for lean, mean Dean. Human Dean would’ve never provoked Sam’s demon blood addiction. 

Sam nuzzles against the hand that’s stroking his face, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips tremble. 

“Let me make you feel better, don’t pull away, Sammy…”

Sam cries out and some ugly big tears fall down his face. Is it so easy to break? He’s gone through so much pain already, through torture, rape, withdrawal. He was betrayed by everyone he loved, especially Dean. Dean’s hand is warm, but his skin feels like marble when Sam leans in, rubs his face in the palm of Dean’s hand. Is this still his brother? Is there any humanity left? 

But what would that change? They’re here now. In a bunker soaked with demon blood, Sam is tied up, Dean reigns. 

“Hush, hush”, Dean purrs, both of his hands holding Sam’s bobbing head. “It’s gonna be alright… Sammy, just give in. There will be no more pain, just us. You and me, against the world. Like it used to be.”

Sam opens his eyes but all he sees is blurry and red, it stinks of iron and vomit and Dean’s black eyes…

“I wanna see your normal eyes”, is all Sam can say right now.

A smirk.

“Anything for you, Sammy.”

And Dean’s eyes flash back to green and Sam can have the illusion of his brother just for a moment longer. Thick dark blood is pulsing out of Dean’s cut on his throat. 

“It looks disgusting, Dee.”

Dean only laughs.

“It’s not supposed to be beautiful.”

Dean cups his hand before the dripping wound, collects a tiny lake of blood in his hand and then, gently presses his blood covered hand against Sam’s lips. 

The world turns upside down. Sam feels the spinning, the spinning, the spinning!

The taste makes him want to barf, violently, but the old creature, the blood sucking monster was waiting patiently beneath the surface. Patient but greedy. Now it’s unleashed it bursts out and the first drops, he swallows. His lips limp and curled in utter disgust, but now, oh now, there’s a jolt running through his body, he sits straight up, first ties grinding, the ropes won’t last. The shackles won’t last. 

“Come on, sweet baby boy, you want more…” Dean sings, eyes black as the night. 

And slowly, very slowly and enjoying, Sam’s lips brush Dean’s hand, collect the blood, a tongue, pink, hot sneaks out, licks the offered hand. 

The ropes break. The pain in Sam’s arm fades. It’s a movement even Dean didn’t see coming when Sam bursts out of all restraints he put on him and grips Dean’s hand tight, as tight as possible and sucks three of Dean’s fingers dry. 

The Knight of Hell rejoices, pulls Sam close, closer than they’ve been for a very long time.

“That’s it, Sammy, yes, that’s it, let me take care of you… such a greedy boy…” 

Dean’s voice is distant to Sam, distorted and hollow, he remembers their youth, the motel rooms, the flickering lights, the old tv, how Dean smelled of whiskey and beer. John’s passed out in an armchair, stained in blood, piss and vomit. 

He remembers Dean’s care. The kisses at night, the stealthy handjobs in the shower, how Dean ‘taught’ him how people do it. 

Make love. 

Sam was twelve. Dean was sixteen. And he was a grower. 

A slut. 

All of this drenched in velvety red tint.

The ritual.

“Let me take care of you, Sammy…”

“I love you, Dee.”

“Never tell anyone.”

And Sam never had told anyone (but Lucifer knew - he knew everything) and deep down, buried in his mind, these feelings were in peaceful slumber, violently dragged across the floor now, kicking and crying, 

A W A K E

Sam is awake. 

He remembers the awkward, painful, dry fuck in the back of the Impala after they killed the Wendigo, so long ago, and how they never ever said a word. 

Spit is shitty lube.

So is blood.

It roars. The monster roars in Sam’s chest. It’s in agony, it’s in joy, it’s free! 

And Sam is just a puppet, always been nothing more than a puppet. He watches himself suck Dean’s fingers, then sticking his own fingers in the wound, stir it, stir Dean’s insides. The gurgling, the retching. Dean’s satisfied moans, his hands all over Sam’s now healed body. 

“Yes, Sammy, let it all out, come on… Let it all out.”

Sam only hisses. This blood, Dean’s blood, the blood of a demon, of a Knight. It’s so much more potent than Ruby’s or any other demon’s he’s ever drank and tasted. Dean is delicious. Demon tend to taste like rotting meat, titan arum aroma.

But Dean tastes of all the good things. Dahlia, petrichor, amber. His musk makes Sam’s blood boil and his pants bulge. 

“Sammy.”

“Dean”, is the first thing New Sam says. 

What Monster Sam says. His voice sounds low, rough, barely in control. His body is shaking, too much force is withhold now. 

“Brother.”

The wound on Dean’s throat is closing up again already, the healing ability is really incredible. Sam will bite it open very, very soon, but first… 

Dean doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight back at all when Sam slams him down to the ground like he weighs nothing. There’s the crunchy sound of maybe, bones breaking, or just getting sprained, but even that, Dean will heal in no time. Dean lies on his stomach, attempts to get up. 

“Sammy-”

“Sammy is not here right now.”

There’s no surprise, no scare in Dean’s voice. Sam stomps his bare foot in Dean’s back and Dean stays, doesn’t even breathe. The adrenaline rush in Sam’s ears makes him deaf for most other things and seeing demon Dean down on his stomach, defeated so easily, it’s almost an insult. Sam crouches down, one foot still on Dean’s back, pressing him down. 

“You surrender?”, Sam asks, eyebrows raise.

“I didn’t mean to fight you at all.”

Dean chuckles, his voice raspy

Sam drags Dean on all fours, rips apart his shirt (the pretty red shirt, ruined with blood anyway) and Jeans and when he holds Dean’s hips, bends over and bites Dean’s neck, Dean hisses “Come on, Sammy, that’s it.”

That’s it.

Sam tears apart skin, Dean’s blood gushes in Sam’s mouth, warm and silky, smooth and delicious. 

“Is that what you wanted?”, Sam says in a breathless moment, before he starts sucking the wound dry, the bleeding will stop soon, way too soon for Sam to be satisfied. 

Dean growls deeply, pushes against Sam. Pleading. Sam pushes two fingers inside Dean, but feels very quickly, Dean doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want it. He needs Sam. He rips off his jeans, down to his knees and when that’s not giving him enough space, he just tears it to shreds completely. Dean’s ass is perfect. Round, juicy, firm. When he gives it a slap - a hard one - he enjoys the noise Dean makes. And then he thrusts completely inside, without hesitation. No foreplay. No gentle feeling ahead and preparing Dean’s wonderfully tight and delicious ass. He feels amazing, hot, tight, smooth. Dean hands grip Sam’s wrists tight while he fucks into him, raw, without anything to soothe the pain, make it easier, make Dean nice, slick and wet. But he doesn’t complain at all. 

“That’s it”, Dean chants, in his low, low “Let’s finish this game” voice. That’s it, over and over. 

This is no sex Sam would ever have if he was in his right mind. Covered in his own vomit, Dean’s blood, on the cold floor. Not that he has fucked any guy after he fled off to Stanford anyway. Dean is all he knows. He only knows what Dean taught him about fucking ass. 

Dean starts getting slippery with his own blood, Sam’s blood infused spit and finally, cum. Sam loses the feeling of time and space, all he can do is fuck Dean until one of them passes out, and if Dean passed out, Sam would continue anyway. 

The adrenaline rush plummets too early for Sam’s taste, the haze clears up and he’s getting aware of his ripped off clothes, the shreds of Dean’s. The fluids, the smell, the feeling. Crust everywhere. Dean is still on his knees, head sunken on the floor, his arms stretched out, breathing heavily. There’s no sign that he’s in pain. But Dean’s a demon, right? He will be fine. 

Sam drags him up, and the cocky smile, the perfect hair, it’s all gone. Dean looks like he’s had the same otherworldly experience. It’s a sight that makes Sam chuckle. 

“What are you laughing at?”, Dean asks, coming on his feet, gently swaying, but finally his wounds are closing up. 

“You threatened to rip my throat out. With your teeth.”

“Not there yet, Sammy. Not yet.”

The situation is unreal, Sam feels unreal. He knows he will never be the same. Something’s broken inside him, crumbled - yet ready to expand again, into unknown territory. 

He doesn’t remember the coercion, Dean’s betrayal - or was it Dean’s way of deliberating Sam?

Sam, leaning on the table, watches Dean come close and he leans in, a hand in Sam’s hair, gently pulling. Their kiss isn’t gentle, nothing will be gentle for a while. Teeth clash, the table scrapes along the floor and the throbbing of Dean’s pulse makes Sam rise up again. Dean bites Sam’s neck, sharp pain - and Dean drinks. The feeling is satisfying and roughening Sam up at the same time. He pulls his Knight close, closer, grabs him and bends him over the table, both still bleeding, Dean high from Sam’s blood. 

“For a Knight of Hell, you’re very pliant”, Sam growls in Dean’s ear.

Dean chuckles.

“I just bend the knee to my King.”

Sam frowns. 

“What do you mean?”

Dean hikes up and drags Sam to the mirror in the Dungeon.

“Take a look”, Dean hums, rich and satisfied in tone, “acknowledge who you are.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. First, Sam’s mossy eyes just look glassy, clear, beaming with desire for Dean. 

Then he draws in his breath with a sharp hiss. 

“You got your daddy’s eyes, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes turned yellow.

[takerfoxx]

Here, have some more of the WN girls watch The Rebellion Story, this time stretching from Moemura turning back into classic Homura while monologuing to herself to when she shoots herself in the head!

Yes, this is the one with the gunfight.

Reminder:

G=Gretchen

H=Homulilly

Op=Ophelia

Ok=Oktavia

Ca=Candeloro/Mami

Ch=Charlotte

...

Op: Dramatic transformation!

H: All I did was take off my glasses and ribbons.

Op: And you did so dramatically! Complete with a slo-mo hair flick while framed by the full moon!

Ch: Which is apparently about to crash into the city, given how close it is.

Ok: “This is a witch’s labyrinth.” Gee, yah think?!

…

Ok: Okay, where exactly are you headed?

H: Deep into the bowels of the earth, apparently.

Op: Quick! To the Homu-Cave!

G: So, uh, can you see all those windows with the witches, or…?

H: Probably not. It probably still looks normal to me.

Op: Now that just sucks! If you’re going to monologue dramatically you at least ought to be able to appreciate the accompanying visuals!

Ch: “Previously, on Homura Magica…”

G: We probably should have watched the show first. Maybe then all of this would make sense.

Ch: I sincerely doubt it.

…

Ch: Why do all of my scenes have me looking like some brand of idiot?

Ok: Have you seen yourself whenever you get within sniffing distance of a piece of mozzarella? If anything, the doll you is way more composed!

Ch: Oh, so I stick teacups on top of my head, is that what you’re saying?

Op: No, usually you smash them and anything else that’s between you and that sweet, sweet cheesy goodness.

…

Ok: Oh, exposition!

Ch: About my idiot counterpart. I really hope I am the villain and this is all some kind of clever ruse, because otherwise, my God.

G: This is really cute, though. And at least you two are close in this universe too!

Ch: I’m basically a pet.

Ca: Well, if I must have a pet, I’m glad that it’s you.

Ch: Woof-woof.

=from outside, Cheese starts screeching=

Che: Bitch-ass cayennnnnne!

Ca: Whoops. He heard.

…

Ch: …Candy? Are you okay?

Ca: I’m…fine. Just memories.

G: You mean it was really like that?

Ca: Well, Charlotte obviously wasn’t a doll, we weren’t trapped in a bizarre facsimile of the city, and there were no Nightmares, but yes. It was a lonely time.

Op: Because of me, wasn’t it?

Ca: Ophelia, you had literally just lost your family, and I…wasn’t as sympathetic as I ought to have been. So no. It wasn’t because of you. Besides, we did make up later. Had a long conversation and everything. There were even tears.

Op: Well, that’s good to hear.

Ca: Actually, it was pretty close to how it is in the movie, once everyone had shown up. The five of us spending all our time together. Fighting together, training together, celebrating together, and just being girls together. For me, it was probably the happiest I had ever been.

Ok: Right up until my love life went sour.

Ca: Oh, there was so much more to it than just that. Besides, it was all just a temporary thing, a staving off the inevitable. What we have now might be much less exciting but is so much better.

Op: I dunno. Fighting demonic teddy-bears every night sounds like my idea of a good time.

Ca: We didn’t have teddy-bears, remember?

Op: Well, we should have.

…

Ok: Um…Homulilly?

H: Well, this has gotten interesting.

Op: You know, there are a lot of jokes I could be making about you freezing time right next to your crush, but I won’t.

H: Thank you.

G: I don’t get it...Actually, I do. Never mind.

Ok: Shoot the rat! He’s right there!

Ch: Oh, no. She’s going after me. Huh.

H: Huh indeed.

=Charlotte and Homulilly shoot each other an odd look=

Op: So…are we gonna get Homulilly vs. Charlotte?

H: More of Homura vs. Bebe, it seems.

Ch: So…I am the villain.

Op: If you’re lucky, you’ll get an overly dramatic and campy solo number, complete with a pipe organ!

…

G: This is getting a little hard to watch.

Ch: It’s not me.

G: It kind ofis.

H: Charlotte, I would like to take this moment to say that you are a dear friend of mine, and the actions of my counterpart do not reflect my feelings.

Ch: Thanks. Same.

=pause=

Ch: Though could your other self please stop choking me? It is getting kind of weird.

…

Op: Okay, that cinches it! Homura can definitely see the weird!

Ok: How do you figure?

Op: The fact that she’s leaping from dessert tray on a stick to dessert tray on a stick! Why would she be doing that unless she could see them?

Ok: I don’t know. Maybe they just look like telephone poles to her.

H: No, the illusion has clearly dropped, at least for me.

Ch: I’m about to get executed and that’s what you choose to focus on?

Op: For all you know you’re about to snap and bite Homura’s head off.

Ch: I…seriously doubt that. I mean, she is kind of the main character.

Ok: Though hey, wouldn’t that be such a wicked twist? To build up someone as a super-important character only to kill them off like a quarter of the way through?

=Candeloro frowns, a puzzled look on her face=

…

Op: Erm…

H: Well, this is certainly condescending.

Ca: It’s not inaccurate, though. I did struggle with many doubts and insecurities, and often found it difficult to put on a brave face.

Ch: That’s just called being human, babe.

Op: Most humans never went through what we went through.

Ca: That’s also true. Like I said, Homura isn’t wrong. I often felt like I was on the edge of cracking. There was more than one time when one of you would get hurt during a fight, and I would make a big show of being calm and unbothered. I’d encourage you and maybe lightly scold you for letting your guard down, and when you were all healed up I’d reassure everyone that I knew everything would be fine and try my best to carry on as normal. And then, when everyone was gone, I’d spend the rest of the night crying. You were right to assume I would react badly if you accused my close companion of being some kind of nefarious villain.

=long, uncomfortable pause=

H: Maybe so, but I think that my other self here wasn’t in the habit of giving people the benefit of the doubt. I think that her frequent failures might cause her to assume the worst of everyone, and act accordingly. I don’t think that she is giving you a fair shake.

Ca: That’s sweet of you to say so, Homulilly. But realistically speaking, she had reason not to trust me with this information.

…

Ch: Yeesh.

H: It’s okay. You can say it.

Ch: Say what?

H: That this alternate version of myself is kind of…shall we say…

Ok: Incredibly terrifying?

H: Just a little psychotic, yes.

G: Well, I mean, considering what she went through. You were lucky to stop after four loops. How many times did she have to relive my death over and over?

Ch: Still doesn’t make watching me get shoved up against a wall and the life choked out of me any more fun to watch.

…

Ch: Hold up!

Op: Well, hey! Wife to the rescue!

Ca: But…how…?

G: Oh. That is…a long ribbon.

Op: Did you have that attached to her foot the whole time?

Ca: I mean, I guess…

Ok: How did she even know you were up to something?

Ca: Intuition, I suppose. Maybe the lack of glasses and the new hairstyle tipped me off?

Ok: Why would that-

Ca: I don’t know, I’m just throwing guesses out.

H: Well, consider me impressed. Clearly, this other me underestimated you.

Ca: Thank you.

Ch: OKAY! If having my stupid doll face on every billboard in town doesn’t tip you off, then nothing will!

G: Homura’s probably the only one that can see it like that. Mami probably just sees a shoe advertisement or something.

Ch: You know what? That’s actually kind of a relief.

…

Ok: Oh, shit!

Ch: Could you stop trying to kill me? Please?

H: Believe me, if I could stop me, I would.

Op, suddenly sitting up straighter: Hold on, is this going where I think it’s going?

Ok: I think it is! I think it is!

Ca: Oh, here we go.

G: What?

Ok: Homura and Mami are going to fight!

G: Oh. Oh!

H: Candeloro, just like I said with Charlotte, the actions and beliefs of this alternate self of mine-

Ca: Homulilly, relax. It’s fine. These other versions of ourselves took different paths than we did. I don’t hold any of this against you.

H: Likewise.

Ca: Good.

=pause=

Op: Fifty talents on Mami.

Ch: Oh, good Lord.

Ok: You’re on! Time stop, Fee! That’s so overpowered!

Op: Which our girl neutralized without Little Miss Sleuth even knowing.

H: Is this really-

Op: Plus Mami’s the veteran fighter, remember? The tanky heavy?

Ok: Uh, Homura’s got multiple timeloops of experience, okay. That trumps Mami’s couple of years.

Ca: It was more like three…

G: I’m in! I’m betting on Lilly!

H: On Homura. I’m not fighting anyone.

Ok: Same diff! You better win, though. We’ve got money riding on this.

Ch: Well, I’m joining Fee and betting on Mami. I think you’ll find her more of a handful than you’re bargaining for.

Ca: Out of all the childish-

Ch: Buck up! You’ve got fifty talents to win me!

=Homulilly extends her hand across the couch=

H: Hey. May the best fighter win.

=pause, then Candeloro sighs and shakes her hand=

Ca: Oh, why not. You’re on!

…

Ch: Well, that ribbon ain’t going nowhere. Time stop, still neutralized.

Op: Ha! What I say?

Ca: My Bebe’s life is in danger. My will is resolute.

Ch: You are not turning Bebe into a pet name.

Ok: Come on, come on. Get with the fighting already!

=long pause as Mami and Homura have their staredown, and then they leap…=

Op: Oh, yeah! Here we go!

…

Op: Holy shit!

Ok: Go! Go!

G: Wow. That is a lot of guns.

…

Ch: Come on, babe. You can do this.

Ok: THIS! IS! SO! FREAKING! COOL!

G: Look at their faces! They still don’t want to hurt each other.

Ch: Oh, come on, doll-me! Get out of there already!

…

Op and Ch: Let’s go, Mami!

Ok and G: Ho-Mu-Ra!

Op: Let’s go, Mami!

Ok and G: Ho-Mu-Ra!

H: This is easily the weirdest thing we’ve ever done.

Ok: Oh, what? The thing with the sea-monster wasn’t weirder?

H: That was just…messy! We’re watching me and Candeloro’s alternate future selves in a fight to the death and you four are treating it like a pro-wrestling event!

Ca: Yeah. And I’m going to win.

=pause=

H: Did I say you could stop chanting?

Ok and G: Ho-Mu-Ra!

…

Op: Downtown is getting fuuuucked uuuup!

Ch: Just wait until she unfreezes time.

G: Jeez, I can’t tell if you’re both terrible shots or just extremely good at dodging!

H: Definitely the second.

Ok: And now we come to the stand-off.

Op: Nowhere to go, barely any room to breathe. Hey, Lilly, is the kinetic force of those bullets maintained?

H: What?

Op: I know they’re stuck in time, but can you just pluck them out of the air, or would you still be damaged by the heat and contained momentum?

H: I…have no idea.

Op: Best not to touch them then.

H: Probably smart.

…

Op: And time starts up…now.

G: Oh, that looks so unsafe.

Ok: Yeah! I mean, sure, if they hold still they won’t get hit with the bullets right next to them. But the freaking air was full of them! What’s keeping a spray of bullets from raining down from above and turning their heads into swiss cheese? Oh, sorry Char.

Ch: Y’know, unlike my moronic counterpart, I can hear the word “cheese” without freaking out.

Op: And that’s not getting into ricochets. They ought to be perforated right now.

Ca: My bullets were magic. They only ricocheted when I wanted them to. Most times they’d either pierce right through or exploded on impact.

Op: Homura’s aren’t.

Ca: True.

…

Ok: So much for your surroundings. Where the hell are you guys anyway?

H: Looks like some kind of cathedral. Only a very…eccentric one.

Ok: City’s getting weirder by the minute.

G: It could be symbolic for something. Like, I don’t know, violence in a place of sanctuary or…something?

Ch: Or gothic architecture just makes for an awesome place to stage an action scene and the animators and directors know it.

Ok: Stop killing the magic!

Op: Though, hell, speaking of which, would they actually die if they got shot? I mean, I know it would hurt, but…

Ca: Hypothetically? No. So long as the soul gem itself was unharmed, any damage would eventually heal.

G: Like we do?

Ca: Er, sort of, but not in the same way. Their bodies are still flesh and blood. Injuries back then tended to be…messy. And healing used up magic, and if those injuries were too great…

Ok: Witch time?

Ca: Bingo.

…

Ch: “Not getting anywhere.” Now there’s the understatement of the year.

G: So who won? Was it a draw?

Ca: So far, but I don’t think it’s over yet.

H: Indeed. I seem to be…up to something.

Op: Okay, if none of those big honkin’ rifles and machine-guns weren’t working, what good is that little peashooter, gonna…hold on!

=Homura puts the gun to her head. Half-a-second of stunned silence, and then everyone starts yelling at once=

G: Oh, no. Oh, no.

Ch: Oh, my God. They are going there.

Op: Okay. OKAY!

Ok: What the hell is she doing?!

Ca: No, no, no, no, no, no, no…

H: What is wrong with you?! Why are you like this?!

=bang=

=collective scream=

[castielific]

Title: Fancy and the tramp

Story status: Complete, 8 chapters

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dean/Castiel, Alternate Universe, Fake boyfriends, pretend relationship, homeless!Dean, rich!Cas, family, angst with a happy ending, temporary breakup, getting back together, coming out, past!homophobia, self esteem issues, Dean Winchester has a sexuality crisis, first time, homelessness, bed sharing, pining

Sex tags: anal sex, switching, bottom!Cas, bottom!Dean, first time, frottage, marking, blowjob, fingering, barebacking

Special warning: Contrary to what the title may presage, there are no spaghettis in this story. 

Summary: 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods.

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new fake boyfriend. What a weird day. 

Link to AO3

Chapter 1 under the cut:

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

"Come on Ricky, you owe me that money!" Dean says on his phone, taking a step forward when the line of the coffee shop shortens. 

"I don't owe you shit, Dean. You still owe me the last three months of your rent," his ex landlord says on the phone.

"And I'll pay you, you know I will. But to get the money, I need a job, and to get that job I need some new clothes and-"

"Yeah yeah, I know the deal. You think no one has told me that one before? No bueno, man, I'm keeping your deposit," Ricky grumbles. 

Dean groans in frustration. "Come on, all I need is fifty dollars so I can buy a pair of pants without any holes in it. You give me fifty, I get the job and I pay you back, how does that sound?" he tries to negotiate. 

"Like a fucking lie," Ricky spits just before hanging up.

"No Ric-fuck!" 

The woman in front of him in line sends him a dark look. Dean rolls his eyes at her. Like she hasn't heard worse before. 

Ricky was his last shot. It was a long one, he really does owe that bastard some serious money. Guess he can kiss the job interview at two goodbye. It's some kind of assistant job. It sounds easy enough, buying coffee and picking dry cleaning and stuff. It was still a long shot anyway. Dean's only real job experience is being a bagger boy when he was seventeen and it lasted about two months before his dad decided to move them further east. 

So far, he'd always managed to get by doing repairs or cleaning at gas stops and motels. The older he gets and the harder it gets to find that kind of random job. People are more willing to give a few bucks in exchange for manual tasks to a kid than they are to a nearly thirty years old guy. Now they just tell him to fuck off. 

And since it's always been casual and off the book, the only official work experience he has is the bagger thing. He doesn't even have a high school diploma because he dropped out long before that. Not exactly a stellar resume. Which explains why he hasn't found work in eight month and is currently living in his car. Thank God he has Baby. 

He had been too ambitious thinking he could get his own place. It could only pay rent for about five months before he went broke. He's never had a home before, and had no idea that having an apartment cost so much. In motels, you don't exactly have to pay for water or heat or utilities. There was a bunch of stuff he hadn't planned for that ate up the last of his meagre savings. Ricky threw him out after three months when Dean couldn't scrape up enough money to pay rent anymore, putting a violent stop to Dean's pipe dream of living a normal life. He hoped it would be simpler to get a job if he had an actual address, had even thought about scrapping up enough to maybe get his GED. He's not sure what he's going to do now. 

He's always wanted to be a mechanic. If his dad ever taught him anything, it was how to take care of the Impala. John taught him all the basics and Dean got the knack of it. As a teen, he spent days reading car magazines and working on the Impala, trying to learn as much as he could about how cars worked and how to repair the different parts. He knows enough by now that he could easily work in a garage, but he's got no diploma, and hasn't found anyone willing to hire him on faith alone. 

The line of the coffee shop shortens again, the barista asking her order to the goody-two-shoes in front of him. Dean looks regretfully at the display of sandwiches. He searches his pockets and only comes up with three dollars. Of course, the cheapest piece of food cost four dollars. Dean sighs. Guess just a coffee will have to do today. 

He won't have another choice but to go to the soup kitchen tonight. He hates it there. The food is crap and he wants to punch the prancy people serving it. They always try to give him some Jesus bullshit with his food, like Jesus is ever gonna put a roof over his head and find him a decent job. Neither Jesus nor God nor whatever gives a crap about him. Not that he blames them. Hell, if they exist they're probably not big fans of the guy that used to slip into church as a kid to pick the lock of the donation box

"Just an americano, please," Dean says regretfully when the barista asks for his order. At least it will keep him warm and fill his stomach for a short while.

Halloween just went by and the weather is becoming really cold. He should use the last of Baby's tank to go as far south as he can before winter really hits. He probably won't get farther than Wichita though, and the thought makes him shiver. No one wants to get stuck for a winter in Wichita. Maybe he could go and see if he can make a few bucks at the nearest motel, that kind of place always needs a handyman's help. He hasn't tried the one on Corn Street yet. He's noticed only two lights are still working on their sign, he could offer to help with that. If he makes fifty bucks, he might be able to reach Austin. 

Dean stops on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, pondering if he should walk to the bar a few streets down or the motel. Sometimes Benny, the owner of the bar, lets him use the sink in the back to wash up. If he's lucky, he'll even get some leftovers from last night. It's generally just some stale pretzels, cold fries on good days, but it's still better than nothing. He's got two cans of beans and a car with an near empty tank to his name right now, so he's not picky. 

Dean takes a look at his watch. It's eleven thirty already, the leftovers are probably already in the trash at Benny's. The motel is probably his best bet. 

"I'll give you a hundred dollars if you pretend to be my boyfriend." comes a hoarse voice, way too close to his ear. 

Dean jumps, nearly spilling his coffee on himself. He spins to the right to face the man who just talked and is met with a pair of clear blue eyes. Way too close again. He waits a second for the man to take a step back as he realises as close Dean turning brought them, but the guy just continues to stare at him, head slightly tilted to the side. He's wearing an oversized trench coat over a dark blue suit that looks expensive. He's so close a gust of wind makes the bottom of his coat brushes Dean's shin. 

"Dude, personal space," Dean reproaches, taking a step back. "And fuck off, I don't swing that way," he adds, not meanly. It's not the first time he's getting hit on by a dude. Sadly, not even the weirdest. He's strictly into chicks though, so no dice.

"Two hundred bucks," the man insists. He looks ready to fall on his knees and beg, eyes going wider and wider as he throws a panicked look to the right of Dean's shoulder. "It won't take more than ten minutes and all you have to do is nod along," he begs, making Dean wonders if he's in danger somehow. Maybe he has a stalker or an abusive ex? 

Dean follows his eyes to a woman coming closer. She's very elegant in a grey pantsuit and a long white fur coat as she walks straight toward them. He can feel her eyes judging him even from thirty feet away, looking at him from head to toes. If he wasn't already self-aware of the number of holes in his jeans, he would definitely be under that gaze. 

"Five hundred dollars," the other man whispers just as the blond woman reaches them. 

"Castiel, dear, you should have told me we would have company, I would have notified the restaurant," the woman says, sending a clearly disapproving look toward Dean as she deposits a kiss on the other man's - (Castiel, apparently, what kind of name is that??) - cheek. 

"Mother, let me introduce you to my boyfriend," Castiel says, looking ill at ease. He's obviously not a very good liar. 

Dean blinks a few times as their attention turns toward him. Castiel seems to be trying to communicate something with his eyes, and Dean frowns in incomprehension for a moment before he gets the hint. 

"Huh. Dean. Winchester," he finally says. "Ma'am," he adds when she just continues to stare at him like he has grease smeared all over his face. He's pretty sure that she wouldn't want to touch his hand if he were to offer it to shake, so he doesn't. 

"Naomi Novak," she introduces herself. "What a delight to finally meet Castiel's new companion," Naomi says, her deadpan tone contradicting her words. "Of course, I would have preferred not to be ambushed by such an announcement. Castiel, you know, that Le Délice hates it when we change our reservation last minute. Who knows if they will even have a table for three," she declares, already composing a number on her phone. 

"It's okay, mother, Dean won't be joining us for lunch."

"Oh, is it because your attire isn't appropriate?" Castiel's mother asks, looking at the holes in Dean's jeans and the big leather jacket that used to be his dad's. "I assure you they won't say a word about it if you're with us," she reassures. 

Dean squirms a little, wondering what the hell is even happening. Ten minutes ago he was buying a coffee and going at his day like a perfectly normal person (well, albeit a homeless and jobless one). Now, his fashion sense is being criticized by the mother of a man who is pretending to be his boyfriend. Did a piano fall on his head or something? Has he finally lost his mind?

He looks to the man beside him. He's scratching the side of his neck in nervousness. The move makes his coat fall a little over his wrist, revealing a freaking Rolex watch. Dean looks back to the woman, eyes sliding on her diamond earrings and the huge rock around her neck. 

You know what? That's not okay. His stomach has been crying for food since last morning, and he's what? Supposed to help this stranger by saying no to free lunch at one of the most prestigious restaurants in town? Fuck no. He's gonna eat like a king and make a few hundred bucks off the back of those rich assholes. 

"In that case, it would be my pleasure to join you," Dean announces with his most charming smile. 

"What?" Castiel can't help but bark. "But y-your work thing?" he tries, sweating. The round panic eyes are back. Dean sends him his best shit eating grin. They both know he now either has to invite this stranger to lunch or reveal the lie to his mother. The guy is trapped and may as well continue to play along.

"It's not as important as a chance to finally get to know your mother, honey," Dean answers. "He's told me so many nice things about you, Naomi. Can I call you Naomi?"

"Of course, dear," Naomi says. She looks a little wide eyed too, probably thrown by Dean turning on the charm to the max.

"Perfect! We shall go now, we don't want to miss your reservation. I do hope it won't be too much of a bother for them to add a chair to your table," Dean says. He should probably tone it down with the pompous tone, because he nearly added an English accent here. 

Naomi leads the way, and Dean is going to follow when a hand grabbing his arm makes him fall a few steps behind. 

"What the hell are you doing?" Castiel hisses.

"Acting as your boyfriend?" Dean says innocently. By Castiel's glare, he's not fooled. 

"I asked you to nod silently for ten minutes, not to do method acting for a whole meal," he reproaches. Naomi sends a look behind her shoulder and Castiel smiles at her like there is no worries, indicating for her to lead the way, 

Dean shrugs. "I had some free time."

"I'm not giving you more money than planned, if that's your goal," Castiel says with a suspicious squint. 

"I'm fine with the five hundred as long as you're also paying for lunch," Dean says, wiggling his eyebrows as they walk toward the restaurant. Something passes on Castiel's face that Dean can't quite identify. The other man stares at him for so long that it's a wonder he doesn't trip. He finally relents with a long suffering sigh as they enter 'Le Délice'. 

Apparently, Naomi Novak is prominent enough that they don't mind changing her reservation after all. They're seated at a table near a legit indoor fountain. Dean is looking around, trying not to let show how impressed he is by the place. The walls are made of stone and covered in frescos that he always thought you couldn't see outside of a church or castle. A waiter gives him a leather covered menu and Dean opens it eagerly. After a few niceties to Naomi, they're asked what they want to drink. Dean has an inkling that he probably shouldn't ask for a beer in an establishment like this. 

"Same for me, please," he says after Castiel ordered some wine with a name Dean can't pronounce. At least, he hopes that's wine. Who knows. Hell, in this place the bottles of water are probably more expensive than his usual brand of beer. 

Dean starts to second guess his decision when he realizes that the menu is in french. What is it with rich people and France? He just wants a damn steak, how do you say that in french? Is there even steaks here or is it just frog legs and snails? Oh god, he hopes not. 

"I think I'll take the duck today," Naomi notes. "Nobody cooks it better than chef Francis. How about you Dean? Have you ever come here before?" There is a mean glint in her eyes that says she knows perfectly well he hasn't. Hell, from the side eyes he got from everyone as they crossed the room, everyone here knows he's not from their world. There are three holes in his jeans, threads hanging from the bottom and his dad's leather jacket probably should have ended up in the trash about three years ago. Even now, it's still too big for him and the sleeves are so scruffed that they're nearly paper thin. The original dark brown color has turned to a light beige in most places from wear. His scruff is just the bad side of too long now, and he hasn't had a haircut since April, strands starting to fall into his eyes. At least, he's wearing his best plaid shirt and managed to wash up last night, so he's not smelling too rank. Why would Castiel pick him out of all the people in the street at that moment to play his boyfriend? It makes no sense at all. From the guy's obvious discomfort as he hides behind his menu, he probably realizes it. 

"Actually, Naomi, duck sounds like a delicious idea," Dean says, voluntarily ignoring her question. To be honest, he’s never even eaten duck before, but it's poultry so it probably taste like chicken. You can't go wrong with chicken, right? His stomach certainly likes the idea, gurgling so loudly that he has to hide it behind a cough. 

Castiel ends up ordering some fish and soon their drinks arrive. Dean barely has time to sip at his red wine before Naomi pounces. 

"So, tell me everything, how did you two meet?"

Dean nearly chokes on his drink. Castiel seems to gulp down his whole glass. 

"We met at a coffee shop. Dean was in line in front of me and we started to talk," Castiel explains, not quite meeting anyone's eyes.

"How quaint!" Naomi exclaims, clasping her hands in delight. "I'm just sorry that you didn't tell me about it sooner, Castiel. How long have you been keeping this charming man a secret?"

"Not-," Castiel clears his throat, "-not long."

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Dean. I sure wish this luncheon will give me the chance to learn everything about you."

Luncheon? Who even talks like that outside of Downton Abbey?

"I do hope I'll get to keep some mystery, we wouldn't want this guy to lose interest," Dean says with a wink. He pats Castiel's hand on the table. Should he hold it or something? How open on PDA are gay people those days? Not that he knows more about how heterosexual couple act in public anyway, especially in those crowds. It's probably safer to keep the PDA to a minimum here. 

"You have to at least tell me some things. For one, what career path are you on?" She looks like a shark circling her prey. 

"I'm a mechanic," he lies. He'd rather stay as close to the truth as possible. It's a little unfair that Castiel is letting him do all the talking when his initial demand was that he stayed silent, especially since it's his skin that Dean is apparently saving, but the guy looks like he's swallowed a potato whole. 

"Oh, that's...interesting," Naomi says in that insincere tone of hers. She looks like he told her he was fucking children’s corpses every full moon. He's two seconds away from telling her that he's actually jobless, penniless, and homeless, just to see her face, when Castiel intervenes. 

"How is Anna's engagement party coming on?" 

Thankfully, this seems to be a subject Naomi loves because she tells them about every aspect of the future party all the way through their meal. 

Duck, as it turns out, is actually very good. It's more like red meat than chicken, which is a great surprise. Although, Dean isn't a fan of the way rich people put tiny quantities of food in very large plates. He eats all the dinner rolls and scrapes every single bit of sauce out of his plate, yet he's still hungry by the end of it. He nearly starts crying when the waiter asks them if they'll take dessert and Naomi declines. He's starting to wonder if that little piece of duck was worth sitting through lunch with her. 

"That sounds like you're turning this into a wonderful event, mother, Anna must be delighted," Castiel compliments. 

"Oh, you know your sister," Naomi waves it off. "It sure feels like a nice opportunity to introduce your new beau to everyone."

Dean frowns. What's a beau? Is that him? That's not him, right?

"I wouldn't dare take any attention away from Anna," Castiel tries to refuse. 

"Don't be daft, you know your sister won't care. Everyone will be so happy that you've finally found-" she passes a long look, over Dean, like she's doubting anyone would actually approve of him. She certainly doesn't seem to, "-someone," she finishes lamely. 

"Oh shoot, I don't think I'm available that night," Dean tries to play off. 

"I'm not sure I've told you the date of it yet."

"Cas did," he says. The other man perks up at the surname, but whatever, 'Castiel' is a mouthful. "And I have this huh work thing, you know? Bummer," Dean says with a fake pout. 

"What kind of 'work thing' can a mechanic possibly have on a Saturday evening?"

Dean tenses up, pursing his lips. "One he can't get out of?"

"Nonsense, you're coming," Naomi brushes off. And that is that apparently. Shit. There is a vein about to pop on Castiel's forehead. "Castiel, dear, you look a little white. Was the fish okay?"

"I-Yeah-I-Actually, do you think we could possibly cut our lunch short? I am indeed feeling quite unwell."

"Of course, my dear," Naomi says, leaning forward until her hand touches his forehead. "You're as clammy as a fish. I should come home with you, and make sure you're okay," she announces, taking her napkin off her lap and deposing it on the table, ready to stand up. 

"No!" Castiel stops her, a little too brusquely. "I-Dean will take good care of me, don't worry," he says, getting up and grabbing Dean's arm so he does so too. Dean follows his lead, all too happy to get out of here. "Stay and enjoy your tea, mother."

"If you say so," Naomi says, sending an unsure look at Dean, obviously upset at being brushed off in his favor. "Call me this evening, or I'll worry all night."

"Of course, mother," Castiel acquiesces, kissing her cheek. Dean hovers behind him. Is he supposed to kiss her too? Wave hello? Shake her hand? 

"Dean," she says as what is apparently a sufficient goodbye. Thank God. "I'll be sure to see you on Saturday," she reminds just as they're walking away. 

Cas turns on him as soon as they're outside the restaurant. 

"What was that?!" he asks, not quite yelling. He starts pacing, rubbing a hand through his already pretty ruffled hair. 

"You owing me five hundred bucks? Dude, you're lucky I don't charge you more for the fresh hell I just lived through."

"You went through hell? You?!" his pacing gets faster and Dean has an idea that if he stops pacing he might punch him in the face. 

"That's what you get for asking this kind of stuff from a perfect stranger," Dean shrugs, pushing a pebble with the point of his shoe. His red sock is peeking out from a tiny hole near his big toe. It's such a contrast to how grand everything and everyone looked in there. It's making him feel like shit. He's maybe feeling a tiny bit guilty for trapping Castiel like that too. He doesn't seem like a bad guy, albeit one with a psycho mom.

Cas turns on him, eyes glaring and mouth open in what will probably be a flow of reproaches. He stops himself before he says anything though, seeming to deflate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breathe instead, shoulders falling. "I'm sorry. You're right. I should be thanking you. I have no right to make you any reproach when I brought this on myself."

"It wasn't so bad, though, was it? I mean, I think I sold it?" Dean asks, a little hesitant. He even used pedantic talk and everything. 

"You did as well as could be expected."

"That's not much of a compliment…". 

"I shouldn't take more of your time," Cas apologizes, taking his wallet out. Dean goggles at the amount of cash in there. 

"You really shouldn't have that much cash on you, that's, like, asking for trouble."

Castiel squints at him like he's wondering if that means Dean is gonna rob him for a moment, before he hands him a wad of cash. 

Dean's eyes bulge out, "That's way more than five hundred dollars."

"There's also an advance in there to buy some clothes for the engagement party."

"The what now?" Dean blinks dumbly for a second until his brain catches up to what is happening. "Dude, no, I'm done!" 

"You were the one to push it so far in the first place," Castiel reminds. Accuses, really. 

"I just wanted to eat fancy food, okay! Not, like, go steady."

"There will be lots of food at my sister's engagement party," Castiel tries to persuade. Badly. 

Dean gives him a nonplussed look. The cash feels heavy in his hand. He's never had so much before. This could help him get a new start. What's a night of playing Downton Abbey compared to the many many nights he might not have to freeze his ass off in the backseat of his car thanks to it?

"Why are you even doing this anyway? And why would you choose me? Do I look that desperate for cash?"

"No," Cas says after what's definitely a too long pause. Dean scowls. "You were in front of me in the coffee shop line. I heard you talking on the phone. You said you needed some cash to buy a new outfit for a job interview. Begged, really."

"Where the fuck do you get on listening in on other people’s conversation?" 

"I didn't listen, I just heard."

"You know, what? Fuck you," Dean spits, "I don't need that bullshit in my life right now." He has enough cash to get to Austin and replenish his stock of food, even buy some new clothes. At least this way he can keep his dignity rather than being insulted by a bunch of rich assh-

"Please," Castiel begs, following him as Dean storms away. "You don't understand…"

"Oh I understand perfectly," Dean says, stopping and turning around so brusquely that they nearly bump into each other. "You think you can shit on other people from your high horse and that they'll still do your deed for a few hundred bucks. Well, I'm not your freaking puppet, man."

"I have never shitted on any-" he stops himself with a frustrated groan, before turning on the puppy dog eyes. "Dean, please. Listen to what I have to say at least?"

"I know what you're gonna say. I've seen that movie before, Cas. You're going to bring me to that party, so you can parade me around like I'm some earned price or some shit. Meanwhile you get to appease mommy dearest and the clan of hyenas putting pressure on you to find a husband, while still having the satisfaction of giving them a huge fuck you by bringing a guy like me instead of the golden boy they're dreaming of."

"I-" Castiel stops himself, pursing his lips. "That's actually not that far from the reality."

"Of course it isn't. Told you, I've seen that trope before. Except this is real life and your plan sucks, so you can keep your money and I'll keep my dignity. Just grow a pair and tell them all to fuck off, will ya?"

"You sure do like saying that to people," Castiel sulks. "Are you sure you can't do it for me?" 

"Oh believe me I would love to tell your mom to fuck off, but I like my balls attached to my body, so that's a hard pass."

Castiel laughs slightly at that and Dean can feel his own anger start to abate at the sound. "Good self-preservation instinct on your part," Cas mumbles. The puppy look is still there, except now it's making him feel like he's kicked the puppy.  

"You know, we're in the 21st century, right? You shouldn't feel pressured to the point of inventing a boyfriend. Who gives a shit about that nowadays?"

"My family does," Castiel answers in a long sigh. "You don't get it, how could you... I have three brothers, Dean," Castiel explains. "Two sisters. My little sister, who is just nineteen, just got engaged. I was already seen as the irremediably unwed one and now I…," he pauses, sending a nervous look at Dean, looking ashamed.

"Oh come on. How hard can it be? You're rich, objectively good looking. Do you have weird kinks or something?"

 "I-I wouldn't know. I've never even been in a relationship before," he confesses, looking at the ground.

"When you say 'relationship', you don't mean you've never…" Dean inquires. Cas' cheeks redden, and Dean blows like he just got punched. "Wow. That sucks."

"Yes, it's very pathetic."

"What? Eh no, it's not pathetic. Surprising, yeah. But, to each their own, you know?"

Cas inclines his head like he's not sure he does know. 

"I'm sorry I tried to drag you in all of this. You seem like a good man. You don't deserve-"

"-to be served on a platter to your family?" Dean asks, searching Castiel's gaze until they exchange a smile. 

"Yes. That." The man is still looking dejected. The money is still in Dean's hand. That duck really was good. Damn it.

"The food better be freaking awesome," Dean relents with a frustrated grunt. Castiel seems instantly relieved. "And you're not pretty woman-ing me," he warns, pointing a finger at the other man. "I'm choosing my own clothes and I don't give a shit if I don't know which fork to use for fish."

Castiel's head is tilted and he's blinking owlishly, like he doesn't understand a word that Dean is saying. Figures. He's not sure how he could convince anyone that he's this dork's boyfriend, honestly. Naomi certainly looked like she wasn't fooled. 

"I'm sorry for the way my mother behaved toward you. I assure you, being yourself will be amply sufficient to the task."

"Dude, the way y'all talk, where do you come from, Victorian England?"

"I-I don't think I have English ancestry, no. Why?"

They blink at each other for some time. 

"I must be a freaking masochist."

Cas' face scrunches up even more in incomprehension. 

"Okay, let's be clear on one thing from the start. This is not a lifetime movie and I'm straight, so: no falling in love, get it?"

"I get it, Dean," Castiel nods. 

Well, that's it then, apparently Dean is going to a fancy engagement party with his new boyfriend. What a weird day... 

You can read the rest on AO3

[dearboopl]

An essay on why I feel like spn hasn't ended yet and what's the problem with that.

These last few days, after the he who must be not named happend, I have been feeling weird, like spn is still going to air. And no, it is not because I don't want to accept the fact, but because it is one sided goodbye.

I'm just not sure from which side the goodbye was said.

Let's start from me saying that I was okay with it ending. I actually wanted it to wrap up, close all the loose ends and answer the BIG questions.

What we got... well I don't have to remind. It is not only that the ending doesn't make sense and just cancels all the progress, character development, but like many people said it feels out of the blue.

Watching the vampire scene, for a moment I thought, maybe this is not the memory from first seasons, maybe all that was builded leading up to the finale was just a dream. It is wrong. Something is not right.

Even with that, the weirdest thing is the lack of goodbye from everyone. I would guess after 15 years building this show, we would get every member, writer talking on social media how it changed their lives, how sad it was to end. Hell, I waited for videos of them all finishing last scenes and just seeing their adrenaline rush off to realization that it is the end.

What we got? Apart few before the episode aired tweets, Jensens video about last but maybe not the last goodbye, and Misha's sad reaction to the end, nada. Everyone is quiet (afc there were some tweets from other actors, but from mains???) . Only Jensen put a snarky photo with the nail to absolutely let us know that we are not the only ones who feels that it was stupid. So stupid.

What happend?

Well shit will we ever know? I doubt it. But as I feel, as out of character as it was, something big happend.

One of the things that does not sit well with me, (is the absolute humiliation of Dean character) is the after scene where Sam is showed getting old, alone, we never see his wife, we get a hilarious wig scene where Sam looks like his kid asked him to cosplay an old dude, but they didn't have time to prepare, loots of Sam being sad because Dean is dead and he can not live without him. I could go on, but the messages from is that this seems a last minute script change. It wasn't planned, but something happend in the office.

I don't know the mechanics of creating an episode, and doubt if you can change production last minute (few scenes yes), but this just feels like the end wasn't going to be like this.

Few thing why:

1. I mentioned the after scene was hilarious and looked like a parody.

2. We did not see Sam's wife - that just doesn't make sense as we know Seileen is cannon, and they are not gay, so why shy away from showing them together. Maybe because this wasn't planned and they couldn't get the actress on set???

3. Dean's death is also a parody. They dealth with a fucking God, his son is the new God and they want us to believe that a nail is enough to kill Dean Winchester?

4. There is absolutely no happines for Dean in that heaven. His baby? A car? That what it takes? Come back to earth you fucker and drive her like you have been driving for the last 15 years.

5. Dean's feelings. As we saw from the last episode, he doesn't have any feelings. He was happy to die, all his wishes for a trip and vacation to the beach, settling to a steady place were suddenly changed after a cold, CW production and homophobia nail pearced through his insides. Oh Cas said something to him? Opened up? Naaah man, look A fucking CAR.

6. Almost zero mention of Cas.

7. Cas in the onion field was cut???

8. Dean in heaven fucked nothin for 50 years and waited happily for Sam to die? Lol? You could have everything that you want and you won't get Cas. Buddy thay scene in purgatory screamed I love you Cas and not in the brotherly way.

9. They want us to believe that the pies cream was the only white thing on Dean's face that he ever got?

9. For the last point I left Jack the new God. You saying that he, the almighty, didn't want to help Dean, after all they did for Jack. Buddy if not the Winchester and Cas you would be dead. That is what makes me furious, IT DOESN'T MAKES SENSE.

So overall, before this post turned to absolute shit post (because the last episode was). I want to say sorry for everyone who had hopes, myself included.

For myself, I'm not taking this last episode as the end, and surely I'm going to delete it from my mind. We will create our own end. One that will make sense.

This doesn't feel like the end and I cannot wait to learn what the hell happend. This is one sided goodbye from the old writers.

[jayankles]

Not your Bacon

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Y/N makes a split second decision to save Dean on a hunt. When she wakes up in the hospital Dean professes his love for her but she fears that it’s coming from the wrong place.

Squares filled: Little box of memories / the bunker 

Written for: @goodthingshappenbingo / @spndeanbingo

Word Count:1507

@kittycat-cas​ said: Oooh, what I want to see is hurt and comfort, super comforting Dean who is in awe of why this woman would have risked her life so selflessly - just lots of fluff - maybe some angst too if she is really hurt.

Warnings: A little angst, hospitals

It was a split second decision. You couldn’t stand there and do nothing. The werewolf growled from the other side of the warehouse, your body moved on its own accord. Jumping in front of Dean was the only thing you could think of doing. Nothing else mattered if you were going to die instead of a Winchester then you were happy to take their place.

Screaming at the top of your lungs, you felt the excruciating pain tearing through your chest. Their claws shredding through your clothes before ripping through your skin. When you thought you would hit the floor your mind went blank, a fuzzy feeling grew in your chest but you welcomed the darkness that followed.

The wind was knocked out of your body, blood spilling from your mouth as well as your chest. This is it, this is how you die. And you would either die a hero, saving the great Dean Winchester or die out of pure recklessness and it was all for nothing. Either way pretty cool death, especially because you got to save a Winchester.

*

Dean paced the waiting room of the hospital. Everything was much too white. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the uniform. Nothing smelt right either. 

Deciding against his better judgment, Dean went back to the reception and asked if there were any updates on your condition.

“Sorry hun, no changes since the last time you asked. But I can assure you that we have the best doctors and they are going to do their best to help her, okay? I can’t offer you any more assurance than that.”

Dean apologised for his continuous question. He was just the little kid that wanted to know if he had reached his destination. He just wanted to know whether you were safe or not and he wanted to know now. It was eating him alive not knowing what condition you were in.

Returning back to an unoccupied seat, his leg bounced in place, unable to keep his anxiety at bay. There was no hiding it. Hours had passed and there was still no news. It wasn’t until he was shaken awake that he realised he had fallen asleep in one of the chairs. Even if they were uncomfortable, he was exhausted and he couldn’t help but succumb to the dreaded sleep. Dean was told that you were in critical condition but they had managed to stop the bleeding and somehow keep you steady.

He was able to see you but the doctor had told him that you wouldn’t be awake. All he could do was sit and wait, wait and see if you would wake soon, but again sleep overtook him.

*

You grunted awake. Urgh, you would know that smell from anywhere - hospital - but suddenly it was drowned out by one of the smells that you loved the most. Pure and unadulterated Dean.

In a dizzy haze, you patted the bed beside him before you accidentally smacked Dean’s head a little too hard and woke him up. You grunted again, more on the sorrowful side this time as opposed to the hurting one.

“M’sorry.” You groaned, almost whined but it soon disappeared when the nurse came in and did her rounds. She noticed that you were awake, checked your folder and asked how much pain you were in on a scale of 1 to 10. “9, I’m saving my 10 for when I’m dead.”

“Y/N, come on, you know that’s not funny.” Dean argued, his voice stern, you couldn’t help it. You were in pain but you hadn’t lost your sense of humour. “Oh, wow that is some good shit. Wow.”

“Morphine tends to do that to people.” The nurse winked and added the dosage to the chart. “We’ll keep monitoring her but with time and care, those wounds should heal up. It’ll be a pretty cool story to tell in the future.”

“Yeah, I got attacked by a werewolf!” You giggled as your eyelids became heavy, you missed the way Dean’s widened in panic. 

Dean cleared his throat, before he feigned a laugh, trying to shrug it off in front of the nurse. “Damn, morphine makes people talk shit out of their ass, huh?

“Oh yeah. Werewolf isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve heard. We’ve had ghosts, vampires, and my favourite, a man made out of cotton candy but I watched the second Scooby Doo movie. I’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you nurse.”

“No problem. Just call out if you need me.”

Dean nodded, as soon as she left he almost smacked you on your leg but he fell back into the chair with a huff. He sighed when he saw your eyes closed. “You stupid woman. Why would you do that? Why would you jump in front of me? It’s my job to take care of the ones I love most and I couldn’t stand it if you were to die because of me. You know why? Because I am crazy in love with you. You can’t die, not for me, I won’t let you.”

With a bowed head, Dean missed the tear that fell from your eye. You softly sniffled and turned away. “I don’t want to be your bacon.”

“What?”

“It’s from ‘iCarly’ Freddie saves Carly then Carly kisses Freddie and Sam tells Freddie about the time that Sam thought she was in love with a guy because he bought her Canadian bacon. Anyway, the point is, I don’t want to be your bacon or your Freddie. They thought they were in love with someone because they did something nice or saved their live.How do I know this just is out of pity?”

Dean didn’t know what to say at first. He had no idea what you were talking about until you explained it. Dean grabbed your left hand in his and rubbed his other one over your head before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

*

“I’m so glad to be home.” Of course, you weren’t exactly at your home, you were at the bunker but it was close enough and the boys wanted you in close proximity just as you were healing, just until you got better.

You took short steps. Any big ones you took hurt like hell, maybe you needed to be a little less reckless as Dean as said. (Multiple times in the hospital and many times on the way home.) Sam and Cas had made their own rounds in the hospital, continuously checking up on you to see what progress you had made when it came to stitches and wounds.

Sam had immediately offered you a hot beverage, one that you gratefully accepted. One that you missed so much. You had to admit you were a tea snob, and the hospital’s tea didn’t really come up to par with your standards. Castiel followed suit, tugging on a string that exploded confetti. He was still dumbfounded by this contraption and the confused look on his face made you smile even more. The party popper was definitely an idea to behold. He then went on to offer you your favourite dessert and every other dessert under the sun. It seemed he had a good time with baking whilst his angel juice was down.

Much to your surprise, Dean left your side as soon as you were seated. Maybe you were his bacon or his Freddie after all. Just someone who saved his life and when you were starting to heal, that was it. You were disappointed to say the least but really you couldn’t have expected anything from Dean anyway. Maybe some shut eye would help you. Surely, that was all you needed, more sleep. Sleep was the answer to everything these days.

Dean came into your room a few moments later, except he wasn’t empty handed, he was carrying a shoe box and a sandwich on a plate. “I thought you could use some actual food and not and not just dessert as soon as you come back. You must be hungry.”

He set the plate down on your nightstand and sat next to you on your bed. You had your eyes on the box, you noticed that it had your name on it, after a while he opened the lid and set it aside. “Here are my most valued possessions, ones that include the two of us. There’s photos-”

“Movie tickets? Theatre tickets?” You interrupted when you took a peek in the box. “That’s so cool. What are those pieces of paper?”

Dean was reluctant, he never planned to show you this box let alone the things inside. “I never wanted to show you this way, there could have been better circumstances but you just think you’re my bacon or my Freddie but you’re my Y/N.”

Dean left the box with you, kissing the top of your head and leaving you to read or look through all the things that he collected throughout the years.

I guess you weren’t his bacon after all.

Forevers: @super100012 @lupine-princess @plaid-lover-bay25 @atc74 @growningupgeek @sophiebobzz @docharleythegeekqueen @poukothenerd @grace-for-sale @mrswhozeewhatsis @jesspfly @supernaturallymarvellous @sammysgirl1997 @roxyspearing @mogaruke @be-amaziing @deanandsamsbitch @frankiea1998 @hennessy0274-blog @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @iwantthedean @capsheadquaters @emoryhemsworth @notmoose45 @essie1876 @cassieraider @brewsthespirit-blog @its-my-perky-nipples @riversong-sam @jotink78 @captainradicalpassion @jadalecki-jackles @spnbaby-67 @holyfuckloueh @gh0stgurl @alyssa6marie @esoltis280 @bumber-car-s @alexwinchester23 @x-waywardaf-x @thisismysecrethappyplace @randomparanoid @kellianz

Dean: @kenmen02 @ain-t-bovvered @deans-baby-momma  @ericaprice2008 @shamelesslydean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @wingedcatninja @mayasmedberg @kurosaki224-new-blog @valerieshubin @milo-winchester-4ever @sandlee44 @ruprecht0420 @akshi8278 @smoothdogsgirl @dslocum89 @plaidstiel-wormstache @ria132love @welldonebeca @iamabeautifulperson18 @starry-chaos @deans-treasure @larajadeschmidt13 @nyxveracity​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @adoptdontshoppets​

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

I Don’t Want a Soulmate

Dean Winchester stared at the clock with rapt attention. In exactly fifty-eight seconds he would be turning eighteen and somewhere on his body, his soulmate tattoo would appear. He glanced over at his younger brother who was fast asleep. Sam was in awe of the idea of having a mark on your body that was a perfect match to another person’s. Even though he was four years from getting his mark, for the past few months, it had been the only thing he wanted to talk about.

“Dean, what do you think yours will be?” “Do you think it will hurt when it appears?” “How long do you think it will take for you to find your soulmate?” “What if you don’t like your soulmate?”

Dean had finally shouted at his brother to quit asking about the stupid things. Unlike Sam, Dean hated the idea of the soulmate marks. He was furious that he didn’t get to choose the person he was going to spend his life with. He had learned all too well how fate could be a bitch. His parents were a perfect example.

Mary Campbell had been the sweetest, most outgoing person who saw the good in everything. Mary Winchester was a shell of the person she was before she met John Winchester. After enduring years of abuse from John, Mary took her own life when Dean was thirteen and Sam was nine. Dean had sworn to himself that if his soulmate were anything like John, he would never stay with them.

Dean watched anxiously as the seconds on the clock ticked down. As soon as the time changed to midnight, he felt a bright hot pain sear into his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth through the pain, not wanting to wake up his sleeping brother. Once the pain had faded, Dean walked into the bathroom to see what his mark looked like. He stood in front of the mirror and slowly pulled his shirt sleeve back.

Dean’s mark was a simple hourglass with equal amounts of green sand in the top bulb and blue sand in the bottom bulb. “Well, it’s not the worst mark I’ve ever seen,” Dean muttered into the quiet bathroom. He glared at the mark as he pulled his sleeve down to cover it. He was going to do his best to pretend like the thing didn’t even exist.

                                                           *****

Dean was standing at the bar drying shot glasses when the seat in front of hum was suddenly filled with six feet of aggravated Castiel Novak. Dean grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured the tattoo artist a shot before sliding it over to him. Cas glanced up at him with a mumbled, “Thanks.”

Dean threw the towel over his shoulder and leaned forward on the counter, his elbows supporting most of his weight. “What’s got your panties in a knot?”

Cas slammed the empty shot glass down as he growled, “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t wear panties.” He smirked at his roommate as he said, “You on the other hand have quite an extensive collection.”

Dean grinned, completely unashamed. “Damn straight! I’m telling you buddy the material feels so good against your skin and they hug you in all the right places.”

“As I always say, I’ll take your word for it. Pour me another shot.” Cas slid the glass back over to Dean.

Dean poured more whiskey into the glass. Cas went to reach for it, but Dean shook his head. “Nah ah, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Give me the damn glass, Dean,” Cas snarled.

Dean glared at his friend, refusing to follow his order. “No. Something happened and I want to know what.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m your roommate, but also because I’m your friend, Cas. I need to know if I have to go beat somebody up,” Dean answered.

“We’ve only been roommates for a few weeks Dean.”

“And?” Dean asked with a raised eyebrow.

Cas huffed but finally said, “Balth dumped me for some twink in tight little boy shorts. Like, if the dude is even eighteen, I’d be surprised. We’ve been together for two years and he cheated on me for a fucking twink! What the hell does he have that I don’t?”

Dean passed the shot glass over and Cas downed it in one go. He held the bottle out and said, “Here, you need this.” Cas took a long gulp from the bottle. “I’m sorry, Cas. I know you really liked him.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “Truthfully, I don’t know how much I liked him anymore. The past few months haven’t been all that great. I think I’m more pissed about the fact that he refused to break up with me to my face. Not to mention, he chose somebody that’s at least a decade younger than me. Great boost to my ego.”

Dean reached out to grip Cas’ shoulder in a comforting embrace. “Look, Balth was a douche and you deserve so much better. If he can’t see how great of a guy you are, then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Cas flashed a small grin at his friend. “Thanks Dean. You know, I still can’t fathom why you are single. I mean, it’s not like you give a shit about the whole soulmate mark so why not have a little fun?”

“Why even start something with somebody if they’re just gonna leave you in the end? I’m ok with being single for the rest of my life,” Dean replied with a shrug.

“So, why don’t you go look for your soulmate then? I know you’re afraid after what happened with your mom, but you’ve got to try, Dean,” Cas insisted.

“No,” Dean said sternly. “I’d rather be single than find out that my so-called perfect match is some douchebag.”

Cas frowned. “I wish you would let me see your mark. I’m sure it’s something awesome.”

“It’s nothing special. Besides, it’s not like you’ve ever let me see yours,” Dean shot back.

“I figured you wouldn’t want to since you’ve made it very clear how you feel about them. Hell, I learned about your panty collection on the second day of knowing you and you made less of a fuss about that. You nearly bit my head off when I asked about your mark.” Cas lifted the bottle to his lips and took another sip from it.

“Did you ever see Balth’s mark?” Dean asked softly.

Cas nodded as he answered, “Yeah, it was some weird cross thing. Not even close to matching mine.”

Dean sighed. He had only known Cas for a few weeks, but he was the best roommate Dean had ever had. The previous three had been nothing but trouble. One brought all their dates to the apartment and Dean had to listen to them going at it all night. Another smoked pot nonstop. Dean wasn’t a prude; he’d tried a lot of things in his twenty-five years of life but even he didn’t want his apartment smelling like a pot factory nonstop. The one before Cas had been ok except for the fact that they didn’t pay their part of the rent, so Dean kicked them out.

From the very first day, Cas had been an enigma. Cas was the only tattoo artist Dean knew who didn’t have a single tattoo of his own. When Dean had asked why, Cas said he didn’t want to have them, and his soulmate not like them. Dean had scoffed at they, saying it was Cas’ body and he should be able to do to it what he wanted.

That wasn’t the only weird thing about Cas, though. His favorite piece of clothing was an old tan trench coat that was frayed at the seams and had a few odd stains on it. Cas said he’d had it since he was a teenager and couldn’t bear to part with it. Cas also had an unhealthy obsession with bees and botany. Dean had listened to dozens of lectures about how important bees were to the environment and which flowers attracted them the most. The weirdest thing about Cas was the way he always tilted his head and scrunched his eyes and nose when he was confused. Living with Dean meant he was confused most of the time.

Even though Cas was an odd guy and was taken, Dean had quickly fallen head over heels for him. Before Cas, he would have never spent hours watching nature documentaries or thought that anybody would look good in a baggy trench coat. Dean’s heart stuttered every time he caught Cas doing the adorable head tilt thing.

It was because he was so in love with Cas that Dean said, “If you show me your mark, I’ll show you mine.”

Dean nearly dropped the glass he was holding when Cas cocked his head and scrunched his eyes. “You’ve never wanted to see it before, why now?”

“MaybebecauseIlikeyou,” Dean said in one go.

“Uh, Dean. I didn’t understand a thing you just said.”

Dean sighed before slowly saying, “Maybe because I like you.” Dean felt bile rising as Cas continued to stare at him. “Oh shit, you don’t feel the same way. Fuck, you just broke up with your boyfriend and here I am admitting I have feelings for you.” Dean dropped his eyes and muttered, “Way to go Winchester.”

“Dean look at me,” Cas said gently. Dean slowly lifted his eyes to lock with Cas’ blue ones. “Maybe I like you too. It was just one more thing that was driving Balth and I apart.”

“Oh great, I’m the reason your boyfriend of two years cheated on you,” Dean cried as he threw his hands in the air.

“No, you weren’t,” Cas assured. “We’ve been falling apart for months, so please don’t blame yourself. If I truly loved him, there’s no way I would have fallen for you.” Cas grabbed Dean’s hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “Dean, I don’t care if our marks don’t match. If we start something, I’m not going to leave you for some stranger who has the same mark as I do.” Before Dean could reply, Cas pulled his left shirt sleeve up and exposed his mark to the dim light.

Dean gasped as his eyes locked on the hourglass filled with green and blue sand. He shook his head, whispering, “It can’t be,” over and over. He tore his eyes away from the mark to stare at Cas wide eyed.

“Dean, is everything alright?” Cas asked with concern.

Dean’s hand shook as he grabbed his shirt sleeve and slid it up over his shoulder, allowing Cas to the see the mark etched into his skin. Cas’ jaw fell as he stared at the mark. Cas looked at Dean, his expression a mirror image. “Our marks… they match.”

“Yeah,” Dean said shakily.

“I can’t believe this. I’ve imagined meeting my soulmate hundreds of times, but I never imagined he’d end up being my roommate,” Cas said in awe.

Dean was hesitant as he replied, “I’ve always been so afraid of meeting mine. I hated that fate got to decide my perfect match instead of me.”

“And now?” Cas asked hopefully.

Dean’s lips spread into a bright smile. “Now, I guess I have to admit fate knew what it was doing when it picked my soulmate.” He grabbed a fistful of Cas’ shirt and pulled him across the counter. Their mouths met in the middle. Dean moved his lips against Cas’ and marveled at how soft they felt. Cas moaned and Dean took the opportunity to lick into his mouth. Their tongues danced with one another as the kiss deepened. As they broke apart, Dean whispered, “I think I might already be in love with you.”

Cas kissed Dean again before replying, “I know I’m already in love with you.”

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @multifandom-fanatic @flowersforcas @cockleslovesdestiel