#dean i just burnt a wendigo winchester

[namorres]

not bad at all

[sourwolf-sterek32]

Welcome to the End

Summary: Y/N Winchester was a hunter like her brothers, following in their fathers footsteps. Saving people, hunting things, the family business.

During a case in Georgia, you meet the Dixon brothers and after saving Daryl's life against a Chupacabra, the two of you become close. But, when the zombie apocalypse starts, life as you know it changes forever.

FANFIC TRAILER 

Basically a Supernatural/The Walking Dead crossover fic where Chuck starts the zombie apocalypse in S14E20 'Welcome to The End'

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Winchester!Reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Language, minor descriptions of blood 

A/N- Well here it is. I've been writing and planning this for well over a year and it's finally ready.

The first half of this chapter is slow because it's basically just background info, but I promise it gets better.

This fic basically picks up straight into Season 14 Episode 20 of SPN when Chuck gives the boys the 'Equaliser' handgun to kill Jack.

Chapter 1- Prologue 

Your father was a hunter. Your mother was an angel. They were from two worlds that were never meant to meet. They made you what you are today. A daughter of an angel. A born hunter. A Nephilim. But, most importantly; a Winchester.

You were only two years younger than your brother, Sam, but despite your powers your older brothers were extremely protective over you and you were protective over them. If anyone so much as laid a finger on either of them, they'd have hell to pay. 

You never knew about your powers when you were younger. You never even knew you were a Nephilim or that they even existed and you never knew who your mother was. The only thing you did know about her was her name; Lucille.

Your Dad used to say your mother was just some woman he hooked up with one day. She got pregnant and he got left with the baby, but there was so much more to the story that he never told you.

Your mother was an angel.

Your Dad did hook up with her, that part was true. However, it wasn't just a one night stand, John Winchester fell in love with her, but Lucille ended it.

She told him who she really was and said that she couldn't stay because it was too dangerous for him and his two sons. So, Lucille left. Until one day she showed up on his doorstep covered in blood and bruises with a baby in her arms. She gave him the baby saying the name 'Y/N' before she disappeared and he never heard or saw her ever again.

You grew up as a hunter, following in your fathers footsteps beside your eldest brother, Dean. Although, Sam didn't like the hunter life, the three of you came together when your Dad went missing and life as you knew it changed within just a few short months.

Before John died he told you who your true mother was, and told you what you were, but you refused to believe it. It was impossible, angels didn't exist. But, then you met Castiel and your whole world changed. Over the years Cas helped you with your powers, taught you how to use them and how to control them.

Sam and Dean were shocked to say the least, but were always there and supportive while you were trying to figure everything out. Despite being part angel, nothing really changed. You went on hunts with your brothers and your powers were just an added bonus that helped you take down whatever supernatural creature you were facing. 

Then years later, the whole thing with Jack Kline happened. Then the archangel Michael, and then Jack lost his soul... and then he killed Mary Winchester and that drew the line.

Mary wasn't your biological mother, but when she got bought back she became like the mother you never had. It was a bit rocky at first especially between her and Dean when she first came back, but things were just starting to get better, it starting to feel like a proper family and within a second it was all over.

Then, because things weren't already fucked up and complicated enough Chuck finally showed up.

He gave you a weapon that was powerful enough to kill Jack. It looked like just your average silver desert eagle handgun, but apparently it could kill anything, except it had a catch. What happened to the person you shoot at also happened to you, so in other words; you die.

After talking about it between Dean, Sam, Cas and Chuck it was clear everyone was on different pages. Cas wanted to save Jack, Dean wanted to kill Jack while you and Sam were sort of sitting in the middle unsure of what to do, but deep down you knew it had to be done. You couldn't risk the fate of the world, like Chuck had said, Jack was dangerous and could easily destroy the world if he wanted to.

"Sam, you know what needs to happen." You said breaking the silence.

You looked over at your brother who was sitting on the other side of the war table, shaking his head.

Cas had stormed off after an argument with Dean and Dean had walked out the room shortly after. Chuck had disappeared again which left you and Sam sitting at the table in total confusion.

"Don't you start too." Sam sighed looking over at you in disbelief and you just shrugged your shoulders.

"Just thinking logically here, bro. But, we should probably go talk to Dean. I don't like how he walked off and took that gun with him." You stated causing Sam's eyes to quickly dart down to the table not realising Dean had taken it.

In an instant, Sam was on his feet and you followed him down the hallway to Deans bedroom.

"Dean?" You called out, knocking on his door that was already slightly open.

"Yeah?"

You took that as your cue to open the door, but all you could see was his empty bed before you heard the soft clinking of a glass bottle coming from behind the door.

"Over here." Dean called out as you turned around to find him sitting at the small table that was located behind the door.

You eyed the bottle of Jack Daniels that was he currently pouring into a flask, but decided not to ask.

"Glad you guys are here. I actually need to talk to you about something. Um... have a seat." Dean said motioning towards his bed.

You shared a quick glance at Sam before you both sat down on the edge of his bed and looked over at your older brother.

"What's going, bro?" You asked, trying to keep your tone calm although you already knew where this conversation was going and like hell were you going to let Dean be the one to pull the trigger on the suicidal gun.

"You know what I'm gonna say." Dean responded, leaning back in his chair.

"Let me guess. This is where you tell us that you're gonna pull the trigger?" Sam asked, but it was clear he already knew the answer.

"Yeah, it is. We don't have a choice, Sam." Dean said, his eyes glancing between the two of you.

"Of course we do. Don't we always? I mean, isn't that the point of everything we've ever done, that we always have a choice?" Sam questioned and you could tell he was trying to keep his voice under control, but you could hear the emotion behind it.

"He killed our mom." Dean said in defeat.

"I get it. I was mad too. Or you know what? Hell, I'm still mad. And a part of me still wants Jack dead, it really does. But Dean, we haven't even tried to save him-" Sam began to say before he was cut off.

"Save- Okay. You heard him, right? He actually blamed mom for what happened." Dean argued.

"He doesn't have a soul!" Sam exclaimed using his hands to try made a point causing Dean to shake his head.

"And who's fault is that?" He asked and you couldn't sit back and listen to this any longer.

"Ours. He burnt off his soul for us. You, me, Sam and Cas. Us. Now, I don't like this idea, the kid is family, but Dean’s right. We don't have a choice." You explained, looking between your two brothers as Dean nodded in agreement, but Sam looked ready to argue and you held your hand up to silence him.

"Don't. Now one of us has to pull that trigger and it's gonna be me." You declared causing Dean to suddenly sit up straight in his chair as he stared at you like you had gone crazy.

"No!" They both shouted in sync causing you to roll your eyes. How many times have you heard them say that to you over the years?

"It's not up for discussion. Jack is a Nephilim, a son of Lucifer and a lot more powerful than me, but I'm still a Nephilim too and heal quickly. If anyone can survive pulling the trigger it's me." You tried to explain, but you might as well be talking to a brick wall because neither of them were listening.

"Like hell we're letting you risk that. That's not happening, ever." Dean stated sternly, his eyes narrowing in your direction and you sighed.

"Dean-" You began to say before Sam spoke up.

"No. Neither of you are doing it. You guys want me to say that I'm cool with losing Jack and one of you all at once? Because I can't do that. I won't do that... I... No. We've already lost too much." Sam responded, wiping the tears from his eyes before he stood up and walked out the room, not giving you or Dean a chance to say anything further.

You glanced over Dean who shook his head and picked up a glass of whiskey tipping it back in one shot. You sighed and fell backwards until your back hit his mattress as you stared up at the ceiling.

"I miss the days where the only things we had to worry about were cases about Wendigos or hell, even just ordinary demons." You commented a few moments later causing Dean to chuckle from the table.

"Me too, sis. Me too." He sighed as you sat yourself back up and looked over at him.

"We'll figure something out. I'll go talk to Sam." You said and Dean nodded as you stood up and began to walking out, patting him on the shoulder before you closed the door behind you.

You slowly made your way back to the main room of the bunker, going via your bedroom to put a flannel on over your tank top.

"You're scared of him." Sam's voice spoke up from the main room of the bunker causing you to freeze where you stood in the hallway as you tried to figure out who he was talking to. Was Cas back?

"Aren't you?" Chucks voice responded. Great, he was back. Maybe he might be useful for once.

"Do you know where Jack is?" You asked, walking into the room, spotting the two of them standing on the other side of the war table.

"Yes."

"Then what are you waiting for?" Sam questioned in confusion, focusing back on Chuck.

"Oh, nothing. Dean's already gone." He informed causing Sam's eyes to snap over at you in panic.

Without a second thought you quickly used your powers and teleported into Deans room, but it was empty. Son of a bitch. .

"He's not in his room. Where the hell is Jack?" You questioned angrily as you teleported back into the main room.

Your eyes started to glow bright purple as you marched towards Chuck before Sam quickly grabbed your shoulders to stop you from doing something stupid.

"The cemetery." Chuck answered before he vanished into thin air.

Shit, you've never been to this towns cemetery before which meant you couldn't teleport there. Stupid fucking teleportation limits. The one damn cemetery you hadn't visited before, typical.

"My car, now." You instructed as you and Sam sprinted out the room to the garage and you jumped into the drivers seat, slamming the gear stick into reverse.

The drive across town felt like it would never end, but eventually you reached the cemetery. You had driven way to fast to be even considered dangerous driving, but neither of you cared as you pulled in and parked beside the Impala before hurriedly climbing out.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, spotting your brother first as he began to run off.

You quickly turned in his direction to find Dean standing in the middle of the cemetery. He had the gun raised at Jack who was sitting on his knees in front of him. Shit.

"Dean!" You shouted, quickly teleporting closer, landing only a few metres away. "Dean." You said again, your voice now softer as you glanced down at Jack who was just staring up at Dean waiting for him to pull the trigger.

"I understand. I know what I have done." Jack said calmly.

The kid glanced over at you for a second and gave you a small smile before he looked back towards Dean while Sam was still running across the cemetery, trying to catch up.

"Stay back, Y/N. You too, Sam." Dean instructed and you glanced over your shoulder to find Sam only a few metres behind you now, but he stopped, listening to his brother's warning.

"You were right, all along. I am a monster." Jack said, but you shook your head.

Shit, you might have agreed that this was the only choice, but you didn't want him to die. You didn't want Jack to die, he was just a kid.

"Dean, please don't." You whispered watching as he pushed the hammer down with his thumb, loading the gun.

For a moment you thought about using your powers on Dean, to stop him, but you quickly shook that idea. You refused to use your powers on your family unless it was to heal them. You nearly killed Sam once when you were still learning how to control your powers and you hadn't so much as thought about using them on someone you cared about ever again.

Dean hovered his finger over the trigger, the gun still raised to Jacks head. But, but not a second later he lowered the gun and you let out a shaky breath that you didn't even realise that you were holding in.

Sudden movement caught your eye and you looked up spotting Cas standing himself up and walking over to you. You frowned wondering what happened to him as Dean tossed the gun to the ground.

"No! Pick it up." Chucks voice shouted causing you to jump slightly as you turned around to find him now standing next to Sam.

Chuck really needed a damn bell on him or something.

"This isn't how the story is supposed to end." Chuck stated walking over to you and Dean as he glanced down at Jack.

"The story?" Cas questioned in confusion as he helped Jack to his feet.

"Look at it. The gathering storm, the gun, the father killing his own son. This is Abraham and Isaac. This is epic." Chuck explained motioning towards Dean and Jack causing you to shake your head in confusion as you tried to figure out what the hell that all meant.

"Wait, what are you saying?" Dean asked, but before Chuck could answer Sam did.

"He's saying, he's been playing us. This whole time. Our entire lives. Mom... Dad... Everything. This is all you because you wrote it all, right? Because... Because what? We're your favourite show? Because we're a part of your story?" Sam questioned and you looked back towards Chuck in absolute shock.

He had been playing you, right from the start. From the moment you were born and handed to your birth father after your mother disappeared. Did he make your mother come to earth to meet John? Did he make her leave? What even happened to your mother? Was she still alive? Did he make John die just because he thought it was fucking funny?!

"Okay, Dean, no offence, but your brother is stupid and crazy. And that kid is still dangerous. So, pick up the gun. Pick it up and pull the trigger... and I'll bring her back. Your mom." Chuck negotiated and your jaw dropped. Was he seriously going to bring Mary into this?

Dean glanced over at Sam and Cas before looking towards you like he was at a loss for what do before he looked back at Chuck and shook his head.

"No." He answered, taking a few steps back until he was standing beside Sam. "My mom is my hero and I miss her. I will miss her every second of my life, but she would not want this."

"It's not like you even really care. The apocalypse, the first go-around, with Lucifer and Michael. You knew everything that was going on, so why the games, Chuck? Why didn't you snap your fingers and end it?!" You shouted, your eyes flashing bright purple as you stared at him.

"Look I-" Chuck began to say before Sam cut him off.

"And every other bad thing we've been killing, been dying over. Where were you? Just sitting back and watching us suffer, so we can do this over and over and over again. Fighting, losing people we love? When does it end? Tell me!" Sam shouted, but Chuck just completely ignored him as he looked over at your other brother.

"Dean, don't do this-" Chuck tried to say.

"We're done talking. Because this... this isn't just a story. It's our lives! So God or no God, you go to hell." Dean yelled pointing towards Chuck causing him to chuckle in disbelief.

"Have it your way." Chuck responded as he raised his hand, clicking his fingers causing Jack to suddenly scream.

You quickly looked over at kid in horror as bright light burst through his eyes and mouth like he had just been stabbed with an angel blade, but he didn't. Chuck was killing him.

"Jack!" You shouted, watching as he fell to the floor still screaming in pain and you quickly dropped to your knees beside him, Cas right there with you. But, there was nothing either of you could do.

"Stop it. Stop it!" Dean and Sam both yelled and you glanced over your shoulder just in time to watch Chuck throw Dean and Sam across the cemetery as their bodies slammed into a couple gravestones before they landed on the ground. 

You glanced down at Jack and that's when you spotted the handgun just lying on the ground a few metres away where Dean had tossed it.

Without any further thought you held your hand out, using your powers as the gun flew into your hand. You caught it easily, noting that it was still loaded before you turned towards Chuck, who was standing a few metres away looking at your brother's.

"Hey, Chuck!" You shouted, catching his attention as he began to turn around and you quickly squeezed the trigger.

Sudden pain burst through your shoulder as you watched the bullet pierce through Chucks left shoulder. The force of the hit sent you flying back a few feet, landing on the ground and you weren't to able to stop the small cry of pain from escaping your lips.

You glanced down spotting a bullet wound in your left shoulder and it wasn't like you hadn't been shot before, but this one hurt a hell of a lot worse.

"Fine! That's the way you want it? Alright, you'll be seeing your father soon!" Chuck yelled, drawing your attention back to him to find him still standing there with a bullet wound through the same shoulder.

"Story's over. Welcome to the end." He declared as he snapped his fingers and he suddenly disappeared, but nothing else happened. What the hell? Was something meant to happen? It sure as hell felt like something dramatic was meant to happen.

"Hey, hey, you okay? Y/N?" Dean's voice shouted bringing you out of your thoughts as him and Sam crouched down in front of you with panicked eyes.

"Yeah, I'm good." You winced as you touched the bullet wound.

You expected it to be healed up already, but as you pulled your fingers away they were laced with blood causing you to frown.

Your brother's helped you to your feet, seeming worried that the bullet wound hasn't healed yet, but you ignored them as you rushed over to Jack.

His lifelessly body was just lying on the ground as Cas knelt down beside him. No. No. No. He couldn't be dead. Not Jack, not like this. This couldn't be happening. None of this could be happening. You had to be dreaming, no if you were dreaming then your shoulder wouldn't be hurting. Fuck.

"Wait, I thought Chuck said the gun was the only thing that could..." Dean trailed off as you tried to force the tears in your eyes to go away. He was dead. Jack was gone.

"He's a writer. Writers lie." Cas responded and you knew he was fighting back tears as well.

You dropped to your knees beside him unable to stop the tears falling down your cheeks as you covered your mouth with your hands to try a muffle your sobs.

Cas' hand gently grabbed your shoulder for comfort and that was all it took before you broke down. Cas quickly wrapped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you into his side as you cried into him.

Your brothers dropped to the ground behind you, you could hear Sam's sharp breaths as he struggled to hold himself together and you were pretty sure Dean was in the same boat. 

None of you said anything for nearly 10 minutes as you sat there and stared at Jack's dead body. His eyes burnt out from whatever Chuck had done to him before Sam and Dean carried his body back to the Impala announcing that he deserved a hunters funeral.

Sam and Cas drove your car back to the bunker to collect a few of Jacks things and supplies while you and Dean drove out to the woods. He parked near a creek which was where him and Jack had gone fishing together and figured it was a good place to do it.

You remembered how happy the kid was when him and Dean had came home that day. He wouldn't shut about the fishing trip for the whole week and you knew Dean loved it too, but he'd never admit it.

"I'm gonna go get some smaller sticks by the creek." You called out, your voice hoarse from all the crying and Dean just nodded.

You teleported over to the creek, but the second you did your legs instantly buckled from underneath you as searing pain erupted through your head.

You could feel blood starting to drip from your nose as you grabbed your head, squeezing your eyes shut at the pain. It was like someone was hammering a thousand nails into your skull at the same time and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

"Y/N?!" Dean's voice shouted in the background somewhere, but you could barely hear it through the blood rushing in your ears.

What the hell was happening? You could always teleport and never be affected like this.

"Hey, hey, talk to me. What's happening? Y/N?" Dean questioned in panic.

You just shook your head unable to get words out your mouth as you kept your eyes closed and hands over your head, hoping it would try to lessen the pain.

"Sam, get here now. Something's happening to Y/N- Fucked if I know, she teleported and now she's in pain, I think it's her head and her nose it bleeding- I don't know! -Okay, just get here." Dean shouted into his phone, but you couldn't hear him.

What felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the pain eventually reduced into a dull ache and you slowly opened your eyes to find your brother sitting right in front of you with worried eyes.

"I-I'm okay." You whispered breathlessly as you wiped the blood from your nose, but Deans face hardened as he shook his head.

"What just happened?" He asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

"I don't know. It's my powers. I can't heal myself and when I tried earlier I got a dull ache in my head, but after teleporting it felt like my head was going to explode. Hang on, let me try something." You said as you shakily stood yourself up.

You held your hands out and tried to move a stone from the ground with your powers, but the second the stone started to rise the sharp pain spiked through your head and you quickly lowered your hands.

"It's my powers. Fuck, this has to be Chuck. Whatever he did when he snapped his fingers, this must be part of it." You groaned, rubbing the side of your head.

Dean looked at you hopelessly, not knowing what to say or what to do because what the hell were you meant to do? Your powers were screwed, Jack was dead, everything was falling apart. 

By the time Sam and Cas came back, you and Dean had cut most of the wooden logs and the four of you neatly stacked them up around Jack's body.

Sam and Cas had asked what was wrong with you earlier and you explained what happened hoping Cas might have an answer, but he didn't. He didn't know why your powers were having side effects.

After you burned Jack and gave him a send-off that he deserved, you all went back to bunker. The wound on your shoulder wasn't showing any signs of healing on it's own. Cas had tried to heal it too, but for some reason he couldn't.

So, Sam stitched it up and bandaged it, saying to just keep an eye on it and make sure it didn't get worse. But, that was the furthest thing on your mind right now as the four of you all sat down around the war table.

"What the hell did Chuck mean? He said 'story's over, welcome to the end', what the hell does that mean?" Dean questioned, unable to hide the anger in his tone as he glanced around the table hoping one of you knew the answer.

"Maybe he was bluffing." Sam answered, although it was clear he didn't believe a word he just said. Chuck never bluffed. Whenever he did something, it was always go big or go home.

"Something's going to happen... or somethings already happened, I can feel it. Best guess is another apocalypse or maybe the ground will just open up and swallow everyone whole. I don't know, but something big is going to happen." You insisted.

"She's right, I can feel it too. I fear whatever Chuck had in mind, has already begun." Cas spoke up and you nodded in agreement causing Dean to sigh, rubbing his face with his hands.

"We should call everyone. Warn them that something is going to happen." Sam suggested and you all began pulling your phones out. "I'll call Donna and Jodie." He said, standing up from the table as he began to dial their numbers and walk out the room.

"I'll call Bobby, Charlie and Rick." Dean stated, following his brothers lead as he stood up, patting your good shoulder gently before he wandered off to his bedroom.

"Cas, can you give me a moment." You said, holding up your phone and he nodded, giving you a sad smile before he walked out the room to give you some privacy.

You unlocked your phone and scrolled through the contacts until you came across the familiar name. 

Daryl Dixon.

You stared at his name for a few seconds before you took a deep breath and pressed the green call button. 

-

MASTERLIST  

Next Chapter

Tag Lists- I will reblog with my tag lists, so if you wanted to be added to just let me know. 

A/N- Well, there’s the first chapter. I am very nervous about this fic, it’s my first ever crossover and it’s my first time writing for SPN, so I really want to get it right. 

Now, I know this chapter was a little slow, but like I said above it needed to be more background info before we get into the apocalypse and start meeting TWD characters. 

Throughout the next few chapters there will be some flashback scenes which will explain how Y/N and Daryl know each other, also if you’re wondering why Dean said he would call ‘Bobby, Charlie and Rick’ it’ll be explained later how the Winchesters know Rick Grimes so don’t worry. 

Anyway, that’s enough rambling from me. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and I would love to hear your thoughts about it below and the next chapter will be up next week, so stay tuned. But, until next time, stay safe everyone and have a great day xx

[drawingangel666]

Love stages (Dean x Fem!reader) (requested)

Supernatural Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

request: Hiiii!!! First of all, I have to say that I love your writting, I enjoy a lot reading you, so thank you very much! As you’re taking requests, I’d like to ask for a one-shot, Dean x Fem reader, with some kind of situation that makes Dean feel vulnerable, and needs her to rescue him, so he goes from feeling annoyed to falling in love with her, and she plays hard to get.Thank you very much, I’m looking forward to reading you!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!reader

Time set: few weeks after Dean in his Deanmon form transforms back to normal. Dean feels horrible and is having a mental breakdown during a hunt.

Warnings: scared Dean, Y/n playing hard to get

Y/n’s pov.

Sam had been in the bunker with Castiel for a few weeks now, they asked me to take Dean in a hunt with me as I owed a favor to the tall hunter. 

I had always had a little crush on Dean. But he was Dean fucking Winchester, and he only used women for what he wanted. I was not even on that list, he didn’t even find me attractive at all, he just found me annoying.

Anyways, I went over to the bunker to pick up the ex-demon Dean. I didn’t know why but I felt kinda nervous. 

Dean sat shotgun without even speaking to me. He just sat there, face hard as stone waiting for me to pull off. And so did I.

We went over to Minnesota, where there was a wendigo and we would hunt it down. Something easy for him to get back to normal. 

In the motel we were both in different rooms, he did find me that annoying. I didn’t really care which room he was in, just that he did his job. Even if I had a crush on him, people’s live were in danger, and I was not going to fool around.

After a little research I went into his room, knocking on it until he opened. ´´What do you want?`` he asked annoyed as hell, I rolled my eyes and told him we had to go.

Dean’s POV

Y/n was annoying as ever, I followed her out to go and find the wendigo. I’ve never seen her hunt before. All the times we met she was helping Sammy do research. I don’t even think a girl like her can fight. 

I am not ready to hold a blade, maybe a gun, but the blade would make my instincts act up. I don’t want to become a demon again, but without the first blade I think I am safer. But I still don’t know. 

[Time skip]

We were on the wendigo’s lair, saving the people he had abducted. He was coming vastly after us, but Y/n was clever enough to scare him away with fire. Suddenly, I had to take out my machete, to fight the monster who was coming at me with full range. But I got static on my place once I pulled out the blade.

I couldn’t move a muscle, I was shaking, holding my machete with fear. Y/n appeared by my side and pushed me off the way of the wendigo and then she burnt him alive. She looked to badass doing that. Wait... Did I just say that Y/N, the annoying little pice of shit Y/n, was badass?

This is crazy. 

Anyways, we saved the people, hunted the thing and went back to the motel. I sat on my bed, passing my hands through my face. I was a blink away from crying. 

I couldn’t move, she was calling again. The first blade. 

I let out a sigh. 

What was I going to do now?

I heard a light knock on the door, and then Y/n’s voice say ´´Dean, are you alright?`` As she said my name, my heart skipped a beat. 

She just saved my ass, I wouldn’t be head over heels for her, wouldn’t I?

Y/n’s POV

I saw Dean open the door, he tried to look annoyed by my presence as he always used to do, but a smile crept onto his face. 

´´Yeah y/n, I am alright?`` he said, smiling brightly. ´´Wanna grab pie and eat it watching something on the tv together? I pay`` he said, closing the door behind him. 

´´I can buy my own things, Winchester`` But I couldn’t help the smile once he turned his back to me. 

[kickingitwithkirk]

Happy Coincidence Chance Discovery

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Piper, Jared Padalecki x Piper,

Characters: Dean Winchester /Jensen Ackles, mentions of Chad Michael Murray 

Word Count:4367

Warnings: cursing, kissing, nudity, implied sex/genital fondling/teasing 

 *Jared and Jensen are single.

A/N: for @idreamofplaid​  Thanks for the Memories Challenge #plaid and the memories  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARED🎉

Prompt: Season 11, episode 4, Baby

A/N: Baby is my favorite episode but every time I’ve watched it I kept wondering; Sam’s hook up with Piper the waitress? So this is my fill in that blank with a Jared twist.

Divider: created by @writeyourmindaway​

*No beta all mistakes are mine

Dean drives into the parking lot of a roadhouse just after dusk and Sam looks at the marquee shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Dean, it's late, I’m exhausted and..and.. and starving.  And this place. I mean, even Swayze wouldn't come to this roadhouse.” Sam groused.

“First of all, never use Swayze’s name in vain, okay. Ever.” Dean chastises his brother for such a sacrilege, “Second, you don't remember this place? You don't remember Heather, the hunter we worked the wendigo case a couple years ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam partially smiles, remembering that night of fun.

 “Yeah, exactly” Dean taking the same trip down memory lane.

“What, she’s here tonight?” Sam asks, perking up a bit.

 “I texted her, she's working a rugaru case in Texas.” Dean says.

“Actually, she never texted me back. That's not the point, the point is that we have a ton of driving left to do just to go to a town where it's not probably a case.” Dean points ahead, “But in there, good times.”

 “Uh...” Sam hedges looking at the building.

 “But time heals all wounds, especially good times. What do ya say?” Dean looks at his brother hopeful.

 “I say... knock yourself out.” Sam answers with his usual reply and Dean looks away, “I'm gonna find a diner and dig into the lore like Cas did, see if anythings ever happened where we’re headed.”

“Ah man, you really got to learn to have fun.” Dean’s reply was full of disappointment in his little brother.

“Seriously. It’s pathetic.” 

They both climb out of the Impala. Sam grabs his bag from the backseat and starts walking back towards town as Dean heads into the roadhouse. 

***

Sam had walked over a mile looking for somewhere to eat. Being Saturday night he thought there’d be more open but that’s small town living, the streets roll up at noon on the weekends. 

He was about to give up and hike back to that mom & pop gas station he passed for a microwave burrito, preferably bean to get back at Dean, when he happened upon a small, local place, Mak’s Diner. 

Hitching his bag up, he pushed open the door expecting the usual greasy spoon Dean's unerring sense navigates towards and stops just inside the front door.

It was an older establishment, obviously one of those passed down from generation to generation places but to his surprise it was well maintained, despite the C on the marquee being burnt out.

“Evening, have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice called out from the kitchen. Sam walked past the counter smiling at only other occupants, an elderly couple having coffee and dessert, heading towards the back where family seating was located. 

As he passed the next to last booth he noticed a closed laptop, several open books with notes scrawled around their margins, highlighted paragraphs and a few notebooks scattered on its tabletop.

He dropped the bag on the seat and shed his jacket before sliding into the booth, fishing out his laptop and the legal pad that he had started making more notes on earlier.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” 

Picking up the menu laying by his elbow Sam glances through it, “Coffee and the Cobb salad, thanks.” He orders closing the menu and looking up to hand it to the waitress. She is differently not what he would have expected to find in a backwater burg like this one. 

Her makeup is understated, nails painted a neutral color and her copper hued hair is pulled back in an elegant chiffon, not a high ponytail or hastily bobby pinned up-do, held in place with a real silver clip, the type that’s handed down as an heirloom.

“Just the Cobb salad?” She asked looking under the tabletop, taking in Sam’s long legs somewhat stretched out under it, boots bumping against the other side of the circular booth. Her blue/grey eyes slowly travel up appraising his body till they meet his.

“Big boys like you need more than a few leafy greens for stamina.” 

Sam felt himself blushing like he was seventeen again. Waitresses blatantly flirt with Dean and vice versa all the time so he’s taken aback by this woman's more than blatant appraisal of his physique.

“I, um, yeah, ju..just the salad.” Sam stammers out.

“Okay, be back with that coffee.” Her smiles genuinely, not that faked for the customers sake one he’s used to.

Sam appraises her retreating figure like she did him. She’s not wearing the nurses white or black rubber soled shoes that’s usual waitress gear he’s seen but a brand of tennis shoes he knows are out of the typical income of career restaurant staff. 

The fifties style, yellow uniforms color is completely unflattering, not fitting her right, way too tight around her bust and hips and far shorter than it should be, her mile long legs on display.

Sam shifts in his seat and tries to discreetly palm down his spontaneous erection but not so little Sam is putting up a fight, making it known it's been way too long since he’s gotten wet and he wants to enjoy her junoesque attributes. 

***

While he is waiting for a page to load Sam hears the elderly couple preparing to leave. He watches as the husband helps his wife into her jacket and gently takes her hand, resting it in the crook of his arm as they slowly make their way to the exit, feeling the pang of loneliness that’s his constant companion.

“Mr. Reynolds’s, hang on a sec,” the waitress calls from the kitchen emerging with a white cake box tied shut, “Auntie wanted me to make sure you got this before leaving. She’s sorry she missed your anniversary party.”

“You tell her we missed her, needs to hurry up and get well.” Mrs. Reynolds remarked as her husband took the box with his free hand. She glanced back towards Sam, “Sweetie, you gonna be okay here with the likes of him?” 

Sam kept his expression neutral, waiting to see how this plays out. He knew people found him intimidating because of his size and being a stranger in a small town, he definitely stands out but not many were that blatant about it.

“He ordered a Cobb salad, I think I can handle him,” she jested winking at him.

The couple bid her goodnight and she went back into the kitchen, Sam realizing they were now all alone. Sighing, he starts reading the info again trying to figure out what exactly their hunting is. Or not.

He was so focused on his research like usual he didn’t acknowledge the waitress standing there with his order.

“Kmm hmm,” Sam’s head snapped up, “must be something really good if you don’t notice the likes of me.” She chided him setting down a coffee decanter and cup.

“Sorry, guess I was kinda caught up.” Sam moves the laptop and notepad over as she sets down his salad and two types of dressing. “Figured you might not be a ranch type of guy so I grabbed the vinaigrette too.” 

“Thanks, I prefer vinaigrette, don’t usually get offered it.” 

“I’m pretty good at reading people which is why I also brought you this,” she set down another plate with a lettuce wrapped, curiously colored and, by the smell, not meat burger with all the fixings, a generous helping of baked sweet potato fries and a green colored milkshake.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know but it cooks night off and I’m trying some new recipes. Seeing as you're the only other one here, you've been conscripted as my guinea pig.” She slid into the other side of his booth where an identical plate rested, “I wasn’t kidding about you needing more than just a salad. Besides, I hate eating alone, you wouldn’t believe how often it happens. Fuck, where’s my manners, I’m Piper.” She stuck her hand out across the table.

He takes her preferred hand amazed how it fits perfectly in his, “Sam.” 

“So Sam, figure out what you're hunting yet?” She asked nonchalantly as she picked up her burger, “Cause, not being judgey, but that’s some really random shit you got there.” She takes a bite, watches as his expression bounces between startled and incredulous.

“How…”

“Saw your Tarsus 99 when you took off your jacket. I had one as a kid, then daddy got killed on a hunt and I got sent here to live with Auntie, she doesn’t cotton to hunting.” 

Piper picked up a fry pointing it at him, “But what I really wanna know, where the hell did you get that demon blade, ‘cause I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

Sam hesitates, “That’s a long story.” 

“Don’t close till one and I’ve got nowhere to be after.”

Sam decides to deflect instead of answering. “So what is it you do, because you're definitely not a waitress.” 

“Officially, I’m an antique appraiser. Unofficially, I’m helping a wayward hunter who graced my door with something he can’t figure out.”

***

Sam and Piper, after closing the diner, stayed another three hours hashing out the research for his case were now taking their time walking back towards the roadhouse. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask, what’s with that name tag?” Sam noticed early it read Maggie.

“Came with this god awful uniform. Auntie insists that we all adhere to how her daddy ran the place. So when I came back to temporarily help out after her surgery, Maggie decided she was not gonna take orders from someone younger, quit and I got stuck with this. I told Auntie it wouldn’t fit, even with letting out the hem. Maggie was like five-four and I’m over five-ten! 

Ugh! I keep popping these stupid top buttons and can’t freaking bend over without showing everyone my C U Next Tuesday.” 

Sam smiled that nervous smile he got when unsure how to respond to an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“I normally wear this to cover it,” moving her pocketed hands in the light weight, knee length sweater she had put on when they left the diner, “but I have to confess,” Piper turned around, walking backwards, “I took it off when I saw you come in, thought what the hell, been long time since a really cute guy has walk through my door so...” She bit her lip, turning back around as they continued down the lane in companionable silence.

Sam mused over her confession admitting to himself he was interested in her too. He enjoyed sharing different theories and bouncing ideas of what they might be hunting back and forth with her, surprising him with her unique take on things.

Piper might not have been the type he consciously steered towards since Jess but she was comfortable to be around, didn’t feel his usual awkwardness he normally had around most women. 

They arrived at the roadhouse a few minutes later and Sam led her towards the Impala.

“Damn, you brother is a fucking artist, how many times has he rebuilt her?” Piper asked walking around the car, running her hand over the Impalas pristine exterior. 

“To many.” Sam replies, putting his bag on the front seat. “Can I have a look?” He turns to see Piper standing by the trunk. “Um, sure.” Strolling over he unlocks it and lifts the interior wheel well exposing the car's hidden armory.

“Is that a grenade launcher?”

“Yeah, Dean found it at the bunker.” Sam laughed remembering how excited Dean had been when he discovered it. 

Piper shook her head shutting the trunk and hopped up on it, “What’cha wanna do now, go in,” gesturing at the bar, “or hang out here for a while longer?”

“I think I’m good hanging o...”

Piper grabbed his jacket dragging him between her spread legs and kissed him.

It took Sam all of five seconds to process what was happening before his hands grabbed her hips and tugged her to the edge of the trunk, her short skirt riding even higher as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Sam jerked back as headlights flashing over them, a patrol car drove into the parking lot. He lifted Piper off the trunk and led her to the car's back door dragging  the green cooler out of their way.

Piper climbed in as he hauled it to the trunk and grabs the army blanket Dean keeps then gets in depositing it and his jacket over the front seat.

“Where were we before being rudely interrupted?” Piper asked, sliding onto Sam’s lap and leaning in to resume kissing him. 

Sam tangled his long fingers into her now loose hair pulling to halt her, “What about that patrolman?”

“Won’t be back till closing, around six A.M.”

“That means Dean won’t either,” he says closing the space between them, heatedly attacking her lips.

***

Piper ran her hand over his bare chest, “How long is your refractory period?”

Sam shifted to look down at her, “umm, around twenty minutes.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna have to see what I can do to shorten that ‘cause we are so doing that more than once again.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” 

Piper stared at him slowly trailing her hand down his torso. Sam’s breath hitched as she lightly teased her fingers across his lower stomach, running through his treasure trail and over to his hip.

Shifting further down his body she continued running her fingers over the top of his left thigh feeling the hard muscles flexing under the skin. She placed both of her hands in between his legs shifting his left one off the seat and bending his right leg back placing his foot flat on the bench seat. 

Piper kneels in the space between Sam’s spread legs continuously moving her fingers in random patterns over the insides of both tights, touching him everywhere below his waist.

Sam closed his eyes groaning loudly, dropping his head back against the window as her fingers played over his balls feeling her other hand travel behind them teasing over his...

“You fell asleep in the fucking car!”

His eyes snapped open startled. Blinking rapidly he sees Dean leaning through the open car window looking at him. 

“Dean what...where’s Piper?”

“What’s a Piper?” He growled out, “Dude, we wrapped twenty minutes ago and I’ve been looking for you, got worried cause you weren’t answering your fucking phone Jay!”

He took a good look at Dean. His foggy brain finally realizing its mistake, taking in the headset hanging around his neck and the ball cap he likes wearing when directing. “Jen, sorry, guess I’m still in Sam headspace, got disoriented for a sec.”

Jensen laughed, “You find one grey hair and suddenly you're getting memory loss and needing naps? I’ll have to remember to have you in bed by nine, old man.” 

“Your fucking hilarious Jack.” Jared shoots back sliding across the seat getting out, “Man, I had the weirdest dream.”

“From the happy noises you were making that was far from weird. And speaking of happy,” Jensen's eyebrows went up as he pointedly looked down.

Jared glances down thinking he’s drooled all over himself only to see the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“Bob’s called a meeting in five but I think we’re gonna be late.” 

***

“I’m telling you it was so real! She was tall with coppery blond hair, tasted like chocolate peppermint and has this tattoo above her...” Jared paused grinning, keeping that specific location to himself, “I’ve never in my life had such a vivid dream like that.”

“Dude, you like petite brunettes.” 

“I know..so why would I make her a redhead?”

“Hell if I know, it’s your giant melon. Maybe all that sugar ribbon you eat is finally getting its revenge.” Jensen snarks as they enter the meeting room.

They were greeted by Bob’s gruff voice, “About time you two showed up. Alright, now that everyone is finally here, we need to get everyone up to speed. We’re having to make changes to the filming schedule.” He pauses looking at him notes, “Jared, don’t need you to come tomorrow for those new promo shots with, what was that new character again?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N, Sam’s new love interest.”

“Right, anyways, writers scraped that idea. As some of you heard, several of our exterior locations got flooded with that last storm and it’s taking time to find new locations so instead of doing blocking we're gonna do a quick read through of the new episode.”

Jared opened his copy of the new script to episode 4: Baby.

Reading the opening scene he experiences deja vu, quickly scanning the first two pages: bunkers garage: Dean washing the Impala, Sam having a possible case in Oregon. Next scene: interior shot Impala, Sam gets a protein shake out of cooler, Dean wants to know about the beer. Next scene: pulling in roadhouse parking lot, Dean trying to get Sam to join him, goes to eat instead, shot from Impala view watching Dean walking. Next scene: daybreak continuing from the view of the car...

“Fuck me.” Jared whispers, catching Jensen's attention. “What’s wrong?”

“This is how my dream started.”

Jensen pulls a yeah right face.

Jared shifted in his chair leaning closer to Jensen, looking directly into his green eyes, “I’ll prove it. Next scene: Dean gets in the car at daybreak and a naked waitress pops up in the backseat with a voice-over from Sam. Dean gets out peeping in the driver's side back window at her getting dressed. Cut to next scene: Sam climbs into front seat buttoning his flannel as he apologizes for having sex in Dean’s car. Dean, happy his brother finally got laid drives off quoting Bob Sager lyrics, playing Night Moves and Sam changing a lyric. 

Jared continued to lay out the entire episode from memory as Jensen flips through the script following.

“Bullshit Jared, someone snuck you a copy of this script, you're totally fucking with me.” 

“Jensen, not this time.”

***

Jared walked back to his trailer aggravated that Jensen won’t believe he didn’t get an advance peek of the script. He can’t shake this unsettling feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He was two steps into his trailer when his phone vibrated. Chad left a voicemail instead of texting, weird.

“Jay man, you gotta do me solid. A friend of mine got the part of Y/N on your show and I don’t know what the fucks happening up there but she flipped the fuck out on me! Need you to check on her, she’s outside one of the guest trailers. And have her call me back after she’s calmed the fuck down!”

Jared snorted, another woman pissed off at Chad, shocker. “The fuck you getting me into this time Murray.” Jared mutters to himself as he heads over to the guest stars trailers and hears a somewhat familiar voice outside of one.

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? I get here and now they're telling me they’ve dropped the story line.”

There was a pause in conversation as Jared walked closer to hear more clearly over the lot's noises and was shocked when he saw her sitting on one of the trailer's steps.

“But I signed a contract...what? I don’t remember seeing that in there. So they can just arbitrarily drop the part with no notification, that’s bullshit! I’ve never had a clause like that in one before. I gave up my job and apartment for this!” She gets up and paces around not noticing him. 

“They're giving me the bit part of the waitress in this episode, have a five am call for hair, getting a blonde rinse so I look more like a Dean type girl. I don’t know what the fuck is with these writers, it’s like they don’t get Sam, should’ve left him like Kripke originally created him.” She paused, “paying me what? At scale! That’ll just cover my petrol for the drive back to L.A. Wait, what about my six month lease? Could you check on it.” 

“Oh, giving me two nights at the Hilton. How magnanimous of them,” she sarcastically replies, “can I still get that part on Arrow...cast someone else.” She abruptly ends the call and sits back down on the step slumping over her knees.  

“So, how much of that fucked up conversation did you overhear?” She asked not looking at him.

“Um, almost all of it.” Jared confesses, “I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping but I got a voicemail from Chad,” she looked up staring in disbelief at Jared, “he’s worried and wanted me to check on you.” 

“Fanfuckingtastic, can this day get any better? I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of Jared Fucking Padalecki!” 

Jared can just make out her blushing in the still dimming light. “I wouldn’t say completely, I mean, you could drop your pants and yell Pudding.”

She blinked at him before doubling over in laughter, “Alright, point taken. Still, it’s a crock of shit you don’t need to be bothered with.”

“Chad’s kinda made it my problem. Look, I don't know all the details but maybe I can help, I can call casting..”

“Oh hell no! Thanks but no thanks. Bunch of assbutts on social media were already speculating about how someone like me got the part in the first place. Last thing I need is more ammo for the haters, they’ll tweet something like I had a three way with you and Ackles because I was desperate to get the part back.” 

Jared cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair embarrassed to feel turned on by the imagery she conjured up in his mind. 

 “Mmm, that’d be my wet dream come true, but not the point, they’ll just come up with some random shit.”

Jared understood being all too familiar with the anti whatever’s having been the target himself.

“Okay, how about we go to my trailer,” she gave him a skeptical look, “where you can have some privacy to call Chad back. I’ll get de-Sam’d and we can talk some more or grab a bite if you're hungry.”

“You don’t know me from Adam, what if I’m some psychotic serial stocker nut job?” 

“If your friends with Chad, you absofuckingloutley are Ms. what's your name.” Jared sarcastically remarks given her a mischievous grin.

“Touché, and it's Piper,” Jared froze at her name, “and you’ve been friends with Murry longer than me so I know you’re straight up batshit crazy.” She smarts back standing up, “lead on, oh gallant knight.”

***

Jared walked out of the bath toweling his wet hair sees Piper lounging on his couch still on the phone with Chad.

As he crossed over to the kitchen's fridge he couldn’t help but notice her low rise jeans had ridden lower, revealing the top half of the tattoo just above her..

“Dude, should’a told me Padalecki has a tattoo kink,” Jared tripped over his feet before catching himself embarrassed at getting caught, “Yeah, that was your boy.” She winked at him, “No way in hell I’m ever showing it to you perv.” Jared loudly laughs at that. “Hey, when I get back I’m PA’ing for you till I get another gig. Don’t you dare argue, you got me into this so it’s that or I’m on your couch for a month,” Piper rolled her eyes at Chad’s response, “Yeah, yeah, talk to you later.”

“Is that how you met Chad, working as a PA?” Jared inquired coming over to sit down next to Piper handing her a beer. 

“Yeah, paid the bills while doing auditions, was starting to pick up a few bit parts around LA.” Piper starts nervously fiddling with the bottles label, “I heard about the casting call for a new Sam girl and Murry talked me into trying out for it, so I figured unless I kiss Crowley I don’t have a shot in hell and holy fuck, I got it.” 

She stopped talking but kept playing with the label. 

“Hey, whatever it is you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Jared says gently touching her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

She took a long pull of her beer before continuing. “My Auntie died and I inherited everything, including her debts. I negotiated a smaller settlement but it wiped out all my savings.” She paused draining the rest of her bottle. “I figured it was serendipity..”

Jared is half listening, feeling that uneasy sensation again at that last word.

“...gonna be Sam Winchester’s...”

“If we’re meant to meet again,”

“.. weren’t killing her off after three episodes but then they decided to drop that story line...”

“we will.”

“...I should be going. Thanks for the beer and letting bending your ear, I’m gonna get out of your hair.” Piper gets up heading for the door.

Jared finally remembers.

“I believe in serendipity..maybe you can too.”

He quickly jumped up moving between her and the door blurting out, “I know you said you didn’t want my help but you can’t go, not yet.”

“Okay, why not? ‘Cause any other time I’d be up for some wham bam thank you ma’am but so not in the mood right now.”

Taking a deep breath he goes for it, “So, get this, after we finished filming today, I fell asleep in the Impala and had this dream…” 

***

Jared sat on the couch nervously chewing on his thumb watching as Piper paces back and forth mulling over his story.

She abruptly stopped and sat down on the table in front of him. “So here's the deal, I will believe everything you've told me,” Jared opens his mouth to say something but Piper reached out laying her fingers on his lips, “if you can answer one question.” 

Jared took her hand remembering how it felt so right in his, “Okay.”

“Since you’ve seen it in your dream, what does my tattoo mean?”

“In Japanese, it means happy coincidence,” Jared confidently says sitting back as Piper climbs onto his lap, “but that's the first line, the second one is chance discovery.”

Jared pulls her in, brushing his lips against hers, running his tongue across them so she’ll part them , allowing him access. He can taste the beer they’ve been drinking but there’s that sumptuous flavor of her underneath he finds intoxicating..chocolate peppermint..thinking to himself..

Serendipity.

[wwwafflewrites]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 5—Phantom Traveler (Part 1)

Pads.

Castiel, or some other jerk with wings, had put a box of pads… in your car.

Yeah. That’s how this is starting. Not what you expected, huh? Not when there was a doomed plane or your quarrel with the Winchesters. This was completely unexpected and random.

It was a surprise to you, as well.

So, what, angels could predict periods now? Was that a thing? Or was there a puzzle piece you weren’t getting here?

Not that you weren’t… a little grateful for the gift. You weren’t going to pretend periods didn’t exist. Hell, you weren’t even sure why they were so taboo. This certainly was helpful when you were tight on money, but…

No, just, what the hell? Were you just PMSing that bad and you hadn’t noticed? Like, you did have a breakdown the other day. It also might explain your food cravings and unsteady moods.

But that was all completely justified. In fact, you were doing pretty good for having been thrown unexpectedly into a very unfriendly universe with nothing but what was provided—which wasn't much anyway. It almost felt wrong to blame it on period hormones.

Regardless, now you had... pads.

You got in the car and started the engine to drive to Pennsylvania, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of your head that something was off about all this.

///

Nazareth, Pennsylvania had a brisk, winter breeze on the day you got there. You primarily stayed in the warmth of your car for a few days, napping and resting, but you were forced to get out and stop in a store bathroom once and awhile.

At some point in that week, you bought the newspaper, too. The days were starting to blue together, and you needed to keep your bearings if you were going to try and follow the Supernatural timeline.

December 4th, 2005.

Damn. That meant Thanksgiving had already passed. Not that you had much to be thankful for.

Tomorrow was the first time the Winchesters saw a demon, which was just bizarre, considering that their future was full of demons. That is, if you couldn't stop it.

You counted the days in your head. November 2nd, Jess died. A week later, you took on the Wendigo. Then you took on the water-ghost about two weeks after that, hitting around November 27th. It took a good few days and then some to recover to wind up in Pennsylvania, so, yeah. This made sense.

There was nothing you could do but wait for the Winchesters, because you were getting on the same flight as them anyway.

No pun intended, days were flying fast. At the same time, the hours seemed to stretch forever. Maybe that was because all your extra time was put into recovering and sleeping, so the hours that were spent awake felt long, but most of your day had already been spent, if that made sense.

Yeah.

When you got back in your car, you noticed a little flappy object in the passenger seat. One that was becoming annoyingly familiar to you.

Another damn note.

How many notes am I going to get? Why can't they just talk in person?

You paused.

...probably because they gave me an angel blade, and they don't want me having leverage.

You shrugged, turning the slightly crumpled note and flattening it.

Check your trunk.

"Hello to you too," you muttered, throwing down the note and marching over to the truck. You sighed, "God give me strength," before propping it open.

There was a large suitcase for traveling on the right, and beside it was chaos. It looked like someone went all-day mall shopping and crammed it all in without any care for decency. Nothing was even folded. There was clothing everywhere.

You could identify a variety of pants and several blouses. There were plenty of shoes, eerily all your size.

You saw a lumpy article of clothing in the back, so you grabbed it, letting it unravel to reveal a dark, navy-blue trench coat. You cringed a little. "Are you trying to make me look like Castiel and the TARDIS had kids?" Upon further inspection, however, it wasn't all that bad. You could probably make it work.

You put your hands on your hips, looking down at the mess. You sighed. "Great. Now I really look homeless."

There was no point in driving yet when you had this mess to deal with. So you set the trenchcoat down, almost too calmly, and turned away for a minute. Those freaking angels were always making crap for you to fix. As if you didn't have enough to handle already.

Okay. Just breathe. There's no use getting angry when you have no one to punch.

You have to think for yourself. You have no one to turn to, so you have to ask your own questions. Why did they give you this? They’re not giving you this stuff to be nice, so what's the point? What exactly are they doing all this for?

It got you thinking. And being alone gave you a lot of time to think.

You stepped back watching the clothes as if they'd suddenly tell you all the answers.

The first too-obvious answer would be that more clothes will make your job easier. Keep you more comfortable. But… you've been doing relatively fine on that spectrum lately, regardless of how much money you now had. This was, in those terms, unnecessary.

Then that's what the angels want you to think. They want you to be naive.

Assuming it's not just Castiel that set you up here, and even if he did…  the angels don't care about you. You're even less important than the Winchesters, who are seen as nothing more than maggots. So what's the point of doing this?

You closed your eyes, trying to focus.

Other than giving me things, what has their interaction with you been? Threats. Warnings. Nothing face to face.

What's their goal? To control me. To keep me isolated. Keep me quiet.

What would these clothes do to benefit that goal? They're... making me dependent. If I go against them, they can just snatch all they've given to me. Take it all away until I beg for their help again. They're not being nice. They're making me their bitch.

Shivers ran up and down your spine, and you recoiled from the trunk.  You felt sick. You stared at the trunk in disgust, knowing that you had no choice but to accept the help, because you needed it.

Then, something caught your eye. A shiny strand of something peeking out behind a pair of pants. It looked like hair. Apprehensively, you reached for it, tugging until it revealed a wig.

You knew what they wanted now.

///

You sat brooding in your car for a very long time.

You refused to put the trenchcoat on, even though it was just going to get colder and colder. The wig sat in the passenger seat, taunting you. The rebellious part of you had a violent urge to whip out your hairspray and lighter and just ignite it until it was a burnt crisp.

You were at the point of shivering when a flap of wings sent you jumping a foot out of your seat. Your heart thrummed, and you slammed a hand against your chest. “Holy sh—!”

“I don’t believe there is anything holy about human feces.”

You turned, staring at Castiel, who had replaced the wig in your passenger seat.

So that was it. They had finally sent someone. This proved the angel theory, if your dreams hadn’t already. And of course they sent the only angel you didn't want to stab in the face.

"Castiel?" you breathed.

"I hear you are reluctant to wear your given disguise," he said. His expression was unreadable and stoic. Not an ounce of give.

You supposed that empathy was reserved for the Winchesters alone in Season 4.

"I know what you're doing, you know. I don't want to be any part of it," you spat.

He looked out the windshield, peering out at the city. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he said, not sorry. "You understand we have your companion?" And if there was any warmth in his eyes, you did not see it. You just saw cold, icy blue. "I can assure you that she is well, but not safe if you do not comply with our orders."

Now this was personal. "Orders?! You mean these?" You snatched the note from the cup holder, making sure to crumple it some when you grabbed it. "This garbage is what you call an order?!"

Castiel didn't flinch.

You stared him dead in the eyes. "No. No, this is ridiculous. I want your 'orders', person to perss…" You paused. "Angel. Person to angel. You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure we can do that for you."

You shot him an incredulous look. "And why not? You're doing it right now!"

"It is not time for angels to visit the Earth yet. You know this."

"And I'm an exception?"

"You're a nuisance," he said, finally turning to stare into your soul. Probably literally. "Do as we say or things will get much more difficult for you." And then he was gone.

Now you understood Dean's frustration. "Freaking angels!" you screamed, punching your steering wheel.

What the hell am I going to do.

///

You were uneasy that night, sprawled in the backseat with your eyes shut but not asleep. There was no way to feel safe. Before, the car had perhaps felt like a barrier between the monsters and you. Now, it felt penetrable. You felt weak. The angels were watching, and they didn't need to sleep.

You thought about your best friend. Wondered if she was cold like you were. Wondered if she was scared.

You got a few hours in before you woke up. It was five in the morning when you first checked the radio clock, which was ironic, considering that's around when the Winchesters get the phone call. You know that you have a lot of time before you have to get on that flight. The Winchesters waste most of their day talking to the survivors and breaking into the plane wreckage as fake Homeland Security.

You smile to yourself a little, remembering their innocence.

"That's pretty illegal, even for us." "Demons? I mean, this is big, Sam!"

Too bad it probably would never be directed at you.

You liked the Winchesters. You did. You just wished things were different right now. You had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, an unfortunate chain of events that distanced you from the Winchesters. Coincidence.

Wait, coincidence? When is anything ever coincidence in Supernatural? You pinched your eyebrows together and relayed the events. That's a lot of coincidence, don't you think? What if all your failings and misunderstandings were manipulated? What if none of this was your fault?

You wouldn't put it past the angels.

Well, this made everything much more complicated. Because not only did you know what they were doing, they knew what you were doing, and they would do anything to keep you from gaining the trust of the Winchesters.

Your best bet was doing what they told you. Even if you hated it.

///

You looked like a different person. Which, you guessed, was the point.

You stood in front of the gas station mirror, adjusting your dark sunglasses and combing your hair. The blue trenchcoat… wasn't horrible. It wasn’t your typical style, but you made it work. You wore it with a black blouse and pants.

When you made it back to the car, there was something else in the seat. A makeup bag. Begrudgingly, you opened it. Trying to push down the guilt that was weighing on your chest as you got more and more. They probably stole all of this crap.

You did your makeup dark and heavy, trying to reshape your features enough to make you look not-like-you.

Now to get to the airport.

///

You bought your ticket at the airport. You were sweating profusely, terrified the entire time, thinking about the very near future. You'd never flown before, and you definitely wished your first experience wouldn't have to be a doomed one, but that was the job. There would be more firsts in your future, and you would have to accept that. Hunters weren't whiny babies.

Thirty minutes later, you boarded the plane. You had spent far too much time rationalizing this risk. These were real people, and this plane would definitely plummet in forty minutes.

Sucking in a breath, you decided to focus on step one: finding your seat. Your ticket said 20E. Which was somewhere in the middle of the plane.

You scanned the row. 20C, 20D… 20E. That was you. You took your seat, feeling yourself get panicky. You couldn't let that happen, now could you? It would be counterproductive if you got possessed.

You looked at the seats. They were smaller than you would've liked, but they weren't uncomfortable. The seats were a plush purple with little pinkish designs. You traced them with your finger over the fabric, hoping to find some distraction in the small action. It didn't offer you much.

You looked up, watching as people boarded. You stiffened as you saw two familiar faces enter and sit to your left. The Winchesters.

You were sitting right by the Winchesters.

///

Tag: @rosaren2498​ , @pillowjj​ , @busy-bee-angel-misska​ , @elle-r​ , @dagnylokisdottir​ , @omg-we-really-doo​

[the--blackdahlia]

The Hunters Chapter 6

Title: The Hunters Chapter 6

Summary: What happens when four idiots get together? Nikki's looking for his dad. Tommy's trying to get out of his mom's shadow. Vince is along for the ride. And Mick is just trying to keep them alive. Which is harder than it sounds when then Winchesters join the fray.

Warnings: Language, violence, m/m smut, canon divergence, character deaths (temporarily), wincest if you squint (may add more tags as I go)

Check out my Patreon for more chapters!

Nikki left the alley not long after Tommy did, his thoughts drifting back to the mysterious other hunter. Bobby had introduced him to some other hunters, but outside of the two or three times he had seen Dean Winchester, most hunters he had met were older, gruffer, and sure as hell weren’t hunting in Atari t-shirts and ponytails.

And fuck, he didn’t even have his name. With a groan, Nikki headed back to the payphone to call Bobby.

“Hey, you’ll never believe what just happened,” Nikki told him when the older man answered.

“What did you do? You’ve only been there like two hours,” Bobby sighed.

“I didn’t do anything, but there was this kid and he took out the vamp I was after,” Nikki explained. “Like, he had some sword and I thought he was dead but he chopped the head off like it was butter. It was so fucking awesome Bobby.”

“Got a name?” Bobby asked.

“He wouldn’t give me one,” Nikki explained. “He was younger than me, but a little taller. He had long hair and, he was so awesome.”

“Well, I only personally know two hunters out there, and neither of them are a young boy,” Bobby explained. “Voula is a woman, and Rufus hasn’t been young in a hundred years.” Bobby chuckled some.

“Well, I only came out here for that one vampire, but I think that I might stick around a little bit,” Nikki told him. “Could be interesting.”

“Do you ever think with your upstairs brain?” Bobby laughed. “Just be careful. Check in with me later.”

****

2 Months Later

Nikki had gotten himself a rat trap apartment just off the strip. It wasn’t glamorous, but he was right in the heart of the action. He could go see bands at night, play in a few if he wanted to, and he could hunt around the Los Angeles area.

But, most importantly, he was on the lookout for the mysterious Atari t-shirt wearing hunter from before. But he never saw him again.

Nikki had been playing in a band with some guys on and off, making sure to take time to do some hunts if Bobby sent them his way. He had just gotten back from band practice to his phone ringing.

“Hello?” Nikki answered.

“Hey Nikki,” Bobby replied. “Look, you know John Winchester?”

“Yeah. Asshole who might know something about my dad,” Nikki grumbled. Bobby chuckled a little. That was the nicest thing he had heard about John in awhile.

“Yeah, well, he’s missing. And his boys were supposed to check in and haven’t. Last I heard, they were around the Sacramento area. I want you to meet up with another hunter by the name of Mick Mars to go look for them.” Bobby explained.

“Mick Mars? What kind of name is that?” Nikki asked.

“Says the guy who changed his name to Nikki Sixx,’ Bobby pointed out.

“Touche,” Nikki shook his head. “Where am I meeting this Mick Mars at?”

“He said to meet him at the Troubadour. He said he’s playing tonight and will meet you after,” Bobby explained. “You two can go over the info he has and go find the boys.”

“Any chance John will be there?” Nikki asked, looking out the window of his apartment.

“At the Troubadour?” Bobby asked with a bit of a laugh. “No, I don’t think he’ll be wherever his boys are. Dean lost track of him in Jericho.”

“And then you lost track of Dean in Sacramento. What is it with California?” Nikki asked.

“Big state. The government won’t release their top secret inventions. Like, I have a cousin who told me that they have a car that runs on water but they won’t release it because…”

“Bobby,” Nikki sighed.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, California is the place to go if you don’t want someone to find you. That’s what I have you for,” Nikki smiled a bit. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay Bobby. Talk soon.” They both hung up and Nikki got ready to go to the Troubadour.

****

Tommy had just come into his room after Voula had him do some research. His eyes were hurting and he wanted a long, long nap. He closed the bedroom door shut when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He turned around to see a shadowy figure in his room. He launched himself at it, prompting a small fight that ended up with Tommy on his back, and his friend Vince pinning him down.

“Easy tiger,” Vince said with a laugh. “You sure you’re some good hunter?” Tommy growled and flipped them over, knocking Vince onto his back. “Or maybe you are.” He laughed as Tommy got up and offered him a hand.

“What are you doing here?” Tommy asked.

“Looking for a beer?” Vince shrugged. “Look man, Rufus sent me to get you since you hadn’t been answering your phone.”

“Rufus?” That’s when his bedroom light turned on. Vince and Tommy looked towards the door, where Voula stood, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, hey Mrs. Bass,” Vince smiled at her. “Long time no see.”

“Well, if you’d come in through the front door like a normal human being, you might see me more often,” She shook her head. “So, why are you here?”

“I…” He looked to Tommy, who just waved for him to continue.  “Rufus wants me and Tommy to come meet him. He’s got a thing for us.”

“I see,” Voula looked at her son. “What are my rules?”

“If I’m going to go out on a hunt, make sure I tell you where I’m going, make sure I check in, and if I can’t check in, try to leave a  trace of where I may be so if you have to come find me, you can,” Tommy sighed. “Mom, I’m 19. I’ve been hunting without you since like 17. I think I got this.”

“And he won’t be alone on whatever Rufus is sending us on Mrs. Bass,” Vince wrapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. “He’s got me.”

“That’s what worries me,” Voula shook her head. “Okay. Just be safe.”

“I will mom,” Tommy kissed her cheek. “Aren’t I always?”

“Not last week when you burnt a wendigo only to turn around and walk straight into a tree branch,” Voula pointed out. Vince started laughing.

“That’s how you got that bruise on your forehead?” Vince wheezed. “That’s hilarious.”

“Shut the fuck up man,” Tommy shook his head. Voula left so Tommy could pack up some things.

“Dude, I ever mention that you’re mom’s hot?” Vince asked.

“Dude! That’s like saying my sister is hot,” Tommy shuddered a little.

“I mean…” Vince smirked, knowing that would piss Tommy off.

“Dude, let’s just go,” Tommy said as he finished packing some clothes and got his weapons bag, making sure his sword was in there.

“Get a gun man,” Vince whispered to him as they headed downstairs, past David who was sitting in his chair, watching TV, and Voula and Athena who were in the kitchen. “Hey Athena.” Vince winked at the younger girl, who blushed and quickly had to find something in the pantry.

“Bye guys,” Tommy called out.

“Okay, hold on, where are you going?” David asked, causing Tommy and Voula to share a look. “And where did Vince come from?”

“He came from a landfill, and we’re going to…” Tommy glanced at Vince.

“An apple orchard up north,” Vince smiled. “They make a killer apple pie.”

“Okay then…” David eyed the two boys. “Call us when you get there.”

“Will do,” Tommy said quickly. “Bye mom, bye dad, bye loser!”

“Asshole!” Athena filled Tommy off from the pantry. Tommy and Vince headed out the door as David could be heard telling Athena to cool it. Tommy headed towards the van he got from his uncle. He had tried to clean it, but it still smelled like shit.

“No way, uh uh,” Vince shook his head.

“What?” Tommy asked.

“We are not taking your creepy van,” Vince told him. “I’ve got my car. We’ll just ride in it.”

“What’s wrong with the van? We can store more stuff in it,” Tommy told him.

“One, it smells like a mix of BO and piss, two, it looks trashy, and three, I’m driving,” Vince smiled and dragged Tommy over to his orange, 1975 Dodge Challenger.

“And how did you get this again?” Tommy asked as they tossed their bags into the trunk and got in.

“I know a guy who knows a guy,” Vince shrugged. “Shotgun just needs to shut his mouth.” Tommy rolled his eyes as Vince fired up the car, AC/DC coming from the speakers as they drove away, and Vince singing along the whole way.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo​ @dekahg​ @marvel-af-imagines​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @nanie5​ @imboredsueme​ @gemini0410​ @aiaranradnay​ @babypink224221​ @mogarukes​ @xxwarhawk​ @sandlee44​ @shatteredabby​ @caswinchester2000​ @supernaturalwincestsblog​ @lauravic​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​ @teller258316​ @horrorpxnk​ @tommyleeownsme​ @marvelismylifffe​

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[javocjovian]

The Wendigo - PB Gift Exchange

Happy Exchange @maggiemaybe160​ !!!

I wrote this for this year’s Profound Bond Gift Exchange!!! The theme was ‘Masquerade’!

Title: The Wendigo Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21522769 Ship: Destiel Word Count: 3568 Warnings: PTSD trauma, parental abuse trauma Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, past physical/emotional abuse, PTSD, Trauma, Injury, Healing, Happy Ending, Fluff, First Kiss, more Fluff, Supportive Sam Summary: Dean has a lot of baggage from his childhood. Castiel wants to help, if Dean will let him.

Beta-ed by @cozibizzle​

The Wendigo

Dean was injured. Not enough to threaten his life, but certainly enough to gripe about, especially as it was making Sam fuss unnecessarily over him.

"Would you stop already? I'm fine," Dean snapped. He was sitting on a moth eaten couch in an old cabin—one of their dad's from a lifetime ago, or so it seemed. Dean's jacket sleeve was bloody and frayed, and he had snow in his hair. Sam and Dean were both flushed from the cold.

Sam glared at him incredulously. He tossed the first aid kit on the ground at Dean's feet and stalked away.

Dean felt a sick satisfaction at making Sam mad—it eased his own pain somewhat—but it didn't last. Shame washed over him as soon as Sam left the room, and the burning pain in his arm increased tenfold. Dean shut his eyes.

 Sam and Dean came to this cabin once when they were kids. John was hunting a wendigo, but it got away. When Sam and Dean heard about similar deaths happening in the same stretch of woods, they had to come.

At least the wendigo was finally dead, Dean thought. What was one burnt forearm compared to that? Hell, they even saved the girl this time. Dean would call that a win any day. He was just tired, in pain, and he'd never wanted a drink so badly in his life. He'd apologize to Sam later.

 A rush of wintry air blew Dean's thoughts away as the cabin door opened.

Dean looked up in surprise at the messy haired, trenchcoated figure of Castiel. He looked severe—although he always sort of looked like that.

"Hey, Cas," Dean said, dropping his voice.

Castiel shut the door. "I got your message," he rumbled.

"Yeah, well, you're late," Dean grunted. "Party's over. We killed it."

Castiel looked Dean over. He didn't seem to have heard a word Dean said. He was staring at Dean's singed sleeve.

"The campers are fine, by the way," Dean added, but when Castiel only squinted harder at his arm, Dean sighed and added, "I'm good." He shifted his arm to prove it and doused the resulting pain with a rough smirk. "Why don't you go check on Sam?"

Dean could have kicked himself. Why did he have to be such an ass? He stared Castiel down, anything to avoid looking at the cabin.

Castiel seemed immune to Dean's rudeness, however. He strode over to the couch and sat down beside Dean. Despite feeling suddenly numb, the pain in Dean’s arm doubled when Castiel touched it.

Dean hissed, making Castiel look up. For a moment they made eye contact, and Dean felt his own gaze harden.

Castiel didn't flinch. He maintained his hold on Dean's arm and said, "Take off your jacket."

Dean eyed him, feeling a kick of defiance. What would happen if he refused? The impulse faded however, and he began taking off his jacket.

Castiel didn't help at all, even though Dean was sure he looked like an idiot trying to wiggle out of his jacket with only one functioning arm. It was cold in the cabin, but it felt good on his burned arm. Finally he was free and returned his arm to Castiel.

Castiel's hands were warm and surprisingly gentle as he rolled up Dean's sleeve. The burn was worse than Dean thought. He regretted pushing Sam away, and yet he knew he was doing it again to Cas by being so rude.

"Can you heal it?" Dean asked, only to break the silence.

"Yes," Castiel said softly. "But it will hurt."

 A sound from the hallway made both Dean and Castiel look over. Sam was watching them with what Dean thought was entirely too much understanding.

"Hello Sam," Castiel greeted him.

"Hey Cas," Sam replied, although his eyes were on Dean.

"What?" Dean grunted.

Sam sighed. "Nothing."

Dean glared at him, then at Cas, and said, "Just do it."

Castiel eyed Dean curiously, and Dean had to fight the urge to take his arm back. Why did Castiel have to look at him like that? It made Dean feel weak, and he didn't want that. Not there, in that cabin, with Sam's knowing gaze burning into his soul.

Without warning, pain shot up Dean's arm. The wintry air inside the cabin vanished, and it felt like all the bones in his arm had been replaced with white hot rods. He swore and grabbed onto the couch. Just as Dean was sure he would retch from the intensity of the pain, it was all over.

Dean leaned back on the couch, panting. "God dammit, Cas," he said weakly.

Something in Dean's voice made Castiel's gaze soften. Dean shut his eyes again and just focused on breathing.

It was only when Castiel shifted slightly that Dean realized he'd been gripping him, not the couch. Dean pulled his arm away reflexively. It didn't hurt anymore. He looked it over and was surprised to see his arm whole and intact. Fresh, white skin was stretched over the burn, which now looked several weeks old.

"That will fade with time. I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

Dean's expression softened. "It's good, Cas. Thanks." He flexed his hand, wishing Castiel would look somewhere else.

"Well, I'm turning in," Sam said quietly, an undeniable note of relief in his voice. "Do you want the bed, Dean?"

"No," Dean said a little too firmly.

Sam sighed again. "Alright, well, I say we head out in a few hours. Get some sleep. See you later, Cas."

"Goodnight, Sam," Castiel replied.

Dean didn't look at Sam as he walked into the back bedroom. He was gazing at the blue veins under his healed skin.

"So," Dean finally said, "are you gonna poof away now or what?"

Castiel looked surprised by the question, and it reignited Dean's shame.

"If you want me to," Castiel said simply.

Dean suddenly felt uncomfortable with himself. He couldn't stand sitting still. He got up and walked to the empty fireplace. He could feel Castiel's eyes on him as he examined an old iron poker.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Is this you?"

Dean turned to see Castiel holding a picture frame. There was a circle of dust on the side table from where it had sat dormant for decades. The picture showed a young boy holding up a fishing line with a large bass on the end. He was glowing with pride.

Dean went numb again. It was a strangely calm feeling. He walked over to Castiel, took the picture out of his hands and placed it back on the table. His eyes were set.

Castiel stared at him. "Dean?"

"What, Cas?"

"Did something happen to you and Sam?" Castiel's brow furrowed.

Dean thought about the question for a while. Finally he walked back to the fireplace and said, "I told you, we hunted a wendigo.”

"But… you prayed for my help. Why?"

Dean didn't respond.

"You and Sam clearly handled it fine on your own. Why did you need me here?" Castiel sounded pensive.

Without the pain in Dean's arm, he could feel something else aching. Stinging. Trapping his body to the floorboards of the old cabin like a rock. Dean wished Castiel hadn't healed him. He felt shaky. He shouldn't have drank all the whiskey the night before.

"Dean."

"I told you."

"You told me you were hunting…" Castiel was starting to sound annoyed now, but Dean cut him off.

"...a wendigo." Dean turned to look at Cas. He knew he'd have to do it eventually. Dean watched as Castiel's annoyance turned to concern. Dean must have looked as exhausted as he felt.

Dean sighed and knelt down at the fireplace. He took some wood they'd collected earlier and began making a fire.

"We hunted a Wendigo, Cas. Fifteen years ago. It got away. So we came back here to finish the job," Dean said. His voice was gruff and worn. He could feel Castiel squinting at him.

"What happened?"

There was no point feigning ignorance. Dean balled up some newspaper and began stuffing it under the wood before continuing. "Dad took us here when we were kids," he explained. "Sam had been hunting for about a year, and I think the thrill had worn off. He didn't want to come. It pissed my dad off so much,” Dean smiled. “Sam, he… he was a natural." Dean paused to grab more newspaper. "I wasn't. I followed my dad's every rule, and still… I had to work twice as hard as Sam. So dad said, 'fine, stay here and pout' and he took me out into the woods, alone. Now I was pissed at Sam, too.” Dean struck a match slid it under the wood. “He was just… so different from dad and I. Without even trying. You know dad, he… he never disciplined Sam like he did me." For a moment it looked like Dean hadn’t meant to say it. He bent down and blew on the flames, causing smoke to rise in serpentine spirals between the logs. He kept fiddling with it until the papers were in flames. "So Dad and I went hunting the wendigo."

"But… you didn't find it?" Castiel asked carefully. He assumed a single wendigo wouldn't be able to escape two hunters, especially not John Winchester and his son.

Dean watched the embers slowly eat the newspapers, reflecting gold in his eyes. It was cold in the cabin. Dean could feel it on his arms and face, on his frostbitten nose and ears, but it felt like someone else’s body, and the warmth growing in front of him provided no relief.

"No, we found it." Dean said, then added, "I found it."

Dean could hear a silent question hanging in the air, but Castiel didn't say anything.

"The missing campers were there,” Dean said quietly, “Well, half of them, anyway. All dead, except one. The wendigo was eating her."

For a moment, only the sound of the crackling wood filled the cabin. Dean was inexpressibly grateful for the silence.

"She was still alive. She was just lying there… gurgling… staring at me. And I…" Dean watched the flames consume the last of the old newspaper—an article about a missing blonde haired girl. "She died like that. Staring at me. I had the flare gun, but I didn't…" Dean stopped.

Castiel looked at him. Dean was outlined by the glow of the fire, his face hidden in shadow. After a long silence, Dean spoke again. His voice was shaky—Castiel had never heard a more terrible sound.

"I froze," he said simply, "and the wendigo got away. God, dad was pissed." He gave a wounded laugh. "He came running and saw me standing there. I'd never seen him so mad."

Castiel frowned. "But you were just a child. Surely he didn't blame you."

"Oh, he blamed me. I let the thing go, Cas," Dean explained, but the certainty in his voice was hollow. He stared into the flames, absentmindedly rubbing his healed arm. "We burned the campers, or what was left of them. The girl, too. And when we got home," Dean smiled darkly, "Dad, he… he whooped my ass." He tried to laugh again but the sound came out like a cough. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, letting the orange light of the flames envelop him.

"He beat you?"

Dean nodded. "Yup. Worst one of my life. I couldn't aim a gun for a week."

"Does Sam know?" Castiel asked quietly.

Dean sighed. "Yeah. I mean, he was in the next room. He knew. Dad never laid a hand on Sammy, but…" Dean trailed off. He wiped his eyes with his palm. "It got better after that. Dad didn't… I mean, he found other ways of dealing with us." When Dean looked at Castiel, Castiel looked upset, hurt even. Dean thought he knew why. Dean got to his feet at last and brushed himself off. "The John you met, or watched, I guess, that wasn't my dad. The John who was destined to marry my mom, that wasn't my dad."

For some reason, it was these words that made Dean unable to go on. He shut his eyes, willing himself to keep steady. He would have given all the whiskey in the world to keep it together, but half of him wanted to stick his arm into the fire again and burn off the memory—burn off his fate, his curse.

It took a few minutes for Dean to collect himself, but finally he wiped his eyes and moved back to the picture frame on the side table. He picked it up. Etched on the back was a date some thirty years earlier. Castiel watched him sadly.

"This was the John you knew,” Dean told him. “The John he was supposed to be."

Dean was suddenly filled with the desire to throw the picture across the room. He wanted to know that satisfaction. To destroy it. To punish it. Instead he put the picture face down in the dust.

Despite everything that had happened at the hands of his father, the thought of John gave him strength enough to look at Castiel. Or maybe he just wanted to punish himself further. Either way, when his hazy green eyes met Castiel's blue seas, Castiel reached up and touched Dean's arm. Castiel hadn’t moved since Dean started talking. He’d barely said a word. But it seemed that Castiel was finally unable to stand by while Dean suffered alone.

Dean knew what about to happen seconds before Castiel touched him, but he didn't do anything to stop it. Castiel's warm, surprisingly gentle grip found Dean's arm, and Dean felt hot tears slide past his eyelashes, burning his frostbitten cheeks.

"You know…" Dean said, his voice choked, "The first thought I had when that girl looked at me? I was grateful.” He tried to laugh. “Grateful that Sam stayed behind. That I was the one who found the wendigo." Dean wiped his eyes with his free hand. He didn't know why he was still talking. Distantly he heard Castiel get up. "I was grateful that it was happening to me, and not Sam."

Dean looked at Castiel and, without a word, Castiel pulled him into his arms. Dean wanted to run, to fight, to do anything but stand there and sink into Castiel's embrace, but he couldn't move. He lowered his face into Castiel's shoulder and felt a warmth that no flames could provide. It pushed the cold off his skin, purging him of sin and putting him back in his body. He put his shaking arms around Castiel. For a moment, he felt no pain. His tears flowed freely but there was no shame. Dean knew what it meant, and he felt sick with himself. He wiped his eyes once more and pulled away.

"Cas… I can't," he said. He didn't expect Castiel to understand. He expected Castiel to look hurt. He expected to feel the guilt and shame he knew he deserved.

But Castiel did understand. He looked at Dean, still standing much too close to him, and asked, "Why not?"

Dean stared at him, unsure what to say even though he knew the answer. It was because he, too, was a wendigo, masquerading as the human being it once was. Consuming others to stay alive, letting people die just to hold onto that cursed life—Dean was no different. He knew his only relief, his only redemption, his fate, would be that of fire and brimstone.

At last, Dean rasped, "Because you deserve better."

Castiel looked so tired and incredulous that it reminded Dean of Sam. "Dean," he said firmly, "I don't want better. And neither should you."

Dean wanted to sink back into Castiel's warmth, even if it felt like condemning Castiel to his own fiery curse.

"Dean."

Dean looked at him and his mind went blank. It was bliss. He knew it was selfish, it was wrong, but he'd never wanted anything so badly in his life. He felt Castiel’s hand move down his arm. He felt Castiel’s fingers intertwine with his. Castiel was so close his nose could have brushed against Dean’s.

“If you and Sam have taught me anything,” Castiel whispered, “it’s that people don’t often get what they deserve. You didn’t deserve any of that. You don’t deserve the fate you’ve been given.” Castiel’s eyes were like a whirlpool, capturing Dean’s and not letting them go. “You deserve to be happy,” Castiel said firmly. “So… if you tell me what you want, I’ll give that to you. I want… I want you to be happy.”

Castiel’s gaze felt like an endless ocean, washing over Dean. After what seemed like a lifetime of silence, Dean nodded. He gripped Castiel’s hand and leaned against him, taking comfort in their closeness. "Okay."

Castiel looked relieved, and Dean knew that he understood that answer when he felt Castiel take him by the hand. Dean was grateful he didn’t have to say more. Together they sat on the couch, the glow of the flames dancing over them, and Castiel took Dean into his arms. Dean was surprised at how readily he succumbed to it. It was like coming home. He leaned into Castiel and closed his eyes. Castiel kissed Dean's head, and Dean felt an inhuman warmth flood him. He didn't think he'd ever known anything like it. It was like basking in a warm sea, each wave another beat of Castiel’s heart.

 Dean didn't remember falling asleep, but when he woke up he thought he was dead. He was enveloped in such warmth and comfort that he couldn't possibly be alive. There was no pain, only the heavenly smell of Castiel’s familiar musk and the feeling of his body breathing gently against Dean’s. Surely this couldn’t be Earth—This couldn’t be a place where demons and monsters roamed and where Dean hunted them.

It was only the realization that they were covered in a blanket, and that neither of them had gotten up to get a blanket, that told Dean he had to still be alive. Sure enough, as he came to he heard Sam packing up the Impala outside.

 It was light out and the fire had burned itself to embers, glowing faintly through the lumps of blackened wood like a burnt corpse.

Dean and Castiel had slept through the night, far longer than a few hours, yet Sam hadn't woken them. He’d put a blanket over them. It was a musty, old blanket with holes, but he knew it was the best Sam could find.

Dean felt Castiel stir. Castiel opened his bleary eyes to look at him, and Dean felt himself smile. He didn’t feel like speaking yet, so he kissed Castiel's cheek. Castiel didn't move away or say anything, but Dean felt Castiel smile. They lay like that, cheek to cheek, both awake but not speaking, just laying in each other’s arms.

The front door opened and Sam came inside from the cold. There was no mad scramble to get up, but Dean felt himself go red in the face despite the fire being out.

"Hey," Sam greeted them, his voice gentle and earthly. "I got everything packed up so… whenever you're ready."

Dean could tell Sam was eager to leave the cabin, but suddenly Dean didn't feel the same way.

Dean looked over at Sam. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam paused, taken aback. Dean hadn't called him that in a while. Sam looked between Dean and Castiel's tousled heads and smiled, and Dean knew he was forgiven. Hell, if Sam was still with him, ready to kill wendigos and fight their fate, maybe Castiel would be alright, too.

Sam walked back outside to let Dean and Castiel get ready to leave. It was cold in the cabin without the fire, but Castiel was like a beacon of warmth, always a few inches from Dean. They didn’t speak much, but the silence was nice, Dean thought.

When Dean was ready to go, he asked, “Are you going to…”

“‘Poof away’?” Castiel smiled slightly.

Dean smiled back.

“Do you want me to?”

Dean’s smile softened. “No.”

Castiel stepped closer to Dean, looking relieved again. “Then I won’t.”

Dean knew Castiel would have been happy to just stand close to Dean forever, but Dean suddenly found himself wanting more. He leaned in and, when Castiel didn’t back away, when they were so close they could taste each others’ breath, Dean kissed him.

Dean wouldn’t have believed Castiel’s lips could be so soft. Castiel kissed him back, feeling Dean’s lips gently, curiously, and Dean felt all of his fears and insecurities wash away. The cabin was suddenly warm again and Dean’s mind drifted pleasantly into space.

It was over all too soon, but neither were in any rush to go anywhere. Dean hovered over Castiel’s lips, breathing in his scent.

Finally, Dean smiled. “There’s room in the Impala. If your wings are tired, this is.”

Castiel smiled back. “They are. Very tired.”

Dean chuckled softly. He put his arm on Castiel’s back and walked out of the cabin with him. The winter’s day was bright and tranquil. The woods were free of wendigos and more beautiful than Dean had ever realized. His boots crunched over wet, melting snow, burying the ash and rubble from many decades ago.

[morganas-pendragons]

Contrition | D.W.

This is for @connorshero writing challenge, congrats on your plethora of followers Sadie! I think this might be my first writing challenge I’ve ever done, but I was so heartbroken over Prophet and Loss that I couldn’t not write something for it. 

“He’s done a lot of unforgivable things, but keeping this secret about his plan to silence Michael? It might just be the end for the two of you.”

Set during s14 | Prompt: “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” 

this is the longest supernatural fiction I’ve ever written, so most of it is under the cut!

<><><><><><><><><>

It had been your dream from a rather young age to grow up and get married, to be the woman your mother had raised you to be. That was it. You weren’t even remotely concerned about kids or a stable job, a house you’d live in until they dug your grave… nothing. You just wanted a future with the man you were meant to love. And it wasn’t until you were nearly twenty five that the man in question came banging down your door with a shotgun that contained salt-rounds, and blasted the ghost of your brother straight to Hell. 

That man introduced himself to be Dean. Dean Winchester - Self destructive, self-loathing and 6’2 hunk of man who seemed to substitute flannels as a second layer of skin. He was everything you had ever desired.

And everything you dreaded. 

  “Kid,” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as you emerged from the bathroom, dripping wet from your cleansing shower after the most recent Wendigo hunt. He is all tremors and gasping breaths from where he stands by the front door of the motel room, green eyes dilating at the sight of you. “I don’t know how much longer I can control myself if you keep playing these games with me.” 

  “There’s no more games to play if you take the opportunity to seize the prize, Dean.” 

He had seized you that same night with broken whispers and silenced kisses. Swallowed the cries of his name with his mouth, mapped the canvas of your body with the same hands he’d used to take the lives of the monsters he hunted. You were his desire - the love he had craved since the day his mother had burned on the ceiling of his home in Lawrence. 

And from that point you had said yes to his incessant pleas to take you on a date, Dean Winchester was glued to your side. You went on hunts together, you lived together in the same room at the Bunker, you watched his back and he watched yours. Sam often gagged at how love-sick his older brother appeared to be with you, but he was secretly elated. If anyone deserved the perfect ending with the woman he loved, after all he had endured and sacrificed to get here.. it was Dean.

Unfortunately for the Winchesters, there never is a perfect ending. 

After Michael had ‘’willingly’’ left Dean and seemingly disappeared for a time, that nagging thought in the back of your mind dissipated into silence. That ever-so-consistent whisper of, “Where on Earth did he go?” Part of you believed pieces of the Archangel remained when you saw Dean doze off in the midst of research, frantically blinking as if he were trying to pull himself out of the haze that had settled in his mind. 

He promised he was better. Slept soundly at your side through the night, woke up the next morning and made you fresh coffee from the first sight of sun up. Made advancements, joked about your sex life and how jealous he was of your relationship with Sammy (who, by the way, was practically your best friend outside of his brother.) The two of you talked about marriage and the future and everything he wanted for the two of you and your imaginary family. He seemed so Dean that you didn’t anticipate Michael taking control of him again without a fight from Dean. 

And just like you anticipated, your boyfriend was dragged back under into the murk, lips poised in a silent scream — one of a man that begged to be saved — as you helplessly watched him disappear before your very eyes. 

So when Sam and Castiel managed to pull him out of the dream sequence Michael had trapped him in, you were expecting the worst. You were expecting a different man to emerge from the depths of his tortured, scarred mind - and he was. He was so traumatized having to go through his daily routine with a screaming Archangel trapped inside of his head. Dean was desperate and in need of a solution, so he left the Bunker without you and ventured to creating the Malec Box. 

Otherwise known as the nail in the coffin of your relationship. 

When Sam had called you and informed you of his plan after they’d left Donna’s cabin and traveled to the nursing home Donatello was in, you had left the Bunker without a second thought and bolted for your car - A 1970 Chevy Mustang - and pressed the gas pedal to the floor until you arrived in Lebanon and found the Impala parked in the corner of the lot. 

  “Okay Y/N. They’re still in there.” You muttered to yourself as you slammed the drivers door and moved toward Baby, hands wound through your hair as you attempted to calm the pounding of your heart at the thought of confronting Dean. “Compose yourself.” 

There was only one problem to that. You couldn’t. You couldn’t sit here and tell yourself that everything would be okay after this charade, because the truth of the matter was this: Dean had the intentions to completely disregard you, Jack and Cas; He’d remain set on his intention to throw himself in the ocean and not think about how everyone else would cope with his loss. Losing him again after all you’d been through together wouldn’t just be something else to cope with. It would wreck you. 

Because you’d waited your whole life for him to come along, and just as quickly as you’d taken his hand, he’d been lost to you. And you were so very, very tired of losing. 

Sam emerged not too long after your arrival and frowned at the sight of you pacing in front of the Impala. He had dually anticipated this to be your reaction to Deans plan, but he hadn’t actually expected you to outright confront him about it. The younger Winchester dug his hands into his pockets and feigned a smile, hoping it would convey some type of comfort. Instead he found himself completely caught off guard when you rushed forward and embraced him tightly, pulling him down to your level as he stood a considerable amount taller than you. 

  “I’m sorry about this, Sam.” You whispered in his ear. Sam pressed his lips together and hid his face in the crook of your neck, fisting the fabric of your shirt at the small of your back. The two of you had been best friends since the day Dean had brought you home, and he was one of two people who always cheered you on. Sam was your heart, and Dean was your home. ‘’For everything that’s happened.. sweetheart-“ 

  “Y/N,” He murmured in reply, desperate to hide the crack in his voice as the two of you pulled apart to gaze at the other. “Please don’t. I can’t take anything else.” At this stage in the plan and the utter ignorance on Deans part to consider the points of other people, you weren’t surprised. These brothers had lost each other more then enough times since you’d met them, but this one would take the cake. “I know you only have his best intentions. Say your piece.” 

Your gaze hardened when you peered around Sams towering form to see Dean emerge from the nursing home. The moment his eyes locked with yours was when everything slowed down, and you suddenly found yourself pulled into a memory very early on in your relationship. The one where the two of you were alone, without help, and on the brink of being found by a group of vicious demons on the hunt for you both. The same hunt where he’d told you that one day, despite how you cared for one another, you’d either make him or break him. That your presence in his life made him crave that apple pie life he wasn’t destined to have, and being so hopelessly in love with you gave him hope for that future. 

Make him or break him, Y/N.

So you lunged forward and swung your fist into the curve of his jaw so hard that he stumbled backwards, momentarily stunned by your rage as he scrambled to stay upright. “You pompous, arrogant, son of a-“ Propelling yourself from your spot, you threw him off his feet only to land rather hard against the concrete where you could straddle his lap and beat the daylights out of him. “Did you even think about me when you concocted your preposterous, suicidal plan? Is that the definition of you, Dean Winchester? Handsome and compassionate with a dash of self-destruction?!” 

Dean considered fighting back, but the longer he watched the rage flow through your eyes, the more he realized that he deserved every single beating you delivered to him. He didn’t care if he were to wake up with broken bones and sore muscles the next morning, because the truth of the matter was that he had considered you. You, the one woman he’d been searching for since Mary had burnt on the ceiling. The woman he dreamt of falling in love with as a little boy and sought out his entire childhood and teenage years, only to rescue her from her vengeful brother years later. It wasn’t hard for him to fall in love with you when you were everything he’d been searching for. 

The one woman who didn’t deserve to see her boyfriend throw himself into oblivion. It would be better for you, adapting to a life without him. You could get out of hunting, be happy-

  “Y/N-“ His hand shot up and pinned yours against your stomach rather tightly, to which you thrashed in his grasp as he stood to his feet. “Sweetheart, you gotta stop. I know you’re mad-“ 

  “Mad doesn’t even begin to describe it, Dean!” 

Dean hung his head and released your hands. There wasn’t a way to build himself up with his plan to subdue Michael, and you knew it. He was out of ways to convince you that this was better, that this was rational - but then he saw your eyes and the tears you were trying so hard to blink away, and a piece of his resolve crumbled. 

  “This is the only card I have left, Y/N. I have to play it.” 

  “You have one card to play today, Dean! But we can find another tomorrow!” You balled your hands at your sides and slowly exhaled through your nose. You couldn’t bear to look him in the face during your most vulnerable moment. “And you keep pushing me away, acting like it’s going to be better when you get to the bottom of the ocean and you are so utterly alone-“ His breath catches in his throat when you grip the lapels of his jacket and pull him chest to chest with yourself, just close enough that he can feel the shudder of your breath. He can feel the pounding of your heart and taste the salt of your tears and for one moment, he allows himself to be with you because this might be the last chance he has to do so. “And you’re dreaming of me. Dreaming of all those people you left behind and how utterly guilty you feel for leaving them. Do you wanna know my response to that?” 

  “Not really.” He whispered, trembling hands drifting upward to sink deep into your hair. “But I think you’re gonna tell me anyway.” 

  “I think our relationship is built on secrets. Secrets and tragedy and so much guilt.. I don’t know how we can make it to the other side of this.” Deans forehead slowly rested against yours and allowed you to continue. “You’re killing yourself, Dean. I can’t be here to witness it.” 

  “So this is it?” It’s a question, one he’s been dreading hearing the answer to, and he can’t help the way his voice breaks when he asks it. 

  “This is the end.” 

That is all the confirmation he needs to capture your lips in a searing kiss. It’s desperate and needy and Dean does everything to convey just how much you mean to him in the midst of clashing tongue and teeth. Wandering hands set every nerve in your body on fire, and for a single minute, you realize how much you will miss him. How he kisses you like his life depends on it, like he is addicted and you are the drug he craves. When he smiles and you see every individual crows line around his eyes, and how his smile was powerful enough to make your knees weak. How utterly vulnerable and broken he was around you when nobody else was around, how he wished to save the world even with no reward waiting for him. 

  “I love you.” You whispered, mustering all your strength to fully pry yourself away from him. “If you make it to the other side of this, maybe I’ll see you again. If you don’t…” Your voice faltered as you dug your hands into your pockets. The air around you suddenly seemed a lot colder then it had been when you arrived. “Rest in peace, Dean Winchester.”

Dean and Sam both watched you venture into the dark and slip inside your Mustang, completely veiled from their sight. It was only when the headlights blared against Baby and the gentle thrum of the engine echoed in the night that they knew you were leaving. They watched helplessly as you curved around the Impala and tore down the main road toward the Bunker, disappearing from their sight. 

  “I gotta go after her.” 

  “Don’t you think you’ve done enough?” 

The engagement ring in his pocket and the guilt festering deep within tells him that he didn’t. 

[saintsurvivors]

death, becomes ye

four ways sam resists lucifer’s claims of resurrections. chapter one of two

read on archiveofourown

warnings include; suicide, temporary character death, depression

[one]

It’s a dare wrapped up as a challenge, wrapped up as promise, wrapped up as a truth.

And I’ll just bring you back, Lucifer says, mild, unassuming. Sam chokes on his disgust. His father always called him competitive, maybe this isn’t what he meant. But Sam can feel tundra-that-isn’t grace wrapping around his bones, seeping into his flesh.

So Sam sits on the edge of that Oklahoma motel bed, ducks away from the tweaked open blinds, the weak moonlight filtering across the carpet.

Swallowing six dozen pills isn’t as easy as it sounds.

Sam swallows them down anyway, chokes on them even as he shovels more and more in. Something burns in his gut; disgust, loathing. Maybe it’s just the two dozen choked back, thrown up pills he’s already let settle into his empty belly.

Lucifer watches, a silent shadow with a mocking grin just in the of the room. Watches at how Sam force feeds himself those whiskey-drenched pills, shaking hands and tear-wet cheeks. Goads him, almost.

It won’t last, Sam, the devil whispers. Sam blinks, and suddenly Lucifer, in his rotten sinew glory, is at his side. Bends down so his mouth is at Sam’s ear, tundra-that-isn’t grace and blood stale breath. You’re mine, Sam, for eternity.

Sam chokes back those pills, threatening to make an appearance. Disregards the tears on his cheeks, the way his hands shake, sending pills everywhere. He’s raided the first aid box, boxes of tylenol, sleeping aids, unnamed pills all washed back in rotgut whiskey. He is a desperate, desperate man.

He coughs, throws up ten pills. His shoulders curl up to his ears, feels his knees hit the carpeting besides the puddle. His mouth tastes of bile and distant failure. He gags, deep and desperate, back arching, ribs cracking, jaw breaking.

His eyes clench shut, hands tightening into fists. He is being torn apart piece by piece, pill by pill, heave by desperate, sickening heave. He dies, seconds to minutes to hours, one step at a time. This is all that is left of a once proud man.

That won’t do. Lucifer says, and he is a cold presence stretched out against Sam’s heaving side, unneeded, unwanted. But still he remains, evidence of failure, of indignation, of manipulation.

Sam heaves, sobs between the breath he can catch, doesn’t know if it’s from the loathing in his belly or the pills choking him. Turns his face away from the devil.

This is where you belong, satan croons. Leans forward, curls his fingers around Sam’s shuddering chin. Supplicant, before me.

(If I cannot have you as an equal,then I will conquer.)

He digs his nails into the underside of Sam’s chin, and Sam shudders apart, a ghost given corporeal form. His mouth lolls open, eyes half mast. Pills drop out, smeared across his chin, his bile slick neck.

He doesn’t stand a chance, makes only a whimpering sound in the back of his throat as Lucifer grips his throat, tender, loving, in the worst possible way. Heaves him up, and somehow, somehow, his feet leave the floor, and Sam is suspended in the air, gasping and breathless and this fearful breaking thing he only ever seems to be with Dean and Lucifer.

You are mine, Sam, Lucifer croons, flicks his forked tongue into the air, across his vessel’s lips. Sam wheezes, chokes on air and pills and biles. He’s hanging there, lifeless, unhelpful. Dying.

“Ple-,” He tries to gasp, can’t get a word around his own sickness, the hand around his throat. Lucifer raises an eyebrow, unbearably human for only a second.

Lucifer lies him down on the double bed, gentle, fond and perhaps the way Lucifer is so unbearably soft is what breaks something deep inside of Sam. Lucifer has been the only one to be so tender with him for so long, perhaps he’s only made for violence. What’s worse is the sneaking suspicion is that violence is the only thing Sam Winchester is made for.

He turns his head away from Lucifer, clenches his eyes against the tears even as he fights for breath. He never wanted this, he thinks, desperate, praying.

I’m going to let you die, Sammy, the devil murmurs, sits on that bed besides Sam’s supine body, strokes a hand over Sam’s cheek, wraps gently around his convulsing throat. A heavy five-fingered burning anchor. I’m going to let you die, just to see that broken look in your eyes when you come straight back into my arms.

Sam tries to turn his head. Shudders apart beneath Lucifer’s loving hands. Lucifer watches him, greedy.

Sam dies, breathless, at ten past three of a morning, in that Oklahoma motel, the devil his only companion, with no missed calls nor text messages.  

He shudders back to life twenty minutes later, sunrise falling across his face. There are no new missed calls.

You’re a monster, Sam, the devil murmurs, presses his mouth to Sam’s ear. Snake-tongue, liesmith. Truthteller. Licks the tears from Sam’s temple. He’s done trying to save you.

[two]

Three hundred and sixty five miles and a week away from that Oklahoma motel room, Sam fills a large bathtub with almost fifty bottles of blessed holy water.

He is alone, cooped up in a rundown hunting cabin in the very depths of Colorado woods. He does not strip naked, stands there for only a moment, indecisive.

He steps into that holy water bath, bare foot, feels the way the cold water sloshes around his calves, his thighs, plaid heavy and denim even heavier. He stretches out in that bath. Unbidden, his mind recalls picking hemispheres, and thinks perhaps this isn’t what Dean had in mind when picking hemispheres.

He treads water for only a few minutes. There is something calm about him, resigned. Sam doesn’t quite know why. Maybe it’s the lack of the devil, lingering, looming above his shoulders. But Sam feels Lucifer everywhere now, that tundra-that-isn’t grace and blood stale breath.

He inhales, feels his fingers skimming the very surface of holy water. He can feel his hair, wet and floating in the water, brushing against his cheek. He doesn’t close his eyes, stares at the wooden ceiling, gouging the traces of wear and tear.

He sinks deep beneath the water, exhales, holy water vessel of Lucifer’s, eyes open, baptised. He drowns three times, hands holding him down, he doesnt know whose.

Just like he doesn’t know if the water on his face is holy water or from tears.

Perhaps they’re both holy.

[three]

Sam tried to hang himself at Stanford, just the once.

Part of depression and stress and anxiety, it had culminated in Sam standing on a little rickety chair, a nylon rope draped around his neck. He’d exhaled, had been about to step off of that little stool, had felt the nylon tighten around his throat, when his mobile had blared, bright and cheery, vibrating across his table with caller ID blaring out that it was DEAN W. attempting to contact him.

He still hasn’t told Dean of that night. Their first contact in just over a year and a half, somehow when Sam just needed it the most.

The conversation had been stilted, awkward in a way it never had been before with Dean. Sam had spoke happily about classes with a nylon rope around his neck, sat on that rickety little stool.

He’d kept the nylon rope, had left it in his dufflebag, even when he’d moved in with Jess, had hidden it from her.

It had burnt up, just like Jess.

It feels the same, he thinks vaguely.

Sturdy rope draped around his throat, pulse hammering away. The feel of unsteady wood beneath his feet, three days after drowning, baptised in holy water and tears and fear. Stricken, fearful, breaking. Still not on solid ground, slip sliding, a rockfall with no cause nor destination.

Sam has always been pragmatic.

Do it, Sam, the devil whispers. From behind, wraps a hand around Sam’s throat, pushes his head up and back, adam's apple bobbing desperately. Let me hear the sound of that neck breaking, go on, Sam.

Dance for me, Sam, the devil breathes.

Sam steps forward, unhindered, calm rising in his belly. His eyes fall close, inhale, exhales. The devil laughs, pressed intimately against Sam’s back, nose tucked behind Sam’s ear.

You are so fearful, the devil murmurs, grips Sam’s hips in bruising grips. But beneath that-

Sam steps from that rickety chair, hands automatically grabbing at the rope that tightens. He struggles, little gasps of air, legs kicking. He looks Lucifer dead in the eyes. It takes three minutes for him to die, shaking.

Lucifer laughs, long and loud. Snaps his fingers, doesn’t put Sam back on that little rickety stool just to watch how Sam’s face goes purple and blue.

He does it again, just for kicks, puts Sam back on that rickety stool. Sam inhales, exhales.

Your purity is distracting, the devil murmurs, tender, intimate, possessive.

He doesn’t heal the rope burns.

The devil pushes him, and that makes it thrice.

[four]

The forests of Grand Junction, Colorado are thick, scented like pine.

Dean is at his side, a shadow of distrust and anger. He wields a shotgun and a flare gun, and sometimes Sam wants to swallow that flare gun down just to see if that would do the trick.

After all, it alights a Wendigo’s insides aflame; what is Sam now but a Wendigo of his own making, a numbing hunger scraping at the inside of his belly, throat aching for more.

He does it after, Dean looking the other way, unknowing, perhaps accepting, Wendigo put down like a dog. Sits next to the smouldering corpse creature, shoves that flare gun down his throat, gags on it.

Inhale. Exhale. Swallows, tongue pressed against the underside, fearful.

Pulls the trigger, flarelight explosion.

It tastes a lot like demon blood going down, human bile and ash when it’s coming back up.

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 10x05: “Fan Fiction”

As a former theatre kid, this episode brings me so much joy.

“Ghost? Meet Winchester.”

There’s our girl!

“Where is the Samulet?”

“Oh! I took it off. It kept hitting me in the lips, and...”

“That amulet is the symbol of the Winchesters' brotherly love!”

!!!

“There is too much drama in the drama department.” Well...yeah.

“Why couldn't they just do ‘Godspell’ like good little skanks ? Instead it's this... awful, unbelievable horror story. Hmm! Like that stuff really happens! Huh, theater is about life, you know? Truth! Truth! Where is the truth in ‘Supernatural’?”

What the fuck kind of teacher is this??

I had a theater teacher who told us theatre was magic. I think she would’ve liked Marie’s play about Supernatural.

There she goes.

“I mean, it's close, but it's just.... It needs a little more grrrr!”

Our very special title card.

“Sundown” by Gordon Lightfoot

Our beautiful Baby.

Dean awake before Sam? A shocker.

“A teacher in an all girls school went missing in Flint, Michigan. She was heading to her car, disappeared, and nobody's seen her since.”

“Dean, there's nothing here that even remotely suggest there is a case.”

“There is nothing that even remotely suggest there isn't a case. Boom!”  

Logic!

Hell yes!

Thank you, thank you, thank you Robbie Thompson.

“Ugh, theater kids. Great.”  

“What? I was a theater kid.”

“Barely. You did ‘Our Town’, which was cool. But then, you did that crappy musical.”

“The - ‘Oklahoma’? Hugh Jackman got cast off of ‘Oklahoma’.”

“You ran tech, Wolverine.”

Hey, Techies are just as important as the actors.

They missed the huge banner advertising the show??

hahahaha, their faces are hilarious. Granted, if I found out someone made a musical about my life, I’d be speechless too.

“If there is case... It probably has something to do with all of this.” It has everything to do with it.

Marie, writer/director, and Maeve, the stage manager. (Fun fact: I was a stage manager once! Lots of fun, work, and telling people to shut up and pay attention.)

“I'm Special Agent Smith. This is my partner, Special Agent -”

“Smith.”

“Smith. No relation.”

Again with the joke.

There’s plenty of singing in Supernatural, mostly from you, Dean.

“If there was singing, it would be classic rock. Not this Andrew Floyd Webber crap -”

“Andrew Lloyd Webber.”

Love the improv correction.

Don’t shoot down “Carry on Wayward Son”, Sam.

I also had a theater teacher who went through a divorce.

“Maeve, right? You're the stage manager?”

“And I understudy Jody Mills.”

Maeve would make a great Jody!

“I'm gonna throw up.” Shush, Dean.

“I mean, I gotta say, it's kind of charming. The production value, and the...” I love Sam’s sincere interest tho.

Rule #1: You never touch the props.

“Why are they standing so close together?”

“Um...Reasons.”

“You know they're brothers, right?”

“Well, duh! But... Subtext.”

We gotta address that.

“You know, back when I did tech in school, we had two CD decks-”

“I'm sorry, I have to go sign the delivery.”

Aww Sam! I would love to hear his theater stories.

Pfft, Sam.

“There's no space in Supernatural.” We got close to it...

“Chuck stopped writing after ‘Swan Song’. I just- I couldn't leave it the way that it was! I mean, Dean not hunting anymore, living with Lisa?! Sam, somehow back from Hell, but not with Dean?! So, I wrote my own ending.” I don’t blame her.

“Dean becomes a woman.” Would still wanna see that happen in an episode.

“So, Sam came back from Hell. But without a soul. Then, Cas brought in a bunch of Leviathans from Purgatory. They lost Bobby. And then, Cas and Dean got stuck in Purgatory, Sam hit a dog. They met a prophet named Kevin, they lost him too. Then Sam endured a series of trials, in an attempt to close the gates of Hell. Which nearly cost him his life. Then Dean? Dean became a demon. Knight of Hell, actually.”

S6-9 summary, courtesy of Dean.

Here comes the second hand embarrassment.

“That is some of the worst fan fiction that I've ever heard ! I mean, seriously, I don't know where your friend found this garbage!” Oof, I still don’t like that.

“Siobhan and Kristen are a couple in real life. Although, we do explore the nature of Destiel in act two.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Oh, it's just subtext ! But, then again, you know, you can't spell subtext without.... s-e-x.”

!!!!!

Hi, Jensen.

“I don’t understand.”

“Me either.”

“I mean, shouldn't it be... Deastiel?”

LMAO SAM.

“You know... How about Sastiel? Samstiel?”

“Ok, alright. You know what? You're gonna do that thing, where you just shut the hell up. Forever.”

Teasing brother, Sam.

“This whole musical thing, everything, it's... It's all a coincidence? There is no case?” When is it ever just a coincidence?

“Get in the car!”  

!!!!!!!

BUT HE NEVER DENIED IT THOO, that’s all i’m saying.

“You know, we should've done ‘The Outsiders’, like I told you.”

Maggie’s the second person to get kidnapped.

“I called the cops, and a bunch of adults just told me I have an overactive imagination.” :(

“It is all real. And so are we. I'm Sam Winchester. That's Dean.” NO NO NO.

“You guys are way too old to be Sam or Dean.”

“Oh, yeah!”

“More of a Bobby/Rufus combo? Maybe.”

How old do they think Sam and Dean should be???

“We are what the books called hunters.” They believe that.

First guess: a tulpa.

“How do you kill an idea?”  

“Well, in ‘Hell House’, Sam and Dean burnt the house down, to take out the one tulpa they hunted.”

Correct!

“Gird your loins. It's horrifying.” Umm...okay.

I love how reluctant Marie was to burn her prop.

“What?”

“It’s not a tulpa.”

“Say it one more time, but just a little bit more Arnold--”  

LMAO, Dean.

Calliope.

“According to the lore, Calliope manifests creatures from the story she's tuned into.”

The show must go on.

An understandable panic attack over the possibility of getting eaten.

“Is Marie gonna get eaten?” Shush.

I love when Dean calls people “champ”. It’s so sweet and endearing.

“If Sam and Dean were real, they wouldn't back down from a fight. Especially my sweet, brave, selfless Sam. There's nothing he can't do.” !!!

“I used this for my one-woman ‘Orphan Black’ show, last year.” Marie is the theater kid I would’ve lowkey wanted to be.

“Writer. Director. Actor. I'm gonna Barbra Streisand this bitch.” FUCK YES! KICK IT IN THE ASS!

Dean fixing Stage!Cas’ tie!!

Funny Sam asked for Chuck...

“Oh! I-I, I love him. I do! But honestly, the whole author introducing himself into the narrative thing, it's just not my favorite. I kind of hate the meta stories.” I politely disagree.

“Alright, listen up, girls. Now, you're all here, because you love ‘Supernatural’.”

“Actually, I was hoping we'd do ‘Wicked’.” 

“I want you to get out there, and I want you to stand as close as she wants you to, and I want you to put as much sub and add text, as you possibly can. There is no other road. No other way. No day, but today.”

“Did he just quote ‘Rent’?”

“Not enough to get us into trouble.”

“Ghooooost-facerssss!”  This episode just adds wonderful years to my lifespan.

You know what I would pay to watch this play in full???

“The Road So Far”

There it is.

The misunderstood thumbs up, lmao.

Sam goes bye bye.

Maggie and the teacher.

They were in the school’s basement.

Hello, Calliope.

“I’ll Just Wait Here Then”

Nothing makes me more emotional than seeing the audience fall in love Stage!Cas, much like we did with our real Cas.

“If I have to sit through that second act, one more time... There's robots, and tentacles, and space. I can't even.” lol

“A Single Man Tear”

That exorcism special effect is so wonderful! I can see how they do it now, but from the audience’s POV, it’s absolutely magical.

What the hell did the audience think Dean was doing??

“We're through the looking glass, here, people. Strike the wendigo set, let's prep the priests costumes. And Sarah? Get understudies into hair and makeup.” Maeve’s a A+ stage manager.

“Supernatural has everything. Life. Death. Resurrection. Redemption. But above all, family. All sorts of music you can really tap your toe to. It isn't some meandering piece of genre dreck. It's... epic!” Agreed.

Stage!Dean is a pro if she could keep singing with everything going on in the background.

lmao at the one guy putting on his poncho.

Original Stage!Sam knocks out Calliope.

Understudy!Sam kills the Scarecrow.

Sam kills Calliope. A trifecta of Sam Awesomeness.

RIP Calliope. Killed by Sam.

The audience must be wondering how they managed to do that for years.

“Take a bow, Sammy.” Take a bow too, Dean.

“Thanks for saving my friends.”

“Sure.”

“You know? If you'd cut your hair a little, you'd make a pretty good Dean.”

Aww.

“Dean? You never should've thrown this away.” YYYEEESSS

“It never really worked. And, I don't need a symbol to remind me how I feel about my brother, so...”

“Just take it. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

I love Dean’s panic when he realizes he just called a teenage girl a “bitch” without meaning to, lmaoo.

Take it away Stage!Winchesters!

Let me tell you, I literally bursted into tears when they started singing “Carry On Wayward Son”. It’s beautifully done.

Starting with Stage!Mary, who is more or less Square 1 of the entire story.

i remember a lot of people being upset about Cas not being part of the family lineup at the end, and I get it. But if Marie was only going off of the first 5 seasons, it makes sense that she didn’t see Cas as family yet because Sam and Dean didn’t see Cas as family yet. They’re just one year shy of that.

BUT the same girl who plays Cas is on stage as Adam, a technical Winchester. You could say Cas took over Adam’s role as the third Winchester “brother” because canonically speaking, that’s the highest title Sam and Dean have given Cas.

“Who's that?”

“Oh, that's Adam. John Winchester's other kid. He's still trapped in the cage, in Hell. With Lucifer.”

lmaooo. Awkward.

“Don’t you cry no more.” I sing, while crying.

I wish he had kept the Samulet Part 2 on there.

A picture perfect ending.

...One last surprise.

“Oh my gosh! But wait... That means that- Calliope came for me or for-?” Did Marie know who he was?

I thought it was Cas...

I legit lost my goddamn mind when I saw him.

A perfect episode of Supernatural, in my most humble opinion.

[nerdcentral]

The Silent Treatment

Summary: The reader is an introvert, but is comfortable around Gabriel so he doesn't know. One day after the reader is tires of his never-ending come backs she decides to mess with him by giving him the silent treatment, but he doesn't think that she can keep it up for long.

Warnings: normal Dean swearing

"Y/n, Look Out!" Called one of the boys, you turned around to see a vampire with his fangs out about to take a bite out of your shoulder, but before he can you swing your arm around and take his head clean off.

Dean comes running up, "Are you alright?" Same only a few steps behind. You smile at the concerned look on their faces, "I'm fine," you shifted uneasily under their intense gazes, "no need to worry about me Winchester."

Being the extremely introverted person you were made you uncomfortable when Sam and Dean shouted how much they cared about you, of course they were like brothers to you and you three had known each other for years, but you still never got used to the feeling. You immediately decided to take the conversation away from yourself, "We all done here?"

You looked around the warehouse, ten beheaded vampires lay dead on the floor, "Yeah, you just fanned the last two." Dean answered as he took one last survey of the area.

You let out a sigh of relief, "Good, the let's get out of here."

"Agreed." Sam and Dean said in unison. You all head out to the impala and drove away while the bodies burnt to a crisp.

You settled into the backseat getting ready to give in to the exhaustion, when the sound of wings filled the impala and a body materialized next to you. Dean slammed on the brakes as you jumped away from the unidentified angel dangerously close to you.

You looked up to see that it had been Gabriel, an old friend of yours, and now a tolerable ally of the brothers.

"Damn it Gab! You almost gave me a heart attack!"

His laughter filled the air as you tried to regulate your breath, "Sorry, I was just coming to see what the Fang Gang was up to today."

"Well obviously you know we just cleared out a small vamp nest if you're calling us the Fang Gang." Dean huffed from the front seat as he began to drive again.

"Is that what you were doing? I had no idea." He held a hand up to his chest in a mock-surprised voice then laughed again.

You rolled your eyes and settle back into the seat, only this time you sat closer to the window, aka fathest from Gabriel's side of the car. He looked at you as you sat with your head resting back on the seat with your eyes closed and your arms folded across your chest.

"You look like that cat that almost got eaten by the canary." You opened your right eyes to see a knowing smirk splayed across his lips, "And you look like you're asking for a punch in the face."

"Oh come one Y/n, don't be like that. What's almost eating you anyway?" The smirk never leaving his lips. You began to wonder how his cheeks weren't hurting, but you only glared at him not being able to form a descent comeback. You closed your eyes again and settled back into the seat again, "Shove a sock in it." He only laughed and disappeared again.

You could never speak that forcefully to Sam or Dean, but Gabriel was different. You were completely comfortable around him, for some reason he was the only one who could make you feel that way. With him you let yourself be the person you envisioned yourself to be, and that both scared and liberated you in a whole new way.

But you getting tired of his never ending comebacks, he was too quick witted, and it drove you crazy. However you were beginning to form a plan. You had always encouraged him by trying to come up with clever responses, so you decided that you were going to try a new tactic. Not saying a single word. That was sure to have new results.

As the three of you pulled into the bunker you smiled and awaited for Gab's next unexpected visit.

The next day, after you slept in, showered, and had a good sized brunch, he popped in. You were sitting in he library reading a book of lore and he was now sitting in the chair next to you. He stayed invisible for a second to admire the way you were sitting. Your legs were pulled on to the chair, so you were sitting in a distorted crisscross with your right knee pointing straight up and your left knee laid out across the bottom of the chair. His eyes watched intently as you twirled your hair with one hand and held the book up with the other, and your lips together in concentration. He took in the sparkle in your eyes as a result of the close lamp.

Finally he took in a content breath and made himself visible. He expected you to at least jump, but you simply turned the page.

You could see Gabriel's eyebrows pull together, but you did nothing in response. To your surprise, and his, it was Dean that jumped from across the table. He ran a hand over his mouth then shook his head in annoyance. Gabriel chuckled then turned to you.

"Gook book?" You simply looked up at him, smiled, then turned your attention back to the book.

"What's the matter Y/n, vampire got your tongue?" He asked with a smirk, but you only shook your head without looking up.

"Are you mad at me or something?" He asked with a little more worry in his voice. You looked at him with kind eyes and shook your head again, then returned to your book. Gabriel threw a confused look at Dean who only shrugged.

Then it hit him, he smiled, "Oh two can play this game." You raised an eyebrow at him and gave him and 'oh really?' look. "You better believe sweetheart, I can stay quiet way longer than you can." He stated with his trademark smirk, but it lessened when Dean burst out laughing. "Come on man, no one can stay as quiet as Y/n, especially not you."

You failed to contain a smile as he went on, "Y/n could sneak up on a wendigo at her normal noise level. You have no chance at winning this one man." Gabriel shrugged, beginning his silence, then winked at you. You looked back at your book still unable to contain your smile.

Two hours later you put the book down and walked to the kitchen without saying a word, leaving a very bored Gabriel along with Sam and Dean. As soon as you were out of sight he sat up and looked at the brothers, "Are you sure there's nothing wrong with Y/n? She's never this quiet."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, "what are you talking about? Y/n's always this quiet, it's hard to even get her to say anything sometimes."

"Yeah I wasn't kidding, that girl could sneak up on anything."

Gabriel shot them confused glances, "She's never that quiet with me, she's always laughing or cracking jokes around me."

"Then you must be the only one." Sam replied as he opened a new link on his laptop.

Gabriel looked down the hall you disappeared down wondering why he had never seen this side of you.

Another two hours of silence went by, Sam left on a supply run and Dean had decided to go to the local bar. Meaning you and Gab were completely alone and he was starting to go insane.

It wasn't the silence, and it wasn't the fact that he habnt talked, it was that he hadn't heard your voice. He loved the way your voice sounded. He loved the sound of your laugh, especially when you laughed at his stupid comebacks. He couldn't take not hearing your voice for another second.

"Ok that's is! You win, I give up!" He said as he dramatically threw his hands into the air, "you have officially beaten me."

Yo smile triumphantly, but you didn't want to give in just yet. You even did a silent happy dance, but you didn't utter a word of self-praise or taunting.

"Yeah that right, you win. Now can you please talk to me again?" He almost begged, his voice dripping with seriousness. You stopped in your tracks, it wasn't often you heard him use that tone, so you knew something was up. But you were unsure of what to say, so you said nothing, only that seemed to worsen the situation.

"Laugh at me, tell me to shove another sock in it, even tell me I'm an idiot, but please say something. Anything." There was a desperation in his eyes as he inched closer to you that you'd never seen before, so you were so struck by his words that you had none of your own. So he went on.

"Y/n please! I need to hear your laugh, I need to know that your not mad at me. I need to hear your voice again. I can't go any longer without it." He was rambling and you knew it, but you didn't dare stop him. "I can't take it anymore. I need you to talk to me. I love you!"

Time stopped. You'd loved him for so long, but you never in a million years would've imagined that he felt the same way. You closed the gap between you can pressed your lips to his. It was sweet and passionate, it was filled with the words you couldn't say. He wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in closer so he could deepen the kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck.

You pulled back and look at into his honey collared eyes, "I love you too." We're the only words that you could call forth, but they were enough. They were more than enough. He pulled you into another kiss, and you poured all the love and emotions you could into the kiss. What was to be the first of many to come.

[pantheonofdiscord]

Notebooks - 1.5k, 13x05 coda, angst, MCD (But there’s a happy ending. Just trust me.)

"Dean. Every notebook, on this particular shelf, tells a version of how you die."

But which one's right?

#18

Jack, the nephilim, power beyond anything the Earth has ever seen, has both Winchesters suspended in mid-air. Rings of glowing, golden energy ripple out from his raised hand. They match his eyes.

The Devil is behind him, whispering.

“All they ever wanted was to use you, Jack. Both of them. They never cared about you. They feared you. They could never understand.”

Jack is uncertain, shaking. His eyes dart away.

His hold is tight, and Sam struggles to speak. “Don’t trust him, Jack! He’s lying to you – that’s what he does. He’s the one who wants to use you, not us.”

“Jack, listen to me,” Dean tries, voice straining with effort. “Your mom didn’t want this. Cas doesn’t want this. You’ve got people who care about you, people who –”

“These boys don’t know how to care for anyone but themselves,” Lucifer hisses. “Think of what they’ve done to you. Think of what they’ve put you through. I’ve never harmed you, Jack. I would never harm you.”

Jack only looks more torn. It’s no longer just him that’s shaking, it’s the very ground beneath his feet. The towering trees, every blade of grass – it all trembles, violently, on the verge of implosion. Jack’s eyes widen in fear. Fear of himself, of what he can do.

Then, as ever, the fatal Winchester mistake: Dean takes advantage of Jack’s distraction, fighting against the iron grip of power to reach for the holy oil.

“NO,” Jack cries, his hand moving once in a knee-jerk twitch.

Dean Winchester’s neck snaps.

#94

“I’m tellin’ ya, Cas, it’s a terrible sandwich.”

“Sam likes it.”

The old, black car is cruising down a long stretch of blacktop. The sky is a spotty canvas of pearl-grey and cerulean, the sun dipping in and out as the winds blow.

“Yeah well, that’s Sam for you. Peanut butter and banana, though? What the hell has he been teaching you? I mean, I know you’re rockin’ the real, human taste buds again, but there’s no need to punish yourself.”

“I’m not!” Castiel says, chin jutting forward, defiant. “I happen to like peanut butter. And I’ve discovered that I like bananas, too.”

“Yeah, I know you do,” Dean says back, with a suggestive wiggle to his eyebrows.

Castiel rolls his eyes, but his cheeks go a little pink.

Dean’s tint as well, and he looks back out the front window, clearing his throat. “So, um, anyway,” he starts, voice much quieter. “Sam was gonna head out this afternoon, said something about checking out this museum event thing in Wichita.”

“Um, yes, he mentioned,” Castiel says, also staring through the windshield with rather undue concentration.

“Yeah, well, uh. . . we’ve.” Dean swallows visibly. “He – he was gonna grab a motel, stay over. Guess. . . we’ve got the bunker to ourselves tonight.”

Castiel nods, slowly. “I suppose so.”

Dean’s breathing seems shallow, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly, but his eyes are bright. “Yeah. That’s. . . yeah.” A slow grin crinkles the corners of his eyes.

Finally turning in his seat, Castiel answers with a smile of his own. It fades after a moment. “When are we going to tell him?” he asks quietly.

“Soon,” Dean says quickly, swallowing again. “I want to. But, y’know. . .”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Besides,” Dean says, turning sideways as the cheeky grin returns to his face. “The sneakin’ around thing’s kinda fun, right?”

Castiel rolls his eyes again, but nods. “Yes, it is, actually.” His smile is wide, his eyes are warm.

They’re so caught up in staring at one another, neither of them notice the F-150 barreling towards the intersection.

It broadsides them at 71 miles per hour.

Castiel wakes up in a hospital bed two and a half weeks later.

Dean Winchester was pronounced D.O.A.

#177

The three men stand shoulder-to-shoulder on a black hilltop, the grass crispy, burnt away, curling.

“What we wanted, right?” Sam says softly, gaze tracing the horizon, fire reflected in his eyes.

Dean nods. “Yep. Blaze of glory.”  

“It does seem very. . . us,” Castiel agrees. He’s almost smiling. Almost.

Bright red lightning spikes, mere feet away, but none of them flinch.

The air is smoky-grey, and the sky itself is cracked with yellow-orange fissures – hundreds of them, thousands, more. A million different worlds, all on the brink of collapse.

A house of cards.

“It’s worth it,” Castiel says, resolute as stone. “This, us, here. It’s worth it.”

“Ain’t no place I’d rather be,” Dean says.

Sam shakes his head, but he smiles. “And it’ll work, right?”

“Yes. It’ll work.” Castiel says firmly.

“Alright, then.” Keeping his eyes forward, Dean reaches out with his left hand and grasps his brother’s shoulder. His other hand sneaks out blindly to his right until it finds Castiel’s. Their fingers weave together. “See ya on the other side, fellas.”

Dean Winchester squeezes Castiel’s hand, tight, before the spell takes effect and he ceases to be.

#233

The wendigo creeps silently through the tangled underbrush, unseen by both brothers. Dean holds the flare gun up, at the ready, but his grip is laxer than it should be. His knuckles have grown knobby with arthritis.

“Sam,” he hisses into the darkness, squinting through the cheap, drugstore glasses that Castiel had insisted he start wearing.

Sam is, in fact, more than fifty feet to the north, and his good ear is turned away.

So he doesn’t hear the light, barely-there rustle of the wendigo, as it takes its final, leaping strides towards Dean.

Sam does hear its shriek though, mingled with Dean’s scream of pain.

He’s already almost gone by the time Sam reaches him. Blood bubbles from his lips and practically floods from the tears in his chest.

“Dean, Dean, no, hang on, hang on, I’ll get you help,” Sam babbles.

“S’okay, Sammy,” Dean chokes. “Jus’ too slow. Gettin’ too slow now.”

“Shut up. You’re gonna be fine, Dean.”

With the last of his failing strength, Dean reaches out a hand, fisting it in Sam’s jacket. “C-Cas. Sammy, you gotta tell ‘im. You gotta. . . Cas.” His voice trails off, his eyes starting to drift closed.

“Damn it, Dean, stay with me. And Cas knows, man. He knows.” Tears start to drip down Sam’s cheeks. “God, you idiots. Everybody knows.”

“No –” A wracking cough sends Dean’s body seizing. “No, Sam, promise. Promise you’ll –”

Sam shakes his head, almost blind now by his tears. “I’ll tell him. I promise, Dean, I promise.”

“S-Sammy. . .”

Dean Winchester dies a hunter’s death, at age fifty-nine.

#302

Castiel has hidden the car keys again.

“Hey, Cas? Did you check the table in the hall?”

“Twice, Dean,” Castiel says, infinitely patient, as always.

But today he’s sad as well.

“Damnit, I probably left them on the nightstand again,” Dean grumbles, and turns a rueful eye up the staircase. “Man, why the hell didn’t we get a bungalow? All these damn stairs.”

He grips one hand on the stair railing and pulls his cane level with his hip, but Castiel stops him with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “You’re not supposed to be driving anymore anyway, Dean,” he chastises with a fond smile. He’s let his vessel age, but his eyes are as clear and bright as they’d ever been.

“I wanna go get a burger, Cas.”

Castiel shakes his head. “You’re not supposed to be eating burgers anymore, either.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but turns around. “Well damnit, Cas, what the hell am I allowed to do now?”

Smiling softly, Castiel answers by leaning in and brushing their lips together. Dean hums a little, so Castiel brings his worn and weathered hands up to rasp through the prickly, grey stubble on Dean’s cheeks.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean murmurs, leaning away. “Unless you got a bottle of those magic blue pills hiding somewhere, I think at least one of us is gonna be disappointed, here.”

“Never,” Castiel says, eyes holding Dean’s with a ferocity rarely seen nowadays. “Just sit with me?”

The day is misty and grey, but in a quiet, peaceful kind of way. The two of them sit on the battered living room couch all afternoon, arms intertwined and a blanket draped over their knees.

Hours later, as the sky starts to darken, Dean stands, planning to start on dinner.

But he only makes it halfway up, then his hand flies to his chest, and he collapses back down.

He gasps, face contorting in pain, and Castiel’s eyes fill with tears.

“I’ll be right there, Dean,” he says, turning on the sofa and bringing his hands up once again to cup Dean’s face. He draws his thumbs across Dean’s cheeks until his eyes open. “You won’t be alone, I’ll be there with you. I’m right behind you, I swear it, Dean.”

Dean’s gasping, his heart thudding out of rhythm, but he meets Castiel’s gaze and he nods.

There’s no fear in his eyes.

Dean Winchester dies of a heart attack, and Castiel follows right after him.

//

Billie slides one delicately manicured hand along the cover of the book.

There are hundreds of notebooks, hundreds of ways Dean Winchester’s story ends.

Hundreds of choices, important choices, that only he can make. And everything depends on him.

Time was, Billie couldn’t imagine betting on a Winchester.

But she closes her eyes and peers through the Veil. She sees a dark alleyway, lit by a neon cross and the yellowy bulb of a pay phone. She sees Dean, walking on shaky feet, straight into Castiel’s waiting arms.

Maybe. Maybe.

Alright, she thinks. I’ll take that action.

[thepokyone]

When We Were Young (Pt. 1)

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Warning/Content: slight swearing; angst

Words: 1393

Set sometime during S5

A/N: Hey guys, back again! This is a fic I’ve had bouncing around my head for a while, it’ll be a few parts - not sure how long yet though, I guess we’ll have to see XD My first was pretty popular, so I’m glad everyone liked that, it’s reassuring... anyways, my prompts are open, and I do requests for a couple Supernatural characters as well as characters from other fandoms if you want to take a look. Enjoy!

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You finished packing the necessary supplies into the back of your car and shut the trunk, tossing your bag in the open window of the backseat and returning into your motel room. “Blake, are you almost done?”

           “Yeah, I just need to get my jacket,” your ten-year-old son said, grabbing his brown, fleece-lined jacket and pulling it on. “Do you need any help with the truck?”

           “Nah, kiddo, I got it,” You responded, waiting for him to leave before shutting the door. A few minutes later you were on your way, driving through the night towards the forest that was being haunted by a particularly angry ghost. If anything, you would have preferred to not have Blake involved in hunting at all – but ever since Hell’s gates were opened and Lucifer was released from the pit, there weren’t all that many trustworthy hunters to leave him with anymore. They were all dead or working overtime on other hunts. Which meant that he tagged along with you, like it or not.

           “Did you get all the salt you needed from the store? And the gas?” Blake asked, looking up from the book on wendigos he was reading by flashlight. His green eyes – just like his dad’s, you thought – glinted worriedly in the light. You knew going on hunts still scared him, but he was getting better. After all, hunting did run in his blood.

           You flashed him a reassuring smile. “Of course I did, Blake. This isn’t my first rodeo. Cashier thought I was crazy, though. You remember what to do, right?”

           “Yeah,” He said. “Shoot it with the rock salt. If I run out of ammo or lose my gun, use the iron poker. If I lose that, create a salt line or run like hell.”

           You laughed. “That’s my boy. You’ll be fine.” The rest of the short ride was spent in silence, though you could still see your son’s worried expression from where he sat in the back seat. Eventually you rolled to a stop, cutting the engine and climbing out. Blake followed suite, taking the gun and rock salt rounds you gave him. He leaned against the car, waiting patiently as you got the necessary supplies needed to salt and burn the bones. Once you had shut the trunk and locked the car, the two of you walked into the dark forest.

           “What happens if I get lost?” He asked, holding the gun tightly in his hand as you and he ventured quietly through the eerily silent forest.

           “You won’t get lost,” You soothed, squeezing his shoulder. “If you do, stay put, light a fire, and make a salt line. I’ll be able to find you.”  He nodded as the two of you emerged into a small clearing, where a grave, virtually unmarked, held the bones of an angry ghost. “Here it is. Keep an eye out for the ghost while I dig this up.”

           He nodded, looking around warily as you pulled a shovel out of your bag and began digging. It wasn’t but a few minutes until Blake gave a startled gasp, and you looked up to see the ghost lunging for him. You didn’t even have time to move to shoot, as he had already shot a round through it himself. The ghost exploded, gone for the moment, and you gave him an encouraging smile. He cheered. “I did it!”

           “Good job. He’ll be back though, so don’t let your guard down quite yet.” You went back to digging, faster this time despite the burn in your muscles. You didn’t want your son to get hurt, armed or not. He was still just a kid. Blake fired another round and you renewed your efforts, finally hitting an old, rotten wooden box.

           “Blake, I need the gas,” You said, prying the top off to reveal the bones beneath.

           “Mom, I think there’s someone here,” He said in a whisper.

           “There’ll be a ghost in a few minutes, if you don’t give me that gasoline to light this fire,” You said, pulling yourself out of the hole and grabbing the salt, sifting it on to the body.

           “People, Mom. Live people. I thought I heard people talking,” He said, looking up at you through worried eyes.

           You pursed your lips as you grabbed the can of gas yourself, pouring it over the grave as Blake yelped in fear and shot again, the ghost exploding with an angry screech. “Are you sure it wasn’t just the wind, Blake?”

           “Sshh!” He said, grip tightening on his gun. “Listen!” You stopped for a moment, straining your ears. Your son was right – low voices could be heard filtering through the woods.

           “Sounds like there’s only two,” You murmured. “Let’s burn this and then get out of here.” Tossing the gas can aside, you light the lighter, dropping it into the grave just as you were tackled. The weight only lasted a moment before the angry ghost burnt away with a last dying scream.

            You pushed yourself to your feet, wondering why Blake hadn’t shot it, and brushed off your hands, looking around to see your son standing adamantly in front of two grown men, gun aimed threateningly at him.

           “Easy, kid,” You heard one say. Grabbing your handgun from your pocket, you cocked it and made your way over. “We don’t want to hurt you. It’s dangerous out here.”

           “Do I look like I’m unprepared?” Blake asked, voice tinged with sarcasm.

           “Look kid, just put the gun down and let us big boys do our job,” The other one said, and you could have sworn you had met him before – but no, it couldn’t be Dean Winchester. It had been over ten years since you had seen him and over eight since you had actively tried to contact him.

          “Get the hell away from him,” You threatened, aiming the gun at them. “Blake.” Your son ran to your side, hovering hesitantly behind you with his gun still ready. You clicked your flashlight on, shining at their faces, and the two men winced at the bright light.

           “Oh, son of a…” You groaned, recognizing them and dropping the light away from their eyes. “It’s alright Blake, they’re hunters too.”

           “That kid’s a hunter?” The taller one asked.

           “In training,” Blake said defensively, and you could see his indignant expression out of the corner of your eyes. “I’m not half bad, either. Just helped Mom gank a ghost.”

           “Gank is my word,” The other grumbled.

           You scowled, knowing exactly who it was. “Really, Winchester? I didn’t know you had a patent on it.”

           “How do you know who we are?” The taller one, who you could barely recognize as Sam, demanded.

           “How could I not? For one thing, everyone knows about the two idiots that thought starting the apocalypse was a great idea,” You sneered. “Not to mention, the three of us are having a long, long overdue reunion.”

           “What are you talking about?” Sam asked. You supposed he wouldn’t remember – he was a lot younger when you had met Dean, after all. It wasn’t Sam you disliked, anyways. “I’ve never met you before.”

           “You’re probably a bit young to remember, Sam. But Dean… I expected better. Am I that forgettable,” You asked with thinly disguised dislike. “I would have figured after our time in the back of the Impala I would have left a bit more of an impression.”

            You could all but hear the sound of his jaw hitting the forest floor. He sputtered a half a moment before regaining his capacity to speak. “Y/N?”

            “No, it’s Oprah,” You said sarcastically. “Yes, Y/N. I’m so glad you got all my messages, oh, ten years back.”

             Dean narrowed his eyes. “What messages? What are you talking about? Is this your son?”

            “Don’t play dumb with me, Dean Winchester. Damn right he’s my son. Which you’d know if you had listened to your voicemail.”

             Even in the dark you could see the blood draining from his face as he fit the pieces together. “Does that mean Blake’s my…” He faltered.

             “Finish the sentence, Dean,” You spit out angrily.

             “What’s going on?” Sam asked, obviously not following the conversation. Blake seemed to be on the same lines, glancing up at you questioningly. “Dean?”

               Dean stared at you, green eyes uncomprehending. “Blake. He’s my… he’s my son?”

[wwwafflewrites]

The Dealbreaker

Chapter 7

You gasped awake, clutching your throat. You were so tense you felt ready to snap in half, and you trembled like a leaf would in a storm. Still panicked and shaking from the nightmare, you stumbled out of bed. You could feel the echo of the devil in your mind, as if he had left a trace of himself to haunt you. Hugging yourself, you made your way tiptoeing down the hall and into the kitchen. There, you decided to make some hot cocoa. Hot cocoa helped everything.

As you warmed some water and poured the powder into your cup, you clutched your head, reliving your dream.

How much of my life was real?

Beep beep beep. You took the water out of the microwave and set it on the counter where it steamed.

Why had he chosen me?

You poured it into the cup. You stirred it.

Would my brother still be alive?

Impulsively, you downed the still hot cup of cocoa, trying to burn out the terrifying thoughts that had rooted themselves in your mind. You were right. It definitely brought your thoughts away from Lucifer and back to reality. You focused on the numbness of your burnt tongue.

Dean entered the kitchen in his pajamas. His brows were scrunched in thought when he saw your cup and he made connections. “What’s the big idea? Felt like I was breathing fire over there. It’s not a nice thing to wake up to.”

Sam entered the kitchen as well, making eye contact with Dean and you and then slightly relaxing. He looked to you for an explanation.

You could only make eye contact with the counter. “Lucifer visited me in my dreams.”

Their eyes widened in unison. Sam’s expression was more of fear and Dean’s was more of anger, but they both looked very concerned for you.

“He’s why I’m immortal. He’s why my house burned down. He's—” you inhaled shakily. “He’s why my brother is dead. He’s manipulated my entire life.”

The Winchesters shared a look.

“I’m his weapon to get to you. He can get to you with someone who can’t fight back.”

Sam said, “Then we’re going to protect you.”

“And how are you going to do that? I am a liability here. I’m your weakness now. Doesn’t that scare you both? Because it sure as hell scares me.”

“Of course it scares us. I think that a common misconception is that we aren’t afraid of anything. When we’re probably scared of more things than most people are. We have more to worry over. The sake of the planet, of the families in it, of our friends, of you.” Sam told you. “Especially Dean.”

Dean scoffed. “What? Nah, I’m Batman.”

“Dean’s a mother hen,” Sam corrected.

Dean looked slightly offended, and you laughed.

Suddenly, the cold suffocation you’d felt earlier had dispersed. You felt warm and almost happy in the presence of the Winchesters. They made you feel safe, and warm, and loved.

“Let’s decorate your room a bit, why don’t we?”

You briefly glanced at your empty cup of cocoa. Apparently it did help with everything. Huh. Was it strange you hadn’t expected it to? “I would love that.”

///

Apparently the bunker had a storage room, so that was new.

“I don’t think I even know half of what’s in here,” Dean admitted.

The room was rather large, in some places the boxes reached the ceiling, but there was room to walk around and look through them.

At first, it was rather normal. Some hunting gear, some kitchen supplies here and there. There wasn’t much exciting. The most interesting thing Dean found was some cuffs.

But the next box Dean opened up, he threw his head back and fell to the floor laughing. The laugh was genuine and real, and it left him howling and gasping for air once he finally composed himself.

“What is it?” Sam spoke for both of you.

Dean wiped tears from his eyes, sitting up, ready to explain. But then he looked back into the box and his laughter bubbled up again until he was on side holding his chest.

Curiosity got the best of you. You walked over, peered in, and began to giggle. Dean’s laughter was contagious and it kept you laughing until you couldn’t breathe.

“What?” Sam asked, marching over to look for himself when all he got in response was harder laughing. When he did see what was inside, he couldn’t help the reluctant smile that broke onto his face.

“Merry Christmas, Sammy!” Dean cackled as he raised the item from the box. It was a stuffed moose with a santa hat and a little bell, and it was very obvious why it was in storage. It’s eyes were crossed and the nose was a bit deformed. It looked as if it had gotten between a flamethrower and a wendigo and someone tried to patch it back up.

He shook it in Sam’s face while making stupid noises, and Sam turned to hide his growing smile.

“What if I—” Dean tried to stop his laughter as he breathed deeply. “What if I just keep hiding this around the bunker. Just, everywhere Sam isn’t expecting it. Behind the coffee pot, in a cupboard—”

“On his bed,” you pitched in.

That sent Dean into a fit of laughter again.

Sam began to laugh at the stupidity of it.

“Oh, man, this reminds me of my brother,” you said, before you remembered how dark it was to bring him up at a time like this.

That sombered everyone up pretty quickly, and you felt guilty for ruining the mood.

But Sam smiled softly. “Feels like home?”

“Yeah,” you said, and you meant it.

Sam’s smile dropped and he then spoke a bit more thoughtfully. “You don’t have a home, do you?”

Slowly, you answered, “No.”

“Then welcome to the bunker.” Dean offered you a cheesy, welcoming smile. “We’re not doing much good in here, would you like to go clothes shopping?”

You beamed, “Sure!”

///

You hadn’t been to a store like this in a long time. Sure, you’d been to the grocery store, but for clothes? Everything you’d ever owned was either hand-me-downs from your brother or cheap garage sale t-shirts and jeans. Sure, they did bring you to a thrift shop, due to their credit card scams and all that. And sure, these were technically hand-me-downs. But in all truth, this was a dream come true.

You examined a yellow flannel, throwing it into your basket and then some jeans and sweatpants. You could just imagine wearing this. And, wow, wasn’t that something. You also found some everyday things, like a little to-go compact mirror and a nice pocket knife.

Dean and Sam went off to do their own thing, probably browse some jackets.

You paid for your items with the few things you’d picked out and made your way out the Impala. Placing them in the backseat, you smiled to yourself. This was beginning to feel like a family. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

You walked back to the store to see what they were up to, and that’s when you ran into a man. He had come up from behind a car in the parking lot, and you hadn’t seen him. You were quick to apologize, but when you saw his face, you dropped your basket.

“Apology accepted,” he said. “Kind of.” He grabbed your arm and his hands were ice cold. And you were frozen. “Bummer the Winchesters aren’t here to see this. Oh well. They’ll figure it out when they see the dead cashier.” He smiled.

“We, are going on a road trip.”

Tags: @vicmc624 @satans-0-spawn @rosaren2498 @unicornblood4ever

[speckledspout]

What would be the short list of your own fics that you'd most recommend your followers read?

ha, define short. so like, i do assume you mean wincest since that’s the only thing that i write so everything on this list will be wincest. so here’s my top five, i suppose:

twelve miles from the border | 72k+ | unrelated wincest; 

Ask anyone in town who Dean Winchester is and they'll tell you that he’s the boy with leashed anger. He’s an enigma wrapped in an enigma wrapped in street racing, cheap whiskey and stale cigarettes. He’s got bruised skin and bloody knuckles, breathy whispers of dreams that would never be fulfilled and swollen lips. He’s a feral beast caged within that small town with a weakness for the only thing that he loved that could kill him. That thing was Sam Wesson. If you were to ask the boy with the shaggy hair wearing khaki slacks and an oversized hoodie draping his bony limbs, being the abnormal in the town of normal, he would say that Dean Winchester was nothing more than a boy who was too stuck to move, believing that his destiny was written, not made.It’s the story of darkened streets coated with burnt rubber. It’s the story of two boys who were so opposite of the norm, one the town outcast barely making ends meet and the other too smart for his own good. It’s the story of a taboo love and growing up too quick and falling just a little too far. It’s the story of pain and agony, of devotion and sacrifices. It’s the story of what you’re willing to give up just to keep your head above water.

shrine of your lies | 25k+ | wincest; 

Sam’s gone crazy. That’s his first thought. Sam has finally cracked after all this time and has gone absolutely batshit crazy. It would make sense. I mean, with Lucifer riding shotgun in his head, keeping Sam awake for days upon end, never getting silence, never getting relief. And honestly, Dean wasn’t surprised. It was bound to happen even if Sam didn’t have Lucifer in his head. Hell, it could have easily happened to either one of them. With what they see on a daily basis, if you don’t get killed by the things you hunt, at the end of the day you end up in some padded room, shaking in the corner and was sent looks of sympathy while people shook their head and thought ‘poor old man who thinks monsters are real.’

abandon your saints, accept your sins | 6k+ | wincest; 

They don't do it out of the goodness of their heart. They're not even sure if they have anything left inside of them that's good. They do it because they need to do it. Sam needs blood and Dean needs his brother. So if they have to travel around the country, slicing a few throats, they would be more than happy to. I mean, it's not any different than what they used to do. The blood spill is the same. The only thing that might have changed is the fact that there is a lot more sex.

cyanide sweet tooth suicide | 5k+ | weecest; 

It was blood red lips and a little black skirt. Hair parted into braids and it was going to be Dean's first class ticket straight to hell.

mine carts and raging fires | 4k+ | wincest; 

It’s a simple hunt. Or at least as simple as a wendigo hunt in an abandoned coal mine can be. And a hunt that should be a cut and dry kill, turns into a fight for Dean’s life as Sam tries to keep them both alive.

[flyleaf-girl]

Chapter 3: Nothing’s Sacred

Athena Masterlist

Word count: approx 1.6k

Warnings: Language, mention of canon-typical injuries

. . .

Chapter 3: Nothing’s Sacred

Sam and Dean sat at the bar, sleepily sipping at their coffee whilst Ellen and Jo busied themselves around the kitchen. The boys had offered to help make breakfast, but the roadhouse matron shooed them out, saying, “House rules, boys. Can’t have you Winchesters messin’ up my prized iron-cast griddle.”

In no time, Ellen and Jo emerged with four steaming plates heaped with food and tall glasses filled with freshly-squeezed orange juice.

Dean groaned in appreciation. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Ellen. This smells amazing.”

Sam nodded in agreement as he reached for his utensils. “This is great, thank you!”

“Our pleasure. Dig in,” Ellen encouraged.

The room lapsed into a comfortable silence as they all dove into their food. The Harvelle’s were famed for their hospitality, and this meal was no exception.

After they finished eating, Jo collected their plates and trotted off to the kitchen to wash the dishes. Sam volunteered to help, which she accepted with a small smile.

“You boys thinking of heading over to Bobby’s today?” Ellen asked Dean as she refilled both of their mugs with coffee.

“Mmhm,” Dean replied. “We’ve stayed a bit longer than we expected... but it’s good to see you and Jo.

“Well, you know y’all are welcome anytime. You might wanna wait til high noon to get on your way. Heard it’s supposed to get mighty cold out an-”

Ellen’s voice trailed off as quiet, shuffling steps sounded from the darkened hallway. They both turned to watch as Athena limped gingerly towards the bar, squinting against the bright morning sunlight.

“Mornin, Thena,” Ellen said. “How’re you feelin?”

“Peachy,” she muttered in a scratchy voice. “Ya got any leftover coffee lyin’ around?”

“I think Jo started a new pot in the kitchen. I’ll go grab some along with a plate of food for ya.”

“Thanks, I owe you one.”

The Roadhouse owner shook her head as she stood up. “You’ve saved our sorry asses at least 10 times in this lifetime, and you know it.”

Athena waved her hand carelessly. “Nothing’s sacred, Ellen. Not in this business. You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

“Not true. Now sit your ass down and I’ll be out in a jiff,” she called over her shoulder.

“Well if we’re counting, it’s thirteen!” Athena rasped out after Ellen with a wry grin.

Dean watched this exchange with curiosity. Athena was an enigma. Usually, he could read people easily, but it was definitely going to take him awhile to figure her out.

The woman in question closed her eyes and massaged her temples slowly. Dean took in her appearance. Dried blood covered a small scab on the side of her head, which had probably reopened overnight. Her pallor had improved considerably from last night, but dark splotches of blue and purple covered the underside of her jaw and arms. His eyes narrowed in sympathy as he took in the bruising pattern on her neck, recognizing the faint outline of a handprint.

“The hell you starin’ at?” Athena’s hoarse voice broke his concentration.

Dean flinched. “Um, I- uh...”

“What you never had a hunt go bad before?” she asked bitterly, all while keeping her eyes closed.

“No, no... I just- ”

She sighed impatiently. “Just stop staring. It’s rude.”

The doors to the kitchen swung open. Ellen came out with a plate of food and a glass of orange juice while Sam and Jo followed with mugs and a fresh pot of coffee. Ellen’s eyes softened with sympathy as she saw Dean’s awkward posture.

“Is Athena being snappish? She’s not a morning person.”

Jo laughed. “She needs her coffee like the grumpy people need their chocolate in those Snickers commercials.”

Athena glowered at them over her steaming mug as she viciously ripped open a packet of sugar and stirred it into her coffee.

Ellen offered her the milk and creamer teasingly. Jo laughed as Athena glared and shook her finger.

“You keep that shit away from me. You both know I’m lactose intolerant. I don’t need more stuff fucking up my chi after I got stabbed in the gut.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Speaking of,” he said as he poured him and Dean a fresh cup of coffee, “How are you feeling?”

Athena snorted as she stabbed her fork into some eggs. “Fan-freakin-tastic. Thanks for the assist last night, Winchester.”

Sam and Dean blinked.

“We... never introduced ourselves,” Dean said warily.

“Half-dead don’t mean half-deaf,” Athena said as she ate another bite of food pointedly. “I heard every word y’all said last night. You’re Sam,” she jabbed her fork at the tall hunter. “You’re Dean,” she waved the utensil at the elder brother. “You’re hunters. Easy enough to pair two and two, Sam and Dean Winchester,” she said matter-of-factly before taking a long pull from her mug.

Jo grinned at the boys. “So... does the renowned Athena live up to her reputation?”

Athena threw a balled up napkin at Jo. “Oh, fuck off.”

“Girls,” reprimanded Ellen as she refilled Athena’s mug.

“Sorry,” she said, shoveling another forkful of food in her mouth. “Anyways,” she turned her gaze back towards Sam. “Not too shabby of a patch-up job last night. I appreciate it.”

He nodded in acknowledgement.

“And you.” She pointed at Dean with her knife. “Call me sweetheart one more time, and I’ll castrate you.”

Dean swallowed. “Got it.”

Athena smirked. “Smart boy.” She continued eating slowly, wincing a bit as she swallowed.

Sam’s eyes drifted over the fingerprints on her throat, pressing his lips into a thin line.

She glanced at him before abruptly saying, “Say Ellen, I don’t supposed you’ve got any spare bike parts lyin’ around in the storeroom...”

Ellen frowned. “I’m not sure... we’ll have to check.”

“S no rush,” Athena said as she waved her hand lazily. “I need a day or two to rest up before I do anythin’ else. I’m a little worried about the Indy, though. Gunnin’ 9 hours without maintenance prolly burnt his guts to a crisp, like mine,” she laughed.

Sam shook his head admiringly. “Seriously, though. You’ve gotta be one hell of a rider to pull that off while injured.”

She tipped her head. “Been ridin’ awhile. You pick up a few tricks here an’ there.”

Dean frowned. “You don’t look a day older than... Are- are you even legal?”

Jo laughed. “Athena’s got really good genes. She’s- ”

Athena slapped her hand over Jo’s mouth, smile full of false sweetness as she answered Dean. “You either get good fast, or you get dead faster, sweetheart.”

Jo ripped Athena’s hand from her face. “Which means she’s good. Real good.”

“Alright, alright. Shaddup, Double 0.”

“Oh, come on! You’re basically the James Bond of hunting!”

“I am not an old white dude that runs around, waving a gun, jumping from planes and having sex with women.”

Ellen laughed heartily while Sam and Dean ducked their heads to hide their smiles.

Athena blinked, as though suddenly remembering that the boys were there. A jaded look slipped back over face as she sipped her coffee. “Sides, I gotta leave the theatrics to Foxy.”

“Foxy?” Sam asked. “As in, Asa Fox?”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You know him? He’s an absolute legend! The dude killed five wendigos- ”

“Oh, he’s sayin’ it’s five now?” Athena laughed incredulously. “Of course he is. Jackass.”

Sam and Dean’s faces furrowed in confusion.

“It was three when he showed up on my doorstep, bleeding all over my new welcome mat. But he can say it’s five if he wants to. It’s cute. Like I said, I’m leavin’ the theatrics to Foxy. He’s a fuckin’ drama queen.” She tipped her mug back, draining the last dregs and wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Ellen reached for the pot. “Want a refill?”

Athena shook her head “Nah, I’m all coffeed out. Prolly shouldn’t’ve had any in the first place considering...”

Sam nodded. “I didn’t even think of that.”

She shrugged. “If coffee’s what kills me, I win.” She folded her napkin and placed it neatly on top of her empty plate, before standing up carefully. “I’m gonna hit the hay. You boys travel safe out there, yeah?”

Sam shook the hand she offered to him.

“Take care of that ‘pala out there,” Athena rasped as she punched Dean lightly in the shoulder. “She’s a beauty.”

He grinned proudly. “She sure is.”

They watched as she disappeared down the hallway and closed the door.

Jo sent her mom a worried look before leaning in. “So, not that I don’t like bantering with Athena, but...”

She nodded. “She’s either loopy from the pain meds, or it’s gonna be a long while before she’s out hunting again.”

“You think she’s hurt a lot more than she’s letting on?” Dean asked in a lowered voice.

“Dean,” Sam said. “You saw how messed up she was last night. No way she’s recovered that fast.”

Ellen nodded again. “Athena’s usually not this talkative or friendly... especially around strangers. We’ll have to keep a close eye on her.”

Dean stood up. “I can- ”

“No,” Ellen said firmly. “You boys have helped plenty enough. ‘Sides, I told Bobby to expect you to show up later today.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to worry the old man, now would we?” Dean smirked.

The brothers helped clean up shop, giving Ellen and Jo hugs before throwing their bags into the trunk of the Impala, heading towards Sioux Falls.