#dean would melt is the worst part

[shallowseeker]

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

God I mean

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

If Cas did get flowery

if he did happen to break out the poetry

Or words like beautiful

Dean would’ve never recovered

[lostgirl677]

They didn't destroy you

One-shot

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Established relationship

Masterlist

Summary: After Dean escaped Hell, he's still traumatized and Y/N helps him through it.

A/N: It takes place at the beginning of season 4

A terrifying scream tore through the night, waking me up with a start and making my heart beat faster. Even in my hazy state, I already knew who it was. I tried to open my tired eyes completely, then jumped out of bed to quickly get up and ran to his bed. The sight broke my heart. Dean, the fearless hunter and one of the bravest men I knew, lying here, shivering. Dean was drenched in sweat and tears, and he was all tangled in his bedsheets. I knew he was having a nightmare again. I slowly approached his bedside. “Dean”, I called softly while shaking his shoulder but he fought back. “Dean, wake up,” I said again as I kept shaking him. His eyes suddenly shot open and his body jolted as he sat up on the bed. His hands gripped my shoulders, making me jump back. He looked at me, completely panicked and his breathing was seriously labored. I could almost hear his heart beating.

“Dean, it’s okay. You are fine. You are awake, it’s over.” I attempted as I wiped his tears and reassuringly caressed his arms. “Y/N?” he asked, a bit stunned, with a clear relief in his voice. I smiled a bit at him and answered “Yeah, it’s me.” He looked anxiously around us and realization seemed to strike him and he suddenly released his grip on my shoulders. But it was to immediately wrap his arms around my belly. My heart literally skipped a beat at his gesture and goosebumps formed all over my skin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I hope I didn’t hurt you.” he said with a raspy voice as he buried his face in my shirt. I melted in his tender embrace and hugged him back while caressing his hair gently. I could feel his tears soaking my shirt. “It’s okay. Don’t worry.” I assured him softly. His embrace slowly became tighter and tighter with each of my words, and his sobs grew louder. My heart shattered in a thousand pieces at the sight of this broken man. The man I loved more than anything. Dean would normally never let me see this part of him. But that night showed me how broken he really was.

For a moment, it was like we were apart from the world around us. It was just him and I, with his uncontrollable sobs for background noise. The worst was that I couldn’t possibly console him. Not after what he’s been through in Hell. Nothing could ease such trauma and pain. So, instead of talking, I just kept caressing his hair. But suddenly, I felt Dean removing his head from my shirt and I immediately looked at him, concerned. His eyes were red and puffy from crying and his cheeks were tearstained. Gently, my hand made its way to his face to wipe the stray tears, and he leaned his head on my hand. And he just looked at me, his eyes piercing through my soul. Silent tears were still escaping his eyes. He kept staring at me, in silence, as the tears still escaped his eyes. His eyes had lost their youthful shine. The only thing making them shine, now, was the tears.

Then, he opened his mouth and broke the silence. “Back there.” he said, gulping. “Back there, I yelled your name endlessly. Till my throat hurt, till I lost my voice.” he added, as his voice broke a little. I felt my eyes pricking a bit at his words. And before I could say something, I heard him taking a breath. “I never stopped thinking about you. You helped me to not turn into one of them. You were my anchor to my humanity. To everything I ever believed in. They kept beating me, torturing me till my body fell apart. Just to rebuild it and to do it all over again. They kept  saying terrible things about you and Sam. That you had forgotten about me, that you never loved me. But sometimes, I was able to remember the loving gaze you always give me, all your loving words. I was so scared to become a demon and that you…” his voice completely broke this time. Tears were now falling freely on my cheeks, completely overwhelmed by what he said. Images of what he had been through were flashing in my mind, making his words even more impactful as I let my imagination take over.

Dean stretched his right hand to slowly stroke my cheek with his calleous thumb. A small smile appeared on my face. His soft side was still there, meaning they failed to destroy him. Slowly, I bent my knees to give him a gentle kiss on his rosy lips. At first a bit surprised, he kissed me back, closing his eyes as he melted in my contact. I then ended the kiss and carefully sat next to him. His hand lightly took mine and his eyes were still on me. “Dean.”, I began softly. “What you are telling me proves that the demons failed miserably. They didn’t destroy you. You are still the most loving, and the most selfless person I know.” His eyes became a bit brighter as tears appeared again. “Those fuckers are just liars. They know nothing about love. About you. About us. They don’t know all the things I did to try to get you back. They don’t know how much I love you. They are unable to fathom a love like ours. I’m going to help you through it. We’ll fight the nightmares together.” I made a pause and looked at his face. The expression of his eyes, full of love,  made my heart swell. “I love you, Y/N” was all he said. But he didn’t need to add anything else. All the unspoken words he wanted to say could be read in his eyes. And he leaned again for a soft kiss.

After that kiss, I finally got up to get him a glass of water but a gentle hand snaked around my wrist and his broken voice whispered “ Please, don’t leave me.”  I turned my head to look in his direction.I surrendered the idea of water and simply replied softly “I didn’t have the intention to.” I swiftly closed the distance between us and embraced him in my arms. After a few minutes in this position, I made a gesture to invite Dean to lay down. And we finally both laid down on the bed. Dean cried a bit longer on my chest before falling asleep. “I love you.” I mumbled as I placed a kiss on his forehead and I soon fell asleep too.

@hobby27

[1-800-local-slut]

All I Want (2/3)

Dean has a crush. Nothing strange, Dean's fallen for tons of women. Only problem is it’s on his brother’s girlfriend. She’s a sweet girl, who makes Sammy happy. And that makes Dean happy. Only problem is he wants some of that happiness, and he doesn’t want it from anyone else.

Dean Winchester x Black! Fem! Reader (One-sided)

Sam Winchester x Black! Fem! Reader

Warnings: one sided love, pining, Dean is thinks badly about himself, mentions of alcohol, Dean wants reader bad but she's in love with Sam, Dean's really scared and really guilty, reader wears jewelry, most (if not all) of the female characters have a lot of accessories (lipgloss, nails, lashes, mascara, jewelry) because a lot of my works are self-indulgent and I'm a girly-girl ngl so i like being dressed up and having a lot of accessories on so if its not for you just ignore it

Part 2 of 3! Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I'm so grateful I was able to start this blog because I've really found myself through it. I'm grateful to all of you as well, thank you so much for reading my works. Ily all, and I hope you had a wonderful day!

Please let me know if you guys enjoy!

Check out part three if you enjoyed!

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Over the past year and a half, Dean's gotten used to jealousy. The feeling of jealousy that he tries to fight off constantly. He'll sit and think 'it's your brother, be happy for him' yet he can't. Not to say he isn't overjoyed with Sam's happiness. Yet, he feels it so often it's nearly impossible to ignore.

When doing research, she comes in with two cups of coffee and gives Sam a soft kiss on the cheek, he feels it. When they're at a diner and she'll tenderly spoon feed him some of her food. When he's giving her a soft back rub and she's dozing off underneath him, and falls asleep with soft snores.

It's not like Dean's never wanted a relationship. Sometimes, all he'll want is someone to be with and hold him. This was not the same. This was a specific desire, a desire for her.

Believe him, he's tried. He's tried dating others, maybe girls who look just slightly like her or girls who have some trace of her personality. Nothing ever worked, he would lay in bed beside them trying not to wish it was her. Trying not to wish her soft hands were the ones holding his.

The guilt is what really kills him. The guilt that his brother finally gets a girl and he's basically drooling over her. The worst part is, he can't tell if Sam knows or not. He can't tell if Sam's dissected the longing looks he sends her way, the way he melts under her hugs, the way his gaze softens when he looks at her.

When they visit a bar, while Dean is at the bar getting more drinks or talking to some girl and she's sitting in Sam's lap talking about something. Sam's big hands rubbing her thighs tenderly, the way Dean wants to. Does Sam see how he's trying not to stare?

No, it can't be. It can't happen. Sam can't know or find out. If Sam did, he would be crushed. Dean already knew he couldn't hurt his brother so much. Lord knows Sam's never had the best luck with ladies. Each one he gets, is taken from him with vigor. Dean can't do anything about the constant guilt he feels knowing that deep down he wants to take her away from Sam for himself.

The betrayal of knowing that your own brother wants to be the one holding your girlfriend at night, the one holding her hands, would destroy any pair of brothers.

Now he was sitting with his head in his hands outside the convenience store. Of course, Sam and his lady needed to go get condoms and Plan-B. Why wouldn't they, after last week's scare? They came terrifyingly close to becoming parents and in usual Sam fashion he took the steps to ensure it wouldn't happen again.

They'd be good parents, Dean thinks. Sam could certainly do it. Sam was the one who could talk his feelings out instead of drinking them away. He was the one who could give life advice, not a stupid pun that probably wouldn't do much to help. Sam was just Sam.

The door next to him opened and in slid the object of his desires. In her hands, a bag and her purse. Plopping it down at her feet, Sam crawled into the back.

"You two crazy kids get what you need?" Dean chuckled, trying to mask the slight pang he felt when he noticed the condoms peeking out of the bag. Dean can't remember the last time he needed to buy condoms.

She nodded, flipping down the mirror and painting on some lip gloss. Dean wanted to kiss it all off her, and feel her nails running through his hair as he held her.

"All stocked up, right baby?" She asked a sleepy Sam, who was dozing off for a nap.

"Yeah." Sam responded, rolling over onto his side. She passed a hair tie to him, without him even asking and Sam uttered a soft thank you and pinned his hair out of his face for an impromptu nap. They were on their way back from a hunt in Daytona Beach, a simple salt and burn really.

Sam did most of the fighting actually, and now as a result of fighting off ghost for the past four days was snoring softly in the back with his sweater wrapped around him.

Starting the engine, Dean reversed from the parking lot. Only six hours until home and he could put some distance between himself and the stunner next to him.

Dean hoped he could just suffer quietly through the ride but his wishes weren't granted.

"That was a weird hunt, that lady cried all over me and got snot on my jacket." She commented, pulling out the new pack of press-ons she had picked up from the store and holding them up next to her arm to see how they'd look against her skin.

"Yeah, that was a family of criers." Dean chuckled, his palms sweating. Now he had to converse and wallow in his heart ache? It was too much.

She plopped the nails in her purse before she turned on her side, now looking at Dean. She tenderly pressed her fingers to a bruise on his face. He'd gotten it when he got slapped with a branch running through the woods. It made a deep, ugly scar that Dean didn't want to admit hurt as much as it did. The blood had dried, but he didn't have time to properly clean it.

Considering their hunt ended with immediately jumping in the car and speeding away from that weird ass town, a shower wasn't his top priority. She complained the entire 15 hours so far that Dean and Sam smelt like sweat, and Dean made a show of capturing her in a big hug when they stopped for gas. Seriously, that town was weird, even the showers felt weird.

"I have to bandage this up." The soft words made Dean suck in a breath, trying to hide the shiver that shot through him.

"If you want." Dean remarked, shrugging his shoulders and trying to keep his eyes on the winding road in front of him. It just seemed to go on forever.

"Well we can't let it get infected. Who knows what we'd do without you?" She giggled and sat up right, twisting her body around to fish around for a first aid kit. He couldn't help but smile, the insinuation that she needed him made his heart flutter around.

Dean tried to keep his eyes focused on the road but it was worthless to try. He glanced down at her waist, her everything while she was looking for the small bag. He wanted to be the one wrapping his hands around her and hoisting her into the air for a deep kiss.

"Got it! Here, pull over, let's get this done now." Pointing to the side of the road, down raised a brow.

"What's the hurry?" No seriously, what's the hurry? Dean needed time to prepare himself for her close proximity. His heart might jump out of his chest the way it was hammering around in his rib cage already.

"I'm tired, come on." She urged, pushing his shoulder.

"The way you're so eager to help makes me think this is a ploy to shank me." He chuckled, pulling over onto the side of the road. Her eyes playfully rolled and she shook her head in a smile. The Sun bounced off her and Dean watched her slowly open the bag and set aside some antibiotics and bandaids.

"It's deeper than I thought. Go sit on the hood, I'll be right out." The order was firm but it made Dean grumble. His legs were sore, the underside of his thighs were sore. He wished he was fast asleep in the back, snoring his heart out like Sam.

"Why do I have to get out?" Dean groaned. His ass was sore enough. After sitting for the drive, and landing on his ass after getting slapped with the tree branch, he'd be surprised if his backside wasn't bruised like a peach falling from a tree.

"There isn't enough space in here for me to clean it properly, I'd have to like, sit on you." While she was slipping her shoes on, Dean swallowed thickly.

He was picturing her soft thighs on his, chest pushed into his while she held his face in her hands. She'd take her time, cleaning the cut before wiping away the dried blood and putting the bandaid on. He'd stare into her brown eyes, showing her everything he felt and the world would disappear around them. The car, the Sun, the sky, everything. It would be the two of them, the way Dean really wanted.

He would hold her face gently, taking her full lips in for a soft kiss, and she would kiss him back with eagerness. Big hands would leave her face to hold her in place on his lap, and he could nearly feel the ghost of her nails raking over his scalp.

He knew she was a hair puller, because he heard a one off conversation of her apologizing for nearly tearing some of Sam's hair out. And because he walked in on them making out, and quickly slid out the room before he could be spotted. Her hands were yanking on Sam's long hair, while he (rather aggressively) held her face and was attempting to tear her shirt off her. He doesn't like to think of that day.

Clambering out of the car, Dean wished his muscles would stop aching and pushed his body down into a stretch before he plopped onto the hood of Baby.

The door shut and she came out, fluffing out the part of her hair she'd been laying on.

"Open your legs."

"What?" That startled Dean more than anything he'd ever seen or dealt with.

"So I can stand? What's the matter with you?" Her eyebrow raised and hands on her hips.

"Sorry. Just tired." Dean chuckled, and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He pushed his legs open the best she could and she shimmed her way in. Her hips were too wide for the small gap he provided and he hissed at the pain of his legs being forced apart.

"Oh hush. If you take a warm shower when you get home it'll help. She got onto the tips of her toes, pushing his head back. The Sun gleamed in his eyes and he shut them. Everything just seemed to hurt today.

The sting of the alcohol patch rubbed his skin, and she cleared off the dried blood. Her soft hands rubbed cooling ointment onto the skin, while she held him in place by his neck. Closing his eyes, Dean embraced the moment, as wrong as it was.

It warmed him, down to his toes. That ugly feeling in his stomach grew, as he remembered Sam was sleeping in the back. Later on, she would be giving Sam a neck rub, since he would certainly wake up with an aching neck after he was put in a chokehold and was now awkwardly slouched over in the back. Dean would be alone, nursing his own sore muscles.

Before he knew it, the moment was over. She placed the bandaid on his face and smiled gently at him.

"There, all better." She turned, bouncing back to the car and sitting comfortably in the passengers seat, leaving Dean to his spinning thoughts. Maybe the cut on his face wasn't throbbing anymore, but his heart certainly was.

[genevievemd]

James Dean Daydream

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Genevieve McClure) Word Count: 1384 Rating: G Category: Fluff, Ethan POV Trope(s): and one of them dabbles in music

Summary: The day Ethan Ramsey realizes he’s in love with a swiftie. 

Warnings: none

A/N: This is really just pointless fluff that I’ve wanted to do this idea for a while lol And I also just love showing these cute little everyday moments between them. Enjoy the fluff, peanuts!  And yes, I did in fact make the cover for this look similar to the 1989 album cover. I am who I am lmao 

November 13, 2020

No matter how many years Ethan Ramsey has spent in medicine, working diligently in one of the country’s most prestigious hospitals, it never ceased to amaze him hw absolutely idiotic the world became on Friday the 13th.  He didn’t even subscribe to the superstition, and yet, without fail, the date would come around and the emergency room descended into madness. 

It was as if anyone with only half a brain cell watched it die and they gave into any and every intrusive thought.

And unfortunately for him, this was the second occurrence this year. Ethan didn’t even think anything could top the chaos of March 13th. The hospital had been running on empty, patients and residents, even doctors, were beginning to transfer to different hospitals. It was pure madness. He had foolishly believed that would be the worst he’d seen or would ever see. 

Until today.

There had been no less than five major traffic accidents, the computer system was down and every staff member was locked out for close to two hours, Leland kept interrupting the diagnostics team whenever they finally had a moment to convene, and to top it all off, Ethan’s favorite resident had the day off. 

Although it was a much needed one and it was at his behest. Genevieve had worked almost 72 hours nonstop with only a few hours of rest here and there. So he’d sent her home that morning, completely forgetting the date. 

She’d texted him sporadically, offering to come back in, but Ethan refused. Gen needed to sleep and they could manage without her. So instead, he told her to utilize the quiet of his apartment and spend the day watching her favorite shows and catching up on sleep. 

He’d almost forgotten the offer, until he arrived home that evening and pushed the button for his floor on the elevator. 

A small part of him now regretted it. He was exhausted and all he wanted was a hot shower, dinner, and crawl into bed. Gen would most likely be her normal energetic self and eager to hear about all the “tea of the day”, as she would say. But, another part of him loved knowing he was coming home to her. 

His bubbly and sweet rookie. The sunshine to his midnight rain. 

A smile spreads across his tired face when he gets to his front door. Whatever song she was playing was loud enough to be heard quite clearly through the door. 

If he had to guess, it was probably Taylor Swift. 

He opens the door slowly, greeted with the sight of Genevieve in his Hopkins sweatshirt and a pair of leggings, hair in a messy ponytail as she dances and sings along to what is absolutely a Taylor Swift song. Using a metal whisk as her makeshift microphone. 

Unwilling to disrupt the show, he gently places his briefcase one the floor and closes the door. Leaning against it with his arms crossed. 

As the song progresses into the second verse, and she twirls back to the stove, he realizes she’s cooking. Ensuring that he came home to a homecooked meal after a long day. That knowledge melts his heart and almost forces him from his spot. But, he also doesn’t want to interrupt and miss the mini concert he’s getting. 

He loves her like this, so free and happy. Enjoying the simple things in life to their fullest extent. 

“He says ‘what you heard is true but I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you and I’ I said ‘I’ve been there too a few times’” She sings the lyric with an excessive amount of dramatics and flare. Jumping right back into what she calls dancing as the chorus begins again. 

At this point in their relationship, and friendship, Ethan is certain he’s heard every song ever made by Gen’s favorite artist. And while it may not be his cup of tea, he’ll never tire of seeing how excited and happy Gen gets when a song comes on. 

Like when she accompanied him to the grocery store earlier that week. A song had come on when they were perusing the vegetables and she squeaked with excitement. Humming along and mouthing the words to him. It was one of the cutest things she’s ever done and a moment he burned into is memory. 

Just like he’s doing with the one happening now. 

Unable to resist any longer, Ethan joins her. Taking her hips in his hands and spinning her around to face him. As predicted, she screams in shock then breaks into a brilliant and beautiful smile. Dropping the whisk and wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Hi!” Gen beams, not at all embarrassed to be caught. Reaching to turn the volume of the music down. “Did you just get home?” 

“I did.” He smiles back at her, leaning down to kiss her sweetly. 

“I made dinner, I figured you could use a nice meal after the day you had.” 

“Thank you, that was very sweet of you.” 

“Always, babe.” She kisses him again, a little longer than before but no less sweet. Like she’s pouring her whole heart into the simple gesture. 

After another second, Gen pulls away. Moving back to the stove to turn off the burner. 

Deciding he’s not ready to fully let her go, Ethan follows. Pulling her back to his chest and kissing her cheek. 

“You know, you’re ruining my Spotify every time you use my Alexa.” 

“Ruining it, or adding some flavor to an otherwise boring list of top plays?” Gen laughs, the sound so pretty he can’t help but smile more. 

“I stand by what I said, Rookie.” He lets her go, stepping to the side to take off his coat and tie. Though he keeps his eyes on her, noting how she continues to subtly dance along to the new song coming through the speakers. 

“It’s your fault for picking me to be your girlfriend. You should have known; once a swiftie always a swiftie.” She laughs again, continuing to finish plating their dinner. 

“Swiftie?”

“It’s what you call a Taylor Swift fan.” Gen steps over to him, patting his cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all the lingo. Especially if we plan on staying together forever. You’ll need to know.” 

“Right.” He nods, grabbing their plates and walking over to the dining table. “So the mentor would become the mentee?” 

“Absolutely.” She follows close behind with two glasses and a bottle of wine. “Do you want to shower first?” 

“I thought maybe we’d eat and then you’d join me in the shower.” He smirks at the blush that quickly rises to her cheeks, the way she bites her lip and look away for the briefest of seconds. 

“That actually sounds nice. I missed you today.” 

He takes the glasses and bottle from her hands, putting them down onto the table beside their meal. Taking her back into his arms a second later. 

“I missed you, too, G.” 

Whatever regret and dread he had before was now melted away. Along with almost every ounce of stress that had been heavy on his shoulders before walking in the door. And it was all because of her. 

Her dancing and singing, the happiness of being reunited with her after a long day. 

Ethan had purposely ignored her comment a few minutes prior, about being together for the rest of their lives. Not because he didn’t want that, but because it was still to early to be discussing those things. She still needed to finish her residency and decided on her future in medicine. 

But he hoped that they’d be together through it all, because the love he feels for her – regardless of the fact that they’ve yet to voice it – was unlike anything he’s felt before. It’s healing and fulfilling. Bringing with it the type of happiness that only exists in daydreams and fairytales. 

He didn’t care about their differences, he wanted to embrace them. Learn to love what she loves, like she’s doing with him. 

He wanted a future where he continues to come home to find her singing and dancing with a metal whisk in his kitchen to a Taylor Swift song. Knowing that it would continue to dissolve the stress and pressure of the outside world.

A/N: Little does he know, his future self intentionally added Taylor Swift songs to his Spotify playlist so he could listen to them when he goes back to the amazon lol 

thanks for reading, peanuts. 

[ptolemaeacas]

honestly my take on 2x03 isn't so much that it's Dean choosing Sam over John, it's Dean choosing between Sam as John & Worse John. Cause like, Sam is arguing on behalf of monster personhood (a topic he repeatedly is ambivalent about due to the fact that spn can't question its premises effectively), but I think another aspect of that is like. If John were alive, John would've checked out the case - the cattle mutilation would be concerning as a potential demonic omen. But if nothing else was demonic, I think he'd see hunting vampires (which he thinks are extinct) as a distraction from the real mission, regardless of whether or not he thinks they deserve to die or not. Like yeah, Dean & Gordon are set up as parallels, and in the context of John's last words, that makes sense, but I don't think it's just that?

Sam effectively winds up functioning as his brother's conscience - which Dean thanks him for. While still saying that John did the best he could. So, while monster personhood is maybe part of Sam's motivation here, I do think another part of it is that Sam is a good tactician. Going after vampires who aren't doing anything is a waste of time.

But anyway, he's very obviously leashing Dean against his worst impulses. But, I don't buy it as a mutual obsession thing, I think that Sam sees Dean fucking losing it and is just putting him in a conservatorship for his own good. Sam isn't consciously thinking, how do I control Dean today, he's just, taking control for his own good (the same way he learned from his father).

And, doing that also neatly buys him some autonomy that he can't get otherwise, because yeah he might want to get away from Dean/his family, but the events of season 1 reinforce that even if he runs, he can't ever really stay away without endangering people he cares about, and random people he's never met. Determining when and who he should be siccing Dean on is a power he's never gotten to have before, and I think that would be motivating for someone who's always been controlled. And he doesn't even have to do the hard work of unlearning the deathcult propaganda either, he just gives it a newer, kinder face.

On top of that, I think Sam wants to escape the deathcult and take his brother with him, in the way that many abused children want to protect others in their family. But as for many abused children, his sense of normal is extremely skewed. Even if he had more contact with the outside world, that's only 4 years. And he is still the one making excuses for and justifying John's behavior in that episode. I don't think he's consciously aware of any of this stuff because that would imply that he processed it and was able to name how fucked up their worldview is. I think Sam can point to the obvious stuff (melting silver into bullets, child neglect) and say "that's bad", but the stuff around who/what counts as a person, what you should endure to not be worthy of execution, etc I don't think Sam ever really unpacks over the course of the series really (thinking of Jack), but I think it also means that even in the early seasons, replicating some aspects of John's relationship with Dean could be something he sees as a good thing.

I just think it's fun when Sam is a walking contradiction - compelled to try to gain autonomy/power whenever he can, and unable to truly leave his family dynamics behind. And, attempting to see monster personhood as something real, and still ultimately failing, due to the nature of the deathcult.

[haus-seeblick]

Suptober Day 2! "The Perfect Pillow"

Rating: Teen and Up

Ship: (Pre-)Castiel/Dean Winchester

Tags: Literal Talk About Pillows, Early Seasons, Flirting (kind of), Dean Wants Comfort, Castiel Wants Dean Winchester to be Happy, Humor, Pining, Horny Dean Winchester, Hand Kink, Crack and Humor, this is silly, Sleepy Dean

Summary: Dean cannot get comfortable on this awful, lumpy motel pillow. Castiel senses his distress and arrives to help him out. He takes the task very seriously.

Read under the cut, or on ao3 here!

Dean huffs a grumpy sigh and wriggles around under the covers once again, trying to reposition himself in a way that doesn’t leave his neck aching. The damn lumpy pillow on this motel bed is the absolute worst kind — way too soft and way too thin, providing neither support nor comfort. It’s infuriating.

Sam doesn’t understand Dean’s choosiness about pillows. Whenever Dean grumbles about one, Sam points out that they spend most of their nights sleeping in a car that doesn’t even have headrests. 

“That’s different,” Dean insists every time, though when Sam asks how, exactly, it’s different, Dean just sticks his tongue out at him. It’s way too much to explain that the Impala is home , and therefore the comfort is built in. It’s just a different kind of comfort. A motel has to work for it, starting with the pillow. 

Dean swears and sits upright, seizing the pillow and folding it in half before flopping back down. It provides slightly more support, but it’s still far from ideal. 

At least Sam is out tonight with that cute nurse they met while working the hospital haunting, so there’s no one around to judge him.

“Why are you restless, Dean?”

The gun is in Dean’s hands before his brain fully catches up, and the pillow flops to the floor as he sits bolt upright. The pale yellow light from the parking lot filters through the curtains, sketching out the shape of someone perched on the edge of his bed. Dean blinks.

“Cas?”

“Hello,” Castiel says calmly, not flinching at all as he stares down the barrel of Dean’s weapon.

Dean drags a hand over his face and lowers the gun. “Jesus, dude. You gotta stop doin’ this.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Visiting you?”

“Visiting me in the middle of the night, unannounced,” Dean says, tucking the gun away and leaning over the side of the bed to retrieve the limp pillow.

“I sensed your distress,” Castiel responds simply. 

Dean grumpily fluffs the pillow and collapses back down. “I’m not in distress.”

“Your thoughts broadcasted otherwise.”

Apparently Dean’s thoughts are a dramatic bitch. He glares up at Cas, who’s really sitting too close. Not that Cas would pick up on that. Dean’s only known the weird angel for a few months, but it’s already abundantly clear that Castiel doesn’t understand normal human boundaries. Normal guy boundaries. 

There’s a little pinging voice in the back of Dean’s mind, though, that points out that it doesn’t really matter this time, because they’re alone and who’s gonna see? No danger of anyone else noticing what Cas’ proximity does to Dean’s— well, everything.

“I’m fine,” he huffs. “So you can flap back off to whatever you were doin’.”

“I could help you sleep,” Castiel suggests, and Dean’s stupid, traitorous brain nearly melts at the unintended implication. He tugs the scratchy blanket all the way up around his shoulders. 

“Thanks for the offer, man, but I can get my four hours on my own.” He prods at the pillow, scrunching it into a lump and burrowing his cheek into it. God, it’s awful.

“It appears you are uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, well, part of the lifestyle,” Dean grumbles. When Castiel doesn’t respond, Dean sighs. “The pillow just sucks, that’s all. I’ve had worse.”

The covers rustle as Castiel shifts slightly on the bed. Dean watches him surreptitiously through a cracked eyelid. Even in the dim, fuzzy light, his features are sharp and defined — cut cheekbones, that straight nose, those watchful eyes. Even his eyelashes stand out, long and dark, casting shadows of their own. 

It’s rare that Dean lets himself just look. 

Castiel observes the window thoughtfully for a moment, before gazing down at Dean. “What are the qualities of a pillow that doesn’t suck?”

Dean doesn’t even have to contemplate. He opens his eyes fully, rolling onto his back so he can face Cas. “It’s gotta have some thickness to it, y’know, enough to prop up your neck, but not so much that your head gets tilted up. And it has to be firm, but not hard. Like, take this one." He gestures at the monstrosity under his head, “It's way too soft and loose, so I gotta bunch it up.”

“May I?” Castiel asks, reaching out, and Dean raises an eyebrow but props himself up on his elbows enough for Castiel to be able to sink his — long, thick — fingers into the pillow right next to Dean’s cheek. He kneads the fabric, thumb almost brushing the side of Dean’s neck. A tingly smattering of goosebumps buzzes along Dean’s skin. He hastily sits up straighter.

Cas withdraws his hand shortly after. “I see,” he says. “I’ll be right back.” And with a whoosh, he’s gone.

“Uh.” Dean sits there, mouth slightly open, then shrugs. “Okay.” He lays back down and tries very hard to avoid thinking about strong, well defined fingers and broad palms. Headlights sweep across the dusty-yellow walls and ceiling as someone pulls up to the motel, and Dean hears a door slam and voices fade down the sidewalk in the direction of the office.

His neck still hurts, but he’s not even thinking about it. The prospect of Cas coming back makes him thrill as if he’s a horny, crushing teenager or something. It’s ridiculous. 

Not two minutes pass before the curtains flutter with yet another whoosh, and Castiel stands in the middle of the motel room, arms wrapped around a bulging array of — pillows?

Dean sits up. “Dude, what did you do?”

“I brought you alternatives,” Castiel says, striding forward and unceremoniously dumping the bundle onto the bed at Dean’s feet. “I attempted to find pillows that matched your preferences in size and texture.”

Dean’s not sure whether to laugh or gawk, so he ends up doing a mixture of both and sounding like a choked sheep. Castiel regards him with concern. 

“Sleep is important for humans, Dean,” he says, with all the air of a professor imparting vital, brand-new knowledge on a dim pupil.

“You got me there.” Dean holds out a hand. “Well, hit me. Let’s try these babies out.”

Castiel lifts one of the pillows and — Dean hardly sees it coming — smacks him in the face with it. 

“What the fuck!”

“You told me to hit you,” Castiel responds, sounding perplexed. “I thought it was part of the comfort testing.”

Dean clutches the pillow to his chest. “It’s a figure of speech! I— Nevermind.” He squishes the pillow in his hands. “This one’s nice.” Nudging the shitty one off the bed, he floofs the new one until it looks ideal, then sinks his head down into it. Castiel walks around the bed until he’s standing right next to Dean’s face, staring down at him.

“What do you think?”

Dean can’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed by the proximity of Castiel’s crotch. His shoulders and neck melt into the pillow, even the muscles in his face relaxing. “’s amazing,” he nearly moans. 

“Does it support your neck without tilting your head?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Is it firm enough without being hard?”

“So firm,” Dean sighs, already drifting.

“Dean. There are more pillows to sample.” 

“This one’s a winner, buddy.”

“We need to assess all options before making our final decision,” Cas insists, and suddenly there’s an arm sliding under Dean’s shoulders and lifting his torso effortlessly. Dean jolts back online, eyes flying open to find Cas’ face just inches from his as the angel slides the pillow away and replaces it with another. 

“Lie back down.” 

Dean’s not sure he’s getting enough oxygen as Cas’ palm presses flat against his chest and guides him back onto the bed. 

They test five more pillows, and Dean allows Cas to manhandle him more often than is strictly necessary, but sue him. There’s no one else around, and Cas is the one who started it. Might as well drum up some material for the spank bank.

In the end, Dean decides on Pillow #3, which really is the most comfortable item of bedding he has ever encountered. It cradles his neck and head like it was custom-made for him, and he feels sleep descending almost as soon as he sinks into it. 

“Mmm. Heaven might be at war, but this was a good use of your time, Cas.”

“I agree,” Castiel rumbles from his perch on the edge of the bed. “It is a relief for me as well, to have the near-constant buzz of your discomfort assuaged.”

“Gee, way to make a guy feel special. You make me sound like a mosquito.”

“That was not my intention.” Castiel stands, and Dean watches him through his lashes. “I enjoy being in tune with your emotions. It’s— well, it’s more connected than I’ve felt to anything in my long existence.”

Dean’s not sure what to say to that, so he stays quiet.

“Sleep now, Dean.” Cas’ deep voice fills him, covers him, and he swears that he feels fingers brush his forehead as he drifts into unconsciousness. 

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

Dean wakes the next morning to a pain-free neck and a kink-free back, and if it weren’t for the lumpy, discarded pillow on the floor next to him, he would’ve thought that he dreamed the whole thing. He reverently packs his new pillow into his duffel bag before checking out of the motel.

Sam comments on his jaunty mood as they pull out of town later that morning, and Dean just shrugs. 

“You had your visitor last night, I had mine.” 

[magicallymeta]

Alright, folks, I've got a slightly melted cocktail (Blue Hawaii Ramune, a few drops of orange bitters, a healthy dash of this locally made spicy pear shrub, and two shots of tequila) and episode 6 of Wednesday to get through:

1) love the circular mirror visual so much; they have a lot of fun iwht it in shots, but I still feel like they could have used it more. It reminds me of when Chloe becomes The Watchtower on Smallville and they both used the set a lot and never enough. (And yeah, I'm going to fucking mention Chloe and Smallville in 2022, okay? That show is important to me, contrary to what has become of certain people who were once involved with the show. The characters are not their actors and vice versa, unless you're Jensen Ackles/Dean Winchester. I don't make the rules!)

2) ENID IS SO FUCKING CUTE ALL OF THE TIME. GIve me her entire wardrobe. I mean, I want Wednesday's, too, but I think that's the difference in emotional expression: Rachie sees a Wednesday look and thinks "that's so stupid and cool, whatever, fuck off" and Dawni Rae sees Eni and thinks "OH MY GOD WHERE DO I GET THAT IMMEDIATELY?!" It's all about the balance, baby.

3) This surprise party for Wednesday is so fucking cute, and I love her for reacting to all things Manic Pixie Mary Sue about her in annoyance. Blessings.

4) I'm loving Jenna Ortega's balance between Wednesday and Goody. I love a good "same actress/different characters" in a story, especially when it's a "hey look, my ancestor and I happen to look almost EXACTLY the same!" Amazing.

5) The music shift when Enid gives Wednesday her snood. MY HEART. Everythning about that scene was a gift, specifcally, for me.

6) Angsty white boy scenes are so annoying, good god. I can't wait for that part to be over when I've finished.

7) Obsessed with Bianca/Lucas now. Don't know why, but I love that she immediately was honest with him and then admitted that she knew exactly who he was. I think because I've found myself liking them seperately that it means them together has a better chance for both of their character's extending throughout the story moving forward. I hate it when there are good characters just randomly floating on the sideline of the main storyline. Like, those people are where it's at, man! Don't walk away from them!

8) Ugh, more of the Well Intioned White Boy scenes are just as annoying as the Angsty White Boy scenes. it's annoying that some of Wednesday's best moments come when she's against he worst scene partners. This includes the Sheriff. Especially when she's opposite the Sheriff.

9) It's all coming together, more or less, and I'm so excited for it to finish. The fireplace in the Principal's office is so fucking sick, and again, I love Christina Ricci.

10) "Take the win Enid" "Two Best Friends!" I'm so in love with them, be still my little heart.

11) Wednesday is like, "For my birthday, I want a bisexual creepy date with my boy/girl love interests to who is more deserving of my affections." The answer is Enid across the board, but it's cute that Tyler is still sticking in the game for hetero storylines.

12) I love that the "pretty" boys get "sexy scar scratches" and the other boys get mutilated in some way. Seems about right. Very CW.

13) Enid blowing up and leaving her pastel side of the room to haunt Wednesday while she curls up in a ball. WENESDAY. GIRL. Shatter my heart. I feel so alive.

If I wasn't so set on following through on writing up my thoughts on every episode, I would have for sure finished by now, but I'm proud of myself for following through on this. It's like, every little step leads to a bigger things at some point, even if some of it you have to slog through.

On a side note, I was really excited to have the house to myself this weekend and to get so many of the things I'm constantly trying to get done, done, and I've been putting in a lot of work, but it doesn't feel like I've accomplished as much as I was hoping to. It allows the voice in my brain that tells me if my dreams were important I would be doing this all of the time, but I'm not because it must not be. I hate that voice, because it sounds like very Boss Bitch and Capitalist Christian that's ever made me feel like I'm broken or lazy for not being able to "hit the grind" or whatever the fuck.

I keep wanting to stop writing these post and just enjoy the show. It's an argument I'm constantly having inside my head -- do I want to enjoy and consume, or do I want to consume and create? These are entirely different ways to do things, but they're both equally important and I struggle to find the balance between them or when to initiate which roll when I'm dealt a circumstance of life. I share this hear because it's on my mind and I want to and it's my blog and I can do what I want, but also because this is what it's become for me for awhile -- where do I put my time and how do I use it? I constantly feel as if my time is not my own, and all I want is to get it back.

Okay, I only have 2 episodes left of this show and then I can go to sleep. I doubt I'll get through both of them tonight, I can feel myself waning (see above philosophies), but I'll set alarms and finish it in the morning with my coffee. I won't have the house to myself for very long, but I bet I could get through this and then move into my mirror project, which was the one thing I wanted to have completed by the time this weekend was offically over. Depending on my schedule this week, maybe I'll take Monday off and give myself an extra weekend day to finsh up everything on my list! Wish me luck, friends!

[gentlemancowboy]

For @emeraldcas’s Creator Celebration for the prompt “I can fix this,” and @floral-cas’s Spring Floralnatural Celebration for the prompt “garden.”

Read on ao3

It starts with a few small pots on the windowsill in the kitchen. Some limp looking parsley, a ficus with only one leaf, a calathea with an infestation of mealybugs. A sad little assortment of dilapidated plants that anyone else would take one look at and consider a lost cause.

But not Cas.

Dean tries to stop him the first few times it happens. They’re out at the grocery store, or paying a visit to Sam and Eileen, or driving past a yard sale, and Cas inevitably notices a discarded or neglected plant and makes it his mission to rescue it.

“You know,” Dean says after Cas comes home one day with an extremely large cactus with suspicious black fuzz on its side. “If you want plants, we can just go to the nursery and get some new ones.”

“No. It’s okay, Dean. I can fix this,” he says, and Dean doesn’t have it in his heart to tell him otherwise.

So he lets it be.

Soon, the windowsill isn’t big enough to house the hodgepodge of foliage that has found refuge under Cas’s care. They spill onto the floor of the kitchen. They sit along the fireplace mantle and on the little table in the entryway and on the bookshelves in the library. When Dean finds a couple of wilted pothos in the shower one morning, he figures enough is enough, and spends the next few weeks digging out a patch of earth in the backyard for a greenhouse. Dean may not fully understand Cas’s green thumb, but if Cas wants a garden, Dean is at least going to give him a proper one.

Despite Dean’s skepticism, the plants begin to mend. The pothos spring back to life in a matter of days. The ficus pushes out several new leaves by the start of summer. And the cactus—which Dean was sure was a biohazard—now stands happy and healthy in a bright corner of their living room.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised,” Dean says one Saturday morning, walking into the greenhouse where Cas has already been posted up for an hour, tending to a heart leaf philodendron. It’s become a new part of their daily routine for Dean to bring Cas his morning cup of coffee this way. When they both became morning people, Dean will never know. “I didn’t think that little guy would make it to next week.”

“It just needed someone to take care of it, that’s all,” Cas says, accepting the coffee from Dean and giving him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Dean looks around the packed greenhouse. “Still don’t know why you go through all this effort, though. Why not make it easier on yourself and get some healthy plants for once? Why bother with these ones?”

Cas smiles down into his coffee before looking back up at Dean. Even after all these years, that look still makes Dean’s heart to skip a beat.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but—well, they remind me of you.”

Dean looks at a shriveled up aglaonema on the shelf next to him—because apparently Dean is now a goddamn botanist and knows the names of plants and shit—and frowns.

“Gee, Cas. You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

Cas tracks his line of sight and lets out a small chuckle. He sets down his coffee and wraps his arms around Dean’s waist. Dean doesn’t look at him, but he does let himself melt into Cas’s arms just a bit.

“That’s not what I mean, Dean,” Cas says, giving him a light squeeze. “I mean, yes, I did rescue you from hell and rebuild your body atom by atom—”

“Yeah, yeah, show off. Do you have a point?”

“Dean.” Cas’s hand is now cradling his jaw, his thumb stroking his cheek. Dean sighs at the touch, leaning into it, before meeting Cas’s eye. “You’re not the plant in this metaphor. I am.”

“What, uh—what do you mean?”

“I have been a weathered and withered plant on more than one occasion. I lost my way more times than I can remember. You could have deemed me a lost cause. You could have thrown me out. But you never did. Even at my worst, you never gave up on me. And now, I look at my life and what it’s become and—well, it’s blossomed. And that’s all because of you.

“So, yes, I see a bit of myself in these plants. But more than anything, they remind me of how you must have seen me. And if you saw all that and still brought me back from the brink of oblivion, I can surely help a few little innocent plants do the same.”

And Dean doesn’t know how Cas does it, how he makes Dean feel more worthy than he’s ever thought possible. He surely doesn’t deserve it, but he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he does.

He kisses Cas, solid and deep, because he doesn’t know what to say, and when they break apart, Dean sees tears welling up in Cas’s eyes. Dean brushes them away before they can fall.

“Thank you for saving me,” Cas finally manages to say.

“We saved each other,” Dean says, and kisses him again.

[loserchildhotpants]

“you’re not sorry.” for destiel 😐👍

here's some end!verse angst and hurt/comfort for u <3

When Dean finds Castiel again, he's sat in the tall grass at the back of his cabin, a tablet of something melting under his tongue, and a journal open on his right thigh where he writes in foreign languages he still retains.

There's no proof that Castiel uses ancient Sumerian for the purpose of coding his personal journals, to make them near impossible to decipher their meaning, but Dean has a feeling that's exactly what he's doing.

It's fine that Dean can't read it. He doesn't want to. He's petrified of what he might find out.

"You don't need to hover like a ghost, Dean. Just announce yourself or leave."

"Says the worst silent-starer of history," Dean combats, hackles raising.

Seeing Cas turn to face him with that black eye and split lip nearly drives Dean to physical illness.

His heart sinks low in his gut, and he cringes, looking away.

"That's actually fair," Castiel allows, "carry on, then."

Rolling his eyes at the darkening sky, Dean counts to ten, then takes another step toward Cas.

The black eye is very distracting.

"You should put ice on that."

"I don't like feeling cold."

"Well, tough," Dean grumbles, scowling at the offending shade, physically restraining himself from going to fetch an icepack for him.

With just a tired sigh, Cas turns back to his writing, seeming to dismiss Dean until Dean is more willing to state his purpose. And that sucks for multiple reasons, chief among them being that Dean has no idea what he's doing there at all.

"Is there nothing you'd like to say?"

"What? You expect me to apologize?"

Glancing over his shoulder again, Castiel evaluates him, then decides, "no. You're not sorry. Why would you be?"

Scoffing, Dean throws his arms out and accuses, "you had it coming!"

"You punched me in the face."

"You tried to kiss me!"

"There's an operative word in there," Castiel replies, turning back to his writing, "if all you came here to do is tell me I deserve my suffering, I assure you, I don't require assistance."

For a few beats, Dean just stands there, useless, furling and unfurling his fists at his hips, floundering.

"I'm not good at this, Cas. I dunno what the fuck to do here."

"Okay."

"Don't give me that 'okay,' shit - you can be a real passive aggressive bitch sometimes, you know that?"

"Dean, I'm not interested in making you do anything," Castiel says to his scribblings, "I don't know why you're here, I am getting the distinct impression that you don't know why you're here either, and there's nothing I can do about that. You say you don't know what to do here, and I don't know what you're trying to do here, so I cannot help. I tell you it's okay because there is a throbbing on the side of my face reminding me that you don't have the emotional bandwidth available for things between us to be anything other than okay, and it's something I can afford you."

"The world is falling apart around you, you're tired, I'm tired too, and I can't do what I once..."

He trails off, lets his pen go loose in his hold, sighs again, hangs his head and mutters, "I'm not what I once was. You don't know how devastating that is for me. For you, it's an inconvenience. For me, it's... loss as I've never known. But I can't ask you to carry any part of that, as a friend or otherwise, and one thing I can do for you is turn the other cheek."

He half-looks over his shoulder, not really peeking over, but giving the impression of looking; it's very defeated.

"This is me turning the other cheek. I wanted to kiss you, you punched me, I've gone to lick my wounds in privacy which you've broken unannounced, and you want me to know you're not sorry, and that I deserve this. I hear you. I understand. It's okay, because that's all I have left to give you."

Dean feels ill again.

"Stop giving me shit - stop giving me passes, Cas. I fuckin' hit you."

"You did," Cas admits, shrugging, fully facing away from Dean, "That cannot be changed."

"Yeah, and you want me to be sorry."

"Do I wish you felt regret for causing me bodily harm? Obviously, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I don't!" Dean shouts too loud, his hands shake at his sides, his eyes feel hot, "and I'm not gonna - I'm not changing, okay? I'm not - I wasn't - I've never - and I won't. Okay? I won't."

"Okay, Dean."

"No, fuck you!" Dean argues, stomping closer to Cas' hunched form, "Don't do that!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get up, and tell me to go fuck myself!" Dean shouts, gesticulating wildly, "have a fuckin' spine! Face me, and tell me to wise up, or -"

"Or, what, Dean?" Castiel asks, standing and turning in an uncurling, graceful motion he's had the others learning in yoga, "you expect I'll leave you?"

Jaw locking up, Dean scowls dangerously at Cas, and growls out, "it's what I'd do."

"I won't leave you," Castiel vows, not for the first time; his eyes scan Dean's face, memories in his eyes, "I do not stay with you because I expect you to change, Dean. I stay with you because of precisely who you are - not for what you might be. I'm sorry if that unsettles you."

Pushing his chest, Dean shoves him and follows after, putting them much too close.

"Tell me to go fuck myself! I hurt you, Cas! I hurt you, and that's - it's fucked up! It's fucked up that I did that!"

"I agree," Castiel tells him, serene as anything, "I forgive you."

"I'm not -"

A broad, calloused hand wraps around Dean's wrist; he glances down at where Cas' thumb pushes at the smooth skin of his forearm, then glares into Cas' eyes.

Cas' other hand reaches up, nicotine-stained fingertips coming to brush delicately at Dean's face; he swats at the hand, postures like he's going to strike again, but Cas doesn't flinch.

After a brief struggle, Cas just takes that hand in his too.

"Stop it," Dean commands, a quiver in his voice as Cas steps closer.

He gets up so close, their noses nearly touch, and Dean flinches in Cas' hold, but Cas still has that preternatural strength of something not-quite-all-human, and has Dean well in hand.

"Is it so terrible? To be loved so tirelessly?"

Heart skipping a beat, Dean's eyes flash across Cas', flickering back and forth; his auditory processing isn't always great, it sometimes lags, and he thinks that if he gives them a few moments of silence, his brain will catch up to what was just said in a way that makes more sense, but then that doesn't happen.

"Don't say that."

"So many rules," Cas observes, like he's pondering again why humans prefer personal space.

"Let me go," he says, and doesn't resist.

"Is it so bad?" Castiel asks again, gaze soft and sorry, "I wouldn't know."

That takes the fight out of Dean; 'I wouldn't know what it is to be loved, can you describe it?' - it's a roundhouse kick that lands directly in Dean's solar plexus and promises to bruise for months.

"No," Dean mutters, eyes hot and vision cloudy, "don't - fuck, Cas - don't say that."

"What am I allowed to say?"

When Dean weakly tries to pull away again, Cas' hold gets tighter, he tilts his head, breathes in Dean's breath out, and asks, "what are you so frightened of?"

"Fuck you."

Squinting his eyes, Castiel looks at him, looks through him the way he always has, and Dean's praying to a God he doesn't believe in that Cas can't do that psychic shit anymore now that he's lost his wings - he has to believe he's got some privacy left at the end of the world.

It doesn't matter, though.

Cas knows him, has known him since the start, and just like they're standing back in time, back in the dark of that old barn, Castiel cocks his head and says carefully, "loss. You fear that voicing desire means marking someone for death. That if you allow yourself to feel loved, and to want, that inevitably, this too will be taken from you."

"It's easier not to hope, after a time, isn't it?" Castiel asks him, like he's not just flayed him, "you are a strong man, powerful, and fearsome, but not a harbinger of destruction, Dean. In fact, I think you're a brilliant engineer, better than my Father, even."

Dean's eyes round out, and Cas watches that happen with fascination.

He mutters, as though it's inconsequential, "you build invisible things. Homes, families, love. You don't destroy. You only create in the wake of destruction. Sometimes... I sometimes wonder if I was real at all before I met you."

That snaps the last hold in Dean, and he rips his hands away, grabs at Cas' shoulders, walks him hurriedly backwards, and throws him down into the grass.

Cas blinks up at him, wondering, and then Dean is on his knees, straddling Cas, cupping his face and kissing him like it's an insult, like he hopes there's venom in it that will kill his best friend.

Rough hands pet his flanks, his chest, his neck, and he's groaning or crying - he's one long, exposed nerve, and Cas kisses him like he's got all the time in the world.

"Stop it," Dean huffs out, biting at Cas' bottom lip, "I'm not any'uh that, Cas, I'm not - I hurt you. That's what I do. That's who I am."

"You're wrong, my friend," Castiel assures him, leaning up to kiss him better, to lick into his mouth and moan against him.

"I'm sorry," Dean manages tearfully, hands trembling around Cas' bruised and cut face, "I'm sorry, I -"

"Dean, I forgive you," Castiel answers, kissing him again and again, "I forgive you."

[shallowseeker]

hello! i have a cas question for you today

do you think cas values monster or half human lives? we know he cares about human lives sometimes, and besides jack and jesse turner i cant remember another half breed cas is in contact with in the series (i could be wrong its been a bit).

early seasons i would hesitate to say either way, he did what he had to do for his end goal.

later seasons im drawing blank because fundementally this is still the same character, sure he has more respect for life but does it extend to not fully human ones?

jack has been the exception but it probably helped that he had heavenly parentage (even if it is lucifer)

Oh, no. What a difficult question. I don't know! Or, I don't have words for it, anyway. I guess, let's ramble about it, then? Maybe something will come of it or someone else can chime in...

///

DOES CAS VALUE MONSTER AND HALF-HUMAN LIVES? On the whole, I think no-ish. (But happy to be challenged on this?)

Broadly, I think he values human lives in a very chivalrous way, and I think he values angel lives in a very egalitarian, punching-up sort of way. (He'll do what he can to help them, but they're fair game when it comes to killing.)

I think hybrids live in a liminal space depending on whether he views them as more human-oriented or more predator-oriented. Jesse Turner was an active threat to humans, but Jane the Nephilim was viewed more neutrally, as an expendable innocent.

Even with Jack, Cas emphasizes his human qualities and pushes him to human media and toys and the "softer," human hunting way of warrior life. (Ironically, despite Cas's best intentions, Jack gets wrapped up in angelic civil war at just six months old!)

Cas seems to freak out when Jack edges closer to being purely celestial/soulless. Part of that is because Jack seems to die when unbalanced one way or the other (Byzantium). But part of it is that Cas is uncomfortable with his own brutality as well as the brutality of his angelic brethren, and I suspect that he doesn't want Jack to embody the worst parts of himself.

///

THE LOCUS OF MORALITY IS HUMANITY I hinted at this before, but I actually don't view Cas as much of a morally relative dude. Typically, he doesn't even indulge in moral relativism. He's far too pragmatic most of the time...

(Compare this to Sam, who seems to enjoy the academic exercise of troubling himself over morality. He seesaws into moral relativism on many occasions.)

Cas served Heaven for millennia but allegedly was the spanner who always tended to favor protecting humanity. Ergo, I think his morality is naturally more human-centric. He likes humanity. (He didn't just rebel for Dean. It was about his pre-existing values. He's the human-oriented spanner.)

CAS: Well, perhaps I've been down here with them for too long. There's seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

In terms of the cosmic hierarchy, maybe Jody Mills was right to get prickly about Cas's natural chivalry. Cas actually is, cosmically speaking, a "women and children first," kinda guy.

I love the idea that Jody and Cas would butt heads because she doesn't hesitate to push against his lone-wolf crap.

///

HUMANITY ON A PEDESTAL? Anyway, because of this, we see Cas putting humanity on a pedestal a lil' bit. Like humanity is his "Don Quixote's Columbine," maybe. But there's a glimmer of de-idealization in later seasons, and he seems wholly aware that he's chosen to center his human family due to his own desires.

Even Dean seems aware of a family-first mentality, which is why he threatens Kaia in 13x09 and why Cas brain-melts Donatello in 13x14. They're actually moving in sync, even though they both know it's ethically gray. Dean's discomfort, I think, even for his own actions, comes out by being prickly with Cas re:ethics.

Devil's Bargain 13x13:

CAS: Right now, all that matters is getting Jack and your mother out of that place. 

Cas shows he's aware of and comfy with morally centering his human family in 13x22 Exodus. I don't think he's flying blind, either. I think he's thought about the implications of his allegiance re:ethics. It's as he tells Claire in season 10, "There is no righteous path."

AW-CASTIEL: You align yourself with the h-humans. CAS: I vastly prefer them to angels. AW-CASTIEL: Don’t think that you are better than me. Well, we are the same. CAS: Yes. We are.

And that's a big theme with SPN as a series--the horror of recognizing yourself in the Other, whether that's the Enemy or your Adversary or even your Food Source. But with regards to Cas, you sort of hope he sees you as family...and not the pig to be comforted and slaughtered (season 7).

Likewise, Jack as an entity is uncomfortable. As he grows into his powers, he moves further from his human family, at least in terms of the cosmic hierarchy. It's what AU Michael was crooning about in 14x09 The Spear.

AU MICHAEL: Your loyalty to Castiel, the Winchesters, the rest of humanity? It will fade. And so will the minor differences -- angel armies versus monster armies, this Kansas City or that Kansas City, one world from another -- they'll fade, too.

In 14x15 Peace of Mind, Jack insists the snake isn't hungry, but really it's because it's probably just uncomfortable to watch snakes eat mice.

That's why he's trying to feed two cute lil white mice to Felix the snake... (Motif-> "Sam and Dean being fed to a celestial.") It's why, "I don't think you have a good handle on what snakes eat." It's why Dean is playing Mouse Trap in Game Night 14x17.

It's why the weapon Chuck shoves at Dean is named the Equalizer. Dean and Jack naturally exist on different power scales, and it's uncomfortable and tragic and cruel!

///

CAS + DE-IDEALIZATION I think there's this fanon tendency to view Cas as some kind of delicate flower who's been lured into siding with humanity. But along with the stuff above, I just don't see it that way. Cas is pretty pragmatic about his motivations.

He's trying to live with the family he wants, to the point of creating sufficient cause to do so (raising Jack), and he's trying to keep Heaven on tap as a power source to bully his way into whenever he needs it.

This is how Kelvin pitches getting back into Heaven's graces in season 12, actually! He tells Cas to imagine "coming and going as he pleases," and having "all the might of Heaven waiting in the wings."

(I think too of that poor drunken angel he throws around in 14x19, lol).

Here are some de-idealization conversations I like that involve Cas:

14x14 Ouroboros:

CAS: Maybe we're wrong and -- and this isn't a monster at all. Maybe this is just a deranged person who's been getting lucky. JACK: Anyone who could do this is a monster. I mean, even if they're human. DEAN: Kid's not wrong. 

15x15 Gimme Shelter:

JACK: Sam was right. It's not a monster. (Jack puts the shovel into the back of the truck.) CASTIEL: Well, he has half right. Sometimes humans can be the worst kind of monsters. JACK: Yeah, but it's kind of not our thing. Guess we should just go back to the bunker and do nothing while we wait for Sam and Dean. (He telegraphs disappointment, hoping Cas will feel sorry for him.) CASTIEL: No. No, we're gonna stay. We can help. (Jack smiles.)

And 15x18 Despair, where he finally turns away from the idea of Jack's Big Destiny:

CASTIEL: We don't care about you because you're useful or because you fit into some grand design. We care about you because you're you.

It's nice. Cas isn't a simple dude.

///

WHY IS JACK AN EXCEPTION? But yes, you're right that Jack is an exception for Cas. I think we can all see that. But is that due to Jack's hybrid status?

Kinda, I think? Maybe a little bit, but...how do I put this? I don't think propping up Jack is a moral stance. It feels more like a personal one.

Jack represents an angelic force with all the bells and whistles of the "gentler" humanity. It represents Cas's romanticized self. Cas wants to be human but isn't. Jack can be like Cas but be allowed to dwell within the human world and experience his own emotions without being stymied by and giving into "angelic brutality."

So, Jack.

Jack represents an idealized future for Cas, too. Jack is a sufficiently Holy, Earth-bound cause, giving Cas a solid excuse to stay bedded down with his chosen human family.

When Cas talks about Jack, he talks a lot about his promise to Kelly. There's guilt there, for sure. It was his springing of Lucifer from jail that resulted in Kelly being preyed upon.

I honestly think Jack is really, really complicated and multi-faceted for Cas. If you scroll down to this bottom part of my original SPN parenting meta, "Cas loves Jack, but Jack is a good excuse," I talk more about why I feel that way. (WARNING: It's long. You have to scroll a looot.) /// When he's not being lobotomized by Heaven, Cas tends to put his loyalties where his "seflish" love is, even if that results in the killing of innocents like Jane the Nephilim and Rowena's Oskar.

CASTIEL: But she didn't choose to be a Nephilim, so she's innocent. METATRON: Yes, she is. I told you it wasn't gonna be easy. But if you want to do this, Castiel, if you really want to do this, you got to ask yourself what's more important – her life or your family?

[lostgirl677]

Baking? Piece of pie...or not

One-shot

Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

TWF x Fem!Reader

A/N: I bake a lot lately and it gave me this idea. It's a bit silly but I truly enjoyed writing it.

This morning, I decided to wake up earlier to prepare a pie for the brothers. Well, it was much more for Dean but still. There wasn’t any special occasion. I just wanted to do something nice for them. We all had a rough week with the last hunt. I knew that I had a chance to cheer them up with a nice dessert. Nothing fancy, just a simple apple pie. But I knew that the gesture would mean a lot to them.

I got out of my room as quietly as I could so as to not wake anyone. As I tiptoed to the kitchen, I tried to remember, without looking at the paper, all the steps of the recipe my mother used when I was younger. Once in the kitchen, I directly went to check that I had all the ingredients needed for the pie. Everything was here, ready to work the miracle of the glorious pie. As I placed everything on the table, I managed to make one of the mixing bowls fall loudly on the floor.“ Son of a bitch” I swore under my breath at my own clumsiness. I truly spend too much time with Dean, for sure. I just hoped that my clumsiness wouldn’t get in the way the whole time.

Once I was done with the crust preparation, I checked the clock. It was almost 7 AM. Given the time, I knew that I had at least another thirty minutes to myself before one of the brothers got up. It was now time to slice the apples. Cutting them was always one of the worst parts for me because I always managed to hurt myself. I know, it’s weird for an experienced hunter. The amount of apple pieces was so big that I couldn’t even imagine how it was supposed to fit in the pie plate. But at least it would be a very generous pie. To Dean’s joy, I guess.

I suddenly realized that I forgot one of the steps my mother used to do. I wanted to check the piece of paper but finally remembered that I left it on my nightstand. I now had to go back to my room. I sighed loudly, looked at the mess I caused with the flour, apple peels, sugar everywhere, knowing that I’ll have to clean while the pie cooked. I checked the clock one more time. It was almost 8 AM. I wanted to be done by 9 AM but if I kept messing things up, it would take longer than that. Maybe until lunch at this rate.

As I remembered, the recipe was on my nightstand. Exactly where I could see it when I woke up. What an idjit! I hurried back to the kitchen but what I saw almost made me scream. Almost all the apple pieces were gone. What the hell?! But maybe I wasn’t alone in the kitchen. Maybe a certain blond hunter decided to pay a visit while I wasn’t there?  tried to look in all the most obvious places: under the table, behind the door… He was nowhere to be seen. Then, I decided to catch him red handed by pretending to go out of the kitchen. 

As I hid in the corridor, I heard a bit of commotion and snapped my head by the door. There he was, with his mouth full. I finally caught the food thief. He was there, smiling like an idiot. “Dean! Stop stealing the pie ingredients!” His smile grew even bigger. “Hey! It’s not my fault. It was here unattended.” He chuckled and I couldn’t help but melt at this. “You’re worse than a raccoon. I knew it was you when I saw that half of the apple pieces were gone.” “Hey! How come you knew it was me and not Sam?”  He said while faking hurt. I just looked at him with one eyebrow raised. He sighed “Alright. But you weren’t even able to spot me.” He said smugly. “Okay. I must admit that you did great at hiding. Where were you by the way?” He tried the Blue Steel look on me while saying “Well, I’m Batman, sweetheart.” I rolled my eyes. “And I won’t tell you about my hiding place. How will I steal food next time?”.While saying this, he stole another handful of apple pieces. “Dean!” As if he defied me, he looked at me in the eyes and threw the stolen apples in his mouth. He will be the death of me. “You’re lucky  I love you.” “I know.” He said, imitating Han Solo’s voice and snaking his hand toward the apples.I smacked his hand. ”Don’t push your luck, Winchester.”

I then had to cut more apples. While Dean was sitting on the table, telling me stupid jokes. He was at a good distance from the apples but I knew that one second of inattention and he would dive in the bowl of apples. Then went the moment where I had to take one more apple from the counter behind me. As I walked away from the table, I could see him watching my every move. “Dean, if you just do so much as moving a finger, I promise to make your life a real nightmare.” I just heard him chuckling.

As I cut the apple, the knife slipped and cut my finger. “Goddamn it!” I screamed. Dean jumped off of the table and came by my side. “You okay?” I showed him my finger and said “Yeah, it’s just a cut. I’ll grab a paper towel and it will be okay.” He got it for me, wrapped my finger in it and said”I don’t understand how you can handle the worst monster all by yourself and still cut your finger while slicing an apple.” I slipped my hand out of his and said. “Oh shut your cakehole. It’s not my fault that I am better with a machete than a simple kitchen knife. Plus it wouldn’t have happened if someone didn’ t eat the vast majority of the apples I had already prepared.” I was about to throw flour on him but he dodged and Sam who just arrived behind him received it right in the face. His deadpan expression was priceless. He had flour all over him. Dean burst into laughter and Sam grabbed a handful of flour and threw it at him. 

Cas appeared at the moment flour touched Dean’s face. “Hello.” He said in a deep voice. He looked at us with a confused face and asked “Is throwing cooking powder a normal step in the human cooking process?” We all looked at each other and laughed. It made us laugh even more when Cas took flour in his hand and spread it on his face. The serious expression he had during the whole process was gold. He approached me and said “May I?” I just nodded. He thoroughly spread flour on my face. “Now we can cook.” He said once he was done.

In the end they all helped me. It was almost time to put the pie in the oven but I had to do one last thing. “Time for my secret ingredient.” I announced. “What is it?” Asked Sam, visibly curious. I tried to hide the label that spelled cinnamon while pouring it on my preparation. “Is it some aphrodisiac? You know that we don’t need that.” said Dean suggestively while trying to steal it from me. “Stop being a dork and let me do my thing.” Once the pie was in the oven, we began to clean everything.

As I took the pie out, I saw that Dean was about to jump on it. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” “Come on, I’m a tough hunter who's been in Hell. I don’t fear getting… Argh!” he screamed as he burned his hand on the plate. “I told you, tough hunter. Now put your hand under the faucet.” I said with a small smile. He swallowed his pride and did as I told him.

The pie was finally ready for lunch. They were all waiting for me at the table when I brought the pie we all made. They all looked amazed at the dessert we made together. I saw how eager they all looked at the sight of the pie. So I served everyone and we began to eat it. The expression on their faces made me understand that it was good. “God, Y/N. What kind of sorcery is this?” asked Dean, with his mouth full of pie. Castiel spoke before I could. “It has nothing to do with the practice of witchcraft, Dean.” We all laughed.“Are you sure? Maybe Y/N is a witch?” He seemed to think and said “It is a possibility, indeed. When was your last ritual, Y/N?” I then replied playfully. “When you all arrived. The magic happened at that moment.” Dean threw me a loving look. Then Sam decided to ask “What is that secret ingredient of yours?” “Well, Sam, I can’t tell.It wouldn't be a secret anymore if I told you”. I said while trying to have a mysterious expression on my face. Cas swallowed another bite of pie and decided to intervene ”I don't understand how the secret ingredient is supposed to be a secret if you can feel all the molecules contained in cinnamon.” He said that very calmly. “Cas! You just exposed my most well guarded secret.” I said in fake indignation. “I’m sorry, Y/N” He seemed a bit confused when I finally laughed and patted his shoulder.

“Next time you’re baking, I’ll make sure to come here to participate. It was very entertaining” said Cas. “Aw! I’ll make you an angel cake next time.” I said while hugging him. He seemed a bit confused. “Is it a cake made for an angel to eat or a reference to celestial food? Because angels do not need to feed.” “ It will be a cake for an angel in a trenchcoat .” Dean approached to kiss me on the lips and said “Thank you for the pie. It was amazing. If I were alone, I would've eaten it entirely. And Sammy always gets upset when I steal his food.” “But you always steal my food!” replied Sam.

If I ended up in Heaven, I knew that this day would be the one I’d relive for eternity.

@hobby27 @muhahaha303

[wearywinchester]

Healing Hands

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: After returning from a hunt, you’re there to patch Dean up.

Requested by Anonymous: ““Let me bandage you up.” and “Let me see your scars…” are sooooo Dean omg”

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: injury, mentions of blood, mentions of alcohol, scars, fluff, kissing

The very moment your hand fell to the mattress, the spot empty and cold just to your left, a heavy sigh huffed past your lips. The old bedroom was dimly lit as the occasional glow of moonlight streamed through the sheer curtains, quickly covered by more rain clouds as the night ticked by, the room quiet save for the wind swaying the trees outside. On the nightstand to your right, the alarm clock read 12:07 in blaring red numbers, blurred from the drowsiness that hadn’t quite left yet.

He still hadn’t come to bed.

With a yawn, you push back the tattered flannel blanket sprawled over you, bare feet pressing to the cool hardwood floors of the small bedroom as you make your way to the door. You knew exactly where he’d be as you wandered through the hall and down the stairs, Bobby’s snoring still just as loud as it’s ever been. The carpet lining the staircase was worn away from years of the same foot traffic in the same spots, fraying at the edges and threadbare in some places. You wince at the creaky squeals they made even with the slightest pressure upon them, sneaking a glance at Sam still nestled comfortably on the couch. As comfortably as he could be with the way his feet hung ever so obviously over the arm of it and his fingertips nearly brushing against the floor.

One simple move and surely he’d fall off.

You stepped lightly through the room and around the heaps of lore books piled on the floor around the old coffee table, one laying face down and open atop Sam’s chest as he slept peacefully. You knew he’d been looking for a new case even though you just got back from a hunt mere hours earlier, but that’s just how Sam was.

The softest glow of light filtering out from the kitchen leads you in the right direction, the very same direction you’d been heading in anyway. When you rounded the corner your lips pursed immediately at the sight, one you knew you’d be seeing and you were right, leaning your shoulder against the doorframe as your arms crossed over your chest. You eyed the empty beer bottle on the counter, two bent bottle caps to accompany it and you heaved the softest of sighs.

Standing just paces away from you was your beau, the man you’d been in search of for no longer than a couple minutes as he stood with his back to you at the small kitchen sink. If you had to guess, he’d been gazing at the tree line on the very edge of Bobby’s property, his mind probably going a mile a minute otherwise he’d have been in bed already.

In a matter of moments he’d turned his head, the silhouette of his nose and angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips and the raise of his brow coming into view.

“I thought I told you not to wait up for me, sweetheart,” he said softly, voice gruff and mildly frustrated all the same.

You roll your eyes, head tilting to the side. “And I thought you knew better than to believe I’d ever listen.”

He chuckles then, half humorously and half not as he turns to face you and lean back against the counter. That was the problem, you hadn’t listened almost the entirety of that day and it brought you closer to danger than he ever would have liked you to be. Your independence was something he would always love about you, but sometimes he wishes you weren’t so fearless for just once.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he looks at you, lips pursing to match your own. That’s when you saw it. You saw the smudges of crimson still remaining on his cheek and that alone was telling that he had yet to touch the graze on the top of his shoulder. You should have known better than to take his word for it when he said he’d do it.

His brow quirks up all the more when you walk the few paces towards the cabinet with a less than pleased expression.

“What are you doing?” He asked, watching as you pulled out the first aid kit, taking a sip from his beer.

“Let me bandage you up.”

“‘M fine, Y/n.”

The look you give him is one that has a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, one that deepened the displeasure you held because you were absolutely not amused. Not even a little bit. But he takes a seat at the kitchen table with a huff anyway, his gaze on you as you set everything down on the worn surface.

“I thought you said you were gonna do this, Dean,” you sigh, exasperated, digging through the kit in search of a few cotton pads and a bandage for his shoulder, snagging a few strips for his face.

“I told you, I’m fine,” he argues quietly, swirling the beer around in its bottle before flashing you a smile.

“Yeah, that’s the last time I’ll take your word for it.”

It’s quiet for a few moments and you can feel his stare, stealing a glance to meet his gaze before you look back at the task at hand, grabbing what you need and pushing the kit off to the side and out of your way. It was obvious you weren’t all too happy with him, he could tell by the soft frown tugging downwards on your lips and the furrow of your brows, by the way you tense your jaw no matter how subtle it was.

“Y/n—”

“I’m serious, Dean. You always say you’re fine and you’re not. You still have blood on your face,” you say, refraining from raising your voice as the frustration simmered in your stomach.

He sighed, his own jaw clenching as he looked away for a moment. Taking care of himself as never the first of his priorities, especially after hunts. His priorities were always you, whether it was when you were his stubborn best friend who made it a point to prove to him you’ve got this whole hunting thing down, that you could handle things yourself, or if it’s now and you’re the love of his life who shaved years off of it each and every time you do your own thing the second he puts the car in park on a hunt. It’s you and it’ll always be you.

He brought his hand up, smoothing the crease between your brows with the pad of his thumb as his chin rests atop the glass bottle he held to the table. His hand drops a fraction to settle on your cheek, calloused and warm. He always knew just what to do to get your anger to melt, to get you to not be quite so mad at him and you hated to say it was working. It was working and he knew it. He knew it when you grabbed his wrist and tugged his hand away, shoving it lightly as the corner of your mouth quirks upwards just enough to have you rolling your eyes to hide it.

You always did that and he’s come to know exactly what it meant.

“That’s not gonna work on me forever, De,” you say, trying to sound matter of fact with your words.

He laughs softly, grinning up at you. “Yeah it will.”

You exhale a huff, giving up your efforts on stifling the softness of your smile because you knew he was right. You couldn’t when he looked at you the way he did with a certain fondness reserved just for you. With a shake of your head you gather your thoughts once more from before he’d gone and distracted you, ripping open an alcohol pad before unraveling it. He winced at the sting it caused when you swiped it over his skin, grazing over the scratch across his cheek that he’d neglected since you got back to Bobby’s for the night.

“Easy there, would you, sweetheart?” He grumbles, lips pursed and brows furrowed.

“Oh, shut up,” you murmur, smile widening when he nudged you with his knee in disapproval.

It was then that you dipped down, lips pressing gently to his own to soften the grumpy attitude that surely was brewing the more you tended to his wounds. In fact, you knew it was with the way he bounced his knee under the table. You felt his smile press into your kiss, his lips lingering over your own to steal another before you went and pulled away from him. You knew how to ease his anger just as much as he knew how to ease yours, his grin still apparent when you pull back enough to see it.

“Don’t start thinkin’ that’s gonna work on me forever,” he says, copying your earlier words.

You raise a brow in amusement, leaning down to hover mere centimeters over his lips. You felt his breath fan over your skin and his nose brush against your own as he leaned all the more closer.

“I’ll try and remember that.”

You pull yourself away once more and the look on his face has you smiling, a laugh leaving your lips when he frowns, lips pursing till those dimples you love oh so much appear at the corners of his mouth. You reach behind you and grab the bandages you snagged from the kit, the cut on his cheek superficial enough to only require a couple of closure strips to heal as it needs to.

Next, you peel back the sleeve of his shirt, the soft gray material having been stained crimson on his shoulder, more than it probably would have been had he tended to it like he said he would. But you were too tired to argue over something so trivial, not after the day you’d had. What you weren’t too tired to do was flash him another displeased look at the sight of the scrape running red and irritated along his skin, some parts deeper than others. It wasn’t something that could just be let go, not with the way Dean gets bumps and bruises every other day.

He groaned when you grabbed the peroxide, something he hated each and every time you used it. He’s suffered some of the worst injuries, but he’s convinced it’s something as simple as an antiseptic that’ll kill him.

“Sweetheart,” he grumbles into his beer bottle, one you’re quick to swipe from him mid gulp and put it out of reach.

“It’s midnight, De,” you sigh.

He sits back in his chair with slumped shoulders, letting his eyes fall closed and allowing you to clean him up. You pressed a fresh hand towel you snagged from a cupboard and held it below the wound, careful as you poured some of the clear liquid over it. He tensed immediately, brows furrowing as he reached for his drink once more. He gives up when he can’t reach it, sitting back in his seat with that ever familiar frown again.

You cap the bottle and set it aside, gentle as you blot at his shoulder. His gaze bounces around from the window by the table to the clock hung a tad bit crookedly on the wall, it’s pendulum swinging lightly as the ticking filled the near quiet of the room. Then his gaze drops to the table, his fingers tapping against the scratched wood as he puckers his lips in thought. Something was going through that head of his and you knew it, knew by the way he bit the inside of his cheek. You knew it for a fact when you saw the smile appear on his lips the more he thought about it, even more so when the softest of laughs puffs out through his nose.

“Remember the first time you ever patched me up?” He asks, eyes lifting to meet yours.

Your own smile was instant, the thought quick to come to mind. You set down the towel in favor of grabbing the gauze and the half-used roll of bandage, turning back to him. “We were nineteen, and you just came back from a nasty hunt after playing tough guy with a wendigo.”

“I had it handled,” he defended, voice faltering as he recalled just what happened with a grin.

“You said that then too,” you counter, eyes rolling as you chuckle to yourself. You rest the gauze over the top of his shoulder before unraveling the roll of bandage. “You were sitting almost in this exact spot too.”

“Once a tough guy always a tough guy, huh sweetheart?”

If you roll your eyes another time they just might stay there, your head shaking and your smile widening. “You’re a dork, you know that?”

He’s beaming by this point. “I can’t be the handsome hero all the time.”

Your smile goes from teasing to soft, dipping down to press a kiss to his forehead, one that he very much got the utmost joy out of as he looked at you. “And remember what you said to me that night?”

“‘Let me see your scars’,” you said at the same time.

“But, out of all your hunting scars, you know which one is my favorite?” You hum, tucking in the end of the bandage once you finished wrapping it, tugging down his sleeve. “That one right above your knee when Sam accidentally knocked you off your bike when we were kids. Your dad didn’t let you see us for a week after that.”

“Because you were a troublemaker,” you jest.

“Was not.”

“Were too,” you argue, tone softening. “Still are. Ten years later you still are.”

Your words were backed when your eyes fell to his hand, catching a glimpse of the repercussions of getting worked up when a demon tries to get in even a word about you. Not to mention words that got Dean more than a little angry. He still didn’t master the ability to tune them out when they say things to work him up, that’s what they do. They can say all they want about him, but not you.

You brushed your thumb over his knuckles, sighing quietly as you looked at just how red and angry they looked, near purple and you knew his hand had to be sore. It was clear to see he’d at least cleaned them up but you knew it couldn’t have been anything more than the dish soap Bobby had under the kitchen sink. He was never really one to look after himself, especially after hunts. Unless he’d been seriously injured, he couldn’t care less about other things because he was too busy fussing over you. Even if you’d gotten something as simple as a scratch, he’d worry and he’d frown, he’d overdo it with the bandages and he’d grumble about it.

He watched as you ran your fingers over each knuckle, a delicate sweep along his skin and he knew it was because you were afraid of hurting him any more than that demon did. He heard your sigh and he saw the softest of frowns on your lips. Without a word he pulled you closer, sitting down on his lap.

“I would say I can’t believe you didn’t patch yourself up, but I can,” you say, watching the way his lips quirk into a smile.

“Maybe I just like when you do it,” he shrugs, his smile widening as he bumps your nose with his.

“You’re a dork,” you murmur with a sigh.

“I’ll take it,” he says softly, still smiling as his breath fans over your lips after he laughs quietly. “Now will you kiss me already? I’m dyin’ over here.”

Your smile is immediate as your lips brush over his, pressing fully as your grins mingle in the more than close proximity you had. His lips were warm and soft, his kiss tasting of beer and a bit of that apple pie he indulged in at the diner and maybe a hint of a burger. When you pulled away you weren’t quite ready, he wasn’t quite ready, kissing him once, twice, three more times with a promise that that probably wasn’t the last of the sweeter than sweet kisses to be shared that night. There were bound to be at least a few more before he finally crashes after the day you’ve all had.

“Thanks for patchin’ me up,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

You hum softly in response, smiling like a fool just as much as he was. You’d always take care of him and he’d always take care of you. Even if you’ve both got the attitudes to rival each other, there isn’t a single hunt that will go by where you wouldn’t look after one another.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey

[blackholelynn]

Your Protection - Part Six

<- Read Part Five

Summary: You work as a cashier in a small convenience store, and your days are completely, painfully normal. After a particularly bad run-in with a rude customer, your life gets flipped upside down, and the only one who you can count on ends up being a complete stranger – Dean Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of drowning, loss/grief, rude/abusive customer interaction, swearing – these warnings are for this series of parts as a whole, so while some of these warnings may not apply on this part, they will apply for future parts

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Another chapter done! This is six out of the seven that I have written, so we're nearing the end. But!! Because of the reception of this series, I'll be writing a sequel/continuation of this! After I post the next part next week, this will be going on hiatus until I finish the next series of parts, but I will be working my butt off to get the continuation out as fast as possible 😉

Series Tag List: @leigh70

Supernatural Tag List: @hobby27

Also cross-posted to my AO3 account, you can read it here!

~~~

“Shut up and just let me finish,” Laurie whined. She had your hand pinned to the coffee table in your living room, assaulting your nails with a nail polish brush. The bright teal color popped against the color of the table.

You finally stopped struggling against her grip and laughed, “Fine, fine. I would like it on record that I didn’t want my nails painted.”

“Noted, Debbie Downer.”

You rolled your eyes and leaned back into the couch cushions. This was definitely a moment of respite that you needed, and you hadn’t even realized it. The tension that had been mounting in your shoulders melted away. Your thoughts drifted through the inky blackness of your eyelids, never dwelling on one moment for too long.

When you felt a drop of liquid on your hand, you huffed, “I thought you were painting my nails, not my hand.”

But then you opened your eyes.

Laurie still sat across from you, but her skin was a grey pallor that spread to her eyes. All the color seemed to have been drained from her while water streamed from her open mouth. Her face was stuck in a silent scream, and her blank eyes were filled with tears.

She gargled out your name through all the water rushing from her mouth, and a scream ripped out from your throat. You scrambled back further on the couch, wrenching your hand from her grip. The smell of damp moss overwhelmed your senses, and you couldn't manage to stop screaming. You squeezed your eyes shut and cowered against the back of the couch. You hoped that whatever would happen would be quick and painless.

“Hey! Hey!” Your shoulders were shaken, and you woke up on the springy couch with a gasp. Dean’s green eyes were swimming with concern as he held you by your shoulders. “Sweetheart, are you alright?”

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in your surroundings. Sam was nowhere in the room, and one of the double beds was already made. Finally, you looked back at Dean, and you remembered your dream once again.

In your terror and haze, you hurriedly threw your arms around his shoulders, clinging onto him desperately. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Bad dream?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. He tucked you into his chest, allowing you to listen to his steady heartbeat, and slowly you felt yourself start to calm down. The adrenaline clamoring through your veins was beginning to dissipate, being replaced by a hazy fog.

“The worst, honestly.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head, resting your forehead against his shoulder. “No. I just want to stay like this for a little bit.”

“I can do that,” Dean answered. So you sat together on the couch, settled against Dean’s side, and took comfort by just being near him. When your breathing settled, he looked down at you. “I know how it feels. The nightmares, I mean.”

“They never get better?” You waited for a response, but his silence caused a spike of dread to wedge its way into you. You let out a resigned sigh. “I suppose it’s a hazard of the job.”

Dean nodded, “There’s a lot of those with this job.”

You knew that you should be rethinking your position on the hunt – that you should’ve been considering other options. However, all you could think of what Laurie’s face in your dreams, and it only strengthened your resolve. Maybe if you killed the nixie, you would kill the nightmares along with it. Or they would at least fade. You would take anything at that point.

Your stomach rumbled, and you untangled yourself from Dean, standing and going to the refrigerator. “Breakfast definitely sounds good.” However, you frowned at the barren fridge filled with only beer and a ketchup bottle. “Okay, maybe not. Taking a shot of ketchup isn’t breakfast.”

“Sammy’s out getting us breakfast, and when he gets back, we’re going to set up a plan.”

A plan for me to be bait . Despite advocating for the plan, there was no stopping the fear it caused in you. You desperately wished you could flip a switch and turn your self-preservation off, but that would be the one thing that would keep you from doing anything stupid. 

The motel room door opened, and Sam walked through with two large takeout bags in his hands, kicking the door closed with his foot. “Breakfast.”

“Yes!” You cheered, eagerly taking the bags from his hands and setting them on the table. You carefully laid out the styrofoam boxes on the table, and the smell of food overwhelmed you. “God, this smells heavenly.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up for a moment, and when you looked back over at him, you could feel your face burn up with embarrassment. “Damn…I didn’t know anyone could get so excited about food.”

“I didn’t eat anything aside from that milkshake last night, so call me a bit peckish,” you weakly supplied. You took one of the containers and opened it to find pancakes, and you couldn’t help the slight squeal that escaped from your lips. You grabbed a plastic fork and quickly took a bite, sitting back down on the couch. “So, plan time. What are we thinking?”

“Well,” Sam started, taking his own food and sitting down at the table. “It would help to know who the nixie might be taking shape as. Any ideas?”

Your brows furrowed as you thought about it. You weren’t there for the second murder, so you’d have to draw all your information from the first. Then it clicked, how Adam was there before the murder but nowhere to be found after. Your stomach flipped, and suddenly the pancakes in front of you didn’t seem appetizing anymore. You set down the container on the coffee table and covered your mouth.

Dean’s hands stopped midway into shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. “What’s wrong?”

“Adam DiMarco.” You stood up from the couch and began pacing the room, the rage inside of you building and building until you felt like it was boiling over. “That son of a bitch.”

“Mind elaborating?”

“He was the last person with Laurie. He works at the store.”

Sam had the same dawning realization wash over his face. “The same store that both victims worked at. That’s as good a place to start as any.”

“Laurie is not a victim,” you insisted, donning your coat from where it hung by the door. “My shift today is in a couple hours, and he’s scheduled to work today. You stay close, and I’ll take care of the rest.” You were out the door before either of the Winchesters could stop you.

Dean and Sam were left at the table, and Sam turned to Dean as soon as you were gone. “Man, she’s over her head. You’re really okay with this?”

“No. Not in the slightest.” Dean set down his utensils and wiped his mouth with a napkin before crumpling it and throwing it onto the table in exasperation. “But she’s not backing down, and I’ll be damned if we let her do this alone.”

“Huh.”

“What? What’s ‘huh’ about that?” Dean quirked a brow at his brother, who wore a smug smirk.

Sam leaned back in the dining chair and crossed his arms, a knowing look in his eyes. “Nothing.”

“Nothing, my ass. What the hell are you so smug about?”

“Dude, you’re head over heels. I’ve never seen you like this since–”

“We should go,” Dean interrupted, and without hesitation, he followed you out of the door and to the car.

~~~

The store was quiet and had been for the last few hours. You kept yourself busy by hiding your phone behind the register and scrolling through your social media accounts, but you’d been doing that for so long that your feed was starting to repeat.

You eagerly picked up when your phone rang, and Dean grumbled on the other end. “Thought you said Adam was working today?”

“He is.” You checked the call-in sheet for the fifth time that day. “He didn’t call in, so he should be here. He’s probably just late like usual.”

“Great.”

“Aw, getting sleepy? Past your bedtime?” You teased, a mischievous grin on your face as you wiped down the counter again.

“Just don’t forget the signal,” Dean reminded you.

“I won’t.”

You hung up the phone, tucking it safely away into your pocket. You might as well start doing Adam’s job for him and do some stocking since there were no customers. When you opened the backroom, it was overflowing with stock, something that unsettled you. It wasn’t unheard of that a stocker might not be in for a night, causing the room to be fuller the next night, but this had to have been two nights' worth of stock.

You picked up your phone and dialed your manager, and when the phone picked up, you were quick and to the point. “Hey, I just wanted to let you know Adam hasn’t shown for his shift so far. Is he still coming in?”

“Damn it,” your manager sighed. “I was giving him leniency because of everything that happened, but he’s had two no-call no-shows. Look, I’ll take care of all the overflow stock tomorrow, so you don’t have to worry about it. Thanks for letting me know.”

Your manager hung up the phone before you could ask anything else, and you groaned in frustration. Despite how flaky Adam always was, something in your gut told you something was wrong – very wrong. You were about to type in Dean’s number when a ring resounded through the storefront, letting you know a customer had entered. You hurried from the backroom back to the front with the register.

Your fake smile fell when you laid eyes on who had entered the door. “What are you doing back here?”

“Is that any way to treat a loyal customer?” The man who had entered your store before you met Dean stood in the doorway, a cocky smile on his face. “I hope your service is better this time around.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response and instead pretended that you needed to rearrange the candy selection beside the counter. Your skin crawling was difficult for you to ignore as you tried to continue your work, and it was taking everything in you not to call Dean and tell him. The only thing that stopped you was the hope that maybe Adam – and therefore the nixie – may still show up, and if that were the case, Dean would blow your cover.

“So, didn’t see you in yesterday,” the man pointed out, pretending to look at the shelf with ding dongs and twinkies. You still didn’t answer until the lilting melody of a violin quietly faded into your hearing. You froze. “I got worried. Thought something might have happened.”

There’s no way this is happening. It’s Adam. It had to be Adam. Oh god. I have to call Dean.

Just as your fingers brushed your phone, the man tsked, “No heroes this time.”

Suddenly your chest felt heavy, and the taste of moss and putrid water filled your mouth. You tried to take a breath, but when you opened your mouth, warm liquid spilled onto your clothes. Gasping for air, you clutched at your chest, but you couldn’t take a breath. Your hands clutched at your throat, which was overflowing with water.

“Your pathetic little store has only served to create litter. Where do you think that litter goes, hm?” His hand wrapped around your throat and lifted you off the ground. You tried to claw at his hand, but the water created a surface that was far too slippery for you to get a grip. “To the river. I have been dealing with the squalor long enough, and I’m tired of choking on plastic. You and everyone here are going to pay . One by one.”

His brows protruded and angled more right in front of your eyes, and his skin slowly took on a greenish-blue tint. The hands around your throat became slimy and webbed. Your mind reeled desperately to try and think of a way to contact Dean and Sam. Then your eyes caught sight of the red button underneath the counter that was used in the event of a robbery.

With one kick, you pressed the button, causing the nixie to drop you in a second to spin around and stare at the counter. “What did you just do?”

You could feel the water fill your lungs, gargling when you tried to take a breath in and spurting from your mouth and nose when you breathed out. You could only hope that the boys were listening to the police radio like they tended to do, that they would hear the call about a robbery inside the store. Your mind was beginning to grow fuzzy, and your vision darkened.

The last thing you heard before you blacked out was the door slamming open, and you could hear the nixie be tackled to the ground. Dean was by your side in a second while Sam took care of the monster.

“Sweetheart, come on. You just gotta look at me.” He picked your limp body off the floor and held you to his chest, shaking your shoulders. “Wake up. Come on, wake up!” But your eyes wouldn’t open, and he looked up at his brother in desperation, the nixie dead on the floor. “Sammy!”

Sam wasted no time coming to your aid, checking for a pulse. “She’s got a pulse. Start giving her rescue breaths.”

Dean nodded and went to work, making sure your airways were clean. He tilted your head back and sealed your mouth with his, breathing and watching as your chest rose and fell with the two rescue breaths. The taste of foul river water filled his mouth as you began to cough up the water, and he laid you on your side to allow you an easier time getting the liquid out of your lungs.

“Perfect, sweetheart. Just keep coughing. Get it all out.” Dean’s calloused hands rubbed up and down your back as you continued to hack and splutter more and more water onto the linoleum floor. Finally, the coughing seemed to subside, but your breaths were still labored. “Think you can walk?”

You shook your head. “No…it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

“Everything,” you whined, flopping back onto your back. You still felt like you had water in your lungs, but no more would come up. As you lay down, you felt your eyes droop again until Dean jostled you. You frowned. “Sleepy.”

“I know, but you’ve gotta stay awake. We’re going to get you to the hospital. Just stay with me, alright?” His arms picked you up and held you close to him, and he carried you towards the door, bridal style. Sam opened the door for him, and the two practically sprinted to the car. Sam wasted no time starting the car as Dean climbed into the back seat with you. When your eyes became heavy, Dean cupped your cheek, forcing you to look at him. “You’ve gotta keep your eyes open. We’re almost there, I promise.”

“Dean,” you cried, tears pricking your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

He gave you a forced smile, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.”

“I got hurt.” You began to sob, but the only sound that came out was a wheeze which forced you into another coughing fit. You noticed Dean urge Sam to go faster, and you gripped onto his shirt, grabbing his attention back to you. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Let’s not talk about it now.”

You wrenched your grip on his shirt to force him closer to you, and the determined gaze in your eyes gave him no choice but to listen. “Don’t blame yourself.”

He struggled to form any words, too terrified of your prognosis and surprised by your willpower. When another fit of coughs wracked your body, he was startled out of his stupor and tried to help you regain your breaths, but you fell into unconsciousness once again.

~~~

A thin blanket was wrapped around you when you woke up, and when you opened your eyes, the bright fluorescents and beeping alerted you to the fact that you were in the hospital. The drowsiness and confusion were still plaguing your mind, causing you to have difficulty fully remembering how you had gotten there. You remembered being at the store, then the nixie, and then…

Dean. Where is he?

You bolted up, wincing when the IV in your arm moved in a way you weren’t expecting. Your eyes darted around your hospital room, but the space was completely empty. The blankets were quickly discarded, and the pulse oximeter on your finger slipped off, causing the monitors to emit a continuous beep. You grabbed the IV stand by your bed and heaved yourself towards the door.

However, you barely got a few steps before you felt too weak to go further, and a nurse from outside noticed you and urged you back into bed. “You shouldn’t be up and moving just yet, and you’re still weak from the drowning.”

“The men who brought me here, where are they?” Your speech was slurred, but you’d be damned if you weren’t going to find out. “I want to see them.”

“You were dropped off by the ER doors,” the nurse explained. Her face showed immense pity, and rather than feeling despondent, her pity only made your blood boil. She noticed your agitation and quickly put the pulse oximeter back on before stepping back. “We weren’t able to see who left you on the cameras. The detective assigned to your case will probably be by to see you soon since you’ve woken up.”

You quirked a brow. “A detective? What for?”

“For your drowning,” she answered, and your confusion only seemed to cause her concern to grow. “Are you feeling any confusion or disorientation? It’s a common side-effect after a drowning.”

“I’m fine. And my drowning wasn’t a crime. I fell into the river, and some friends had to fish me out. They were probably too nervous about coming in because they had been drinking.”

“Oh. You’re sure?”

“Positive. They were probably just worried about a DUI, but an ambulance would have taken longer than just driving me here themselves.”

She nodded, knowing that the river did pass by just a few minutes from the hospital. “I’ll inform the detective then. He may still want to speak with you.”

“That’s fine, but…” You patted your pockets only to realize you were clad in a hospital gown. You looked around at the nightstand at the side of your bed to see it was barren. “Where’s my phone?”

She took note of your vitals before answering your question, suddenly very intent on the business at hand. “It’s with your patient belongings. Top drawer of the nightstand.” The nurse sent one last smile your way with a final keystroke on the computer by your bed. “Well, I’m glad you’re awake. Someone will be back to check on you in an hour, and the doctor should be around to go over your prognosis with you.”

“Thank you,” you weakly answered, and then she was gone. You breathed a sigh of relief and struggled to reach the drawer. However, when you did, you quickly grabbed your phone and opened the contacts, immediately heading to the ‘H’ section.

You called him once. Twice. Three times. The fourth time you got his voicemail, you let your phone fall beside you on the bed, hot and angry tears falling down your cheeks.

Why? Why did we go through all of this for nothing?

~~~

Continue on to Part Seven ->

[estrel]

for #spnprideweek day 1: coming out + flags

↳ summary: cas tells sam a secret that he hasn’t (really) told anybody else. surprisingly, sam has one too.  PRIDE series | gen, sam & cas | word count: 1.7k

[READ ON AO3]

Sam’s grimacing a little at the grease from the fries on Cas’ plate. Cas would usually make a comment, here, about Sam keeping his eyes on his own paper, or that it isn’t nearly as bad as the veggie burger sitting on his plate at Sam’s behest. This is the recompense, Cas wants to say, but his mouth is dry and no words are coming out even if he wants them to.

Accompanying the inability to speak is the twisting feeling in his gut that won’t even allow him to pick up the burger. The smell is too much, too, and Cas hates to admit it but it’s probably the grease, so he sits back a little against the peeling seat of the booth to calm his nerves.

It’s just Sam. He can do this. It’s only that this is the first time he’s telling anyone, and that definitely ups the stakes a little.

Well, that’s somewhat of a lie. Cas had told the nice woman at the grocery store check out last week when he’d seen her little pin on her work uniform and asked where he could get one. 

He hadn’t actually bought one, of course, but Cas eyed the small bin full of brightly colored pins on the way out, convincing himself it was stupid to get back in line again for something so small and inexpensive. Still, he’d thought about it on the drive back to the Bunker, and that night in his bed, and the full week following, up until now. 

Now, Sam was looking at him with concern, and wiping his mouth in that way that means he’s about to get serious.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, pointedly looking down at Cas’ loaded plate. He’d barely taken a bite, except for a few nibbles of his admittedly greasy fries. And it was weird because since becoming human, Cas' appetite had grown considerably, much to Dean's delight.

And—Dean. That's what this was all about, wasn't it? Sure, it was more than just Dean, it was all the humans that had made Cas' body ache like it hadn't before, had made him think of what it means to be in this vessel—his body—and be attracted to other...humans.

It was odd. In hindsight, things in Heaven had been so much easier in this regard. Cas had spent most of his life clueless to the capabilities of human attraction, and then he met Dean and it all came crashing down around him. Only then, Cas was ignoring it. He was facing the other way, because though he felt human, he wasn't. Not really.

But everything is different now.

Cas clears his throat.

"Well," he starts, "no. I am feeling what I believe you’d call...anxiety. My stomach hurts, I find I'm unable to eat, a-and my hands are—"

"Cas," Sam interrupts. Shaking. Cas' hands are shaking.

Sam's fully set his fork and knife down now, hands clasped together on the edge of the table. "Talk to me."

Cas licks his dry lips.

"It’s not...it isn’t a big deal, really,” and yet Cas can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He sucks in a breath. “But I’m, uh. I wanted to tell you that...I like men.”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change, but he blinks at Cas once from across the table.

“Okay.”

Cas raises an eyebrow, pulse slowing down a little with his next exhale. “Okay?”

Maybe it was that simple, and Cas was worrying over nothing. It’s just...this feels like it should be bigger. Earth-shattering. Like Sam should either hug him or tell him he never wants to speak to Cas again.

Instead, he just shrugs, picks up his fork and pushes bits of his salad around his plate.

But then Cas’ gaze moves to Sam’s face and...Sam’s frowning. Cas feels his heart thumping hard again, waiting for the ball to drop. It feels a little like when Dean sat him down to “talk,” right after he lost his powers, and, well. Cas knew how that had ended. He braces himself for the worst, schools his features to something more neutral.

“I’m,” Sam clears his throat, “I’m sorry you got nervous over all of that. I-I get that coming out is...” he laughs, “usually a bigger deal, but. You don’t have to worry with me, you know? I get it.”

That makes Cas pause. “You...do?”

Now Sam’s looking at him, eyes a little wide, but he works his jaw and gets the words out. “Yeah. Uh... well I guess now’s a good a time as any to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

The fork is set back down again. The bell over the diner door jingles. 

“In college...you know about Jess,” Sam says, jogging Cas’ memory. He knows, so he nods and Sam continues, “Well we uh. We actually met in a Gender Studies class. I thought, ‘pff, easy A,’ but it was actually way more complex than I originally thought, so she kind of...tutored me.” Cas raises an eyebrow, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Actually tutored me. Whatever. Point is, I learned a lot—‘cause she was a great teacher—and...not just about the class, but about myself, too.” 

Cas nods slowly, beginning to catch Sam’s drift. “Okay...”

Despite his tone, Sam’s posture stiffens a little, like he’s uncomfortable, or not really used to this type of conversation. Cas does his best to relax into his seat to ease him, unfolding his arms.

“What I’m saying is,” Sam shrugs, “I’m...not...cis. Like, I don’t....I’m not um, a guy, I guess. Well, sort of. I’m non-binary.”

Cas is silent for a second, mulling it over in his head. Eventually it becomes long enough for Sam to say, “Uh...you know what? You can forget it, man—”

“No!” Cas says, almost knocking over his plate in the process. The silverware clatters as it falls onto the table, and Sam flinches a little. “I was just thinking...I want to apologize if anything I’ve said about your gender has ever made you uncomfortable, or if you—”

Sam’s out-facing palm makes Cas stutter to a stop. There’s a weird guilt settling in the pit of his stomach, and the anxiety that he’d thought was gone is back full force again. Cas tears off a piece of his napkin.

“Cas, dude. Calm down,” Sam laughs. He takes a deep breath, and Cas follows his lead. They breathe in and out together for a beat, and when Cas feels fairly calmer, Sam pushes both of their plates aside.

“There’s no need to apologize for something you couldn’t have known about,” he starts, shaking his head a little, “and you haven’t done anything wrong, either. I still use he and him pronouns, and sometimes they and them. And besides, it’s not like I go around telling people. Especially with, uh, the way I was raised...I’ve been hesitant, you know? It was great in college, people were really supportive when I told them. But then when I started hunting again...I don’t know. 

“My dad...uh. I tried telling him, once. Didn’t go too well, so I didn’t try it again. I think that’s why Dean...” he shakes his head, frowning down at the table again. “It wasn’t easy, growing up the way we did. You could probably understand that.”

Cas nods. Under the table, his napkin is shredded into bits. 

“I do. I think, in a way, I also understand being trans.” Sam jerks their head up, intrigued. 

“Angels...we don’t experience gender the same way humans do. In fact, the concept is entirely nonexistent in Heaven. So, when we take vessels...”

“You’re essentially defining yourself,” Sam says in awe. It makes Cas smile to see them back in their element, leaning forward a little to listen better. “I never thought about it that way, not really.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure all of my siblings did, either. Many chose according to which vessel would best suit them and their form. That was definitely a factor in me choosing Jimmy, but I also found the thought of looking like a human man...greatly appealing.”

Sam’s nodding now, gaze darting to different parts of the table. Cas knows that means they’re mentally crafting an essay right about now, or thinking of what books in the Bunker might further help in their research about it.

“Wow,” he says, “that’s—I mean. Wow, Cas. Thanks for telling me that. And uh, the other thing.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

There’s a comfortable silence between them now, and Cas takes it as an opportunity to sip from his slightly-melted iced tea. 

“So,” Sam starts again slowly, “have you told Dean?”

Cas sucks in another deep breath, and Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says, “me neither.”

It surprises Cas a little that Sam hasn’t told him, and he expresses that with an inquiring eyebrow. 

Sam purses his lips and dodges the unspoken question. “Dean’s not a bad guy. You probably know that better than anyone except me. You know he’d still love you if you told him.”

Cas’ heart pounds at the mention of the word. When Sam notices, he feels his ears begin to heat with a blush. 

“Oh,” Sam smiles, “that. I figured. For a while now, but I didn’t wanna say anything.”

Cas tries to will away the heat on his face. He doesn’t say anything, so Sam leaves it be.

The waitress gives them a worried look when she brings the check, eyeing their barely touched plates. They both smile apologetically, insisting that their food was “great” when she whisks it away.

On their way back home, Cas asks if Sam can stop at the store. They don’t ask anything more than, “we need groceries that bad?” and Cas dips inside. He knows this is just like any other grocery run—going in and out as quick as possible with the things they need—yet his heart hammers all the same when he stops in front of the bin near the door. The same employee from last week is working on lane six, and he’s sure to check out at that one with his goods. She gives him a knowing smile.

Cas flops into the passenger seat, a little out of breath.

“That was fast,” Sam starts to say, before noticing Cas’ lack of grocery bags. “Dude. What d’you buy, air?”

Instead, Cas brandishes two brightly colored pins. Sam tentatively takes the yellow, white, purple, and black one, eyes wide.

“For me?” they ask.

Cas smiles, running his thumb over the rainbow one in his hand. 

“For both of us,” he says.

[@spnprideweek]

[expectingtofly]

I was just stuck in traffic for an hour and a half (without reception to boot) so what better way to use my involuntary free time than to write a fic with dean, cas, and toddler jack in the same situation?

In hindsight, it made sense that in a life where nothing ever went to plan, an attempt at a relaxing Winchester beach vacation turned into an adventure called how long can you sit in traffic without losing your goddamn mind?

Slumping in his seat, Dean stared mournfully at the line of cars which seemed to stretch for miles into the distance. For an hour now they had sat on the freeway at a standstill, inching forward at odd intervals. Dean had turned Baby off fifteen minutes ago when even those slow forward crawls ceased.

Jack hummed in the backseat where he colored with a box of crayons. Cas tapped his fingers on his thighs, craning his neck to look behind and in front of them. No escape. Dean was pretty sure he was considering the merits of zapping all of them—car, luggage, and all—to their destination. Sure, the people around them would have plenty of questions about a car vanishing into thin air and Cas would be exhausted for three days, but it might be worth it.

Might save their sanity, at least. So far, they had cycled through staticky radio stations, played twenty questions three times over, eaten two cans of Pringles, argued about potential detours, and listened to several renditions of “Born This Way” sung at increasingly piercing high volume courtesy of the six year old in the backseat.

In all that time, they had moved forward about ten feet and Dean was starting to entertain thoughts about abandoning Baby on the asphalt and walking back home.

“I won’t abandon you,” he reassured her, stroking the steering wheel.

“What?” Cas asked.

“Uh. Nothing.” So now he was talking to inanimate objects. Great.

“Let’s play eye spy,” Cas suggested.

Dean gestured around them. Trees, weeds, parked cars, and the highway divider. “Not much to look at.”

“How about that game where you name an item for every letter of the alphabet? We can do celestial objects.”

“That’s not fair, you know all of them.”

“Well, we already did rock bands and you won that too easily.”

“Dad,” Jack complained. “I’m out of yellow.”

“It’s probably back there,” Cas said. “Maybe you dropped it.”

“There better not be a crayon melting back there.” Dean twisted around in his seat to check.

Jack sighed and threw down his crayons dramatically. “I’m hungry.”

Cas fished around in the snack bag. “I think we have some carrots left.”

“Hey, kid, this is pretty good.” Dean went to pick up the crayon drawing, but Jack threw his upper body over the paper.

“No! It’s not finished!”

“Alright, sorry. I’ll wait for the final product. Lookin’ good so far.”

“I’m drawing us,” Jack told him, reaching for another crayon while keeping a hand shielding the drawing.

“Remember I’m taller than him,” Dean said, nodding at Cas. Cas gave him a dirty look. “Just for accuracy.”

“My true form greatly towers over your human body,” Cas said haughtily.

“Aww, Cas, you tryin’ to flirt?”

Rolling his eyes, Cas handed back the bag of carrots to Jack. The mess in the backseat of papers and crayons—though stressful—gave Dean an idea.

“Hey, Jack, hand me some paper.” He took two papers and told Cas, “I’ll draw you and you draw me.”

Cas took a paper with a gleam in his eyes. “What does the winner get?”

“Whaddya mean winner? This is supposed to be just a fun thing.” That was a lie. They could, and did, turn everything into a competition. “Worst drawing has to pay for snacks at the next stop.”

“Easy,” Cas said, taking a green crayon from the box. “I could draw your every freckle from memory.”

“Stare enough to know what I look like,” Dean muttered, feeling his ears heat. He caught Cas reaching for the red crayon. “Hey!” Of course the fucker would draw him blushing.

Giving him a sly smile, Cas tucked himself against the opposite door to shield his drawing from him. “Just going for accuracy,”

“I wanna play too!” Jack said.

“Alright, best drawing from all three of us. Hope you brought your credit card, Jack.”

“Nope, ‘cause I’m gonna win!”

“No, you’re both going down.” Dean snatched up a stubby green crayon. “Go!”

Despite the lack of a time limit, furious scribbling followed. Dean liked to think he was a decent drawer, but using crayons—most of which were broken—sure made it difficult.

He set Cas in a sunny field with a fluffy cloud sky. Without yellow, the sun had to be green, but he thought the purple trenchcoat and blue tie he drew for Cas turned out pretty good. Add a few flowers, maybe a tree—fuck, that didn’t turn out so good. The important part was Cas, though. For good measure, he added some wings colored with every crayon in the box and an angel blade that he couldn’t get to look sharp enough with the blunt silver crayon, but gave the general idea.

Holding the drawing up, he couldn’t help smiling at it. It was Cas, alright. Down to the blue eyes, half smile, and sensible shoes.

“Done!” Jack announced.

“One second,” Cas said, eyebrows drawn up in concentration. After a few careful lines, he said, “Okay.” He clutched his drawing to his chest. “On the count of three.”

“One, two, three—” Dean flipped his drawing around at the same time as Cas and Jack.

And instantly burst out laughing.

“What?” Cas asked, offended.

“Dude.” Wiping tears from his eyes, Dean took the drawing from him. A stick figure man with a scribble of brown hair, lopsided green eyes, and dots which he guessed were his freckles. “I haven’t been this skinny in years. Wait a moment.” He frowned at the stick legs. “You gave me freaking bow legs?”

“Dean, this is…” Dean looked up to see Cas holding the drawing of himself. “This is really lovely.” He traced the wings. “It’s like you can see them.”

“Shit, it’s not that good.” Fucking hell, he was blushing again.

“Look at mine!” Jack said, waving his paper.

“Woah, kid, you outdid yourself,” Dean said, taking it from him. Three stick figures, each a bit taller than the next. Two with wings, one in a blocky shirt which looked suspiciously like flannel.

“Buddy, this is great.” He pointed at Cas’ figure, turning the paper so Cas could see. “Looks like he got your true form.” Animals and swirls, colors and shapes.

“That’s beautiful, Jack.” Cas pointed to the smallest stick figure with the biggest wings and smile. “I love how you drew yourself.”

“Do I win?” Jack asked.

Dean handed the drawings back. “Take a look at all of them, be our judge.”

Jack studied the three drawings seriously for several long seconds before announcing with a cheeky smile, “I win!”

“Seems rigged but okay,” Dean said.

Cas elbowed him. “You can pick out any snack you want when we find a place to stop,” he told Jack. A dangerous idea, but they might not even make it there. Their drawings would soon be outdated when they turned old and grey in their seats.

Bracing himself for the worst, Dean checked the line of cars again and was surprised to see movement up ahead.

“Hey!” He turned the car on. “Here we go, Baby, back on the road again!”

“Finally,” Cas sighed. Bouncing in his car seat, Jack cheered.

The line of cars thinned out as they picked up speed, finally making progress after… Dean checked the time. Two hours. At least the last hour had passed quickly with their drawing competition.

“I’m going to frame these,” Cas said, tucking the drawings into his bag. “I think they’d look nice in the living room.”

“Daddy?” Jack spoke up.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Cas asked, looking back at him.

Jack giggled and Dean smiled at him in the rearview mirror. Then Jack announced, “I have to pee.”

Dean stared at the road. Of course.

“Can you wait?” Cas asked, checking the GPS. "The next stop is… twenty minutes away.”

“I have to go now!”

Cas looked at Dean, and Dean sighed. “I’ll stop.” Turning on his turn signal to move into the shoulder, he told Jack, “Time to pee in the bushes, kiddo.”

Jack cheered and Dean shook his head, a laugh escaping him despite himself. Always an adventure.

[bts-hyperfixation]

Soulmates

JJK X Reader soulmate AU

Warnings: Minor character death(car crash, only mentioned nothing graphic), Drinking

I don’t know if this is what you (the requester) were going for? this is somehow where I ended up

Everyone in this world has a soulmate. Someone that is meant to complete them and make them feel whole.

Your other half can be identified by the matching birthmark hidden somewhere on their body. There are also a lot of people whose marks are so close to matching that it almost feels like the real thing… almost. Sadly, many don’t ever get to experience the love of their true soulmate, so they settle for the closest they can get.

Jungkook was convinced he was one of the lucky few. Looking at her made his heart feel like it was going to burst. Every time he saw her the world got brighter, the birds started singing a little louder, and his stress nearly melted away entirely … nearly. But at 17 no one is going to pay attention to nearly.

Their birthmark’s matched so closely, each sporting a small puzzle piece on opposite wrists. You wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at the loved-up pair as they walked together hand in hand. And he loved her so completely, and her him, that they never thought to question it. Madly in love until the day she died.

Jungkook spent weeks almost comatose when the news of her car crash reached him. Couldn’t move, eat, sleep. To lose your soulmate so young was said to be a fate worse than never finding them at all. Even after coming through the other side people could tell he wasn’t the same carefree young boy he had been, most likely never would be again. His eyes’ looked far older than his years now, his soft features much more angular.

Three months after her death he resolve to never fall in love again, happy in the knowledge that he got to know her even for such a short amount of time.

….

You met Jungkook at a party. Someone from Uni decided that 24 was the right age for a big birthday bash. They hired out an entire club and set up a series of activities for people to enjoy. A mechanical ball on the main floor, a ball pit to the side, a BBQ in the smoking area, and a bouncy castle in the downstairs 90’s themed area. It really was an amazing event. You however spent most of your time watching the quiet Korean boy in the corner, every time his eyes met yours you felt compelled to move to him, talk to him, dance with him, anything that would get his attention on you. At the time you put it down to the alcohol. It took you exactly 3 and a half drinks to pick up the courage and interrupt his current conversation.

He was very sweet, really sweet considering he clearly didn’t want to be talking to you. It was evident in the way his eyes shifted and the nervous playing with his sleeves, still you persevered. Something about him wouldn’t let you give up, not yet at least. Your saving grace came when your favourite band came blaring over the speakers. “PRETTYMUCH” aren’t an underrated band per say but it’s difficult to find someone who knows them in your circle, so when Jungkook’s face lit up at the same time as yours you knew you had your in. So with the Phases remix blaring through the club you took your opportunity.

“I love this song!” You took his hand and pulled him on to the dance floor before you really realised that’s what you are doing. To start with he was frozen, a little shocked by your boldness, but as you gave it your all he joined in, loosening up for the first time that entire night. After that it was a lot easier to talk to him, you actually went into the smoking area to talk more about shared music interests.

After you went to get a drink you got caught up with some others and he came to find you. It felt like an electric shock when he’d grabbed your hand to get your attention, but there were a lot of balloons around so that would explain the residual electricity. By the time the party was over, and the club was closing, you didn’t want to leave him, not just now but ever. You found yourselves wandering around aimlessly, talking about nothing until the sun came up. Looking back it was then you decided Jungkook was it for you. You had never really believed in the soulmate tradition until you met him.

Weeks go by of you texting back and forth. You found out the reason he was so into music was because he was a musician himself, he even promised to perform for you sometime. A lot of promises were made in those messages.

‘There’s this amazing Restaurant in the city’ you claimed promising to take him with you next time.

‘I really want to see this movie’ he said promising to pay for tickets when it came out.

‘We should go see this band together’ The number one promise between the two of you, quickly racking up a lot of different acts to see together.

So when one of those bands turned up on the roster for the local you’d bought tickets immediately sending him the confirmation. Your stomach had fluttered thinking about seeing him in person again. And so you counted down the days as they passed. Picked and repicked your outfit. Talked yourself in and out of going. Eventually the day arrived. The doorbell signalling his arrival was deafening, ringing out through your small studio apartment. You took a few deep breaths before opening the door.

He was flawless, your tipsy memory hadn’t done him justice. A broad chest draped in a white long sleeve tee, ripped skinnies straining against his thighs, his hair swept into a James Dean quiff. You might’ve laughed at the way your outfits had accidently matched (a black crop with white skinnies) had you been capable of making a noise.

“Ready to go?” He asked nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. You’d nodded, blushing when you realised you had been staring.

It was a short bus ride into the town centre. Spent in relatively comfortable silence arms brushing against one another in the limited space on the crowded vehicle. The club was packed wall to wall when you got inside, no hope of getting to the front of the crowd, or so you’d thought. Jungkook grabbed your hand winked at you and began heading in the opposite direction of the stage. He led you up some back stairs and on to a balcony you hadn’t ever noticed before.

“I’ve played here before, almost no one knows this is here, but it will give us the perfect view.” He dropped your hand in favour of leaning over the railing. You couldn’t help but feel cold at the loss. The performance was great, you found yourselves screaming lyrics back and forth at one another. Some people had cottoned on to your little hiding spot and soon it became as packed as the rest of the club. Whether he was trying to protect you from the others or he was pushed there you will never know, but Jungkook ended up caging you to the railing, head resting on your shoulder.

After the show you’d decided it was time to ask him how he felt. The club was still busy, but the two of you had been in a quiet corner on your own nursing drinks and chatting aimlessly.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” You asked, broaching the topic carefully. You watched closely for his reaction, but he gave nothing away. Instead he just shrugged.

“I did once.” It was too blunt, you knew you should’ve stopped but you couldn’t, now you’d decided to tell him it was like verbal diarrhoea.

“I didn’t think I did, I mean I’ve never seen any ‘matching birthmarks’ and every couple I know is perfectly happy… but then I met you and I keep thinking about it, and you, and how I feel about you.” You watched as his face goes from pensive to a deer caught in the headlights.

“I… I have to leave now.” He got up and ran into the crowd before you even had a chance to reach for him. He dipped through a back entrance of the club and into the night before you could even push through the first layer of people.

The ride home had seemed a lot longer. Holding back tears had proved extremely difficult. Of all the reactions he could’ve given you that might’ve been the worst one. Somehow you found yourself thinking even him laughing in your face might’ve been better. You left the lights in your studio switched off that night. Made a beeline for your bed and passed out face down.

It would’ve felt like a bad dream when you woke up… if it hadn’t been for the crusty mascara tracking down your cheeks. You’d picked up your phone from where it lay abandoned next to you. Battery on 12%. You’d decided then it’d be best to run damage control, at least save the friendship.

Y/N: I’m sorry about last night…

You hadn’t expected his reply to be quick, so it’d surprised you when the typing bubbles appeared immediately; and furthered your sadness when they disappeared moments later without a message.

For days you spiralled. Going over the moment again and again in your head. Each replay turning the memory into something worse than the original.

Eventually you plucked yourself out of bed, deciding to face the problem head on and talk to the friend that invited you both to their birthday in the first place.

She met you at a café downtown during her lunch break. It was obvious by your red rimed eyes and sniffling nose that you had been crying but she was nice enough to ignore it for the most part. You caught up on her life for a little while until you physically couldn’t hold back anymore.

You told her exactly what had happened between you and JK, watching as her expression got both more understanding and pitying as you got closer to the end. Whatever you thought she was going to tell you was no where close to the story you got. You sat mouth wide open as she told you about the accident, and the way it affected Jungkook. It made you want to cry all over again. You didn’t know what to say once she had finished, stewing in your own thoughts for a while. The main thought that kept coming to the front of your mind was one that made you feel so evil. But you had to get it out

“What if she wasn’t really his soulmate. What if he was never meant for her” Its barely above a whisper but your friend heard it.

“He truly believes that she was” She replied squinting at you. Her break ended shortly after that leaving you alone with your thoughts.

…

It’s almost a month later when you see Jungkook again. Hadn’t heard a single thing from him since the concert but at least you knew why.

This time it was someone pool party. You honestly hadn’t been expecting to see him there. Didn’t even know you had mutual friends past that one girl. You didn’t think twice about your birthmark when you stripped down to your two piece. Why would you? Everyone has one. You were lay out on a sun-lounger with a drink when you spotted him. Tucked away in a corner once again, the only difference this time was his attention was already on you. He looked as good as ever, hair damp and slicked back, Long-sleeved neoprene shit covering his torso but trunks showing off his amazing thighs. You’d forced yourself to look away form him but could still feel the intensity of his gaze on you.

Eventually you couldn’t take it anymore, too hot under the sun and his stare you decided to change out of your swimsuit into a sundress for the evening. Heading inside you found your way into someone’s bedroom to get changed. Perhaps you should’ve checked to see if the door the locked though, because just as you had wiggled out of the bikini top Jungkook burst into the room.

“Ah shit… Sorry… I um.” His hand had flown in front of his eyes as he’d slammed the door shut behind him and you’d immediately reached for the flimsy dress pulling it over you torso so he could reopen his eyes.

“What in the actual fuck Jungkook?” you whisper screamed not wanting to draw attention to the two of you hidden away.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t think… I just needed to see…”

“See what?! My boobs? I think you managed that one perv. You haven’t spoken to me in weeks and now all of a sudden you can’t wait long enough to knock.” You came across a lot meaner than you had meant, you just hadn’t been prepared for him to want to speak to you again.

“No I’m sorry I’ll go, this was a bad idea, I was probably seeing things anyway.” He mumbled looking sheepishly at the floor/

“No wait it’s okay, I really want to apologise don’t leave.” You took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to meet yours properly. When they did you could see the shock behind them.

“Why do you need to apologise? I’m the one that ran off, I never even told you why and I fucked up and I’m sorry I just…” You reached for him then, wanting nothing more than to comfort him and then realised it wasn’t your place, arm dropping heavily back to your side. “I felt so guilty with you, not because of you, because of me.” You nodded in understanding.

“I found about your soulmate after I confessed to you. I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I never would’ve brought it up if I had known you had already found yours.” You’d broken eye contact with him then unable to watch the sadness in his eyes and not be able to do anything about it.

“That’s why I felt so guilty though because the way I feel about you is so similar to the way I felt about her, how I still feel about her deep down. I was so confused because you’re only supposed to get one soulmate, and if I could feel the same way about you in such a short time… it just feels like I’m betraying her by loving you.” He stepped forward reaching for your chin and forced you to meet his gaze. “The today when I saw your birthmark on your thigh I could’ve cried.” He uses his free hand to unzip the shirt he’d been wearing. He pulled his left arm from the sleeve exposing his birthmark to you. A puzzle piece to fit perfectly into your own.

You’d gasped at the revelation you were right. He was meant to be yours. And yet it didn’t feel right. The anguish on his face was clear, the internal fight he had obviously been having with himself ever since the concert.

“Letting yourself love me now doesn’t mean you loved her any less” you whispered, allowing yourself to move even closer to him, wrapping him in your arms. He’d nuzzled into your neck allowing tears to stream down his cheeks and onto your shoulder. You’d felt every bit of stress leave his body as he cried. Emotions he hadn’t even know he had been holding onto, finally letting himself really breath since he had lost her all those years ago.

You’d lost track of the time, just stood with him, holding him until the final few sniffles came. His cheeks had been puffy by and red when he pulled away, wiping his face on the sleeve still on his right arm.

“Do you want to leave? We can go back to mine” You’d asked carefully, not willing to let him go home alone after feeling like that. He’d nodded weakly, sliding his arm back into the shirt before taking your hand in his. You’d headed for the door only to be brought back by the hand he had on yours. He’d pulled you so close you could see the flecks of gold in his irises, watched your reaction before leaning in and kissing you. It was salty with left over tears, but you wouldn’t change you first kiss for the world. Everything felt like it clicked into place in that moment, the world tilted on its axis. The exchange was short lived, a chaste peck followed by a few smaller pecks before he let you lead him all the way home.

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