#dean-winchester-coded ass

[lethargarian]

Dean Winchester drives this Hyundai

[lambmotifz]

the way dean started walking them away the moment he noticed the guy checking sam’s butt out…protective alpha behavior <3

[sapphireisverygaymydudes]

Hey I love Destiel and all…

But if I was in supernatural and I was Cas’ friend I would be begging him to dump Dean. Like bestie I know you love him but he’s terrible to you pls leave him you could do so much better.

[artyandink]

amoralism | four

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: So much sexual tension it’s illegal, Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, fantasising, a mole in the FBI, thigh riding, Sam being the best friend everyone needed but no one asked for, failed professionalism, description of gore, torture and body desecration, inaccurate description of the FBI but we do it for the plot, Bela Talbot (she’s also a warning, yes), fantasies of seduction

Song Inspo: Liar by Camila Cabello

SERIES MASTERLIST

archaism

A knock on your door had you looking up from your desk, from the notes you were taking on the video found on the necklace’s hard drive. The only face you could see on that necklace was Abaddon’s, which did give you the warrant to put her in the Florence Supermax, which honestly didn’t feel like enough when your own body felt like it was being slashed and burned and disembowelled in tandem with this poor investment banker.

Didn’t help that she took a hatchet to the body even after the life left him.

“Come in.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. And in came… “Ah.” Yet another tired rub of your forehead. “Trainee Agents Tran and Harvelle. Come in.” You gestured for them to enter, wishing you were also a trainee agent.

It was so much more simple back in those days. Just getting coffee for the superiors. Just some damn coffee. Not being caught in a web of sexual tension, organised crime and some really nasty crap.

“How can I help you?” You asked, feigning genuine interest when you actually wanted to hurl from the videos you’d been watching.

“We wanted to get an update on the Knights of Hell case.” Tran got out, fiddling with his fingers. Suck ups, great. “For, uh, Agent Nick Garrison.” You rolled your eyes.

Nick.

He’d come off fresh from the murder of his wife and baby, and it was bloody. He’d been trying to take cases, but Director Singer kept on insisting he take the desk job.

“Did he tell you he was working the case?” You clasped your hands in front of you, and you cut them off before they could start stammering. “No, I can’t give any information if you’re not working the case. It’s classified information, and Director Singer’s made that clear. I don’t wanna have to report to HR about breaching jurisdiction.”

“No, ma’am.” Harvelle bowed her head, then realised she wasn’t bowing to a queen and grabbed Tran’s hand, dragging him out. You groaned, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead.

“That’s it. Take what you need.” Dean muttered, your back against his chest, legs spread and held in place by one hand gripping your thigh. Your head fell back against his shoulder, a myriad of sounds leaving your parted lips and slack jaw from his three fingers pumping in and out of your pussy. Stretching you. Breaking you. Wrecking you. Making you rock your hips in tandem with his movements and getting much needed friction on your clit from the rough palm of his hand. “Workin’ so hard, baby. I’m gonna release all your stress. Leave you so relaxed.”

God, you had half a mind to start touching yourself in the office to take the edge off. Right under your desk.

You’d do it. Damn the code of conduct.

“I need a change of panties.” You muttered, done with... “Everything else in my life, while I’m at it.”

“Five minutes, sweetheart. To take the edge off.”

Damn you for being an ass kisser. You could have taken the edge off with Dean Winchester.

Instead you’re here. At a desk. Watching someone be tortured to death and their corpse disembowelled.

”You were left alone? With a shirtless Dean Winchester?” Andréa gasped, sipping a tall glass of wine, her lips stained red from it. “Details. Now.”

You swallowed, clearing your throat. “Dré, I don’t think there’s anything to tell-”

“Yes. There is.” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at you. “Either he railed you nasty, or you pulled the usual professionalism card but you still banged and now you’re fearful for your job.”

“I’m still fearful for my job, railing or not.” You scoffed lightly, taking a long sip of your own wine and holding your glass out for another. “Sorry to disappoint, Dré, but… no. Nothing happened.”

“WHAT?!” Andréa slammed down her wine glass. Eyes wide, auburn hair only slightly out of place. Jesus, she’s shook.

“I know!” You raised your hands in surrender, wine slopping onto the floor. You carefully put it aside; you might be getting a little tipsy with how much you drank trying to recover from the memory. “Look, it happened like I told you; Dean pulled me in, told me to keep my eyes on him… and then his phone rang. His dad called him, and he took the call.”

“I want to bust John Winchester’s balls.” She muttered.

“Classy.”

“Do you think I care about class? I care about whether or not you can walk straight, and right now you should be wobbling from side to side, honey.” She took a very pointed sip of wine.

You sighed with a roll of your eyes, however affectionate it was. “That’s a very interesting notion.”

“It’s Dean Winchester!”

“I’m painfully aware that it is.”

You walked into Dean’s office to find him nursing a bloody temple with a sterilising cloth, which had you raising an eyebrow. You didn’t peg Dean for the working hard type, more like the hardly working. Unless you counted when he was in bed with a woman. Still hot.

And both of your minds switching back to the night where Dean had you in his arms, his whiskey-tainted breath fanning over your lips. Fingers that were tapping the desk were previously curled around your chin, gravelly voice telling- ordering you to keep your eyes on him and by God, you’d say yes sir if he hadn’t taken your ability to speak words with those piercing green eyes. And he wasn’t even your superior.

“Well, don’t you look super.” You drawled sarcastically, throwing down a file on his desk. Eyes moving down to the hands which had held you in place. Fingers that had gripped your chin in a way that almost made your knees buckle and hands fly to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants.

“Knock knock - come in - and yeah, I do look handsome.” Dean responded dryly, but gave you a smirk/grin, a click of his tongue and a wink that had no right giving you that large of a needy jolt through your cunt, soaking your panties instantly. Again.

You cursed yourself for being an ass kisser. Again. When there was a perfectly good cock there that you could be riding.

“I was trying to figure out information on the Abaddon case, see if we could get some of her buddies’ names.” Dean shrugged, swiping his bottom lip with his thumb. “Came out with nada and a cheap shot to the head.”

You cleared your throat, willing yourself to stop feeling so desperate. You were better than this. No you weren’t, but you weren’t gonna admit that aloud. “Director Singer wanted us to check this out. Probably after your failed, sorry ass attempt to find answers.” You watched him open the file, turning the page with a lick of his finger. Had it been anyone else, you would have internally cringed.

But no, it’s Dean Winchester. You wanted to be his index finger.

“Since we’re doing this off books, we have to arrange off book methods.” You rubbed your neck. “Bela Talbot, she’s a freelancer. Occasionally thieves - at least, that’s theory because we’ve never been able to prove it. But Director Singer’s booked us a five star room and an appointment so we can find out what she knows, how she knows it and follow that lead.”

“You’re more snappy than usual, sweetheart.” Dean smirked, mossy eyes trailing- no, roving down- not even that; he was undressing you with his eyes.

And he didn’t miss the way your jaw ticked.

Sign number one.

How your eyes darted from him to the files to the random objects like you wanted to throw something.

Sign number two.

How you occasionally prodded your cheek with your tongue as if you had a Spanish insult that would definitely condemn someone’s mother to hell on the tip of it.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was sign number three.

Dean Winchester had more than a GED and a give ‘em hell attitude. He had a college degree in criminology, a while spent in the academy and a penchant for figuring out when- “You’re stressed.” He muttered smoothly, and he had an inkling of why. He took hold of your wrist, and next thing you knew, you were pulled to his lap, straddling his thigh. Your heeled feet on either side. And clothed pussy right on powerful muscle.

Oh, boy.

“We haven’t talked about it.” Dean muttered, his eyes tracing your face (and dipping to check your blouse’s neckline, and it did not disappoint), calculating his next move, his hand splayed out on your lower back. “I know you better than you think. And you… are thinking about it.”

“I’m n-not.” You responded quickly and rather pathetically, especially as your words were negated by a whimper as his hand on your lower back slid down, down, down, cupping your ass, squeezing just right and using the purchase to pull you so your chest was flush against his. His nose bumping yours. The scent of a breath mint on your lips instead of whiskey.

Gee, the déjà vu was potent. When could you have possibly been in this situation before, hm? Totally not a few days ago. And five years before that.

“So, you don’t wanna talk about it.” He chuckled, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he looked you over- nope, banging you with his eyes this time. You could see it. He had you bent over the desk, railing the living daylights out of you with a hand over your mouth. “Let’s do about it.”

You swallowed, not protesting even as his fingers tangled in your hair. “That-That’s grammatically incorrect-”

His lips - god, his pillowy, sinful, criminal lips - crashed down onto yours, brow furrowed in concentration as the common sense went out of you.

Dean definitely had eaten a breath mint, and you could taste the coffee remnants on him. A kiss that was no less than filthy, needy and wanting. Smacking of lips on lips at a high frequency and temperature shooting far above the boiling point. Your hand threading in his hair. Other hand fisting the back of his shirt. His cologne your personally crafted aphrodisiac.

Dean was too far gone to care that anyone could walk in. His hand was gripping the soft strands of your hair in between his fingers, guiding your head how he liked it. Relishing your tinted, strawberry flavoured lip balm and how it flooded his tongue. Your perfume sending his hormones skyrocketing and making him zero in on you. Only you, always you. He’d missed out on his treasure all these goddamned five years.

Dean’s tongue licked at the seam of your swollen lips, demanding entrance, which you fought back and denied from him. Good that he’s skilled in getting what he wanted, because it didn’t take long to get you to allow him that access.

His hand came down in a sharp smack on your ass, which had a gasp falling from your lips which he caught with his own. Keeping both parted as his tongue tasted the jam and toast on yours, coaxing it into his mouth so he could suck on it and cloud your mind more than it already was fogged up.

“That’s it, open up for me.” Dean groaned into your mouth, pulling your kiss-swollen lips more apart with his thumb on your bottom lip. You felt his hand leave your ass, air hitting your previously skirt covered thighs and something sliding down your legs but you didn’t care when Dean was robbing you of professionalism.

Doing a thing with his tongue and teeth that had you throbbing and needy for him. Yeah, the Code of Conduct can go to hell.

His hand found home on your ass again, and just experimentally dragged you down and forward, drawn out and hard on the taut, deliciously clad muscle of his thigh.

Clit. Friction. Uh- pussy. Dripping.

Mind. Blown.

You had to actively pull him to you, lips more in a collision than a kiss to muffle the drawn out moan that came from your lips and those that spilled after while he simply hummed, grinding you on his thigh again and again until you were kissing him silly as well as rutting on his thigh like a desperate, horny teenager.

Not that either of you minded.

“Look so pretty, ridin’ my thigh.” Dean chuckled between hungry, heavenly kisses, now taking handfuls of your tit from shoving his hand (in a hot way) down the neckline of your blouse and rubbing your nipple over your bra with precise circles designed to make you go mad all while groping the flesh. “Makes a guy wonder how you’ll ride his co-o-oh, Jesus Christ, baby.”

For context, in retaliation, you’d started palming him over his slacks, grinding the heel of your palm in a way that had him rolling his hips forward so his cock could meet your hand for the first time ever through two thin barriers.

The slow movement of your hand and your hips that were dragging over his slacks a personified oxymoron of the way your lips would devour Dean’s and vice versa over and over again.

Every movement of yours synced to the way he’d toy with your tits and his hand would knead your ass under skilled goddamn fingers.

Swallowing every moan like second nature.

He definitely had some kind of qualification in the female body.

“Woah.” And both of you pulling away to see Sam at the door. Which incited pure chaos.

You jumping up. Fixing your skirt, your hair (your kiss-swollen lips were a gone case) as Dean manoeuvred his leg so you couldn’t see the obvious wet patch on his slacks.

Wet patches, if you count the pre-come stain that leaked through.

Ah, well, at least he’d pocketed your soaked panties. For… research purposes.

“Nothing’s happened.” Dean shrugged, trying to signal to Sam as if to say no, he did not want the news of him making out with his case co-head in his office, in FBI headquarters in DC.

Your mind was in a tizzy, especially as you hurried off before you could shake hands with embarrassment.

“I don’t know whether to say ‘finally’, ‘what the hell’ or bleach my eyes out.” Sam said to Dean with a light chuckle, folding his arms.

“How about you shut your mouth?” He scoffed back.

“I can’t just unsee that-”

“You were told to shut your mouth, not your eyes.” Dean grinned as if nothing was wrong, because nothing was wrong. That could just be one of his fantasies.

You were thinking the same thing. It could just be a vivid daydream. Or even a dream that you’ll wake up from at any moment.

But then Dean saw the wet patch on his slacks again. The soaked panties that he’d stolen off you and you’d let him. His lips were swollen and still buzzing from the heated sensations, ego on an all time high from how many moans he’d ripped from you even though he’d done so little. If this is what he’d waited for all this time - for five years - the wait was damn worth it.

You could still feel Dean’s hands groping at you as if he had a degree in your body. His harsh breath against yours. Lips bruising as they met over and over again— his thigh pressed between yours.

Your thighs rubbed together and- god damn, he’d stolen your panties. You weren’t even mad at him for it.

You were reeling from the - ahem - make out session display of professionalism. And Dean wasn’t making it any degree better.

“So, we’re not gonna talk about it?” He scoffed, folding his arms and quirking an eyebrow. “Five years, the time we actually break the Code of Conduct and we’re not gonna say a word of what went down?”

You gestured to him. “My point. We broke the Code of Conduct. Hell, we torched it!”

“It was just making out.”

“In your office.”

“Look,” Dean chuckled and ran his hand through his hair, “it ain’t my fault that your gorgeous ass is attracted to me. And it ain’t your fault that my handsome ass… is attracted to you. It’s a sexual thing.”

“It’s a sexual thing.” You repeated quietly, which didn’t help things, but hey- it’s the best he can do. “You have no regard for your job’s integrity.”

“You’re so uptight all the time.”

“And it’s better to be really damn loose?” Dean Winchester made your pussy drip leg bounce on the ball of your foot. It was a nervous tick. Or an angry tick. But you knew that you wanted to curse his bloodline in Spanish.

He could only offer you a scoff. “You know, this tough girl act is really unbecoming.”

“This tough boy act doesn’t cut you any favours.”

“Some may say it’s sexy.” A brunette slid into the seat next to him. Hair pulled up into a ponytail and threaded through a baseball cap that was pulled low over her brow- no doubt for disguise. Poorly orchestrated disguise, and Director Singer said she was a professional. Smug smile and manicured nails painted an eyebrow raising shade of rouge while she smelled strongly of Chanel.

Extending said manicured hand daintily towards Dean. “Bela Talbot.” She purred, playing up a sultry smile. “I’m your freelancer.”

“That Chanel or is it just me?” Dean shot back with a raise of his eyebrow. How did he know? He knew the notes of that perfume collection cause you’d worn it when you… made out with him and rode his thigh. Ahem.

“I’m a freelancer, but I’m not a savage. I indulge.” Bela replied before turning back to you and sliding a paper. “Knights of Hell. Hard bunch to track down, but I can tell you who they are and what they do. They’re like mercenaries. A secret service for an underground mafia ring. If you want a bloody death, the big boss will ring them up and then it’s bye-bye within a few hours. They play it like a game too. Whoever’s skill set meets the quota, that’s who they send out.”

“Abaddon.” You frowned, clasping your hands on the table. “Why was she sent out to that bank?”

“She plays with her food before she eats it.” Bela sighed, shaking her head. “Invades the mind of her enemy. If you don’t catch on quick enough, she doesn’t sing your tune, you sing hers. Like she’s Bach and you’re just his orchestra.”

“That’s colourful.” Dean muttered, sipping his coffee. “Who is this guy we’re about to talk to, by the way?” He was watching Bela carefully for any signs of deception.

Any at all and he had cuffs attached to his belt.

“His codename’s Cain.” Bela checked her nails with a pout. “But he was previously known as William Abernathy. He was the first Knight of Hell. For initiation he was made to kill his brother Cole Abernathy and had been trying to exit the gang since. Only got out a few months ago.”

‘Cain’ himself was a grumpy-ass man who seemed to lounge with bottles of beer on the best days and hard vodka on the worst. He had pictures of who seemed to be Neil, his brother, and another woman. Young. Beautiful, with an innocent smile on her face.

You wondered if she had known what William had done.

You watched Cain sit down with a gruff grunt, and

“Being a Knight of Hell makes you bitter.” He swept a thumb over his bottom lip, scoffing and shaking his head slowly. “You do horrible things. To innocent people, too. Most of us enjoyed it. I didn’t. That’s why I ran.”

You rubbed your cheek, sharing a look with Dean, who looked both incredibly concerned and curious. Not only was this syndicate dangerous, they took inspiration off Bible lore, which was how they contracted their code names.

“And your code name was Cain?” You asked, gesturing to him with a raise of your eyebrow. “As in… Cain and Abel? And your real name is William Abernathy?”

“Abel was my brother’s supposed ‘codename’.” William, previously ‘Cain’, deadpanned, sipping some bourbon with a blank expression. “Gave it after his death. Thought it was funny. They thought the same for my beautiful Collette too.”

“Collette?” Dean pointed to a photo, of a smiling woman in Cain’s arms. In a wedding dress, looking as if all the problems were gone. “This her?”

“That’s her.” Cain nodded, his voice wavering a bit. “She looked every bit as beautiful on our wedding day even when she died. Bloody, but so beautiful. She still smiled even then.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Abernathy.” You gave him a look of sympathy, taking a deep breath. “For your loss. Could you give us the names of the other Knights?”

Cain nodded. “I’ll do it. I’ve give you them all.”

“You run the risk of being hunted down.” Dean added quickly. “We can place you under witness protection.”

“Witness protection can’t do crap.” Cain scoffed, a cynical bark of laughter leaving him. “It'll end how it always does. A blaze of glory and no survivors."

You could easily see the truth. You saw it in his body language; he wasn't defeated, he was tired. Tired of fighting rather than losing. Cain was a shell. Empty.

"You want them to find you." You murmured, running a hand through your hair in partial disbelief. "You want to die."

Cain nodded, pointing a gnarled finger at you with a nod, writing a list of names down on a sheet of paper before handing them to you. "You're good, Agent." He sniffed, averting his eyes, which welled up. "First they took Neil. Then my darling Collette. That Hell took everything from me. Might as well let them finish the job."

"No, hold on." Dean stepped in with a wave of his hand. "We have to take you into witness protection, to testify."

A violent shaking of your head put him off and made him worry that you were having an aneurism. "We can't. Code of Conduct, Article 53, Section A, Subsection Alpha, line 5, written in '79 after the assassination of Jakob Brierkevald on his transportation to unwillingly testify against Russia. Unless given autonomous permission, law enforcement and/or federal authorities do not have the jurisdiction to detain the subject to testify in court, which directly relates to the Treaty for Human rights... even if it concerns national safety."

Dean stared at you as if you'd grown three heads. "Did you swallow the textbook?!"

"You didn't?"

“A spot of advice.” Cain spoke up gruffly, looking between the two of you. “Have angry sex. That could solve everything.”

“No!” You threw your hands up, then turned to Dean. “He basically signed a DNR for himself by saying that. We can’t do anything.”

“Isn’t there some kind of overrule clause?” Dean asked, folding his arms. “Rack that pretty head.”

“Not that I know of.” You shrugged. “It could be in some weird ass phrasing but if the subject decides, that’s final.”

“Son of a-”

“We’re federal agents, keep it together!”

“Hey, Bela.” You sighed, pacing slowly as you talked. “Thanks for the tip. We got a lot more to go off now, and turns out you weren’t as slimy as the FBI warned us you were.”

“Charming.” Bela quipped, hands in her jacket pocket with a smile, then she chuckled. “Happy to help. The Knights of Hell should be taken down a peg or two. Who better than the Fed’s finest agents?” Her eyes travelled to Dean tap dancing for fun a little way away, then back to you in amusement. “Or finest.”

“Yeah, he’s not the most professional one out there.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I didn't catch the traditionalist aspect from him." She shook her head, then caught how you were looking at Dean.

That was the most potent and obvious eye bang she'd ever seen.

"No, he's- ay, dios mío." The reason for your speech cutting off was Dean's succumbing to the heat and pouring a whole damn water bottle's contents over his face, making his shirt cling to his chest and wavering your focus.

One word. Muscle.

"Word of advice." Bela whispered in your ear. "You two really should have angry sex."

NEXT UP:

“Mom.” You painfully kept your voice level. Not wanting to raise your voice at your own mother, because even if she was a nasty piece of work - in your eyes - she still carried you for nine months. “This is unreasonable.”

Understatement of the Year award goes to you. Hopefully, also the Daughter and Sister of the Year awards too.

“What I do in my household is none of your business, niña!” Eleanor snapped back, her fingers too for emphasis. You felt familiar anger bubbling, but you told it not today.

You scoffed at the notion, though, rubbing Cassie’s shoulder. “You’re practically starving her!” Still shoving down unadulterated fury. “And pressuring her to have kids. Hell, I haven’t. I’m not even married.”

“You should be!” She responded quickly. Does this lady not get the point? “You should be married, bringing honour to your family.”

“You’re delusional.”

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[wild-lavender-rose]

Confessions

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!reader x Dean Winchester

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: After your boyfriend breaks up with you, your friends Sam and Dean help to put the pieces back together in a very unexpected way. 

Warnings: Reference to break up, collapse, mild language 

Note: I started this a couple years ago shortly after a break up and finally decided to finish it. It’s not my usual quality of work some of the lines feel out of character and it’s super angsty and cheesy idk but I really wanted to get it finished and out of my drafts, so enjoy? 

     Sam and Dean looked up from their vampire research when you entered the bunker, their brows furrowing with concern as they took in your glassy eyes and messed up hair. 

     “Hey,” Dean called. 

     “Hey.” You gave a nod, dropping the heavy backpack you had been carrying with a thud. 

     “You okay?” Sam was already pushing back his chair. 

     “I...” You shrugged off your jacket, gaze averting to the floor. “He...He broke up with me.” 

     “What?” The chairs squeaked as the brothers stood.  

     “He thought, with us bein’ hunters and all...Didn’t want to be each other’s weakness,” you took a step forward only to have your legs give out, causing you to sink down to the floor. “I can’t do this anymore.” 

     “Honey, woah,” Dean came around the table to kneel beside you, Sam close behind. “Easy, it’s okay.” 

     “I can never get them to stay.” You whispered, your head in your hands as Dean sat behind you and pulled you into a hug. “What's wrong with me?” 

     “It’s not you, he’s just an ass.” Sam knelt in front of you, hand resting on your leg. “Hunters suck at commitment.” 

     “I don't, you don’t.” You leaned back into Dean’s hug, tucking yourself into him as the tears began to fall. “I’m sorry,” 

     “It’s not your fault, baby.” Dean ran his hand through your hair and held you close. 

     “No, I, I shouldn’t have even tried. He said, that ass,” you shoved your sleeve across your eyes, trying desperately to regain composure. “He said that he was tired of sharing me with you and Sam. That I loved you more than him. But, I tried to tell him we were just friends, but he didn’t believe me.” You shook your head against a fresh wave of tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 

     “Why?” Sam asked, his voice soft. 

     “Because,” you looked at the floor, hot shame flooding over you. “Because it’s true.” You whispered. “I love you and I love Sam.” 

     Dean’s hand froze in your hair, his body stiffening. You could feel him looking over your head at Sam, no doubt having a whole conversation in that nonverbal brother code of theirs. You hated yourself for saying anything. Now it was all over. Your friendship would be awkward and stilted now. No stolen hugs and nights of falling asleep on their shoulders during long car rides under the guise of simple friendship. They would know your intentions now. Know that you loved them. 

    “Sorry,” you whimpered, starting to untangle yourself from the two of them. 

     The last thing you expected was for Dean’s arms to tighten around you. “Where you going, sweetheart?” 

     “To bed.” You pushed weakly at his arms, not truly wanting to escape his warmth. “Tomorrow I gotta find a spell that makes you forget what I just said,” 

     “You hear her, Sammy? Our girl wants to go to bed.” 

     “Come here,” in one smooth motion Sam pulled you into his arms and picked you up off the floor. “Whose bed do you want to be in?” 

     “Mine.” Dean grinned. “It’s got memory foam.” 

     “I don't, wait, but you,” you covered your mouth, hardly daring to breathe. “You...both of you?” 

     “From the day we met you.” Sam kissed your forehead. “Let’s get you to bed. Coming, Dean?”

     “Right behind you.” Dean got to his feet and followed you and Sam with a mischievous grin. 

And that was how the three of you started the beginning of forever. 

[moonage-nightterrors]

you cannot tell me that at some point Dean didn’t think it’d be cool as fuck to get one ear pierced. and he would absolutely not know about earring code. and dudes would start hitting on him and he would just not know why and have a full-blown identity crisis about why suddenly everyone thinks he’s gay (cue repressed bisexual Dean Winchester)

meanwhile Sam knew this whole time and has just been laughing his ass off watching it all go down

[vendettasfanfictioning]

Sam-coded: Analyzing the parallels between Destiel and Sam's arcs with his love interests.

PART 1: JESSICA MOORE

FOREWORD & DISCLAIMER

With a fan community as enormous as Supernatural's, it is fair to assume that most, if not everything, stated here has already been pointed out or dissected multiple times before—especially considering the long span of time that the show has aired and the three years thereafter. The goal of this post is not to claim these ideas as my own but rather to compile and expand on them.

I also want to add that regarding Jessica, specifically, the canon facts about her are incredibly limited what with her only "real" appearance being at the Pilot episode (though she is referenced and alluded to in multiple episodes all throughout).

That said, she had a critical role in shaping Sam's goals, with emphasis on earlier seasons' Sam's development so it felt fitting to start this series off with her.

There are many instances that the fandom has pointed out cinematic parallels between Sam and Jessica & Dean and Castiel. In this post, I would be elaborating on all of the key points I have found, namely: 1. The scripted meeting, 2. Grieving a lover, and other random findings.

1. IN THE BEGINNING (WITH REGARDS TO GOD'S PLAN)

To start, both Sam/Jess and Dean/Cas were fated to meet to serve a higher narrative purpose.

Frankly, I think that is fucking beautiful, but not only that; it can be argued that, if we were to speculate that Sam met Jessica right after he ran away from Dean and John, then Jessica and Castiel did the same thing. They pulled their respective Winchester brother out of hell/a dark place. (That may just be me talking out of my ass, but it's such a poetic concept, isn't it?)

Most importantly though, both parties were doomed by the narrative, but in polar opposite ways.

(Screenshots taken from 5x20)

Sam was destined to love and then lose Jessica for two reasons: to start the story, and to make Sam go down the "dark" path i.e. adjacent to Lucifer, demon blood, evil. Their story was scripted from the get-go, even before Supernatural decided to go metatextual with God.

(Screenshots taken from 15x17)

On the other hand, Dean and Castiel were never meant to be anything more. God himself says that Castiel was supposed to continue obeying heaven, do what he was told, and it is one of (if not the one) that completely separated the Supernatural storyline from any of Chuck's other drafts.

(GIFs from 15x18 and 15x19)

Furthermore, Castiel's love for Dean and Dean's loss of him marks the end of the story and makes Dean defy the role that God made for him. Admittedly, it's a flawed parallel, as Dean has already moved on from being Michael's Sword and the Righteous Man. To that, I say it only further proves the point; their unscripted "profound bond" directly opposed God's word. It was what should have broken the cycle.

And still, both ended in tragedy. It's just that one was written to end that way and the other wrote itself.

2. THE WINCHESTER BROTHERS ON GRIEF

(GIFs are from 1x01 and 12x23)

This segment can't start any other way than with these iconic shots of the Winchesters holding their brother back from running towards the love of their life (as the lover, in question, dies/walks to their death). These shots are the very reason I started this whole analysis, and they speak for themselves.

Even their clothes are inverted here, because Sam and Dean are experiencing the exact same thing. The grief, pain, and helplessness that comes with losing a partner.

(While compiling these, I stumbled upon the eerie realization that the shots attached above and the ones below have swapped color palettes in a way? Granted, that may just be some editing thing. Technology and video quality aside though, you can't deny that the vibrance of the fire vs. the bleakness of Apocalypse World juxtapose aesthetically well with the shots below. Just another one of those, "is it intentional or did Supernatural just run out of options from the sheer breadth of it?")

(Screenshots taken from 1x05 and 8x07)

This parallel in particular is what makes me believe that Supernatural either has amazing writing or just a terrible retention for continuity and reflection. Because, again, Sam and Dean are going through the same damn thing here: guilt. Specifically, the guilt of their lover's death—how both had reasons to believe they could've prevented it.

Also, these are cinematically shot the same way: Jessica and Castiel by the road, a deadpan stare at the Impala as the brothers drive by, then disappearing from sight at a second glance. How else are we to take this other than Dean grieving a lover the same way Sam grieved for his girlfriend? Did they just forget this scene from 1x05 when they filmed 8x07? (Most likely, yeah, but that doesn't disprove its contribution to the narrative.)

The premise is also similar, damningly so, the only notable difference being the formatting, with season 1's monster-of-the-week almost-standalones and season 8's continuous, over-arcing conflict with hell and the tablets.

(Screenshots taken from 1x05 and 8x07)

At the very core, though, is Sam and Dean with their, "I could have—" statements. Sam had visions about Jessica dying, he could have warned her. Dean had Castiel right there at the portal to exit Purgatory, he could have pulled him out. It is that guilt they must carry around and that burden they must bear.

(Screenshots taken from 1x05 and 8x07)

They even give one another the same damn pep talk. Dean saw that Jessica's death was slowly killing Sam, the same way Sam saw that Dean's return from Purgatory without Castiel was tearing Dean apart.

(Screenshots taken from 1x05 and 8x07)

Lastly, here are the verbal acknowledgements of their grief. Because hey, who am I to try to explain subtext and nonverbatim connections.

2.1. TO BE JOHN WINCHESTER'S SON

In this segment, I would like to point out two of the instances that Sam and Dean accepted being compared to John Winchester, both in regards to losing Jessica and Castiel respectively.

(Screenshots taken from 1x20)

Again, this is what the story was all about. Sam and John could or at least find solidarity in this, as was intended for the plot. (They even mirror God and Lucifer here, which is an entirely different can of worms I am not opening today.)

Keep in mind, Sam's always hated how John raised them, but it is evident that he found some comfort with John given their undeniably specific situations.

(Screenshots taken from 13x04 I talked a little more about this arc here)

Sam openly calls Dean out on his John-esque behavior; an irony in itself given that the brothers have long since established that Sam was the one who resembled John the most whereas Dean was always, "yes, sir!" until the very end.

In this very same arc, there is a concerning increase Dean's alcohol consumption—and the use of alcohol as a coping mechanism in itself, rather than the leisurely treat it recurringly was in the show—which are telling signs for the headspace Dean was in.

They both lashed out in John Winchester ways they've internalized over the years growing up. Sam went down the path of self-destructive revenge-seeking, while Dean lashed out by rejecting being a father role to Jack, becoming the "drill sergeant," instead. These traits were what hurt them as children and were the crux of John's grief over Mary's murder. Round and round the cycle goes.

2.2. TO BE LUCIFER'S VICTIM

(GIFs from 5x03 (a) and (b))

Again, another iconic parallel considering Lucifer's go-to trick to getting what he wants was to pose as the person his victims want the most. Another example of this exact same scenario is when Lucifer appears to rock star Vince Vicente as his dead girlfriend (and Vince ended up saying yes.)

In the earlier seasons, the most obvious choice for Sam was of course Jessica, as Lucifer was desperate to get ahold of Sam as a vessel. That was narratively sound, right? Even though 5 seasons (so about 5 years in canon) have passed since Jessica died, Sam hadn't forgotten her and she remained his greatest weakness.

(GIFs from 15x19)

Then on the flip side, during a time the story's well past the Script and God's most definitely free-styling, Lucifer appears again—and it is on God's orders. The devil chose Dean's weakness (Castiel) to blindside him, so Dean ends up running on emotions instead of questioning it.

This happened right after the episode Castiel confessed, and before the episode that Should Not Be Named... That also speaks for itself, doesn't it? Insane, absolute insanity to me.

3. MISCELLANEOUS: SYMBOLISMS & OTHER COINCIDENCES

(Screenshots taken from 1x01 and 14x12)

This is where I might be reaching, but it's a small observation I noticed while bingeing the Pilot episode. Of course, at the time, production likely didn't even put much thought into Jessica's costume, but it's a funny thing to point out all the same. (I screamed a little about Cas' healer motifs here in comparison to Cesar/Jesse if you're interested.)

(Screenshots taken from 1x01 and 10x09)

They both have the same Look when their boyfriend is talking down on himself, I can't even make this shit up.

+ I'm so frickin' tired I cannot look for screenshots anymore but Jessica's cookies plus Castiel's "you don't understand, I need pie," moment in the convenience store resonate with me.

+ Might edit and add more to this later, for now I sleepge.

REFERENCES

1x01: Pilot 1x05: Bloody Mary 1x20: Dead Man's Blood 5x03: Free to be You and Me 5x20: The Devil You Know 8x07: A Little Slice of Kevin 10x09: The Things We Left Behind 12x23: All Along the Watchtower 13x04: The Big Empty 14x12: Prophet and Loss 15x17: Unity 15x18: Despair 15x19: Inherit the Earth

UP NEXT: SARAH BLAKE

[deancaspinefest]

Super Double Bus

Author: MBQ | Artist: girlinthemirrorbluenight

Posting on Wednesday April 3

Castiel Novak's first quarter at UIC had been carefully planned and scheduled out. He had his list of "Re-Entry" classes neatly checked off and had already gotten the academic calendar figured out. He thought he was properly prepared and debriefed for his first freshman outing to the Navy Pier with far too many baby-faced eighteen-year olds, but he'd indulge them. Being a few years older and with some junior college already on his transcripts, he was pretty confident he could handle any curveball these toddlers could throw. But a boyfriend-shaped Dean Winchester quickly proves to be a problem that is rapidly demanding a solution.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

A notification popping up with a chime interrupted his reverie and he was informed that the party bus had arrived. Or rather: “Votre bus discothèque le super double vous attend. Veuillez appuyer sur ok pour envoyer votre réponse.” Castiel could hear the words like wet jewels rolling around his tongue in his head even if he didn’t quite understand what was being said--yet. He picked out the decipherable cognates and tapped OK on the pop up.

The party had rolled to his door and there was no way out of it.

Outside, the disco bus was a sleek black bus with so much neon Cas squinted in its general direction. The neon wasn’t the garish palette of seedy bars in Atlantic City or the strip malls of southern California. It was a purple-blue palette and looked very modern indeed. His marketing eye picked up all the attention to detail and gauged who their target demo was. He approved of it from a market sense. It still was the last way he felt like spending his first jet lagged night in Paris after a hellish flight. He vaguely wondered what the middle aged lady was doing and almost wished he had followed up on that. He didn’t see a ring on her weathered hand, but that wasn’t a deterrent. Just another obstacle. She wasn’t unattractive and she seemed mellow enough. It would have been enough to get his dad off his ass and maybe he’d have some companionship that wasn’t drunk twenty somethings with their damn selfies, ring lights and perpetual photo sessions. He groaned and clicked a quick, uninspired pic of the disco bus as it rolled to a stop in front of his hotel. He had a second thought that he could have made a montage or reel with the arrival that would have kept him occupied for the most of the evening, but the opportunity had passed.

He pulled up his QR code and held it to the infrared scanner that flared in his blood shot eyes as the doors whooshed open. He considered having a drink. It might take some of the sleep deprived, irritated-at-his-Chuck edge off. It had been a while since he wanted to drink. In fact, his drink with Dean on the rooftop bar had been his last. He had successfully avoided the house parties of his dorm and Dean’s GC knew not to extend him an invite. But tonight he actually felt like drinking. He loosened his blue tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Maybe a little bit.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Wednesday April 3)

[goncharov-propaganda-factory]

Mishapocalypse: what the-

Hey, former redditors! Welcome to the hellsite, we're all glad that you're here (especially you 196 folk you warm my dead, frozen heart). While on the whole you seem to be adapting AMAZINGLY fast to site culture, if any of you are confused over one of our founding myths this may help.

(or if you're a veteran tumblrina and just want to read an essay that's fine too)

(others key parts of our national identity to learn about if you're curious include Goncharov, I Love You, Color of the Sky, My Three Girlfriends, and many more)

also if you don't want to read my entire fucking essay take this and run

but if you want to know the deal with this man, read on!

Mishorigins

Supernatural is a 2000s-ass TV series that ran on the CW from 2005 to 2020. It's about two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester, who are "hunters" that protect people from various supernatural entities. The show was originally planned to last five seasons, with an angel character named Castiel (this is important) slated to be revealed as God in the finale. Castiel (nicknamed Cass by the CW and Cas by objectively correct people) was introduced in S4.

left: Castiel, the gay angel of our collective dreams. right: Misha Collins.

The Man Behind the Mish

Misha Collins is a straight man who was forced by a cruel and uncaring god to play a heavily queer coded angel on a TV series intended for any demographic BUT gay teens (which is what it became). His performance as Castiel, and the large queer teen fanbase he drew, were a driving force behind a show would ultimately continue for three times longer its original plan.

I don't have anywhere else to put these facts so they go here

he was an intern in the Clinton administration during the Lewinsky scandal

he knows Tibetan throat singing

he was arrested for climbing onto a bank roof (he was trying to... read a book? 👀👀👀)

he probably made Jensen Ackles (the guy who played Dean less homophobic? Maybe?

he held a scavenger hunt called GISHWHES several times for his charity, Random Acts

cool guy

he later played Harvey Dent on Gotham Knights this very year (2023)

there's icebergs of this shit

he farted on an airplane once

Mishion: Impossible

April 1st, 2013 is a date that will live in mishinfamy. Tumblr a main hub of the SuperWhoLock fandom (a mega-fandom amalgamating Supernatural, Sherlock BBC, and Doctor Who), was the only place the Mishapocalypse could happen.

For boring deets I'll redirect you to the KnowYourMeme page but these images should sum it up.

left: a list of Tumblr users, circa 2013. right: a fine example of Misha culture

There are two takeaways here:

You cannot outrun Misha.

You will become him.

On April 1, 2013, a significant portion of Tumblr changed their avatar to the now-iconic Mishapocalypse photo and their handle to "Misha Collins", followed by similar waves of Mish across other social media sites.

above: the modern Prometheus

This beautiful event was emblematic of pre-Dashcon Tumblr, an era as far away from us now as 1200 AD was from 1208 AD. You'll be pleased to know that the Mishapocalypse returns every April 1st to grace these ancient halls, a small group of pilgrims tracing new paths on the well-worn floor of the Church of Misha.

(this isn't to say the Supernatural fandom is dead, it's just somewhat diminished from it's glory days.

Thanks for reading! Reblog if you liked. I'll leave you with a bunch of Mishimages of my own that I posted for Mishapocalypse 23 (the 10th anniversary). Shameless self-promotion!!!

in clockwise order:

The Mona Misha

Mishius

Misha's extra hour in the ball pit

The Mishian (with Mish Damon)

Future ideas include Salvator Misha. Feel free to ask any questions you have, and I hope you enjoy Tumblr.

Happy Mishing!

ps I have not actually watched supernatural you just learn all of this via osmosis

[ohbo-ohno]

bo i had a dream (i chronically have nightmares) where, long story short, i couldnt solve a haunting, and then someome suggested i just. serve the ghost an eviction notice. and it worked???

anyway thats extremely ghost coded i can imagine someone telling him abt a nightmare and he just gives them some stupid ass answer like that and it works. man literally logics his way out of it but not with im too clever aha energies but because he simply just doesnt have time for this. hes got shit to do.

i remain astounded by the fact that you people are actually having like. dreams. that are vivid. and that you remember. and that aren't completely nonsensical. how

okay wait ghost logics his way out but if his first attempt doesn't immediately work with complete success, he shoots his way out. that man is absolutely willing to shoot a ghost with a shotgun (dean winchester style)

[meatmensch]

castiel on his knees shoveling raw ground beef into his mouth (compelled by the horseman famine) (as dean winchester watches) = aziraphale eating half an ox in one night (tempted by crowley) (as crowley watches) = gay fucking sex gay gay hayes code cock sucking ass fucking gay

[stanfordsweater]

Happy WW! What do they think their brother (or other family member if you like) does better than anybody else in the whole wide world?

i think sam really admires dean's instincts when it comes to hunting!! there's a few times when we see sam defer to dean with regards to what angle he comes into a room with, who takes point, et cetera, and despite all his griping, i think sam also admires the shit out of dean's improvisation skills... thinking about the rabbits foot episode when dean takes out the dude by throwing the gun at him, and sam's looking at him like "are you serious" but also "of course that worked, it's dean." (dean juiced up on luck, but still). or the saga of the rocket launcher. this is especially meaningful to me when sam's trust in himself is lacking in the mid-seasons, especially early parts of 5, after he gets his soul back in 6, and throughout 7.

dean, meanwhile, genuinely thinks sam is the smartest person alive and will not hesitate to tell you so. everytime sam pulls some obscure fact out of his ass and saves the day, dean's like WHY DO YOU KNOW THAT but also admiring, always, and is willing to go with it without an explanation (see the hallowed ground theory in route 666, that time sam knows every library code ever off the top of his head, the bloody faces "masks" in it's the great pumpkin, sam winchester). this is also related to improvisation, but i think dean interprets it as intellect/nerdiness where sam interprets it as experimentalism, when in reality they're both intelligent dudes who think well on their feet.

what they do best together is communication without words or even actions, just looking at each other and knowing what he's thinking and following through without exchanging anything other than a nod 😮‍💨❣️

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 14: All for you

One of these days, Dean is going to break the Good Guy Code and straight-up murder the Angel.

“You can’t kill him,” Sam says wearily as he takes pieces of Dean’s body armor to pack away in its special case.

“Just watch me.”

Sam rolls his eyes, frowning as Dean hands him the chestplate. “Is this a bullet hole?”

“It’s a dent from a bullet.”

“You said it didn’t get you!”

“I said I wasn’t hurt, which is true.” Dean sits on the couch in Sam’s home office to wrestle off his combat boots. He straightens up just to get hit with bitchface #5.

“Vigilantism has no room for semantics,” Sam says, also very bitchily.

Dean grimaces. “Are we done here?”

Sam waves him off, and Dean stalks up to his room. 

The old Winchester mansion shows its age in the creaky stairs, dusty corners, and windows permanently fogged over with grime. 

To the rest of the world, the Winchester heirs gave up their fortune to various charities (not that their millions-bordering-on-a-billion did enough). Sam, the youngest, went to medical school to become a stand up member of society. The oldest, though, he squandered the rest they had left on extravagant vacations and lavish parties. 

Dean flops down on his bed with a groan. Only three years as a vigilante, and he feels thirty years older. Sammy’s going to have to replace both his knees soon. And maybe a hip. 

Maybe Sammy should just take all his bones out at this point and replace them with titanium. Dean would finally be able to keep up with the Angel, at least.

He rolls over, staring up at the mahogany ceiling of his bedroom. 

The Angel blew into Lawrence a year ago, packed full of super strength and badass feathered wings, making cryptic remarks about divine plans for humanity and shit. Within a month, he got a fanclub/religious cult to follow him around and give the guy a complex the size of Niagara Falls. 

Dean simply added him to his villain-of-the-week list – until the Angel blinded fifteen fishermen in the harbor. He said it was the work of “demons”, but all Dean knew was that the crew went out to sea with all their eyeballs intact and came back with 20/infinity vision.

Six months ago, the psycho escalated to setting an entire neighborhood on fire to kill an apparent “witch”.

Dean stopped him in time, but it was a close fucking call.

This year, though, the Angel abruptly changed his tune. Dean used to catch him kidnapping random civilians and the occasional assault. Now, he’s far more likely to find him rescuing cats from trees and Timmy from down the well. It makes Dean’s blood boil. 

What the hell is he up to?

The question has been circling Dean’s brain for far too long.

* * *

Dean ducks out of the gala, checking his phone for police alerts. 

“Mr. Winchester!”

Dean swiftly pockets his phone and turns, plastering a bland smile on his face before he sees the newcomer. “Oh, it’s you,” he says sourly.

Cas hurries up the marble stairs, dodging other departing patrons, sticking out like a sore thumb in his boxy trench coat and off-the-rack suit among all the tuxedos and designer gowns. “Do you have a comment about tonight’s fundraiser?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Can’t you make one up?”

Cas bristles, all offended like he gets every time Dean tells him to get lost or pass off someone else’s words as Dean’s. “That would violate my journalistic integrity.” 

“Dude, you cover human interest puff pieces,” Dean says scornfully. “Nobody cares.”

“I care,” Cas says, stung.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “For fifteen grand a plate, the shrimp was dry.” He raises an eyebrow. “Happy?”

Cas makes a face like Dean personally force fed him a dozen dry-ass shrimp. “That’s hardly a –”

“That’s all you’re getting,” Dean says sternly. 

Cas – Castiel – Carpenter has been a pain in his ass since he caught up with Dean outside Dick Roman’s last New Years Eve party. He hounded Dean for a quote, following him all the way from Roman’s lobby to the street, waiting with Dean for his car to arrive. He kept asking about Roman’s plans to scrap affordable housing developments near the river in favor of luxury condos.

Dean, with a few too many drinks in his stomach, told him Roman could learn a thing or two from the Scooby Gang. Real estate scams never seem to end well in Carver City. 

The Winchesters, of course, already had a plan for Roman. Top lawyers, paid through a shell company owned by a shell company based in the Caymans, were already compiling environmental impact reports, and Dean had plans to visit Roman’s penthouse and perhaps dangle him off it, if he didn’t see things Dean's way.

Cas, the sly son of a bitch, hadn’t even printed a word of their discussion, and Dean only found out Cas covered the goddamn gossip pages the next weekend as he scanned the paper for Cas’s byline at two in the morning after a late night run-in with the Angel.

“Mr. Winchester –”

“I’m a busy man,” Dean says coldly as he shoulders past Cas. “If you need to talk to me, you know my PR number.” 

Cas falls back, scowling fiercely. “I know you have something to say, Dean!” he calls to his back. 

“Get your clickbait somewhere else!”

Dean has places to be and ass to kick, no matter how many times Cas bats those baby blues his way.

* * *

Dean groans, since when did Crowley have the kind of funds to hire these goons? The last he heard, Crowley's mayoral campaign was hemorrhaging money, and Crowley was spending every cent on voter suppression and scare tactics to get his base to the voting booths.

Dean staggers into the storage unit warehouse, clutching a hand to his side where a lucky knife got between the plates of his body armor. He stays alert – a dozen of Crowley’s henchmen tried to take him out and failed, but that doesn’t mean another dozen aren’t waiting in the shadows.

Charlie’s algorithm traced vast amounts of Crowley’s remaining cash to holding five storage units, paying top dollar for quality and security.

Whatever the hell Crowley is keeping here, it’s valuable.

And valuable to Crowley means indispensable to anyone else.

Dean slumps towards the first locker, breathing heavily. His head pounds, and the overhead lights flare as he glances around, trying to get his bearings.

He mentally adds a concussion to his tally of injuries. Sam’s going to have his work cut out for him tonight, if Dean gets home at all.

He reaches into his toolbelt, and his fingers scramble for his set of lockpicks for too long. How the hell he’ll be able to manipulate the delicate tools – well, that’s a bridge to cross when the lock itself stops swaying in front of his eyes.

The blow from behind hits him out of nowhere.

Dean falls forward with a grunt, his ears ringing.

“The vigilante himself,” an unfamiliar voice sneers. “What an honor.”

The next hit cracks the side of Dean’s reinforced cowl, and his ears ring with the force of it. He scrabbles back to his feet, widening his stance on an instinct honed from years of practice. He’s still as wobbly as a newborn kitten, but at least he doesn’t look it.

The man wears a uniform of the warehouse staff, but there’s nothing minimum wage security guard about the way he fights hand-to-hand.

A flurry of blows rain down on Dean, his head, his neck, his chest. The body armor in his suit can only absorb so much of the impact, and Dean’s losing ground, quickly, backed up against a concrete wall.

He has one taser left, though. At his next opening, he dodges a right hook and jams the metal disk against the goon’s neck. 

He spasms with a crackle of electricity, and falls to the floor to reveal –

“Fuck,” Dean swears loudly, swinging his fists up to protect his face, not that they’ll do much against superstrength. 

But it takes his sluggish brain a soupy moment to realize the Angel's hands aren't raised in fists gunning for his face.

The Angel’s palms reach up to cup his cheeks, and Dean winces, squeezing his eyes shut against the harsh light that always pours out of the Angel’s eye sockets, obscuring his entire face.

“You’re injured,” the Angel murmurs in his otherworldly voice that makes Dean’s chest vibrate with an uncomfortable resonance.

“Nothin’ slips by you, does it?” Dean forces out because, even when he has nothing left, he still has his pride.

The Angel pulls back Dean's cowl, and Dean tries to push the Angel off him, but he might as well be trying to wrestle with a concrete wall. The Angel intones, “This might feel strange.”

“No…” Dean protests, and, god, if these are his last words, they sound pathetic.

“Shh, Dean,” the Angel says, and he doesn’t sound at all surprised by the sight of Dean’s face. Two fingers press against his bare forehead, and Dean jerks away instinctively, but can’t move a hair in the Angel’s firm grip.

A cool, almost rain-like sensation trickles out from the point of contact.

Dean opens his eyes.

Is the light pouring out from the Angel dimming?

Dean’s definitely seeing more clearly now, and the pounding in his head has disappeared. With mounting confusion, he watches as the Angel’s high beam eyes flicker like a bad television signal.

His face – Dean only sees a flash or two, but he would swear – 

The Angel stumbles back a step, and Dean straightens, inhaling a painless lungful of air. “What the hell just happened?” he demands.

The Angel shakes his head, and his wings flicker next. They pop back into existence in the space of a blink. Like a lamp on it’s last legs, the beams of light emitting from his eyes give a few weak flares before dying out completely.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean breathes.

Cas sags against the opposite wall, his wings disappearing for good with a silent breath of air. Whatever he'd done to Dean had drained him.

“You –”

Cas stares up at him. “Me,” he agrees quietly.

“What the hell are you playing at?” Dean demands. “You’re – you’re –” He can’t say it.

Cas pushes himself to his feet, his face pallid and eyes weary. “I’m an angel of the lord.”

Dean can’t help his loud snort. “You’re still sticking with that?”

“It’s the truth.”

Dean lays a hand on his utility belt, eyeing Cas warily. He might look as threatening as a belly-up hedgehog, but experience has taught Dean that some opponents are never more dangerous than when they’re cornered.

“If you’re a real angel,” Dean says stiffly, “why are you here? Why now?”

“I was sent here to start the apocalypse,” Cas says.

Dean narrows his eyes. “You’re joking.”

“I don’t joke.”

Dean steps closer, scanning Cas for any sign of an impending fight. “You wanna give me a reason not to end you right here and now?” 

But Cas stays right where he is. “Those were my orders. But when I arrived on Earth, I had my doubts.”

“It was you – the blind fishermen,” Dean says coldly, “that incident on Halloween.”

Cas nods miserably. “Mistakes, all of them.”

“I couldn’t figure out what was up with you,” Dean admits. “You went from nabbing Patty Hearst in December to landing broken planes in the river in January.”

Cas tilts his head. “Because of you.”

Dean can’t have heard that right. But as Dean lets the silence drag on, Cas doesn’t take it back or explain. Dean crosses his arms over his chest. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You showed me humanity is worth saving,” Cas says, his voice almost painfully sincere. “So I disobeyed my orders. I turned my back on Heaven. I followed in your footsteps.” He meets Dean’s stunned gaze squarely. “I did it all for you.”

“I – what?”

“You care so much for this city, for your people,” Cas continues, and Dean, torn between telling him to keep going or shut the hell up, stays silent. Cas goes on, “You regularly put yourself in harm’s way to protect them, usually from themselves. You donate enormous sums of money and manipulate an extremely complicated political machine to make sure they have safe water to drink and places to rest.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck, muttering, “Somebody’s gotta.” He jerks his head up. “Hold on, you knew it was me? The whole time?”

“Why do you think I was so hellbent on talking to you?” Cas asks dryly, the faintest of blushes dusting his cheeks.

“And I always thought it was because of my perky nipples,” Dean says distractedly. All those times Cas hollered questions about the latest government developments; where his next grant was going; who he was backing in the mayoral race. That was the Angel.

“I’m, uh, sure they’re very perky,” Cas says awkwardly.

Dean narrows his eyes. “How’d you find out?”

Cas cocks his head, his blue eyes intense as they study Dean’s face. “Your soul. It’s unlike any other I’ve encountered in the way it shines.”

Dean swallows, embarrassed of all things. “You can see souls?”

Cas nods. “Yours as well as the five people behind these storage locker doors.”

Dean freezes. “What the fuck?” He stares, horrified at the closest one, his hand already pulling out his set of lockpicks. “You’re serious?” At Cas’s confused nod, Dean swears colorfully. “And you kept talkin’ like we’re on a Sunday drive?”

As Dean ducks down to get to work on the first lock, Cas says matter-of-factly, “None of Crowley’s victims are near death. They’ve all been fed and watered recently, and eleven more minutes won’t have a great effect on their physical or mental health.”

“Alright, Patrick Bateman,” Dean says, but the accusation lacks any heat, “Superhero Rule Number One: you always get the damsels out of distress first.”

“I understand.”

Dean glances up at him as the lock clicks open. “After this, you and me, we’re gonna have a long talk.” He huffs a laugh as he pulls his cowl back up. “You want to know what I think about this city? I’ll give you enough quotes to fill a bible.”

“I might hold you to that,” Cas murmurs as Dean heaves the metal door open.

Read the sequel here!

[via-l0ve]

Dean Winchester: *tapping random taps on your door that don’t mean anything*

“That’s Morse code for ‘nice ass’”

HAHA HELP IM CACKLING

“please let me in y/n that was funny as hell.”

[notsogreatpotoo]

Supernatural Notes Masterpost

context. i'm watching this show and taking notes bc of my friend @sardonic-the-writer. i've quickly realized these notes will be extensive reactions to every moment onscreen, so like, obviously spoilers for the show, and this will probably be annoying. enjoy the glimpse into my brain. (will be rbing or editing this whenever i watch more, so all of it will be in one place. it takes me so long to watch episodes bc i must nerd out and overanalyze everything.)

Season 1

Episode 1: Pilot

um why are the vines on the house moving / lookin like creepy ass tentacles

oh no. cute kids. something bad’s gonna happen and traumatize them

wait these are sam and dean. double oh no.

cute domestic family? hhhragh that isn’t gonna last long

why. why is the mobile moving.

creepy music and other happenings

ah shit

she’s alone in the bed? she’s checking on sam alone after weird baby monitor happenings???

dark silhouette i bet that ain’t john

GIRL YO U CAN CHECK ON THE FLICKERING LIGHTS LATER STOPP

GIRL IS NOT GOING TO SURVIVE SHE’S GOING TO INVESTIGATE MORE SHIT ON HER OWN I GET THAT YOU DON’T THINK YOU’RE IN A HORROR MOVIE BUT PLEASE MA’AM IT’S BEEN TWO MINUTES

I KNEW IT WANINT JOHN YOU FUCK

OH shIT

‘hey sammy you okay?’ BOY YOUR WIFE WAS SCREAMING 2 SECONDS AGO WHERE TF IS SHE??? I KNOW U LOVE UR BABY BUT HE’S SMILING ND FINE FOR NOW

FUCK SHE’S ON THE CEILING

okay scary emotional moment aside that sudden plume of fire was actually kinda funny but still this is a yikes situation!! get your kids outta there pal!!!

um sir??? i know you didn’t just tell your kid to take his brother outside WITHOUT YOU

SIR WHAT DID YOU EXPECT TO BE ABLE TO DO

it’s been four minutes and they’ve probably lost their mother and their house. sard.

‘it’s okay sam’ HONEY. dean tryna reassure the literal baby who don’t know what’s going on bc that’s what he;s supposed to do. as an older sibling this hurtsss

okay at least he came out and joined them but Still

hoping that firefighters save the house

the spike in music and the zoom on john’s face is not making me hopeful.

okayyy they are going to a costume party? and he’s not in a costume? sam ur cute but. Tis a Costume Party.

Halloween is my favorite holiday Sam. This Is A Warning.

realizing this fits into the media rule of mothers not being allowed to survive is funny bc it made me picture this as a d*sney show

174? ONE SEVENTY FOUR. SAM WINCHESTER u are NOT ALLOWED TO BE HUMBLE.

‘is that good’ THE HIGHEST SCORE FOR THE LSAT IS 180

they don’t know? i am sensing Not Good Familial Ties

second blonde lady onscreen is probs also gonna die, calling it now.

ah shit is this gonna be a normal break in or another fuckin ceiling person fire thing

sam winchester. is horror movie logic hereditary?? why are u investigating shit by urself

sam why the hell are you fighting someone IN THE DARK

DEAN WHY THE HELL DID YOU JUST FIGHT YOUR BROTHER FOR FUN AND SCARE HIM HALF TO DEATH- oh wait, you’re brothers. STILL!!

‘or not’ no, shut up, just cause he flipped u when u weren’t expecting it don’t mean that could’ve worked on a real threat if they had a weapon. sam u are smart but also stupid.

okay pausing just to say i like their voices and we will be ignoring that right sard?

oh her name is Jess! second blonde lady Jess is going to die at some point

also just noticed dean not thinking sam would answer his calls and :’[

DEAN I NO LONGER FEEL BAD WTF

code words babeyyy

also Sam if you have something happening in your family that requires code words while the ‘you can say it in front of her’ thing is good for standing up for yourself and all, I assume it ain’t the best idea

Sam is actually being perfectly reasonable in this situation however I assume that Sam will not be listened to

‘He’s always missing, and he’s always fine’ again confirming that this show will hurt. John, u suck and I’ve known you for less than ten minutes.

JOHN WTF

did sam know this wasn’t normal?? did he have to get to college and realize oh, this was bad?

dean having a ‘it’s not really paranoia if they’re really out to get you’ mindset is Not Helping

‘dad’s obsession to find the thing that killed her’ i told you that zoom on his face did not make me feel hopeful

sam brought up mom, this is gonna get messyyyy

ran away? sard, sam is going to make me feel things this is not okay. i am going to project so hard onto these characters and it will be all your fault.

ohnno. Feelings.

SARD. SARD. ‘I can’t do this alone.’ ‘Yes you can.’ ‘I don’t want to.’ I DON’T WANT TO??? SARD HOW DARE YOU I’M GOING INSANE AND IT’S BEEN TEN MINUTES

sam gave in and i know i should feel bad abt that bc i was rooting for him like two seconds ago but you don’t understand ‘i don’t want to’ destroyed me

brother that is a lot of tools

voice appreciation bullet point. please ignore.

‘I’m 26, dude.’ shut uppp

eee they will be working cases in this show this is great. love a good mystery / case of the week show but don’t wanna watch cop shows :/

Three Weeks is Not a Few Days Buddy

sam strikes again with the braincell. he will lose it again soon enough.

okay so. did not sound like the men getting disappeared were whispering that ‘i can never go home’ thing so is this like a ghost lady off the side of the road typa shit? hitchhiker that died and never made it to her destination?

‘never bothered you, never asked you for a thing’ YOU MEAN YOU DIDN’T COMMUNICATE FOR SHIT

very much get why sam did not tell his family abt the lsat thing but damnit, dean, be proud of your little brother!!!

jess is nice but sam Will be brushing her off and Will feel justified for doing it

jess is concerned. i am Also concerned.

‘I promise’ sir you are jinxing yourself!!!

did he tell her??? we don’t get to know that apparently

stranger that i do not recognize from sard rbing spn gifs. therefore, likely unimportant character that something is going to happen to.

GHOST LADY I FCKIN CALLED IT

she don’t look quite like a hitchhiker tho. also, i get you’re concerned, brother, but ominous wind seems to only be blowing at her hair and dress and your radio just went haywire. you are ALONE. did you not get taught stranger danger bc while it don’t always apply to adults, it sure does to This Situation, boy

most ominous words ever. she did not mention car trouble, just said ‘take me home’ this is baddd

no one has common sense or self preservation in this show i stg

ghost lady Can interact with physical realm. i think this might be worse.

BOY STOP STARING AT HER TITS AND REALIZE THAT THIS SITCH IS GONNA GET YOU IN TROUBLE

‘a girl like you’ bruh. stop.

this feels like a weird interpretation of a siren

one, fast hand go zoom. two, the only woman we’ve been introduced to so far that hasn’t been immediately sexualized was their mother and she immediately died. so. not great

wasn’t stupid car boy talking to a girl on the phone earlier???

‘do you think im pretty’ soundin like the slit mouthed woman over here, bad sign

STUPID CAR BOY EMPHASIS ON STUPID

as soon as he pulled up to weird house and she vanished he should have been outta there

moving weird handprint with no proper smear

oh no it’s showing a shot of him from inside the house this is bad

that made me jump BUT I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING INSIDE HOUSE

boy is backing out like the pizza man from home alone

oh no that isn’t it is it

wait he didn’t check the backseat?? or did she vanish completely and then reappear in backseat

oh he is,, Not Okay

the switch from that scene to that music made me laugh

credit card scams??? and you’re just gonna ask that out in the open?? sam. sam.

sam. do not diss metallica.

soundtrack appreciation bullet point.

haha time to lie to cops :]

spotless?? it certainly was not spotless when BLOOD SPLATTERED ON THE WINDOWS

he was dating a cop’s daughter and considering cheating? stupid car boy is Even More Stupid

‘thanks, that’s awfully kind of you’ see. unfortunately dean fucks.

dean Not Being Able To Resist Insulting the cops is, i’m sad to say, hot

them fighting is totally not going to be suspicious at all (boys, get it together for my sake, i’m not good at sarcasm)

older sheriff lookin ass guy is going to remember their faces and mess this up for them somehow

this is making me so glad my roommate that i actually share a room with is not here bc my headphones just died and i will charge them Later

dean, your alibis are gonna get all mixed uppppp

random girl who asked if Amy was okay after two strangers started to corner her i love you

why is amy even interested in troy

sam gets to go on um actually. as a treat.

JINX

sam keeps meeting the eyes of whoever’s talking bc he’s still adjusting to this / he’s used to dean and dean keeps watching for sam’s reactions bc he’s used to this but sam is now the new element

okay i get that the local legend stuff was spot on and also important but girl maybe mentioning troy disappearing forever next to his gf is not the best idea? PLUS if dean and sam were really troy’s uncles then them taking weird ghost stuff at face value is sus, no?

ah, when it was possible to get zero results bc there weren’t ads everywhere. i do not remember this time.

dean, don’t hit your brother bc you don’t know the correct keywords

good job sam, but i have subtitles on so i read it before i heard it and i misread ‘Constance Welch’ as ‘Contance Wench’ so i just wanted to let you know that’s who she is in my head

poor Joseph. poor Constance. poor kids. why do kids have to be so fragile

‘that bridge look familiar to you?’ no, totally not the same bridge you were just at a couple minutes ago, that would be ridiculous

dean is so insensitive and desensitized and unfortunately i know i’m going to love him

deannnnnn, be nice to sam pleaseeeee

‘well, that’s healthy’ POT MEET KETTLE DEAN

they’re fighting and i am in pain

‘don’t talk about her like that’ like what? like she’s dead? people don’t generally go up in smoke and then randomly appear after years, y’know? dean, hun, you’re in pain but have you considered putting that credit card scam money into getting a therapist?

oh dear

oh look at that, i’m officially just over Halfway Through This Episode. yeah, how many notes do i have? only THREE AND A HALF PAGES

running the longside of the road instead of zigzagging out the way bc they’re Like That

also lovely confirmation that she does not need an invitation or a driver to get inside the car and use it

BOYS. now i KNOW you survive but WTF WAS THAT

sam’s little laugh of relief is quite lovely but unfortunately i think he’s going to become an adrenaline junkie who can’t stop doing this hunting thing. i say unfortunately, but that’s for his sake. i am very excited.

‘car alright?’ dean winchester you just jumped off a bridge

was gonna make a comment abt the futility and perhaps stupidity of cursing out ghost lady. however. i fear that cursing out ghosts may be a staple when it comes to this show.

their dad’s been there…

dean you need a shower. bad ly.

sorry abt two bullet points in a row abt this but dean how do not want to pull off your skin to get allat dirt off ya?? also why didn’t the hotel guy ask about that instead of the ‘reunion’ bull??

writing the way i talk works for me when i’m tryna write fast and not think much bout what i’m saying but i think watching something like this is gonna bring out my accent, if my roommates make fun of me later i’m blaming you sard

this hotel room is the spn version of the red string conspiracy guy meme

i think the thing these guys have in common is the fact that they were all stupid car boys willing to pick up ghost lady and try to take her home

ALSO just realized ghost lady had a husband in her life?? and she was still flirting with stupid car boy?? idk, maybe they had an after death split but this don’t hit right with me

Sard. Why was there whispering. Sard last time there was weird shit like this that Sam noticed a lady started burning on the ceiling. Sard.

‘she might have another weakness’ i think the fact that dean steamrolled right past that means they’ll be using that other weakness

dean wth. are you. allergic to affection? ‘no chick-flick moments’ fuck OFF, this is why he wouldn’t’ve answered your calls

okay, sam’s rolling with it. i still stand by what i said about therapy.

sam what have you noticed now?

is that them???????????? hhhhhhhhraghhh

dean, sam is on the phoneee

love how cool dean is with illegal shit tho

wait they’re in separate places law of media says something bad is going to happen

‘you got anything that’s real’ ‘my boobs’ sard unfortunately i love him.

how many fake names ya think dean just has ready to go? wait, imagine him in an improv class

okay, fr tho dean, that corkboard shit is sus as hell, idc if you were three when it first happened, it still looks like you’re stalkin ‘em (which. i guess you kinda are.)

is that his dad’s book? adult version of the notebook of doom

sam is still looking for their dad even tho he coulda totally taken the opportunity to split back to stanford :]

poor Joseph :[

there was no after death split and i feel very icky about ghost lady flirting with stupid car boy

…was that hesitance before ‘definitely’ or am i imagining things?

good job for being nice to people sam

oh no, retracting that statement. why are you telling him this

oh shit it was hesitance

OH SHIT

so a woman in white is like medea, gottit

okay i understand why ghost lady flirted with the stupid car boy

ooh narratively interesting point >> cheating Joseph has more faith in Constance to be a good person than himself

also this makes more sense than the fact that the kids were left alone for a literal minute and both died

he gon pick that lock!!

dean is free hehe

wait sam placed the call? aww, he cares about his brother

ex-Marine? keeping that tidbit locked away for later

also you woulda thunk that the cops coulda thought about coordinates when looking at a combo of random numbers

wait!!!! sam is going to be okay, he’s not what the woman in white is looking for, right? unless he like, pissed her off by running through her with the car. but still. first episode, he must be okay

trappedinthecartrappedinthecar

‘you will be’ fuck OFF GET AWAY FROM HIMM

THAT TOTALLY DOESN’T COUNT YOU FUCKING ASSAULTED HIM

wait driving the car through the house worked? huh

fucked up ghost family reunion aside i feel so fucking bad for sam

oh gross

‘you found her weak spot’ guess who called it? again? i love being good at pattern recognition

WHAT THE FUCK DEAN YOU JUST SLAPPED HIS INJURIES

‘if you screwed up my car, i’ll kill you’ or, y’know, you might do that on accident bc you SLAP HIS INJURIES

okay dean you get a little grace for finally taking sam seriously about his interview

‘you’ll call me if you find him?’ there, dean, you have an invitation to talk to your brother. do it.

AWW JESS MADE HIM COOKIES

.

sard.

sard.

SARD ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

…

he is not making that interview is he

fuck

the winchester boys suffering the same fates as their father apparently

THE PROBLEM IS IT MAKES SENSE SAM WASN’T JUST GOING TO UP AND LEAVE HIS LIFE ALL WILLY NILLY AND I EVEN CALLED IT BUT THE PARALLELS AND THE PAIN SARD

final thoughts:

unfortunately I’m hooked. it made perfect sense for this to initiate everything. sure, it’s not the best show ever but there’s so much packed in and my overthinking brain is whirring faster than my laptop’s fan rn. loved that things were never immediately revealed bc it gave me a chance to guess and it felt so good when things fell into place later. sam is a sweetheart, but he’s also really smart and able to pass as innocent even when he’s lying his head off. i love that. dean’s an asshole that i am unfortunately attached to but he also obviously cares a lot about his family and doesn’t know how to handle that when it seems so broken. i am still so upset about that final bit. i will be binging this whenever i can but how dare you sard. this is nearly six pages of notes. why am i like this.

edit bc I just realized every ‘home’ in this episode was destroyed. ‘i can never go home.’ the winchesters’ house in the beginning and sam’s place both went up in flames, and sam drove a car through the haunted place. the only thing that saves things like motels is impermanence. sard I need to write forever I think

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Dog Dean Afternoon: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Summary: Something was taken from you, something so precious a mother should never have to lose. Then, you found something you’ve been searching for ever since your little angel was taken from you. Is this a new beginning or a fire waiting to burn?

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

x

There is a chef inside the kitchen grinding ingredients into a bowl. Dean is quick to put his gun away to not scare the young man.

"Who the hell are you two?" the chef asks once he spots you.

"We're from the health department. We stopped by for an inspection," you're quick to think on your toes.

"I wasn't aware we had one scheduled."

"You wouldn't be. That's the point. Besides, I thought you were closed."

"We are. Chef's having a private dinner." A waiter walks into the kitchen carrying a plate of food. "In fact, he'll be here any minute."

"Okay, in that case, the kitchen is shut down."

"Shut down? Why?"

"Because you're both in clear violation of penal code 8.14," you make something up.

"Out. Come on. Get out. Both of you. We'll let you know," Dean says, his patience wearing thin.

The chef and the waiter roll their eyes but leave the kitchen. Once they are out, Dean turns to you.

"I'll take the front. You take the back."

"Do we even know how to kill this guy?" you whisper.

"Well, I'll empty one of these in his head. See what that does. You do what you do best."

You kiss Dean quickly and leave with Noah by your side. He is much safer with you, a witch, than with Dean. You're walking towards the back of the restaurant when you hear something behind you. You quickly turn just to see claws rush at you. The person slashes your throat, and you gasp and stagger back. You can clearly see the man now. It's the chef in the photo: Chef Leo.

"Go get Dean," you gasp.

"But--"

"Now, Noah!"

Noah jumps and runs away from you in search of your husband. You gurgle up some blood, but your magic works overtime to heal you. Your eyes shine bright blue just as your wound does. Soon, the wound is healed, and you're no longer struggling to breathe. You stand up and glare at Leo, but he is amazed at your powers.

"How the hell did you do that? Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the one who's going to knock you on your ass."

You take one step toward him, but the room starts to spin. Whatever was on his claws is causing the room to spin out of control.

"Oh, screw the sharktopus. You're my main course," Leo smirks.

When you come to, you notice you're bound to a metal table with your shirt cut open. You take in your surroundings and notice Dean is tied to a pillar inside the kitchen. Where is Noah? You're about to rain hell down on this man for hurting your kid, but then you see Noah poke his head in from his hiding place. He wants to run to you, but you shake your head. He stays where he is, thankfully, and you look for a way out of this.

"What did you do to my wife?" Dean asks when he comes to.

"Your wife? She's fine. She's just taking a little cat nap before dinner. I've never had a human heart before. Heard it's a bit chewy. Good thing I'm not a fussy eater."

"You're sick."

"I've been told that once or twice."

"No, not in the head. Well, yes, but you're sick like cancer."

Dogs can sniff out cancer. Dean knows this man has cancer, which is why he's eating animal parts. He doesn't want to die.

"Well, I guess dogs really can sniff it out. Stage IV carcinoma. See, when I was diagnosed, I was way past standard treatment. No one could save me, but then with the help of a Pawnee shaman and a zoo membership, I found a cure, albeit a temporary one. The cancer always came back."

Dean looks behind Leo to see you staring at him, but he doesn't acknowledge you're awake.

"So, you start experimenting with different organs, huh? You traded in the single serving for a combo platter."

"Well, what can I say? Combination therapy works. I felt stronger and the effects lasted longer. I didn't mean to kill anyone... at first. If people got in my way, they became collateral damage. I guess if you eat enough predators, you start to become one. You are what you eat, right?" he laughs.

"Do you really think the power you hold over other people's lives can make up for what you lack in your own?"

"So, dog boy, what do I need to eat to take you down, huh?" Leo walks over to a chest with a bunch of different animal organs in it. He takes one out labeled "Possum Intestines". "See, I'm gonna kill you, work up a nice appetite, and then I'm gonna eat your wife. I mean, I don't know what the hell she is, but with healing powers like that, who cares? She could cure me."

Leo takes out another container labeled "Wolf Heart" and he grins.

"Dog on sort of dog," he chuckles.

He holds out the heart and begins chanting the spell, but you break free from your restraints. Leo turns when he hears the noise and glares at you. He doesn't stand a chance against you. Before he hurts your husband and Noah, you take action. Your eyes shine bright blue, and with a single thought, so does his.

Cool. You can control the minds of others.

"Keep your paws off my husband. Come here."

The man has no choice but to listen to you. When he gets toe-to-toe with you, you shove him down to his knees.

"Beg for your life."

"Please. I don't want to die," he begs. "I'm begging you. Don't kill me."

"You should have thought of that when you started this whole mess."

You lay one hand on his forehead, and much like Castiel, you smite him with your magic. Blue light pours from his eyes and mouth, and soon, he is dead. You let him drop to the ground like dead meat, and you rush over to Dean to help him out of his restraints. Noah comes out of his hiding place and runs into your arms.

"I promised to keep you safe," you whisper to him.

With the threat now eliminated, you're free to return back to the Bunker. Colonel and Zeus are waiting in the car patiently while Sam is talking to Joanna. He is dead tired, but he wasn't going to sleep with young kids in the car.

"How do you feel about Colonel?" you ask Dean.

"He's a good dog."

"He doesn't have a home. We have a big one."

Dean can hear the question in your tone, and this time, he doesn't hesitate to smile.

"Hell yes."

Dean bounces over to Colonel to tell him he's coming home with you guys, but with the way Dean's face falls, you know the spell has ended. You turn to face Noah and bend down so you're on his level.

"Listen, Noah, if you want to stay with us, you have to know something. Monsters exist like the man who killed your parents, and there are many more out there--different ones and more dangerous ones. There are demons and witches and vampires and other scary things. I'm not telling you this to scare you, I'm telling you this to prepare you.

"However, you're safe here with me. I will do everything in my power to protect you as I do with my own children. Though, if you want to go into foster care, then I'll take you. If not, I will love you, protect you, and give you a home."

"I want to stay with you."

"I'm not going anywhere," you smile.

You might not be his biological mom, but you're sure as hell going to act like one.

x

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