#dean winchester and his cowgirl [part 1 : the explanation]

[jaidens]

country girl shake it for me!

pairing [s] : dean winchester x cowgirl!angel!reader

summary : The five times Dean Winchester was met with the fate of ‘Cowgirl’.

warning [s] : mentions of : stabbing, guns, basic supernatural type stuff.

a/n [s] : i got a new pair of boots today because mine literally fell apart after like 12 years

THE FIRST TIME DEAN WINCHESTER MET COWGIRL.

“Sammy! Help!” Dean shouts as the demons surround him, pushing him into the corner of the creaky house. His gun had been crushed and taken away in another room, alongside his blade that was slammed outside the window. Sam was struggling on his own with the amount that had run in. Demon territory hadn't been the Winchesters peak in their hunter careers.

Dean had blinked and they were gone and exorcised. As well as the blade shoved in one of their backs. They all lose their balance, and there shows the woman behind it all. A girl with bootcut jeans, a t-shirt tied at the bottom, and a pair of boots. “Who the hell are you?” Dean says and hears her click her tongue. She turns around and starts walking away, and walks through the door.

THE SECOND TIME DEAN WINCHESTER SAW COWGIRL.

Once more, another situation with Dean being stuck in another corner with a much stronger supernatural than normal. He's slammed against the wall and given a quick slice of sharp nails against his face. “God you dick!” Dean screams as he gets punched and kicked in the legs once again.

Dean Winchester was usually able to fight for himself, other times it seemed impossible without Sammy and Castiel near his side. Bobby was gone too, leaving him alone and fighting for himself. Once more, the creature falls off of him and there she is again. Sporting a cowboy hat this time, Dean catches a glimpse of the angel blade that sits in her bag that hangs off her side.

“Are you an angel?” Dean asks and she gives him a wink, and turns around.

She clicks her tongue and suckles her teeth.

“Buy me a drink and I'll tell you.”

Woosh!

THE THIRD TIME DEAN WINCHESTER MEETS HER.

Castiel, Dean and Sam sit around a round table trying to find solutions to fighting a pack of supernatural in the deep south. Bobby didn't have a lot of live connections that could help them, and Dean and Sam had butted heads about even taking the case.

“I know an angel we can call.” Castiel speaks up in-between the group. “She has been around the south for millions of years. The cowboys used to worship her.”

Dean finally sighs and thanks Castiel, pouring another glass of cheap whiskey. Castiel disappears before whooshing back into the room with her. “Honey, these are the Winchesters? They're like bulls in China shops. Making me clean up their messes.”

“Her? Castiel really? She's an angel?” Dean exclaims.

Castiel nods and you pull the chair and sit down. You kick your boots up against the table and mess with your blade. “We need your help, sister.”

You roll your eyes at him and sit up. “Yeah alright. What's happening?” Castiel explains the situation for you, Dean and Sam, jumping in at some points to help finalize the explanation. For a second, you catch Dean staring at you and not in general. He was staring at you. It couldn't help but make you feel tickled. “Okay, I'll help you guys out.”

You shake Sam’s hand before whooshing away.

“Her jeans make her look hot.” Dean says.

THE FOURTH TIME DEAN WINCHESTER DEALS WITH COWGIRL.

Dean Winchester was frankly tired of the two siblings. You and Castiel did everything together, never being separated. He wasn't angry about having two celestials on his team, but sometimes there had to be a mix of not having one and having one. Dean can only hear “bless their heart!” so many times in one day.

Dean is researching the case after stealing Sam’s laptop while he did something else. Castiel and Cowgirl suddenly appear together, giggling and talking about the beginning of time whenever God had Created honey bees. Castiel walks up behind Dean and questions him. “What are you doing, Dean? That is Sam’s.”

Angels weren't all the smartest in the homo sapien field. It was hard to explain to one already, but two made it even harder. One was a stuck-up angel girl with a thick accent, and one was practically a baby in a trench coat that was also angel. “I’m borrowing it.” Dean tells him.

“Oh. Okay well, me and Y/N went to see the bees. Next we're going to her farm. She has bees there!”

Woosh!

“What the hell man?” Dean whispers to himself; he can't tell if he's scared, embarrassed, or down right confused.

THE FIFTH TIME DEAN WINCHESTER DEALS WITH COWGIRL : THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING.

They were at the bar celebrating, whiskey shots and beers crowded the small table. Sam was sharing his own experiences, mentioning Riot sometimes. Castiel sits next to you, staring at the beer sitting in front of him. You're slightly tipsy, with a huge smile on your face. Dean stares at you quietly, but his head is racing with other words.

He thinks your jean jacket you have slacked around your shoulders makes you look beautiful. The way your eyes twinkle in the dim bar lights makes him forget about the whiskey in his cold glass. Dean Winchester wants to get drunk on your beautiful smile, and how your laugh echoes in his ears.

“Dean, are you alright?” Castiel’s voice pops his thought bubble, and he sits back up and joins the conversation like nothing had happened.

“Yeah, I'm just thinking.” Dean responds and you raise your eyebrows at him, your eyes looking at him weirdly. He gives you an awkward smile and shoots back the rest of his drink before waving the bartender for a refill.

You stand up, and announce that you're going back to the motel. You catch Dean’s eye, and he gives you a small smile. He follows you, he isn't sure why, but he lets his legs take him outside to where you're sitting on top of Baby’s hood staring at the stars.

“I thought you were heading back?” Dean walks over to you, and hikes himself next to you on the hood. You look over at him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“I remember when the stars were first created. Oh, it was beautiful. I think, sometimes, I wanna be on one day.”

Dean smiles at you and lets the stars catch his attention. Your hand glides over his for a second, and he can feel the goosebumps that litter his skin.

“Can I ask you a question, Dean?”

“Shoot.” He responds.

“Do you like the stars?” He thinks for a second before nodding.

“I think they're beautiful.” Dean says, but secretly, the skies barely have his attention. Your skin is lit up by the moonlight and stars that shine.

Your lips touch his cheek, lingering for a second before you woosh away. You leave him in his dust, only left with the feeling of your lips on his cheek.

Dean Winchester was in love with an angel. It wasn't figurative either.

[naitiaclo960writings]

Day 1 - On the Road Again

Dean was 16 when he first fell in love. It wasn’t just one of those passing things, the one that was poisoning you with adrenaline until the effect faded and pushed you to get your next dose somewhere else. No, he had fallen in love for real this time, he knew it in the way his body rebelled against his mind every time he repeated to himself, "don’t get attached". His only romantic experience up to that point had been a few months before, when he dated Robin at Sonny’s house for delinquent boys, but nothing really comparable to what he now had with Joshua.

Josh was a teenager lost in the Illinois countryside, just like Dean and his younger brother for almost five months now. Between an absent father and a mother working 50 hours a week, Josh was a brilliant student in class, but discreet everywhere else. Somewhere, in their respective torments, they had found themselves walking to high school together before building more.

Dean’s pretext of asking for help with his economics homework had lasted awhile before Joshua claimed that he needed assistance with the air conditioning in his bathroom and, quickly, they ended up behind that old junkyard at the edge of the forest every evening after school to kiss for hours. Dean then could have claimed that it was a rewarding experience, a face like any other in the middle of his life constantly on the road. However, the more months passed, the less the desire to eat up the miles on the passenger seat of the Impala seemed exciting to him.

Joshua, meanwhile, found himself relishing greedily the breath of fresh air that Dean Winchester was in his monotonous life. His friend, however, had never lied. Since their first meeting Dean had told him that he was not destined to stay long in the area. But the days had turned into weeks, then months with no further news of Winchester senior other than an envelope full of bills every three weeks and Josh could not control his growing love for all the facets of Dean that he got a wicked pleasure to gradually expose in broad daylight. He then knew that he had lost the battle against his heart when he offered him a romantic evening for their three months together, to which Dean had rolled his eyes with a barely hidden smile.

Despite this, as the Fall slowly showed the tip of his yellowing leaves in Illinois, Dean suddenly showed up one Monday morning with a knot so big in his throat that Josh was sure he could feel it under his fingers. Dean’s bothered and restrained face had then not left him all week, Joshua feeling his muscles tense every time he took his hand or kissed him.

One night among so many, while they were kissing like the clandestine lovers they were, Joshua simply could not refrain from asking the question. After a long, embarrassed silence, Dean answered without daring to raise his eyes in Josh’s brown iris.

"My father called us last weekend…".

Joshua allowed him a second equally tense silence, feeling his own throat struggling to swallow the hundreds of questions that threatened to escape from his mouth. Dean resumed, finally releasing his lower lip from between his teeth.

"He’s picking us up tomorrow… He’s found another job in Utah."

Joshua felt his heart contorting in his chest and he was almost certain that Dean’s was doing  the same in view of the painful expression of his boyfriend. It was as if time had suspended itself after these words, none of the teenagers moving, yet so close to each other that they were now breathing the same air. Dean still couldn’t meet his eyes while Josh kept watching him in hopes of something, anything. Eventually, Josh swallowed the heart that was beating in his trachea and tightened his grip on Dean’s arm. They both knew what it meant, but neither had the courage to say it out loud.

"I heard that winter is terrible in Utah. Do you know how to ski at least?" Asked Josh in a laughter that didn’t fool anyone.

It had at least the merit of snatching a fine smile from Dean who lifted up his shaken gaze towards him. To fill the next silence, their lips found themselves almost by automatism, but the whole action had a taste of farewell that neither could overstep. When they parted again, Josh uttered a resolute exclamation before going into his bag a little further. Dean glared at him in disbelief, but waited calmly until his boyfriend came back with a torn piece of paper. On it was scribbled 10 digits in a hurry. Josh handed him his number with a sweet and resolute smile.

"Here, so we can keep calling each other and, when you come back around, then I’ll know where to meet you."

His gesture remained in mid-air when Dean merely looked at the piece of paper with overwhelming sadness. After long seconds, Josh dropped his arm against his body, his smile gone. Dean licked his lips, embarrassed and a knot in his belly.

- "I’m sorry Josh…" He whispered in the surrounding silence, as if he was unable to answer him louder for fear of breaking something.

And somehow, these insipid words were worse than a long explanation punctuated with tears. Josh merely nodded and stood there, his gaze detailing the fallen leaves around them, unable to say more. When Dean spoke again, Josh almost jumped.

"I...I know that’s not what you want to hear, but my life is catching up on me and…" Dean made a clucking noise in his tongue, visibly annoyed by his own words. He was probably tired of sounding like an insensitive asshole this time. "Listen…" Dean took Josh’s free hand and finally looked at him." I know… And I’m so sorry. But… my dad and Sam, it’s… you know? I can’t tell them I’m staying, even if I want to…”

Josh did not react, even if he perceived the obvious distress in Dean’s gestures and voice. He pinched his lips, his face desperately neutral. Dean swallowed.

"This is certainly the first time I’ve felt the need to stay somewhere… to go to school and eat local burgers every Friday night even though their pies taste like butt." He smiled hesitantly before becoming serious again, seeing Josh’s face still so close despite his attempts to defuse the situation. "But if I don’t go with them… Even though I know they can manage without me, I’m too afraid to let them. Tell me you understand, please…"

Josh tightened his fingers around Dean’s fingers, his eyes begging, but his face still so impassive as not to reveal the withering pieces of his heart.

"The phone number."

This was all he was able to say without his voice breaking. Dean nodded with a certain rigidity, painfully biting his lip again, so that it was now red and swollen. Dean sighed before watching their two hands tied, sounding defeated.

"Maybe… I lied to myself thinking everything would be okay this time." And for God’s sake, he couldn’t tell him that he was once again choosing his family. That, once again, he would rather break his heart than face his father’s gaze or that devouring guilt by imagining leaving Sam behind. He clenched his fist. "I know I’m unfair… but maybe it’s better if you stop being emotionally invested with me right now."

These words burned his tongue and fed the growing fire inside Josh. Wasn’t it a little late for this? Josh was not a toy that he could break and change the batteries as he wished. Only, Josh was also a sweet boy, had always been, and although some criticized him for letting people walk all over him too often, the teenager could not bring himself to overwhelm Dean today. Tomorrow, maybe, in three weeks, certainly.... But not now. Josh nodded an umpteenth time as if it didn’t tear his heart to do so and offered him a painful smile that Dean knew only too well from years spent practicing it.

"I understand…" Even if he didn’t want to." "It’s not your fault." Even if he would have preferred.

When Josh saw the guilt in every line of Dean’s face, he briefly felt sorry himself too, but he knew he couldn’t do better than that. So, slowly, he let go of Dean’s hand to untie the braided leather bracelet he had worn on his wrist since his 12th birthday. The clip was almost hard to open as he never removed it and when the leather rolled out of his skin, he felt naked. He placed the bracelet in the palm of his hand and pressed it into Dean’s, closing his boyfriend’s fingers on it. Josh felt his lips stretch into another tender smile.

"It’s not a phone number." He said. "But maybe, someday, it will bring you back to me?"

Dean was unable to answer because his throat was so tight. He took the bracelet and passed it around his own wrist, just below his watch, before covering it with the sleeve of his plaid. There was nothing else to say in the face of the overwhelming reality that came to crush their mad love; irrational hope at the edge of a dying forest.

That night, Dean and Josh kissed longer before leaving each other, as if to engrave this sensation in their bodies and minds. Dean could not help but walk away like a death-row inmate and Joshua watched him do it with this unbearable sensation of rupture deep inside him.

The next morning, Dean did not attend school. He also did not come behind the junkyard in the evening, stumbling on a broad branch of a tree as he used to do before throwing a bunch of curses at it. The next day, Josh was alone to listen to the rumble of the Impala moving away from Illinois while his leather bracelet went on the road again, away from him and his mistreated heart. * * * @winchester-reload​

This is this time of the year again, FINALLY! I’ll do my best to post ficlets throughout the whole month, I hope you guys will like it :). Thank you again Jackie for this year’s Suptober, so excited about it!

You can find the whole series on Ao3

Tag list /!\ This is an old tag list from Suptober 2019, PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU WANT TO BE ADD TO (or removed from) THE TAG LIST so you won’t miss any updates.

@misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @styggtroll @thanks-tacos @petrichoravellichor @iamcharliebradburylevelperfect @ladywaywarddsc @hellfire37 @destiel-221b-sabriel @aloha-cowgirl @destielhoneybee @dysfunctional-destiel @ozonecologne @doofcas @castielrisingabove @zoerayne2426 @tibbinswrites @vicmc624 @thegirlofstarlight @berrieseveryday @staycejo1 @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @bab-spnfamily @lo-mindpalace​ 

[newtothewaywardparty]

The Ghost of an Idea 3

Read Stave One: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 1

Read Stave Two: Bobby’s Ghost, Part 2

Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits, Part 1

When Dean awoke, it was so dark he couldn’t make out the rickety TV stand in the ratty motel room. He blindly fumbled on the nightstand for his phone and checked the time, his eyes squinting against the blue glare of the screen.

To his astonishment, it read 11:58 p.m. Dean had passed out around two in the morning. He swiped his screen to wake it up, checking the date next to the time. Had he actually passed out and slept all the way through the day and into the next night? No, the date still read December 24.

Dean stumbled out of bed and groped his way to the window, pulling aside the curtains, upsetting a cloud of dust that rained cigarette ash smell into the room, clouding his vision and making him cough. When the fine powder settled, Dean almost shrieked. Jo Harvelle stood just outside the window.

She stood still as a statue, unblinking yet unmenacing. Her hair was long and golden, carefully arranged in gentle waves. Mindless of the cold, she wore not her usual hunter’s jeans but rather a long, white sundress, the kind Dean knew chicks sometimes wore to outdoor music festivals. The dress was cinched with a southwestern-style silver concho belt, studded with turquoise. Her well-worn shit-kickers completed the ensemble, Dean noted with a small smile. You could take the girl out of hunting, but you couldn’t take the hunter out of the girl.

The weirdest part was, she seemed to glow from the inside out with a strange light, making her appear both younger and older than when Dean had known her at the Roadhouse and, later, on hunts together. The light emanated strongest from her head, which was just weird. Dean held his arm up like a visor to protect his hungover eyes as he tried to see which version (childlike or ancient) she really was, but it made him dizzy and sick. He was going to blame the sherry.

Dean pulled the window open. Let’s kick this in the ass, he thought. “So you’re Bobby’s first messenger?” he asked.

“That’s right, sweetheart” Jo replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I’m the Ghost of Christmas Past.” She spread her arms wide. She always had a flair for the dramatic, Dean reflected.

“Can you maybe-” Dean waved his other hand to indicate her head, shining like a beacon in the dark parking lot.

“Fine,” she sighed, producing a straw cowgirl hat with a colored beaded band from somewhere and placing it on her head. The light dampened considerably so that Dean could look at her through narrowed eyelids. “But it’s not my fault you can’t look at it.” She pouted a bit, and looked every bit the young woman she had been all those years ago at the Roadhouse in Nebraska. Dean shook that memory away, trying to clear his head.

“Uh,” Dean began. Articulate as always. “So what’s the game plan, here?” The frigid air was beginning to make him shiver, even fully dressed as he had fallen asleep. He grabbed his own arms to stop his shivering.

Jo gave him a lopsided smile. “C’mon Dean. I know you like to pretend to be dumber than a post, but I know you’ve at least seen Scrooged.”

Dean shrugged noncomittally. He was a huge Bill Murray fan. Of course he had seen it, but he wasn’t going to give anything up easily. He was even more reluctant to admit he had seen A Muppet Christmas Carol back at the bunker with Cas. They had sat together on Dean’s bed, comfortable with beer and Funyuns. Dean’s heart clenched as he remembered fielding Cas’ questions. “How can a Pig and a Frog be romantically attracted to each other? How do they reproduce? This movie is extremely scientifically inaccurate, Dean.”

“Let’s go, Dean” Jo said, now seeming older again, confident and immune to Dean’s bullshit, holding out her hand through the window. “We’re burning time here.”

Dean took her hand, a little unsure how she expected him to scramble through the windowsill, high above the ancient radiator. Once they touched, though, he found himself floating, perfectly warm, through the air with her, flying above the Western Kansas countryside. The highway stretched out below them, and Dean could see wind turbines like a field of white sunflowers, their red air safety lights blinking at the top. It was like looking down onto a field of twinkling red Christmas lights.

“I can’t believe you Superman’d me!” Dean shouted over the rushing wind. He couldn’t help grinning widely as they soared over the Flint Hills, the lack of moonlight making their rolling curves seem sharper and deeper.

Jo laughed, a childish bubbling sound. “Can You Read My Mind?” She intoned in mock-serious tones.

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re no Lois Lane, Joanna Beth.” He glanced down to see Mount Oread speeding toward them, the red-tiled roofs of the limestone University buildings visible even in the gloom. “Hey, this is Lawrence!” he exclaimed in recognition. “I grew up near here,” he said, even as they glided over his old elementary school, the playground where he had first learned to swing, pumping his little legs forward and back. It felt like flying. Dean experienced an unfamiliar physical sensation, one which he was unaccustomed to feeling, except on rare occasions of peace with Sam, and of course whenever he and Cas shared companionable moments, like when they had worked that case in Dodge City. He felt light in a way that had nothing to do with the magic of soaring through the air with Jo.

Jo steered them lower until they almost hit the roofs of the houses on the suburban block. “Do you know where you are?” She asked.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Sam and I actually worked a case here about ten years back.” He blinked and somehow they were in the living room. He would have been more panicked but time travel had kind of becoming routine for him. Nevertheless, he was still amazed, taking in all the detail his memory had forgotten over the years. An afghan of multicolored granny squares adorned the avocado green and harvest gold plaid couch. A modest tree, draped with tinsel, stood by the window. Dean’s eyes fell to the carnage of empty boxes and wrapping paper under it.

“Oh wow! My Big Wheel!” He ran a hand over the red, yellow, and blue tricycle. “I totally forgot about this! And my G.I. Joe, man, he was so cool.” Dean picked up the action figure (no, it was totally not a doll, thankyouverymuch) and made shooting noises with its little gun. He turned, dropping it, as his eyes widened. “Oh, whoah, I totally remember this-” He started toward the object of his attention when he was interrupted by a man walking into the room.

He wore wide-leg light-wash jeans cinched with a brown belt with a large buckle. His western-style plaid shirt was tight with pearlescent buttons. His hair was shaggy (almost as long as Sam’s now), his face clean-shaven, but Dean would know him anywhere.

“Dad?” Dean breathed. His chest hitched. His Dad did not acknowledge them in any way. Jo placed a reassuring hand on Dean’s arm.

“They can’t hear or see us” she said, a too-kind expression on her face.

“Dean! Get in here, son. I found what I was looking for” John Winchester called. For the first time, Dean noticed the cardboard album cover in John’s hands. A small boy, little more than a toddler, careened into the living room, rushing into his dad’s arms with a squeal. He had a blonde bowl haircut, chunky cheeks, and brown corduroy jeans. Dean flinched, instinctively guarding against John’s reaction. His father only gathered the boy up in a bear hug and roared.

“All right, little monster,” John said, after setting young Dean down on the braided rug. “I want to show you how to use this new tool.” Dean’s mouth fell open as the man indicated the toy adult Dean had been wanting to get his hands on, an orange plastic Fisher-Price record player in its own portable case, designed for young hands.

With patience Dean had never seen John Winchester use anytime in his conscious memory, his father explained, step-by-step to his child self how to carefully place the vinyl on the turntable, turn it on, and place the needle. The album in use was John Denver’s Poems, Prayers, & Promises. After completing his explanation, John kindly coached young Dean through the steps himself, praising the child when he did something correctly, and gently correcting him when he forgot the order of steps or was too rough. Preschool Dean beamed, eyes gleaming, when “Sunshine on my Shoulders” began playing from the player’s tiny speakers. John patted him on the shoulder, silently approving.

“Boys!” came a voice from the kitchen. “Supper’s almost ready.” Dean’s mother appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Mary’s skin was flushed from the heat of cooking. She was lovely and warm, just as Dean remembered. “Go get washed up now” she said, in a not-at-all-stern tone, putting her hands on her hips, her belly heavy with Sam, who would be born in the spring. Dean drank her in greedily. This was Christmas 1982. Dean was just three years old. This was his last Christmas with his mom. Their last Christmas as a family. Before…

Jo interrupted him. “What’s that on your cheek, Dean?”

Dean sniffed “Sweat. It’s too damn hot in here.” Jo pretended not to see him discreetly swipe at his eyes with the back of a sleeve. He resumed watching as his small family gathered around the oak table piled high with ham, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and of course, his mom’s homemade apple pie. Little Dean sat in a green molded plastic booster, eating enthusiastically with his Bert and Ernie and Big Bird silverware, his parents chatting happily on either side. Dean shook his head. “Poor kid,” he uttered under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” asked Jo. She raised an eyebrow knowingly.

“I just…” Dean struggled to find the words. I barely remember this, but at least I had it once. Sam never had it all, even though I tried my best. Now it’s Jack’s first Christmas, and…” he shrugged, stuffing his hand in his pockets. “I just wish I had maybe stuck around; shown him a good one. Like this.”

Jo smiled thoughtfully and waved her hand. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand” she said brightly, and suddenly they were in a different living room. Dean recognized the tan velour couch instantly. This was Sonny’s farmhouse, the boy’s home where he had spent a couple of months in 1995 after he had gotten nabbed for stealing food for Sam. Teen-aged him sat on the couch, sucking face with Robin.

Dean whirled on Jo. “What the hell? This wasn’t even at Christmas!”

“Your history didn’t leave a plethora of choices. We had to make do with what we had.” Jo shot back, defensively.

“We?” inquired Dean.

Jo gave him a sharp smile. “When Bobby Singer calls, I answer.” She shrugged. “Plus, I’m not gonna pass up the chance to work one last case with a Winchester.” She winked at him, then nudged his arm. “Shhh, or you’ll miss it.”

They turned back to the teenagers making out on the couch. They were discussing the upcoming school dance. “I’m not going anywhere, Robin.” Grown-up Dean winced at those words. He knew how much he meant them at the time. How quickly he’d forget them once John showed up with Sam in tow. Sam would come first, before anything else, for a long time after that.

“She was your first love.” Jo said, a soft look on her face. Dean’s face didn’t leave young Robin. He nodded.

“You never loved anyone like this again.” stated Jo. She looked older now, tired and sad.

Dean whipped his head toward her. “I have so!” he retorted.

“Not like this,” said Jo. “Not in that whole, pure, unguarded way.” The scene around them shifted. Sixteen-year-old Dean was tying his tie over that dorky short-sleeved dress shirt, and Sonny was telling him his father was here to take him away.

“This was the moment, Dean.” Jo said, voice low and deliberate. “The moment you discovered giving your heart to someone could mean getting it broken.” Dean’s tracked his young self helplessly as he went to the window, looking out at John and Sam. Followed the boy, he was just a kid, as he shook hands, brave face through tears with Sonny. Jo continued: “You always held yourself back after this. Cassie, Lisa, anyone else; you never really let them in.”

Dean grit his teeth and whirled on Jo. “Good talk, Russ. Next stop?” Jo touched his hand and they stood on the shore of a lake Dean had never wanted to see again in his life or any other. He barely had time to draw a breath before his eyes landed on Cas, blade sticking through his check, blue light escaping his mouth and eyes. Shit.

Read Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits, Part 2