#for dean it's the nature of growing up and learning to see and BE SEEN

[shallowseeker]

I was thinking about Cas's little sarcastic dig in Family Matters here ("Of course. Your problems always come first.")

Sam, and especially Dean, don’t want to be treated like they’re being babysat by Cas, yet in the early days, they often hope Cas will be endlessly available, invincible, and strong.

(And it's complicated because... compared to them, Cas kinda IS!!!)

Cas, for his part, occupies a complicated space for them. While he is given room to be vulnerable at times, he’s also relied on to be everything at once: Dean's partner in times of trouble, someone who will "be there when Sam calls" and "tear the attic up for Sam," all while shouldering cosmic battles.

The irony is even deeper when Cas gets referred to as "a child" or "a baby in a trench coat"—yet his strength, sacrifice, and loyalty are counted on without question.

(Cas is often goaded into being stronger, of course, because Dean is scared and needs that strength from Cas more than Dean needs it from anyone else, even if Dean doesn't understand why that is. And even if Cas doesn't catch everything in those references, Cas can't help but FEEL that expectation.)

///

BY ANYWAY, BOBBY. In Weekend at Bobby's, Bobby is SOOooooo parent-coded in this episode in a way that kinda parallels Cas in s6.

It's an off-key parallel, but both Bobby and Cas are expected to be there. Bobby without "selfish" complaint, Cas without visible weakness.

Their struggles often go unnoticed unless voiced outright—something Bobby, in true crusty Bobby fashion, has no prob doing in Weekend at Bobby’s:

INT. BOBBY’S HOUSE – NIGHT BOBBY: I – I hear you, son. I – it just ain’t a good time. DEAN (over the phone): Yeah, okay. You know what – Forget it. I mean I'm baring my soul like a freaking girl here and, uh –And you've got stuff to do. So that is – that's fine. That's fine but, seriously, a little selfish. Not all about you. [Bobby gets angry and leans forward.]

///

Dean is going through a LOT, but it's funny how like a child he comes off here. He's spinning out, and he has "no one to talk to," and Bobby's his DAD!

Dean invokes his own emotions like "baring his soul," and is clearly taken aback when Bobby isn't immediately receptive. It shows how Dean expects Bobby to always be there, without question, no matter what Bobby might be dealing with.

That’s classic "invincible parent" territory: the idea that their needs are secondary, or even non-existent.

(Aside// This is sometimes a bit how Sam can treat Dean throughout the run of the series, and how both boys occasionally treat Cas in s6).

///

And then Bobby tears them a new one!!! :D Yay!!! It's a real family moment and I LOVE IT:

DEAN (putting Bobby on speaker after Bobby tells him to go get Sam): You're on speaker, Bobby. BOBBY: Sam. Dean. love you like my own. I do. But sometimes [Bobby pauses and takes a long drink.] Sometimes… You two are the whiniest, most self-absorbed sons of bitches I ever met! I'm selfish? Me? I do everything for you! Everything! You need some lores scrounged up – You need your asses pulled out of the fire –You need someone to bitch to about each other – [Sam looks at Dean, puzzled.] BOBBY (over the phone): You call me and I come through – Every damn time! And what do I get for it?Jack with a side of squat! DEAN: Bobby – BOBBY: Do I sound like I'm done? Now look. I know you've got issues. God knows I know. But I got a news flash for you. You ain't the center of the universe! Now, it may have slipped your mind …that Crowley owns my soul! And the meter is running! And I will be damned if I'm going to sit around –And – and be damned! So how about you two sack up and help me for once? Dean looks very humble and Sam calm. SAM: Bobby, all – all you got to do is ask. DEAN: Anything you need... we're there.

Hits like a tired, overlooked parent.

He reminds them he gets nothing in return from them, which is a HUGE call out to how invisible and thankless his role as caretaker has become.

Bobby’s "sack up and help me for once" is both a plea and a challenge, demanding they grow up and recognize that he, too, is vulnerable and needs support.

It's the parent figure finally voicing the toll of always being strong—for once, asking to be seen.

Dean especially is humbled here. He's been the caretaker for his family, so he gets it immediately.

How hard he was leaning on Bobby.

///

Aside/// This season, Dean's actual support group is small, maybe even consists of just Bobby and Cas. Dean is short on "Dean understanders" this season; that is, he's short on people who see his core experience as not merely a brother, but an actual *pseudo-parent. Dean is a parent of Sam Winchester: and Sam is a complicated, apocalyptic-torn person who's often saddled with shouldering waaaay too much cosmic responsibility...

...which in turn has Dean shouldering too much responsibility too!

So when it comes to Bobby and Cas, Dean puts what he can't take on them! His family!

///

But unlike Bobby, Cas doesn't ask for help.

Which... it's complicated. (And very human.)

For starters, thanks to his upbringing, Cas WANTS to be strong. He thrives and is comfortable being that. Second, there are definitely little ways Cas gets the not-so-coded message that it's bad to be weak, even if those weren't the messages Dean intended to send. (Dean is desperate for everyone to be okay, and he needs someone to want to shoulder the real, complete Dean, with all his duties and complications. And for some reason, subconsciously, Dean wants that someone... to be Cas.)

Regardless, lines like "Babies whine" and "Without your powers" dig a lot deeper than intended for Cas, because Dean didn't have the full scope of the angelic war or Cas's fears about Raphael. And even when Dean DID get glimpses of that, it didn't yield the full story.

///

For his part, Cas is keeping Sam and Dean at arm's length, trying to place them in a "these are my charges to protect" role.

Bu unlike with Bobby, who Dean firmly places in a parental role, something is trying to FUNDAMENTALLY shift between Cas and Dean.

They often find themselves eye-to-eye in the kitchen, making decisions together in a way that feels imho very spousal, creating a dynamic where Dean doesn’t quite know how to navigate this growing sense of wanting to be an equal partner with Cas.

So you get their weird push-pull power struggle between them, sniping and bitching, mirroring what happens in real-life couples early in the relationship when responsibilities are heavy and scary. It's this swirling mix of "Oh shit, I don't know what to do! And YOU don't know what to do! What do WE DO?!" And "You are such a baby / be careful you idiot / be stronger plz for the love of god"

But yeah.

So... Cas holds himself in the role of an ANGEL, remaining largely invisible throughout the season and trying his best to keep his struggles INVISIBLE too, including the war he's fighting on humanity's behalf. Cas prefers that. From a distance. Emotions are scary af; he even calls them CRIPPLING in Mommy Dearest.

(Aside///Call-forward to Mary’s: "I was trying to make things right. Just from a distance, because... being here with you was too hard. Seeing what I'd done to you and to Sam, I..." /// Mary was ashamed of her deal; And Cas was ashamed of his brothers, of angelicity itself, of what they KEEP doing to humanity.)

Anyway, Dean doesn’t quite know how to handle their strange bond, that longing, that closeness, especially as Cas insists on remaining emotionally and physically distant, trying to handle a war they can't even see.

//

As for Bobby and Cas...

While they have their moments of pushback (Bobby’s explosion in Weekend at Bobby’s, Cas’s barbed sarcasm in Family Matters), and it definitely reveals the strain they’re under...

...it often also works to underscore just how invisible their labor has become to the very people they love.

But while Dean begins to grow up enough to see and name Bobby's sacrifices, his understanding of Cas's struggle is murkier, tangled up in pride, love, and the deep, unspoken hope that Cas will always be strong enough for both of them. (Save-me-save-US-but-let-me-help-you.)

I think the thing I love about it all… is the dualistic (subconscious) desire for Cas to make everything okay versus the worry for Cas not to shoulder these burdens alone. It's SOOOOO! HNNNNNnNNnngg. It's very real.

///

EDIT DISCLAIMER: This wasn't exactly the point of this post (Bobby and Cas feeling misunderstood/underappreciated), but for completionist's sake:

Dean's grief is attenuated by the experience of being a "pseudo-parent," and definitely a caretaker in the context of "cosmic-inflicted illness," and that's a riptide that runs through season 6 in a big way. Dean needs the people he loves to SEE this aspect of his life in order to feel understood.

That's what 12x22 is all about. The thread from season 6 to season 12 is surprisingly thick! That's why this:

prefaces this: BEING SEEN

It's not a question of how fair or unfair it is, or if he "should be" or "shouldn't be" "a parent." It's about those very real efforts being seen and understood by those around him, including the grief and continued sense of responsibility this has wrought under worsening and frankly, incredibly unfair cosmic circumstances.

[cdenofreofina3147]

Questions Around Competition & The Value of a Work of Art

“Do you consider competition in this program? Should you? Why or why not?”

I don't think I actually spoke up in class when this question was posed but I do have a lot of thoughts regarding this question. In a very abrupt answer; yes I do consider competition in this program. In my program right now as a fine arts student at KPU I probably have at least 30 other students who are at my year level and progressing to graduate at the same time as me. In comparison I am just another name on an attendance list. Looking deeper, I have a GPA of 4.0, with a good academic standing and have been on the dean's honour roll list since 2020. Does this mean anything? Probably. Do I fight like hell to be the absolute best artist and student I can be? A hundred percent. I don't see the people around me as threats or people to hate, but would I be happy if out of all of us I achieved my goals of being on top, getting solo shows and having my work in articles and galleries around the world? Yes I would be ecstatic. I compete with artists every day to get noticed, to have my work seen and understood and celebrated just like every other person in this program. The name that always gets thrown at me is Sonny Assu, a KPU graduate that's had great success and continues to carry a prominent name. There were probably many other artists who graduated alongside him that don't have their names in the news, their work celebrated and enjoyed by people as much as his has been. I don't want to say he “won” but what else am I going to call it. I've had the pleasure of speaking to Assu about his career and his path to where he is now as an artist. He's an absolute pleasure to speak to and has great work that I admire and would be honoured to continue to know and be in connection with as I grow as an artist. In an interview I had the pleasure of leading with him I asked him about the competitive nature of being an artist and what he had done to get to where he’s at. This curiosity from me came from a competitive nature that I think all of us students have. We all want success, though many of us have differing goals, in school, in this program at least we're all working towards the same goal; get good grades and make good art. Why? Isn't that the whole point? That's why we are all here, to get our fancy and expensive piece of paper and run with it. Beyond that this loops back to the questions that were asked by Rubenstein and the criteria for good and bad art and who decides these things. 

Within this answering of a question I wanted to bring in a question asked to us as a class 

“If the value of a work of art is contingent upon the presentation of the identity of the artist, how can one effectively critique the work without critiquing the life of the artist?

In other words, if the value of a work is not based upon the physical (���manifest”) appearance of the work, then what is it that a critic can discuss much less challenge?”

This is such a challenging question as someone who still has much to learn about the art world and the inner workings of critical theory. My best answer is that I think after looking at many articles and compared works and artists there still is an option to critique the physical appearance of a work and even if were not critiquing the physical then there's a way to critique the “presentation of the artist” and their ideas in a way that's considering ever lens. The fact that artists big or small have acknowledged that past work they've done may not represent an issue or an idea they had 20 years ago. This also relates to the discourse of artworks holding a meaning or idea that either is relevant or not to the period it's made in. A work made in 1814 isn't necessarily going to match up or hold importance with what's going on in 2025 socially or politically. In another class, “Art in the Age of Revolution” we've just recently discussed Jacques-Louis David, a French painter that put out important historical painting during the French Revolution as well as afterwards being a court painter for Napoleon. He had created incredibly important work that cemented the message of the enlightenment period and was for the overthrowing of the monarch and in support of the Jacobins (the “left” of this era) and a democracy. After the failure of this revolution, instead of being executed David made his case stating he's “just an artist” after all and went onto using the same Davidian style to paint propaganda under Napoleon. Such a switch up from what he had been doing not even a year previously is quite drastic. Some would argue that he did this to avoid being hung or worse by the new power, others would argue he abandoned his morals to follow the money coming from Napoleon, or that he never had any morals to begin with and relinquished responsibility for his artworks influences. If we look at artists today, there's plenty of artists that would claim their work is important on a level of presentation of themselves, while their work gets sold for thousands and never changes. Or the never ending discourse surrounding the banana that destroyed the internet, “Comedian” by Maurizio Cattelan. I have learned that there's a lot of fear that comes from how we can criticize artwork in this day and age. I think that with my subject matter as an artist would be challenging to understand and see value in it if you had not lived the life I've lived or had the cultural experiences I've had. My work focuses on the experience and struggle with identity as a person who is indigenous but very colonized, and finding acceptance and importance in that identity. Most people are scared to give criticism towards an indigenous artist, especially with the efforts of reconciliation and tragedies of residential schools leading to intergenerational trauma. If I was on the other side I would be scared too. Especially because of cancel-culture and how easily it is to word something without it coming off as offensive or insensitive to the artist and their presentation of life and ideas. If someone from the same background as myself, someone who is a half baby and has an insight on the issues surrounding the identity of all these babies from an age that are mixed and lack much of the traditional culture and knowledge decided to critique my work I think that maybe they'd actually be able to talk about it with that shared lens, as an art critic.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

So…several…weeks ago…now, I was talking with a friend (@user-needs-new-hyperfixation) about creating characters. Because while she wants to try original fiction, all her ideas for characters start feeling too close to her Favorite Blorbos, and that’s not what she wants from original fiction characters.

And I get that. But if you can’t get your blorbos out of your head but you want to write an OC, here’s what you do:

Make a few intentional choices to take them away from that character. Oh, I know that sounds like it wouldn’t work. I promise you it can and does. You just gotta commit.

Here’s an example. The example I used with Hyper was Liam, but he’s sort of niche, so I wanted to think of a more Popular character to use as an example that still had the depth I needed to explore this.

(Very sorry to everyone who wants the Liam example. You can request it if you want, I guess)

I’ve settled on Dean Winchester. Very sorry about this. But he’s a character from a very well-known and well-watched show and frankly he’s around for long enough to have a lot going on with him.

Dean Winchester is, among other things, a very protective family man, a silly geek who wasn’t very academic in school and makes corny jokes, a sex-motivated man, a nomad, a Mama’s Boy, a devoted mechanic, a guy trying maybe a little too hard to espouse the 80s vibe.

And if you change just one of those things, his whole character can shift. Let’s take one that gets changed a lot in fanfic for Supernatural: Dean is no longer nomadic. He lives somewhere reliably and regularly.

If you’ve seen the show (I’m very sorry), you know that Dean is deeply protective of his car. But he’s protective of his car because it’s the closest thing to a home he’s ever had. If you actually give him a home and make him a kid who didn’t have to move every week or so growing up, he has a whole community, neighborhood, and city to project all that protective obsession onto.

Which means: he's not obsessed with his car. Or any car. He never learned how to to put it back together over and over and isn't a mechanic or a restoration specialist. And if he doesn’t want to preserve that car and his home so bad, maybe he’s not obsessed with classic rock and leather jackets and outdated references, either.

(And once you’ve done that with him, very few people would probably even mistake them, lol)

And maybe that protective nature led him to becoming a cop. And maybe once he realized they don’t really Protect or Serve, he becomes deeply disillusioned by them entirely. Canon Dean has problems with the cops, too, but that’s because he’s an actual criminal, not because he’s just disillusioned about what they’re doing (the series is really pretty pro-cop with characters like Jodie).

And if our “Dean” is no longer a drifter, then he’s not just going to leave when he’s solved one problem extremely messily. He’s going to have to stick around, attend school board meetings or something. Bail protesters out of jail, IDK.

And once you’ve gotten to that point, you might have a Mama’s Boy who loves his family too much and makes silly jokes while playing silly games with his friends, but you don’t really have Dean Winchester. You have your fun blorbo vibes, and you have some of your favorite traits about them. But the longer you write this character on this entirely new path and give them new experiences and see them react in ways Dean never would…

Well, now you have an OC.

You’re probably going to have to go back to the beginning and edit the first part of the character to keep them in character with what you realize about them later. But that’s honestly not a big deal and you’ll probably have to do that no matter how you write it anyway.

[captain039]

Giving in to the wild side

Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: AOB, mentions of past trauma, family death, hurt/comfort, mates, claiming, eventual smut, lots of feels

Continuation of Craving the wild side

Summary: after leaving the Dean Winchester case you quit your job you over your as normal as you could. You woke up, helped your mum, worked on the farm but you always felt that hole. Not knowing if he show up or not you gave up on hoping till someone came knocking.

Told ya it wasn’t the end!

It’s been six months since you’ve seen Dean. Six long agonising months. The effort to leave your bed got harder and harder it seemed if that was even possible. You worked around the farm like you said hell you planted a veggie patch, that was currently dying, but still. Champ got to run the fields around the house like never before and your mum saw the sunset every night on the porch, life was easy in a sense.

After you quit you stayed in bed for two weeks barely eating barley drinking. You got your implant removed and felt it’s strengths and weaknesses. Your job had a leave payment package which was a bonus for groceries and essentials, you knew eventually you’d have to find another job, but for now, for now you didn’t leave the farm.

Dean stared at the sky, pinks blending into oranges and yellows every time he looks at the sunset he can’t get over its beauty. After rehab tilted him society worthy he was happy to breathe in freedom. His brother had been waiting for him in the parking lot, leaning against some fancy looking Honda with his fancy suit, but damn he looked good. Healthy and well, Dean held onto his brother for a while and Sam allowed it, both men crying and not caring, it’d been thirty years. Sam told him about his life after Dean dropped him off at the orphanage, apparently he found a good family businessman and stay at home wife raising him like his own despite his defiance and run aways. Sam had gone to collage and studied in law and now he was famous! Dean couldn’t wipe the smile on his face as he stared at his brother, hell little Sammy had a mate now too and a dog named Jackson. Sam said he’d set up a spare room for him in his house, his house being a mansion. Dean stared in awe as he got out the car and absorbed it. Sure he’d seen flashy houses from rich stuck omegas but this, Sam said he bought the land and built on it, it was his kingdom. He saw a young woman, blonde hair pretty smile waving lightly.

“Mate?” Dean asked and Sam nodded making Dean grin in happiness. It’d been the first time an omega actually hugged him properly, the woman was joyed her scent sweet with happiness and Dean couldn’t help but smile. Dean had his own room, a proper bed and furniture, a nice view, his own bathroom. Sam even set up a new phone and plan for him along with a bank account with some savings he had in there for him. Dean couldn’t thank his brother enough for everything but the pit in his stomach was always a reminder of what had happened.

When the words left you mouth that you were quitting he felt emotions bubble and ready to burst. He wasn’t able to process it and he told you to get out before you could see him go into a feral rage. That’s the last time he ever saw you, broken down by him. After his outburst he went quiet, he worked on life skills and social skills he wanted to see you again even if you broke each others hearts. He worked real hard even with his set backs he forced himself to be better to be able to go out and find you.

Dean sat at the table enjoying the dinner Jess had prepared, moaning at each taste of the amazing roast she made.

“Damn this is good” he said and she chuckled softly.

“Sam told me it was one of your favourite meals growing up” she said and he grinned.

“Hell yes” he said and Sam laughed shaking his head. It felt natural but also strange at the same time, he learnt how to do this, he had to learn how to do this. After dinner was finished Jess served his favourite, apple pie before he called it a night and headed to his room. He sighed sitting on the edge of the bed full with a home cooked meal and smiled to himself. A knock came and he called come in, Sam appearing.

“Hey” he greeted and Dean smiled.

“How you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Full” Dean chuckled feeling bloated.

“Well you did eat two plates worth of roast” Sam commented and Dean tsked.

“Can’t waste a beautiful meal” he smiled.

“But really Dean, how’re you holding up so far?” Sam asked and Deans smiled faded slightly.

“I’m out” he said and Sam nodded sitting down on a chair.

“Freedom, fresh air, declared normal” he chuckled lightly.

“What about Y/n?” Sam asked and Dean faltered.

“I-I don’t know” Dean sighed.

“Dean she’s probably feeling the exact same way despite how everything ended” Sam explained.

“I know” Dean muttered fiddling with his fingers.

“I had to get better though, you know? I had to be better for her” he added sighing.

“And you are” Sam smiled.

“Your here, with family” he added.

“It feels great Sammy” Dean smiled.

“But you need her” Sam finished and he nodded.

“We can find her” Sam stated.

“Isn’t that stalking?” Dean asked and Sam chuckled.

“Not technically” Sam said and Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Everybody try’s to find their mate no matter how they do it” Sam shrugged.

“Maybe” Dean sighed.

“For now just settle in, get on your feet, take it one step at a time ok” Sam stood and gave his shoulder a pat before leaving.

Dean sighed running a hand through his hair as he glanced to his phone. Not stalking right?

After he showered he dared downloading social media, starting with Facebook first. He added Sam and Jess before his fingers hovered over the start of your name. He groaned switching his phone off and lying it on the bed side table. He needed to know to though.

His fingers moved quickly as he typed your name and searched. His heart stopped when he saw your face and beautiful smile, your dog Champ in the photo beside you. His breath shook as he clicked on your profile, your background was your farm with the sunset.

He smiled softly as he looked through your photos, your cows, sheep and chickens, Champ and your mum and dad, the old broken tractor in the barn you keep complaining about. The recent photo was of you and your mum out on the porch smiling together, but your smile didn’t reach your tired eyes. Despite the filter he knew you were paler, less healthier looking. He checked the date of the photo about a week ago. He saved the photo to his phone and your profile pic before sighing and turning his phone off, he’d find you.

Next part ->

Tags: sorry if I missed some

@spnfamily-j2

@globetrotter28

@deans-spinster-witch

@bluedragonflylady

@lyarr24

@spnexploration

@saranghaey

@kazsrm67

[dotthings]

Some thoughts on John in TW 1.06. I am going to make Star Wars references. It cannot be helped.

Lata and Matt are both John mirrors in this ep, and represent the two paths John could go down.

John is currently getting frequently lost in the violence. Lata already broke clear of her downspiral, and represents hope of how people can escape it (at least at times, although as I said in my post about Lata, I’m a little worried about her, if she picks up a machete and kills monsters).

John, your John is showing again, like, a lot.

It’s not just the violence, it’s the tunnel vision, the obsessiveness, the refusal to compromise, the wanting it done his way. You can see glimpses here of the future in how he’ll treat his sons while he escapes into hunting as a way to deal with his grief for Mary. While he will sacrifice everything including his children’s well being for hunting. Was it really about grief for Mary? Or was it the only way John could endure the pain, anger, hurt, that was already inside of him for a long time.

And I think this series has hit a pattern on it. With the signs of how he will break later showing amid John’s better nature, John’s empathy, John’s bravery and kindness, but we know he doesn’t escape the cycle. We can see how he is capable of listening and is reachable though.

This is also the 2nd time an ep ends up with John seeking out Lata, being mindful of Lata, after the hunt’s over. He also this time asks Lata for help. John and Lata's friendship is very very soft. (Again, this makes me fearful for Lata, John's polar opposite mirror).

Who had John Winchester learning how to meditate on their bingo card, not me.

This isn’t an alt John, or a “better” version of John’s history. This is the real story, the truth, and it’s more complicated than we, the audience knew, or Sam and Dean knew growing up. Dean’s unfolding that full history.

Maybe the groundwork on the reasons John doesn’t get entirely lost are being laid out here as much as its mapping his downspiral. Millie and the monster club, all are part of the love and support John gets. He is capable of pulling out of it, or we wouldn’t have 1973 John or 1978 John on the mothership, and we never would have seen at least the glimpses in modern day John his capacity for love.

He would just be wholly lost and all dark, with good still in him somewhere, but John didn't slide down so far he completely lost himself. We’re seeing on The Winchesters John spiraling downward but also growing--and those two things can co-exist. We know there were problems before Mary died, it was never perfect, but it was Mary dying burning on the ceiling makes him snap hard, the progress got lost, and that was the start of a deeper downspiral.

I’ve made the Anakin comparison about John a bunch of times and The Winchesters is a similar portrait of a good human who downspiraled but John isn’t actually an Anakin figure. Older John’s Anakin who went off the rails with grief and revenge but didn't go full Vader. Think of a broken Anakin raising Luke and Leia while on a revenge obsessed path to take out Palpatine. Not choosing the darkside, but letting in a lot of the darkness inside of himself. And the trauma that still might ensue for Luke and Leia being raised like that. While poor Obi-Wan argues with John, for the good of John's kids, and they finally have a big falling out over it. Wow okay thank you for that Star Wars AU prompt, The Winchesters.

John gets possessed by the ghost of Matt the dark John mirror. A hunter who downspiraled almost fully into darkness. His friends were terrified of him and he grew too powerful. Matt is the Anakin figure here. Matt went sith, messing with dark magic, but still had good in him, he responds to Lata's pleas to set John free and to Tracy's tearful regrets.

[myaimistrue]

my gift for the wonderful @lotsofquestionslimitedanswers as part of the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! i hope you love this sweet bit of fluff as much as i loved writing it <3

also available on ao3

Cas has fought celestial battles. He has seen the rise and fall of human civilizations, he has razed cities and healed kings, and he has been the only thing outside of God’s control. Yet somehow, someway, he is being bested by a pan of scrambled eggs.

He lets out a string of curses he would never have even dreamed of fifteen years prior, and carefully carries the smoking pan to the trash can. He dumps as much of the blackened lump as he can unceremoniously into the trash can and sticks the pan, still coated in bits of burned eggs, back on the stove.

Cas is trying to make breakfast to bring to Dean in bed. He’s doing okay, he thinks, except now there just won’t be any eggs. Or pancakes. (Cas actually thought the batter turned out pretty nicely, but when he went to pour the first bit into the pan, his hand slipped—he spent a good twenty minutes cleaning all of that up.) At least there’s still bacon. Shit, the bacon!

Cas rips the oven open, still cursing, and just barely remembers to put an oven mitt on before he pulls the pan out. Thank God, the bacon is on just the right side of burnt, sizzling and crispy but not blackened yet. He breathes a sigh of relief, and sets the pan down carefully beside the other on the stove. Well, Dean’s always enjoyed bacon the most—if breakfast is just that, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Cas figures he can at least make some toast to go with it. Unfortunately, he forgot to buy more bread at the store yesterday, so there are only three pieces left, two of which are end pieces. He toasts them all, gnawing on a thumbnail and trying to convince himself that Dean won’t hate all of this.

Cas has only been back, free from the Empty and fully human, for a month. It’s been a good month, mostly, full of reunions and laughter and slowly but surely figuring things out. He and Dean share a bed now, share a life in a way they never did before, and it’s good. Cas is learning to be human again, and every step of the way, Dean is with him, endlessly patient and gentle with all of it, seemingly happy just to be with him at all. And Cas gets to kiss Dean when he wants, gets to hold his hand and brush his fingertips along the crinkles at the corners of Dean’s eyes, and every day, he gets to tell Dean he loves him. 

The only problem, really, is that Dean hasn’t said it back yet.

Cas knows Dean loves him. It’s clear now—it was clear from the moment he stumbled out of the Empty and into Dean’s trembling arms—and Cas understands that Dean shows it in different ways than words. He shows it in the way he sat with Cas for an hour helping him learn to tie his shoes, the way he makes PB&Js without complaint whenever Cas requests them, the way he slides his hand into Cas’s while driving and runs his thumb back and forth along Cas’s palm. Regardless of whether he says it out loud, Dean loves Cas with such ferocity that Cas sometimes worries he can’t match it. 

So Cas is doing what he can: he’s making breakfast in bed.

He arranges the limited food on an old wooden tray, along with two mugs of steaming coffee and a jar of Dean’s favorite apricot jelly that he did remember at the store. Cas studies his handiwork critically, then adds a few napkins (amidst all the change, Dean remains a very messy eater). The end result looks nice, Cas thinks. Better than he worried it might, at least.

Slowly, carefully, Cas makes his way out of the kitchen, and to the bedroom he now shares with Dean. The door is cracked from when Cas left earlier, and he can see the corner of the bed, the way Dean’s pulled all the blankets over to his side. Cas smiles at how familiar that’s become lately—it seems that with the luxury of his own bed, Dean is loath to share the covers; Cas steals them back all night long, but it works out because Dean puts up with his kicking. 

He creeps in and sets the tray down on his bedside table. Then, unable to resist, he slips back under the covers and wraps his arms around Dean. Dean stirs somewhat awake, and wiggles back into Cas with a satisfied hum. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says sleepily. “Where’ve you been? ’S early.”

“Uh, I was…” Cas glances back at breakfast, and he thinks it looks measly now, small and poorly put together. “I made breakfast. For you to eat in bed.”

“...You made me breakfast in bed?”

“Yeah,” Cas says quietly, tucking his face in Dean’s neck, enjoying the closeness but also trying to hide his embarrassment. “Is that okay?”

“What? ‘Course it is.” Dean sounds like he’s smiling, and Cas can see it in his mind’s eye, that dreamy thing that only comes out when Dean is extremely relaxed. “It’s sweet.”

“Sweet,” Cas says, testing the way the word feels in his mouth.

“Yeah.” Dean’s still half-asleep, unfiltered and unencumbered in a way he rarely is, even now. “You’re real sweet to me, Cas. Always are.”

“Even though the breakfast isn’t good?”

“What?”

Cas sighs. “I messed up the pancakes and the eggs, and there wasn’t enough bread. It doesn’t look good like it does when you make breakfast.”

“I don’t care about that,” Dean says, a little more awake, his voice sure and strong. “I’d eat concrete if you made it for me.”

At that, Cas feels the knots in his stomach begin to unwind, feels his heartbeat slow to match Dean’s. He kisses the back of Dean’s neck, lips lingering on sleep-warm skin. Dean shifts closer.

“We’d better get up,” Dean murmurs. “Don’t want the coffee to get cold.”

“Or the bacon.”

“You made bacon?” Dean sits straight up in bed, sniffing around in the air like a bloodhound and apparently completely awake. Cas rolls his eyes and flops over into the warm spot he left behind, pulling the covers up and over himself again. “I can’t believe I didn’t smell that. Damn, Cas. You outdid yourself.”

“I don’t know about that,” Cas says. He peeks around the blankets as Dean grabs the tray and settles it over his legs eagerly. “It’s not—”

“Oh hell yeah!” Dean looks down at him with a brilliant smile that seems to make everything else around them go dim. “You got the apricot jelly stuff?”

“Yeah.” One thing Cas had done right. “I picked some up at the store the other day. I know it’s your favorite.”

Inexplicably, Dean’s ears go red. “Thanks, Cas.”

“Of course.” Cas sits up and studies Dean’s face like he has for years. Dean’s expression is a little difficult to read, but he’s still smiling. Cas feels himself start to smile, too. “So this is okay? You like it?”

“Dude.” Dean looks at him incredulously, but it’s good-natured, fond. “You’re as bad as me. I’m telling you, this is great. I don’t think I’ve ever had breakfast in bed before. And it’s…” Dean goes red again, this time all the way to the apples of his cheeks, but he continues on valiantly. “Nobody’s ever done the shit you do for me. And I’m so fucking lucky, it’s ridiculous, and I…” The hush of their bedroom seems to grow, to expand, as Dean glances at the tray then back at Cas with some huge emotion behind his eyes. “I love you.”

Cas blinks. “You—”

“I love you.” Dean says again.

“You love me,” Cas repeats breathlessly. He knew it would come eventually, he did, but this—this is worth the wait.

“I love you.” Dean laughs like he can’t quite believe it, like he’s so happy it’s ridiculous, it’s impossible. “Holy shit, there it is. I said it. I love you. You made me breakfast in bed, and I fucking love you.”

Cas surges up, unable to hold himself back any longer. He takes Dean’s face in his hands and kisses him as deeply as he can, as deeply as he’s ever wanted to. Dean is surprised at first, but meets Cas in the middle like he always does, takes what Cas gives him and then takes some more. They only separate when the tray is in danger of tipping all of their breakfast over onto the floor.

“Let’s eat first?” Dean says sheepishly. “And drink the coffee?”

Cas’s face hurts from how hard he’s smiling. “Yeah. Okay.”

So they sit side-by-side in bed on top of the covers, sharing bacon and toast, sipping coffee between secret little smiles, and Cas relishes every bit of it, every human moment. He watches Dean chew, enraptured by the image he makes: the sunlight behind his head a halo, the holiness of his soft grey shirt and sleep-mussed hair, and all of it, eclipsed the golden shine of a soul Cas can no longer see but can feel—even in his humanity, he knows he can feel it. 

“I love you,” Cas says.

And when Dean says it back, his face is more beautiful than anything in heaven.

[k-s-morgan]

I understand liking hannigram,merthur and sebaciel but destiel? What makes you ship it really? Dean is the straightest character i have ever watched.

Oh, I really have to disagree with this! Even without Castiel, who Dean is in love with on both subtextual and pretty much textual levels, I cannot see him as anything other than bisexual. Dean’s emotional repression is a huge part of his character. Embracing his sexuality, his softer nature, his quirks is a very long journey that stretches for all 15 seasons, and while it's still not resolved fully by the end, it comes pretty close to it.

I think it's a beautiful contrast to see Dean, who starts out as a walking stereotype of a straight masculine guy that has sex with every passing woman, abhors 'chick flick' moments, and desperately tries to earn the approval of his toxic father, gradually transform into a man who loves cooking, who sings ridiculous songs out loud, wears silly pajamas, underwear, and other clothes he wouldn’t be caught dead in before, who hasn't bothered to sleep with a woman in years and who openly enjoys domesticity. The Dean who loved putting on pink female underwear yet considered it shameful is still there, but now he's much more open about his personality - he's a happier and freer version of who he was. Sexuality and feelings for Castiel are just a part of this big picture.

About destiel and Cas in particular: he and Dean share an endless amount of both text and subtext. I've also never seen more mirroring with other romantic couples than the writers do with them. Here's a couple of fan edits that display just some of such mirroring.

Longer video

A shorter one with parallels between Destiel and Sam's love interests in particular.

Dean is a man who always wanted a family and a person who would love him unconditionally, and he always ended up hurt. As an abused child forced to grow up early, he's completely love starved, and his self-esteem is non-existent. He and Sam have an unhealthy relationship because Dean doesn't understand that people grow up and move on to build their families - Sam does, and this creates a rift between them.

Dean: “You and me and Dad—I mean, I want us….I want us to be together again. I want us to be a family again.”

This shows the state of Dean's mind and his views on love. Dean wants to stay with someone forever. He craves loving and being loved, he longs for constant contact. He wants to share his life with someone, and in his mind, it can only happen with Sam and John because they are the only people he knows how to love. It doesn't matter how flawed their family is, it's all Dean's got. Unconsciously, he's trying to assign the role of a life partner to Sam and John, and obviously, this could never work.

Like Sam says, "Dean, we *are* a family. I’d do anything for you. But things will never be the way they were before."

The script adds: "Dean looks heartbroken."

But Sam is right. Their co-dependency emerged because in their childhood, they had no one else. No friends, no meaningful connections, no long-term bonds. And as life has it, most family members drift apart with time: they still love each other, sure, but they pursue different interests and they start their own families. Dean doesn't get it. Sam is ready to open his heart to others, but Dean isn't - this is all he knows and he’s too scared and too emotionally closed off to learn.

And that's why observing him with Castiel later is so fascinating. There is suddenly an angel of the Lord who worships him, who structures his whole existence around him, who loves him and values him above everyone else. And finally, after all those years, Dean starts to understand it. He's still fiercely attached to the concept of family, but it begins to expand, and the more he clings to Castiel, the more he lets go of Sam, the healthier and more balanced their relationship becomes. Sam finally becomes a brother who has his own life but who'll always be there if needed; Castiel becomes someone who is going to be there always, period. And Dean can finally become truly happy. Cas helped Dean feel special and loved in a way he's never been before, and this very premise is something I really love. I could probably write a novel about their dynamic alone :D

I think the fact that Dean is in love with Castiel back is confirmed canonically after Cas' confession, when Lucifer, who only ever turned into people's love interests, took Cas' form for Dean. To me, though, Dean's feelings were textually confirmed back in S10, when he expressed that there are "people" and "feelings" he'd like to experience for the first time, and in S11, after Amara's clone told him she senses love in his heart that's cloaked in shame (and we know it wasn't about an actual Amara). There are plenty of moments like this and plenty of men apart from Castiel that help illustrate Dean’s bisexuality.

[vampireinterview]

It has come to my attention that some of you have not been made aware of the fact that Plato was well known for being a Destiel shipper, in addition to the fact that he also wrote some philosophical works on the side. Let me explain.

Plato was an Athenian thinker whose real name was Aristocles (Plato most likely comes from the Greek word for ‘broad”, he might have been so jacked that people nicknamed him for his wide shoulders, which is irrelevant to the topic at hand but I’m collecting receipts on my hypothesis that all hellers are physical beheamoths). His work regarding the philosophy of love can be interpreted through the lens of the Deancas love story, which can potentially lead us to discover the very essence of what makes Destiel so impactful and universal, so bear with me, I’ll make it as introductory as possible.

Plato’s Symposium is a dialogue which contains the philosopher’s basic view on what love can be. The influence of the aforementioned text has been so strong that even those of us who are blissfully unaware of its contents have heard of the concept of “platonic love”. It is with great disappointment that I have to inform you about the fact that the way in which the term is colloquially used can be considered quite removed from the core idea of what Plato’s love is supposed to be about. Commonly people utilize it to refer to a non-romantic and non-sexual emotion towards an individual. However, even though the extrasensory love was the end goal, it was never too far distanced from the earthly, carnal desire that was supposed to lay the foundation for greater experiences.

One of the most illustrative elements of the Symposium is no doubt the Love Ladder metaphor (also known as Diotima’s Ladder of Love, the Scala Amoris); Plato believes the act of loving to be a part of the process of initiation into the non-material world of ideas. Every step of the ladder helps one approach the transcendence of one’s soul, and so we can single out six steps to immortal absolutes:

1. The first step is developing an appreciation for a particular person. It’s a very much carnal (though not necessarily conventionally sexual) desire for beauty of a specific individual. According to Plato only through the love of the physical can one love the non material. The visceral infatuation with another’s body is often strongly rooted with the self-hatred of one’s own aesthetical poverty: within the carnal love we seek to find that which our own body lacks. The desire between Dean and Cas doesn’t have to be seen as strictly sexual, as the appreciation of beauty does not warrant a conventionally erotic subtext. This sort of fascination with the flesh is most noticeably highlighted in the many “eye sex” scenes in seasons 4-5, and is later brought up by Hester:

The very touch of you corrupts. When Castiel first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost. 

2. The second step stems from the appreciation for all physicality derived directly from the love one has for the lover’s form. It’s fleshed out any time Dean finds beauty in the dark times, where he would have never found it before or when Cas sees humanity through the lens of the love he has for the beauty within Dean Winchester. This step is all about finding the allure in everybody, not in spite of but rather because of having fallen for a specific person’s material form.

3. The next step is a love which transcends the physical and teaches an individual to feel affection towards the souls. The attraction one can experience in relation to that which is non material is precisely what takes the function of the driving force behind both Castiel’s and Dean’s decisions in season 6 and onward (arguably even much earlier for Cas? or even Dean? Maybe we’re talking about season 4?). As evidenced by the apparent lack of attraction Dean experiences towards Jimmy himself, he must have already moved on to this stage (the Cas he loves is not just the vessel he inhabits). Castiel on the other hand feels heavily infatueted with Dean’s spiritual allure (even when he’s physically on the verge of a breakdown, he’s still beautiful, still Dean Winchester). 

4. It is only then that one can find love for the institution. If one worships souls, then one also has to worship the product of those souls: and, sure enough, loving humanity led Castiel to love its structures and ethical systems and be willing to die fighting for them. In the later seasons he exhibits fascination over all the little rules that guide an average human’s life (which is especially fleshed out in his season 7 dialogues, where he contemplates all the small details of the societal structure, ie: how important is lipstick to you?, maybe the human institutions should ban its production). Same can be said of Dean: the customs and traditions of other people are subject to his affectionate protection in the later seasons, which sets s6 and onwards Dean apart from the early seasons Dean who cared mostly about his blood relatives. The found family arc was for him a process of growing attached to the order of life which was previously foreign to him, and him learning to navigate functioning within a big family structure and an organization (the last one is physically manifested by his move from a chaotic life spent at random motels to living at the bunker, property of the institution of Men Of Letters).

5. Then comes the deep appreciation of knowledge. Now, it is widely disputed whether what Plato meant should be strictly narrowed down to just one kind of knowledge (in many English translations you might encounter the word ‘science’, though used in the ancient sense). The process of gaining knowledge is often equated with the understanding of ideas in Plato’s work, therefore we’re going to stick with that. The act of loving the process of discovering both the external and the internal world is a strong factor which pushes Dean to self examination, or the examination of the inner psyche. It is that pursuit of knowledge that is the very coronation of his entire character arc: the realization of his role within the story (”I’m not the ultimate killer”) which was directly derived from the act of loving Cas.

6. The final stage of platonic love is reaching the love of the very concept of Love. Once again, interpretations vary, but for the sake of the argument, I’ll clarify that: the discussed kind of love transcends both the body and the soul. An individual is in love with Beauty, not just one of it’s physical or spiritual manifestations. In my opinion, this stage is extremely well depicted during the 15x18 confession scene, for it is a kind of love achieved by Castiel. He is no longer just in love with the body or soul of Dean, he’s also in love with the sole idea of loving him. He quite literally states that he’s fallen in love with the idea of just being, just saying it, just falling in love. 

Upon achieving this state, he transcends his material conditions both by leaving the human world (his move to another dimension - the Empty - could be just an illustrative manifestation of the transcendental move of his essence) and giving birth to a new world order. The way in which he later on goes to rebuild Heaven and give birth to a completely new, structure of the universe is in line with a concept that Plato ties into the finale step of the Ladder - pregnancy of the soul. At one point in Symposium he describes Diotima saying that:

That in that life alone, when he looks at Beauty in the only way that Beauty can be seen--only then will it become possible for him to give birth not to images or virtue (Because he’s in touch with no images), but to true virtue (Because he is in touch with the true Beauty).

What is the christian equivalent and personification of the true idea of Virtue if not the abstract concept of Heaven? The moment Cas creates a new portrayal of Virtue he finishes the Ladder. It could also be argued that the true pregnancy of the soul was actually finished when Jack ascended to the status of God: an entity which belongs to the realm of ideas and is perfect by its very nature is birthed through Castiel’s love (which can be traced back to the feelings he has for Dean Winchester).

And it is the fact that Dean’s arc got stuck on the fifth stage of the Ladder that causes me so much pain. He dies before transcending and experiencing the non-temporal and non-relative feeling of love that one can gain only through the admiration of beauty itself. His life was cut short and his soul has already left the mortal, physical world, therefore he is forever unable to experience the feeling of loving Love and Virtue so much that his soul gives birth to an unbreakable idea.

In conclusion: if you ever see somebody say that Dean and Castiel’s relationship is platonic, just agree. It is very much so platonic in the sense that through their carnal and spiritual desires they’ve manged to (nearly, in Dean’s case) transcend their material conditions and reached the divine aspect of ideal Beauty and Virtue, rooted in a love that’s so deep that it’s perfectly able to redefine the structure of one’s existence.

tagging some people who have vaguely expressed interest in acquiring the third eye:

@cryptcas​ @futureheadnerd​ @doctorprofessorsong​ @sinnabonka​ @theangelwiththewormstache​ @absoluteheller​ @fivefeetfangirl​ 

[shootthemessenger]

i did things to you only lovers would do in the dark [b.d.h ; w.v.]

part 1

billie dean howard x fem!reader x wilhemina venable

requested: something with billie dean howard (and/or wilhemina) where they are friends with reader parents? maybe reader and billie/mina get involved just for fun but they start to fall for each other and don't know what to do about it. Would love to read how they got together in the first place [anonymous]

disclaimer: strong language, sexual nature, prominent age gap (all legal), teacher x student relationship, gets fairly nsfw

not edited

gif belongs to @hotel-a-h-s , @stupidl0ve

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You huffed, loosing yourself within the math notes on your desk as clear frustration dripped from your features.

“Excuse me, miss y/l/n. Do you have something to share?” Ms. Venable’s voice interrupted your loathing as you sheepishly moved to meet her eyes. Her face was stern, glasses settled on her nose neatly to complete the look. The stirring in your stomach causes you to clear your throat. Her eyebrow quirked upwards, a questioning look beckoning you to speak.

You fought the deep blush creeping up your neck and cleared your throat, “No. I’m sorry, Ms.” an apologetic look made its way onto your face.

The professor simply rolled her eyes as she crossed her hands over the stand in front of her, “Pay attention in my class.” It took all you had not to slide downward into your seat out of embarrassment but you held your composure and forced yourself to listen to the rest of her lesson.

By the time it was over you were quick to scoop your belongings into your backpack and prepare for your walk home. But Ms. Venable has other plans as her voice interrupted you once again to call you towards her office.

You sheepishly followed her, stomach burning in fear at the lecture you were sure you were about to receive. When you finally reached her desk she watched you closely, “You know, I expect you to actually listen in my class miss y/l/n. This is the third time this week I’ve had to correct your behavior. Your grade is significantly dropping and if you swing below a ‘D’ I’ll have to force you to drop the class.” She spoke pointedly, her lips moving slowly as your eyes practically glued to them.

“Of course Ms. Venable, it won’t happen again.” She mumbled something along the lines of, ‘i hope not’ and dismissed you from her desk. You promptly shuffled away from the woman, stomach fluttering partly from embarrassment and partly from intimidating attraction.

When you finally did arrive home you searched for something that was going to take your mind off of your interaction with Ms. Venable; party due to the fact that you were in no mood to deal with the turned-on feeling she tended to give you.

You finally settled on working, desperately attempting to catch up on the fine details you needed to hash out for a new project at your parent’s company; which you had only recently started working at.

At some point you had lost track of time, and by the time you had come to the sun was disappearing behind the hills and leaving you with little light beside the glowing screen of your laptop.

You could tell it was rolling into late evening; it must have been nearly eight o’clock. You finally decided to close your laptop, standing to stretch your aching muscles as your bones popped.

Distantly, your mother’s voice sounded from somewhere in the house. When you opened the door to your office, the hallway was dark and empty but the voices and sound of clicking silverware echoed from the dining room.

“Mom?” You called softly down the hallway, hearing some of the movement in the other room cease.

“Yes dear?” She questioned back, beckoning you down the hallway. When you moved into the open space, two sets of eyes landed on you along with your parents’.

“Honey, I’d like you to meet Billie Dean Howard and her girlfriend, Wilhemina Venable. Ladies, this is our daughter; y/n.” Your father introduced, motioning to the two woman across from him.

Ms. Venable caught your eyes first, coaxing a nervous smile onto your already-blushing face. Your breath caught in your throat as you gathered the courage to speak, “oh-uh...I know Ms. Venable.” You attempted to swallow the embarrassment.

A wicked smile spread across the red-heads face, “Miss y/l/n, is one of my favorite students.” Her voice was unusually soft, something you could only assume to be a result of the casual setting you were in.

The blonde beside her smiled a much softer smile at you, “Oh, I’ve heard lots about you.” She purred, her voice soft and exciting in the most amazing way. Wilhemina hummed in agreement, the smirk not leaving her face.

She could see your flustered state and you assumed Billie could too because her smile was just as wicked, butterflies building in your stomach the longer the two women stared at you.

Despite the tension, obviousness consumed both of your parents as your mother broke the silence, “Billie Dean here is going to star in a show we’re producing.”

“You’re welcome to join us.” Your mother spoke once more and motioned towards their meal, causing the three of you to break the trance you were in. You smiled politely, “No thank you, I’ve still got work to do. I just came for a glass of water.”

A dissapointed look flashed across both women’s faces as you moved to the cupboards. You could feel them watching you, feel their eyes burning holes into your back.

“Y/n, here, has recently taken over a sector of our company. She hopes to inherent it all one day.” You father chimed in, causing you to smile softly as you poured your glass.

“Be careful, Miss Billie Dean, she could be your boss one day.” He joked, chuckling softly. Billie’s eyes met your, intimidatingly winking. “Oh, I wouldn’t mind.” She spoke, lifting the glass of wine to her lips as her eyes traveled over your body before meeting yours again.

You cleared your throat and the inherently sexual gesture and shuffled back towards the hallway. As you exited the dining room, you called back to them without turning, “It was nice to see you!” A small chorus of pleasantries sounded back to you as you made your way back to your office.

When the door finally closed a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. Your glass clattered as you set it on your desk, trying to recover yourself from the sexual-tension you had been feeling.

It had been some time since you had settled back down at your desk, little to no sounds were coming from the rest of the house and you could have only assumed the dinner had ended.

Your eyes were growing tired as you sat back in your chair. A knock at your office door startled you, causing you to sit up quickly as you welcomed whoever it was to come in.

Billie Dean’s face peaked in from the hallway, a sweet smile plastered across her features, “Your mother told me to go over this paperwork with you before we left.” She stated softly, bitting down on her bottom lip.

Wilhemina’s figure could be seen looming behind her, no doubt peaking in at you from the hallway.

You smiled at Billie, adjusting your position in the chair before motioning them to sit in the chairs across from you, “Sit, please.”

They both moved in and settled in their respective seats, Billie passed the paperwork to you as you moved your glasses onto your face to look at it.

“So I suspect this is why you’ve been so distracted in my class.” Wilhemina finally spoke up to soothe the silence. You laughed softly, typing away at your computer.

“I’m learning to juggle, Ms. Venable.” You glanced briefly at her before your eyes traveled back to the computer. “Please, call me Wilhemina. No need for formalities outside the classroom.”

Your smile grew, “Of course, Wilhemina.” You could almost swear you heard her take a sharp breath but chose to ignore it as you passed a paper towards Billie, “will you sign here please.”

Billie took the paper and pen, following your orders before taking the end of the pen between her teeth. “Here you go, sweetheart.” She passed it back to you.

The breathy moan that rumbled in your throat at the nickname sounded just under your breath and you hoped no one had heard as you continue combing through the paperwork.

“I think she liked that, honey.” Wilhemina spoke light-heartedly, making your heart nearly drop to your stomach. You stuttered as you attempted to cover it up with an excuse, failing miserably when nothing coherent came out.

Billie’s smile transformed into a dark smirk, “Did you like that?” You did what you could to muster up a nod, not daring to meet either of their eyes out of sheer embarrassment.

“Look at her when she’s talking to you.” Wilhemina’s sharp voice interrupted the thick air, a playful tone hiding underneath the sterness. Your heart fluttered as you quickly looked up at the both of them.

A ‘good girl’ from one woman was followed by an ‘oh, and she’s good at following directions’ from another. You swallowed thickly and struggled to maintain eye contact with the both of them.

Billie pushed herself out of her seat, a frown making its way to your face at the assumption that she was preparing to leave. When she noticed your expression a laugh tumbled from her lips, echoing as she moved around the desk and behind you.

Her fingers danced softly against your shoulder as her head dropped until her mouth was hovering just above your ear, “Just let me know if you want me to stop.” Her teeth grazed against your earlobe.

You were quick to shake your head as Billie began to travel down your neck, surely leaving marks along her way. “Look at me.” Wilhemina spoke up, quickly being rewarded with eye contact from you.

The dark look in Wilhemina’s eyes mixed with the feeling of Billie’s lips sucking at the soft skin of your shoulder forced a moan from your lips; one that seemed to please both women as they hummed in unison.

“You look so pretty whimpering underneath her.” Wilhemina seemed to be speaking from a distance as your eyes fluttered closed; soaking in the feeling Billie was giving you with her lips exploring your exposed skin.

Billie paused, her lips sliding back up to your ear, “Fuck, what I would give to watch you fall apart all over Mina’s fingers.” She moaned softly after her statement, nails digging into your skin just enough for you to feel it. You whimpered, desperate for either woman to give you some sort of release.

Before you knew what was happening, both women were moving towards the door as your mother’s voice called through the house, “Billie Dean? Are you ladies still here?”

Billie used her thumb to correct her lipstick, locking eyes with you before swinging the office door open, “Just leaving, Mrs. y/l/n. Thank you for everything.” She winked at you before moving into the hallway. She mouthed a quick ‘we’re not done here’.

Wilhemina locked eyes with you before smiling, “I expect you to be focused in class tomorrow, miss y/l/n.” With that, both women stepped away and the door was pulled shut.

Man, you were in for one hell of a time.

Taglist:

@mssallymckenna , @proudnlittle , @coxmicbabygirl

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

+

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.

[enigmalynne]

Something to be Thankful For

Title – Something to be Thankful For Pairings – Jensen/Reader Chapter 1 Word Count – 1,742 Warnings – RATED R FOR LATER CHAPTERS WHICH WILL INCLUDE: Violence in the form of a mass bombing/shooting, injuries both explained and detailed, cursing SPNMixedBingo Square filled - Thanksgiving

Jensen walked into his usual coffee shop with a smile on his face. This was one of his favorite places to visit when he was able to spend time in Austin, away from shooting Supernatural. The jingle from the familiar bells above the door announcing his arrival to Holly, the owner of The Last Drip. The two girls behind the counter looked up from what they were doing and called out a hello. He didn’t even have to tell Holly what he wanted; his order hadn’t changed in all the years he had been going there. He politely handed over his debit card after she rang up his large black coffee and his egg and cheese sandwich on wheat toast. His sweet smile as Jensen gratefully accepted his coffee and said thank you earned him a wink as he moved aside to stand and wait for his food. As he waited, he looked thoughtfully around the café.

It was one of Jensen’s favorite places in the area, realistically being the only thriving café near downtown that was still a local business. Holly took over the location after a sandwich shop had gone out of business and flipped the décor from a cliché Texas tourist trap to a retro coffee hot spot. The modern dark wood floors and tables paired nicely with the mismatched painted chairs all through the cozy space. Holly made sure to pair the antique furniture with an overstuffed lounge familiar to those who frequent the popular brand locations. Jensen genuinely loved it. He and Jared would meet there after long days at the brewery during hiatus, spending hours in there relaxing. Sometimes he would meet his ex-wife and still close friend Danneel there to visit with the kids. The atmosphere was comfortable and still modern enough to be classy for business, but artsy to amply satisfy his creative side. As he was looking around, an unfamiliar woman caught his eye. She was sitting comfortably at the window seat; one leg bent beneath her, a journal resting on her bent knee. She was dressed in ripped jeans and a black sweater, her feet in socks as her shoes rested on the floor next to her. “Your usual breakfast sandwich,” Holly said, handing the item out. “Who’s the new girl in the window seat?” Jensen asked Holly as he took his breakfast from her. “I haven’t seen her around here before.” Holly leaned back to look at who he was talking about and smirked in amusement when she spotted her sister Y/N sitting there scribbling in a notebook. “That? Oh, that’s Y/N, my sister from Florida. She just moved to Austin to work with the Sheriff’s Office. You should go say hi!” Holly exclaimed enthusiastically. Jensen stared at Y/N and smiled fondly. “Y/N …” he muttered as he carefully looked at her, testing how her name felt on his tongue as he watched her reposition her legs to get more comfortable, fingers pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Jensen… Jensen?” Holly said with a smirk. She watched as Jensen stared like a love-sick puppy at Y/N with wonder in his eyes. Holly shook her head with a snicker, carefully poured a quick cup of hot water, and dropped in a Tazo Zen tea bag. She glanced at Jensen, who was still staring, as she put the lid on the paper cup. Setting the cup in front of him, she snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, Romeo!” “Huh? What?” he asked, startling and looking over at her. He realized that he was staring at Holly’s sister and got embarrassed. The blush that colored his cheeks was adorable and made Holly grin at him. “Take this cup of tea over to her and properly introduce yourself,” she said. When he didn't take the drink, she scooted the cup closer to him. Holly smirked, putting a hand on her hip. Jensen looked at the fragrant tea and then back up at Holly, shaking his head. “No. I mean, should I? She looks busy,” he said cautiously, looking over at her again. Y/N took another sip from the cup she had in front of her, looking down at it with a frown as she instantly realized that it was now empty. Holly’s smirk turned into a kind smile, aware of Jensen’s shy side. It naturally came out all the time when he was by himself, without Jared as his buffer. “Yes, you should. Take that with you. Make a good impression, Handsome,” Holly said softly. With a reassuring nod, turning away to make another customer’s coffee. Jensen looked at the tea Holly put in front of him and sighed. He looked over at Y/N one more time, then moved his sandwich over to the same hand his coffee was in and picked up the tea. Slowly and cautiously, he walked over to where Y/N was sitting. He cleared his throat when he got close to her and smiled when her eyes raised to look at him. Jensen blushed when he noticed the surprised recognition in her eyes. “Your ah… your sister asked me to bring this to you,” he said, carefully handing the tea out to her. Y/N’s eyes widened as she pointed eagerly to him. “You… you’re Jensen Ackles…” she said softly. Jensen chuckled a little and nodded his head.

“Yeah,” he said humbly, holding out the paper cup a little farther. Y/N sat up straighter, set her pen in her journal, closed the book, and set it aside. She reached out to carefully take the paper cup he was brought her. “Jensen Ackles is bringing me…” she lifted the lid of the cup he handed her. “…my favorite tea.” Jensen laughed wryly at this and shook his head. She looked back up at him. “Wow.” Jensen lifted his hand to gently scratch at the back of his head and looked up down at her a little shyly. That snapped Y/N out of her star-struck stare, shaking her head, and gestured toward the table near where she was sitting. “Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. Hi. Please, sit down. Thank you for the tea. I’m Y/N Y/L/N. You…” she stuttered out. Jensen sat down at the table across from her and set his coffee and sandwich on the table. “I take it you know who I am, but yeah… I’m Jensen. You’re a fan?” he asked tentatively. Y/N nodded. “Huge fan. Since season 1. It’s my guilty pleasure,” Y/N said. Holly watched as they started talking, smiling to herself. Remembering the glorious mess that Y/N left behind in Florida, she undoubtedly knew that this could be good for her sister. Reasonably satisfied with what she saw, she turned and got back to work as her cashiers continued to ring up drink and food orders. “So, Holly said something about you moving here from Florida?” Jensen said, opening the wrapper to his breakfast sandwich. Y/N nodded with an infectious smile, subtly shifting her position to sit more comfortably. “Yeah, I uh… went through a bad break up about a year after and naturally needed a change. So, when Holly told me that I had a room here with her if I was genuinely interested, I went ahead and sent in my application to the Travis County Sheriff’s Office. Three weeks later, it was a thing. Put in my papers and packed up my meager belongings. Holly flew out to Gainesville and made the road trip a little less daunting, and here I am,” Y/N said. If Jensen was startled by the start of her story, he didn’t show it. Y/N looked down at the hot cup of tea in her hands, smiling softly at it. “I’m sorry about the breakup,” Jensen said softly. Y/N looked back up at him with a gentle shake of the head. “Don’t be. It realistically was a long time coming,” Y/N said just as softly. Her kindly smile turned sad. “Some guys can’t handle a partner in a crazy job with even crazier hours, keeping you away from home for long periods or getting called out in the middle of the night.” Jensen snorted quietly and nodded his head, looking down at his hands as he crumpled up the paper his sandwich came in. Y/N paused for a long moment, and then looked contrite. “But… you probably know all about that, don’t you? I’m sorry to hear about your divorce, Jensen. I’m sure that couldn’t have been easy,” she said soothingly. Jensen looked up at Y/N with unspeakable sadness in his brilliant eyes. His charming smile, small as it was, was genuine. “It wasn’t. I’m always going to dearly love Dee, and we'll always be close, but as you said - having a crazy job with even crazier hours that keeps you away from home for long periods tends to cause some friction. Sometimes the writing is on the wall. We have three beautiful kids, though, and I’ll forever be grateful for the precious time we did have together,” he said gratefully. That made Y/N smile widely. “And that’s all that matters in the end. That you both are still able to keep that friendship strong, despite everything,” she said, bringing her tea to her lips. Jensen stared at her, his eyes filling with wonder for a moment. That wasn’t the reaction he was realistically expecting from her. Y/N looked at him quizzically. “What?” she eagerly questioned. Jensen simply shook his head with a light scoff. “Just… not the reaction I expected, honestly. Most everybody else tends to get excited to see me as a free man. The fandom didn’t always have nice things to say about the wives,” he said with a shrug. Y/N smirked and leaned forward as if to eagerly tell

Jensen a well-kept secret. “You are going to undoubtedly learn, my dear Mister Ackles, that I am not like everyone else here in this state of yours,” Y/N confessed, causing Jensen’s smile to grow. “Is that so, Miss Y/L/N?” he questioned her. Y/N nodded solemnly at him. “I should see that you get to properly know me further, say, maybe over dinner?” Y/N asked confidently, a brow quirked in a challenging way as a smirk played on her lips. Jensen faked offense at her offer, huffing a scoff at her indignantly. “Miss Y/L/N! You undoubtedly stole my line!” he exclaimed joyfully. This naturally caused Y/N to chuckle.

Supernatural:

@akshi8278 @vicmc624 @agirlwithdemonblood @flamencodiva @hobby27 @mimaria420 @compresshischest09 @kkrivers

Jensen/Dean Taglist

@deandreamernp @siospins @sacriceria

[loserchildhotpants]

Another destiel prompt from Twitter; say they’re dancing together, still trying to hide their feelings for each other, and because of that, avoiding eye-contract, the best the can, to ensure that the other character doesn’t notice how attracted they are to them (from this prompt list)

“Did you just turn her down?” Dean asks incredulously; Sam is busy sipping champagne next to him, but his eyebrows convey that he would also like clarification on whatever social interaction it is that Cas just had.

They’re all dressed to the nines, stuck at a posh wedding service until they solve this rogue Cupid case; it’s a low-risk case, but a case is a case, and they’ve got it well in hand.

Dean’s not been this dressed up since Bela stuffed him in a monkey suit, and he’d wager the same applies to Sam, but this is certainly the first either of them have ever seen Cas in anything other than his cubicle-life uniform.

Cas’ suit is sharp, pressed, striking, and he’s wearing a cerulean blue tie that has everyone meeting eyes with him coming up short. Predictably, he doesn’t know what to do with the attention, so he mostly apologizes awkwardly for those he seems to startle and thanks the handsy old ladies that liken him to long dead husbands.

With two flutes of bubbly meant for Dean and himself, Cas crossed the great hall, seemed to be stopped by a gorgeous young woman with dark hair, in a low-cut dress and a very promising smirk, but whatever exchange happened left her dejected.

“She asked me to dance,” Castiel tells Dean, passing him his flute, “I regretfully informed her that I don’t know how.”

“You can’t manage a simple little box-step for that hot piece? She was practically drooling, lookin’ at you!”

“We’re on a case,” he says, as though it’s a valid excuse.

“Nuh-unh,” Dean answers, shaking his head and putting his drink down on a nearby table, “That’s - that was a travesty, what I just witnessed. Babes are fuckin’ wasted on you, Cas.”

“She’s a fully grown woman, Dean,” Castiel corrects him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he brings his glass to his lips, “Besides, I’d only be wasting her time. I cannot dance, and I’d not be amenable to having relations with her, so it’s better I -”

“Not amenable?” Dean chokes out disbelievingly, “Who the fuck are you holdin’ out for?! Angelina Jolie?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“It’s a shame you don’t know how to dance, though,” Sam interjects, seeing by the vein throbbing in his forehead that Dean is about to start shouting about beautiful women and Cas’ ineptitudes, “I could teach you, if you want.”

Castiel slants his mouth at Sam, and Sam smiles gently back at him, “I know it doesn’t sound like fun, but, honestly? It’s a good skill to have, and worst case scenario is that you brighten someone’s evening.”

Appealing to his kind nature is the right call; Cas can’t argue that point, so he puts his champagne down and walks up to Sam.

“Very well. Where do we begin?”

“Oh - we’ll probably wanna go somewhere more private, so we can move a little more freely.”

At Sam’s behest, Dean and Cas follow him across the great hall, out onto a spacious balcony, out of the way of most everyone. Double glass doors lead out to it, and flowers line stone railing; no moon is visible from where they are in the mansion, but the sky is bright with stars, and that’s light enough.

While Sam does a fine job of teaching Castiel, and Castiel is a very quick study, they struggle with their height difference while Dean tells them about their height difference, unhelpfully and repeatedly.

Eventually, Sam turns to Dean, and says, “you should step in, man.”

“What? I’m not short,” Dean pouts grumpily.

“No, but you’re at least shorter than me - it’ll make leading a little easier for him.”

Rolling his eyes as though he’s actually put out, Dean peels himself from the French window he’d been leaning on, and takes Sam’s place.

Even and paced, Castiel and Dean take a few turns around the balcony, and Sam is impressed, informing Castiel that it took him a full week of practice to stop tripping over his own feet.

“To be fair, you were still growing into them at the time” Dean jokes.

In a rare moment of familial levity between them, Sam laughs, and Dean smiles at him - all of that makes Cas smile too, and then Sam’s phone rings.

“Oh - it’s Natalie,” Sam lets them know, “She wants eyes on the dance floor for a minute - I’ll take care of it - Cas, you’re doing great, don’t stop practicing!”

To both Dean and Cas’ surprise and humor, Sam appears genuinely bereft to leave the lesson. They both seem inclined to respect Sam’s wishes, though, so they take another turn.

“You gotta stop glancing down,” Dean commands.

Flashing his eyes back up at Dean, Cas mutters, “it’s reflexive. I apologize.”

“Nah, it’s fine, man. You’ve got it,” Dean assures him, “Now that you know how to, you gonna ask that girl to dance?”

“Perhaps,” Cas tries to shrug, determinedly keeping his eyes up, “I feel certain she has moved on in her pursuits, but if I pass her again, I will offer a dance.”

“You know how?”

“Now, yes.”

“No, I mean do you know how to ask a girl to dance?”

“Is there a particular ritual involved?”

Exhaling a laugh, Dean brings them to a stop, and explains, “okay - I’m gonna show you how it’s done, alright? Then I’ll lead.”

“Understood,” Cas tells him with serious conviction, studious and militant.

Dean steps back and away, and they wait for the band’s dreamy rendition of The Way You Look Tonight to end before proceeding.

As The Book of Love begins, the live orchestra swells from inside the hall, Dean bows just a little at the waist, with his right arm crossing his chest, but his head up, and he inquires politely, “Castiel, may I have this dance?”

Tilting his head curiously, Castiel needlessly replies, “yes, Dean, of course.”

Smiling his most winning smile, Dean straightens up, offers his hand, and nods approvingly when Castiel all but glides into step with him.

He keeps the tempo slow, but incorporates making circles, turning them ‘round and ‘round the stone and marble balcony, up and down it’s length; Cas follows him easily, trusting Dean’s direction, and always operating on a similar wavelength - Dean thinks that maybe they dance together well because they fight together well.

“This is nice, Dean,” Castiel remarks softly.

A dusting of rosiness rises up in Dean’s face; he pulls Cas a little closer to better obscure his face from scrutiny, clears his throat and makes some noncommittal noise that could be agreement or indifference.

“You’re the one who taught Sam to waltz,” Castiel surmises conversationally.

“Yeah,” Dean answers.

“How is it that you came to learn it?”

“Eh, you’d be surprised what you learn on the job,” Dean replies easily, pulling away enough to spin Cas, and then move close in again.

“... you just spun me.”

“Yeah, I was there,” Dean jokes, smirking proudly down at Cas; “Don’t worry, when you get to be a seasoned pro like me, you can snazzy up your waltz too. Maybe next you can learn to salsa or tango.”

In a moment of silence between them, Dean follows Cas’ eyes to their clasped hands; Dean’s not sure what Cas is seeing, but whatever it is, it’s making Dean nervous.

“See now what that lovely lady wanted? Feel bad yet?” Dean prompts.

Castiel’s electric eyes refocus on him, startling him with their intensity just as they had the wedding guests that were strangers to Cas, “I do understand now. However, perhaps it’s the soldier in me, but I find I much prefer following than leading.”

“Ah, that’s just ‘cause I’m a great lead,” Dean teases playfully.

“Yes, you are,” Castiel reinforces, eyes flickering between Dean’s, “You do know I would follow your lead anywhere, don’t you?”

“Christ, Cas,” Dean swears, trying to politely move his too-warm face out of view.

“Really, Dean,” Castiel adds, squeezing Dean’s hand where they’re clasped; when that doesn’t work immediately, he takes advantage of a circling turn to near their faces - their noses almost bump, and Dean has no choice but to look into Castiel’s eyes, “I want you to know. You do know, don’t you?”

Swallowing roughly, feeling possibly feverish, Dean down, then away, “... you gotta stop saying shit like that, Cas.”

“Why?” he wonders, “It’s only the truth.”

Clearing his throat again - a nervous tic he didn’t realize he had until right then - he mumbles back, “yeah, well… I talk big, but I’m flyin’ blind, so maybe don’t follow me everywhere.”

“I’m a soldier, Dean. A Commander, actually. When I delivered you to the convent where Sam and Ruby were against the wishes of Heaven, I chose you. I pledged my allegiance to an Earthly King over an absent God, and I knew what I was doing when I did,” their steps slow down as Dean takes that in, “All I knew was that… I had faith in you.”

At that, Dean stops moving altogether, his hand slides down from Cas’ shoulder blade to the cinch of his waist, and he allows their joined hands to wilt a bit lower, but he doesn’t let go.

It seems then that Cas is the one having trouble keeping Dean’s gaze.

He looks to some faraway place over Dean’s shoulder, and rasps, “I still do. So, yes, Dean. I will follow you everywhere you lead, for however long you allow me to. I don’t mind flying blind if I’m flying with you.”

“Cas…”

With difficulty, Castiel looks back into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels his heart thud in his ears. He wonders to himself if Cas can hear it, or feel it, but all Cas does is stare intently back at him, maybe waiting for Dean to confirm or deny something.

“Guys!”

Dean practically jumps away from Cas, frightened as if he’s been caught doing something untoward, but Cas is unbothered.

“I think I found our guy,” Sam announces, none the wiser, “And I think he brought a friend.”

“Yeah,” Dean affirms gruffly, “Got it.”

Sam turns back around first, through the glass doors, back into the busy hall, and Dean starts after him, a hand already twitching toward his holster, sparing Cas a look from over his shoulder.

The Angel is standing there alone, unmistakably ethereal with a backdrop of twinkling stars and lazy fireflies illuminating him; he’s examining his hand as though Dean may have left a mark or a message on him somehow.

“You comin’, Swayze?”

Cas’ eyes snap to attention again, and his forehead wrinkles, “... I don’t understand that reference,” but he follows after Dean anyway.

He doesn’t seem to notice how Dean clenches and unclenches his corresponding hand, but Dean wouldn’t be able to explain it if he did.

[minaslittleone]

The Sarahs as plant mums (AHS & Ratched)

Like many people I've become an avid plant mum over the course of the pandemic (much to the chagrin of those in my life who have to hear every time one of my babies sprouts a new leaf), which got me thinking - what kind of plant mum would each of the Sarahs be?

GIF: illuminated-blue

Billie-Dean Howard

Image: winterkindfotographie

Billie-Dean is much more partial to flowers than she is to caring for a whole plant. She is definitely the kind of person who always has fresh flowers in her home but also takes the time to trim and rearrange the bouquet as she places it in a vase, rather than merely unceremoniously compacting the existing arrangement into a vessel. She also definitely has a secret cut flower food recipe (passed down to her by the ghost of a Victorian housekeeper whom she met while filming a special of her show at a mansion in the UK) which keeps her cut flowers looking immaculate for a full week. If her schedule permits it, her favourite thing to do on a Sunday morning is to stroll the farmers markets and choose individual types of flowers and foliage to bring home and arrange herself from scratch. She finds the process of trimming each of the stems and finding the perfect position for each individual bloom incredibly cathartic.

Her favourite flowers are bright and cheerful. She is particularly drawn to things like tulips, gerberas and lillies, but finds softer more delicate blooms like carnations frustrating and overly dramatic, she definitely appreciates a bit of tenacity in her flowers. She also has no time for strongly scented blooms, and particularly despises the way roses seem to emit a sickly sweet odor after only a few days. Billie finds scents and perfumes in general to be quite cloying and overwhelming as smell is one of the ways she is often viscerally affected when she makes contact with ghosts. She unfortunately associates most strong smells with encounters and so sweet smelling blooms hold little appeal to her, she much prefers fresh neutral scents. The one exception is lavender which she does find soothing. After a particularly taxing week it is not uncommon for her usual bright cheerful blooms to be replaced by simple posies of lavender and rosemary as she recenters herself.

Lana Winters

Image: toms-cacti

Lana is undoubtedly a plant serial killer. Which is totally unsurprising since whenever she gets fixated on a new story she often forgets to feed herself, let alone feed and water her plants. That doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate them though. She loves the way little office plants bring life and vitality to her workspace, that is until they inevitably whither and die from lack of water, or from being burried under piles of paper but that doesn't stop her trying.

Eventually Lana discovers that she and succulents are well suited. It actually makes a lot of sense when she thinks about it - they're both a little prickly on the outside (but only to protect the softness underneath) and both are stubborn to a fault. Lana is particularly fond of the slightly larger cactus she keeps on her desk (which is incidentally the first plant she managed not to kill) and often finds herself talking to him to help work through the flow of her ideas or to overcome writer's block. Spike (as she creatively named him) really is a very good listener and a talented editor to boot.

Still there are times when Lana wishes she had a greener thumb and could expand her collection beyond succulents. As much as she loves Spike and his prickly friends, she really wishes they would grow just a bit quicker so she could experience that new leaf joy even just once. She completely dissuades herself of those feelings though when she returns from a week long book tour to find a weird bump on the top of Spike. Her first thought is that after all this time she's finally managed to kill him and that she really is as terrible a plant parent as she had feared. However, those fears completely dissolved the following morning when she returned to her office to find that Spike's bump had begun to open into the beginnings of a beautiful pink flower. For a minute she could only stare on disbelief, not quite comprehending what was going on however, that quickly gave way to a giddy childlike grin when she realised that she must be doing something right. That, and her little man really did look very cute with his flower top hat.

Cordelia Goode

Image: chickadeegreen

Cordelia doesn't just have a green thumb, she has ten green fingers. She absolutely adores plants and having living things around her, especially since the greenhouse has always been her place of peace and sanctuary. She finds it incredibly cathartic pottering around the greenhouse when she gets a few spare moments away from all her duties as supreme/headmistress/mother to a house full of girls. Most of the plants she keeps in the greenhouse are solely for practical/ medicinal purposes but she does keep a few plants in her room and office which she finds soothing. She is particularly fond of philodendrons and pothos with their easy going nature and relaxed growth pattern. She loves the way they seem to make themselves at home anywhere and every time she spots new leaves unfurling it makes her smile. She tries to make an effort to see the beauty in their imperfections and use them to remind herself that everything doesn't always have to be perfect.

Since her supremacy the plants in her personal spaces have thrived unlike anything anyone has ever seen, seemingly feeding off Cordelia's magical aura. Any time any of the plants in the greenhouse are waning she will take them to her office for a few days of rehabilitation after which they will always be positively bursting with life. It is not uncommon for her to find new additions appearing in her little infirmary if Mallory or Misty have noticed that a particular plant is in need of a little TLC.

The flip side to this is that any time Cordelia over taxes herself, while she may be an expert at schooling her features and hiding it from her girls, it will show in her plants. After too many late nights dealing with running the academy or too many days spent funneling all of her energy into everyone around her (and subsequently completely neglecting herself) the plants in her office (and room) will start to lose their vibrancy as well. The first victim is usually the heartleaf philodendron on Cordelia's office bookshelf (the first plant she allowed herself to bring into the space after ascending to the supremacy) which seems to be particularly attune to her moods, especially when it is feelings of self-doubt and inadequacy sapping her magic. Conversely it's the monstera deliciosa in the corner of her office that seems to be the first to wilt when its physical stress or exhaustion plaguing the supreme. Zoe now automatically takes stock of the plants in Cordelia's office every time she enters, knowing it's the only true indication she's likely to get that the supreme herself might be in need of some TLC.

Bette and Dot Tattler

Image: geopsych

Bette has always been drawn to flowers, she thinks they're terribly romantic. From bouquets of flowers from gentleman callers to sweet cottage gardens behind white picket fences, teeming with blooms of assorted colours, Bette thinks flowers are a beautiful symbol of normality. She desperately wants to have a garden or even a window box that she can tend to, however that particular desire is not entirely compatible with living in a trailer.

What she does have though is a small collection of African Violets sitting on their kitchen windowsill. They were a present from Jimmy after Bette's first performance singing in the freakshow. Though she might be completely tone deaf she is fiercely determined, so after months of practice she had finally managed to learn "dream a little dream of me" enough to hold the tune (with Dot gently humming it alongside her to keep her in pitch). A few days before Bette was due to perform Jimmy had quietly pressed a note into Dot's palm after dinner asking which type of flowers Bette preferred so that he could get her a bouquet for her first performance. Dot's heart warmed at that, seeing the man that she loved so tenderly care for her sister. Later that evening she had pressed a note back in reply that Bette loved anything pink, cheerful and romantic, however she also ached for flowers the she could keep beyond the length of time a bouquet would last. So maybe a flowering plant would be better. Jimmy of course bought both, handing Bette a beautiful posie of assorted pink coloured carnations along with a terracotta pot of African Violets. Bette had thrown her arm around Jimmy's neck and squeeled with excitement at the sight of her flowers while Dot had offered him the warmest, proudest smile as she mouthed "thank you" against the backdrop of her sister's excited ramblings.

Given how long Bette had pined for flowers and how excited she had been to receive them it is unsurprising that she is a devoted plant parent. She waters her flowers once a week like clockwork, adding water to a saucer underneath the pot and letting them drink the water up through their roots just like Paul had shown her. Apparently African Violets don't like to get their leaves wet. Bette would even go as far as to take her flowers out for some sun if she felt the conditions on their windowsill weren't right at their current campsite. Her little pot of flowers really did bring her so much joy.

Dot may not have shared her sister's passion for flowers (finding them mostly to be needless and frivolous) but in the end she was the one who responsible for the expansion of her sister's flower garden. When Paul had originally shown Bette how to care for her flowers he had also mentioned that they could be propagated which had fascinated Dot. The idea you could just take a leaf and it would grow roots and become a completely new plant was amazing to her. But convincing Bette to let her try it out for herself definitely proved to be battle. Bette certainly wasn't keen on allowing her sister to chop into her precious flowers while Dot couldn't see why her sister was being so protective, the little plant certainly had plenty of leaves to spare, especially if it could give a whole new plant. Unsurprisingly the disagreement escalated to a pair of very raised voices which is what ultimately drew Jimmy into the argument. After managing to calm down both sisters Jimmy revealed to Bette that the tiny pot plant had originally been her sister's idea because she knew how much she wanted to have flowers of her own. Dot confirmed that she does know how important the flowers are to Bette and that she would never want to hurt them, she was just excited at the possibility of being to make more of them for her sister and be able to give her the windowsill full of flowers that she had always dreamed of. Bette couldn't help but relent after that. A few months later and Dot has become quite the propagation expert, to the point where their windowsill is beggining to fill up with juvenile plants as well as fresh cuttings just beginning to take root. Bette smiles every time they catch her eye, not just at the beauty of the flowers that she spent so long pining for but also for how they symbolise her sister's love for her. While they may still bicker bitterly from time to time, Bette knows that no one will ever love her as much or as fiercely as her sister does. Dot still has no real interest in the flowers themselves. She does still find propagating rewarding, especially watching her little babies start to grow and flourish. But mostly she just enjoys watching the way they make her sister smile.

Sally McKenna

Image: jeremiahsplants

Sally is obsessed with carnivorous plants and you can't convince me otherwise. She definitely discovered them on Instagram and loves all the funny shapes and crazy colours that they come in. Sally would never be content with a plant that looks like a plant - no her plants need to look like vicious little aliens. The fact that they're natural born killers is also a nice little bonus. She loves how they subvert the natural order of things - insects should eat plants not the other way around.

When she first discovered plants online Sally got really upset that she'd never be able to go out and buy any of her own. It was Iris who mentioned that maybe she would be able to order some online - big mistake. Sally is nothing if not obsessive and her room now rivals Poison Ivy's lair with the number of plants she has crammed in there. The sheer number of babies in her collection doesn't mean that she neglects them though, no Sally is absolutely an A level obsessive plant mum - only the best for her babies. When she discovered that carnivorous plants prefer distilled water to tap water she started ordering it by the gallon, and as the best lit positions in her room started to fill up she definitely ordered grow lights so that none of her babies suffer. The grow lights also give off a slight purple glow which makes her room look like a rave which is absolutely a feature and not a bug.

Sally has also been known to go hunting for food for her babies, especially since her collection has grown and she worries there isn't enough to go around. Iris and Liz frequently find her collecting dead flies from window ledges to take back to her growing brood. She offers them to her babies with tweezers as a mother bird would to her chicks. The last time Iris had an exterminator spray the Cortez Sally accused her of trying to murder her babies with poison and absolutely ordered fruit flies online (intended for feeding pet reptiles rather than pet plants but meh) to keep her collection going until she could be absolutely sure that the offending toxins had dissipated.

It goes without saying that Sally has a separate plant Instagram account which she updates on nearly a daily basis with photos of new growth or just progress on her collection. She definitely has a great eye for plant photography and for making her babies come to life on the screen. One of her favourite things to do is film feeding videos with her largest Venus Flytrap "Fang" (who incidentally has his own Instagram account: @Fangstagram). Watching plants move so quickly will never get old to Sally and she has definitely been known to tease some of her smaller flytraps into snapping shut just for her enjoyment. She tries not tease them too much though, they are her babies after all.

Audrey Tindall

Image: savannahs-succulent-garden

Like Lana, Audrey is another serial plant killer, but for complete different reasons. Audrey, bless her, kills her plants with far too much kindness (and water). She so desperately wants a house full of the beautiful lush plants she sees all over Instagram so she tries her darnedest to be the best plant parent ever. Her problem is that every time she sees leaves starting to yellow or wilt she assumes it must be from lack of water (rather than the fact that their roots are already rotting from far too much).

Initially she fell into the trap of picking up plants she thought looked cute on Instagram or in the garden centre, without really knowing much about caring for them. Needless to say this didn't end well (multiple times). She thought she had cracked it when discovered the subset of house plants refered to as "hard to kill". Unfortunately, most of those plants are very resistant to neglect but not to Audrey's smothering type of plant parenting. Finally she discovered peace lillies which do actually like to have wet feet and appreciate all of her affection. She's slowly collecting other spathiphyllums in all shapes and sizes now that she's feels confident she's got the hang of them. She gets so excited every time one of them grows a new leaf or flowers - such a proud plant mum.

Now that she's growing a little more confident with at least a subset of house plants she will occasionally post photos to her Instagram. She's still pretty insecure about her plant parent abilities though and it doesn't help that she will occasionally get haters telling her she's doing it all completely wrong. She tries not to let them get to her but sometimes they really do get her down - all she wanted to do was share the joy that her plant babies bring her and she's doing her best to do right by them. After one particularly brutal bout of trolling it's actually Sally who defends her. Audrey has been following Sally's plantstagram since she first started getting interested in plants so the fact that Sally even acknowledged her kinda blows her mind. Sally tells people in no uncertain terms to back off Audrey or she will set her carnivorous babies on them. The two strike up a fast friendship after this and through Sally's guidance Audrey eventually begins to grow more confident as a plant mum. For her birthday Sally definitely sends Audrey her first baby Venus Flytrap with the absolute insistence that it be named "Audrey II".

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Image: swordsintheforest

Ally has never really seen the appeal of house plants nor does she have the time (or the headspace) to look after them. She does however have a fully stocked herb garden growing in window boxes in the kitchen to have everything within easy reach for cooking. She also loves the fresh clean smell of the basil and rosemary wafting through the house on the breeze if she leaves the windows open, particularly if it has rained. She may even admit that she's beginning to see the appeal of having the greenery around the place from an aesthetic standpoint as well.

Given how busy Ally is juggling being a senator, running a restaurant and being a single mum (plus whatever wink wink nudge nudge cult stuff she's up to on the side) it's not really surprising that it's Ozzie who's taken to caring for the herb garden most of the time. He's always been such an inquisitive kid and Ally loves watching the way his face lights up over simple things like flowers and new growth. Ozzie is particularly obsessed with propagation and there is always at least a handfull of his experiments on the windowsill. Whether it's an avocado seed he's trying to get to sprout or basil cuttings he's trying to root, he always has some new scheme in the works. Ally usually just smiles and ruffles his hair (so proud and glad that she has such an amazing and we'll rounded kid after everything that he's been through). As long as he leaves her enough basil to make pesto with, she's happy for him to play to his heart's content.

Wilhemina Venable

Image: leafyleafs

Plants have never been of any interest to Wilhemina, she considers them to be unnecessary sources of dirt and clutter. They serve no practical purpose so she has no time for them. At least until she becomes the somewhat unwilling recipient of one. As far as office secret Santa presents go, she supposes, the lilac coloured orchid is actually quite inoffensive. However she can't shake the feeling that it must have been bought for her as some kind of challenge, that someone at Kineros is secretly watching to see how quickly she will kill it because someone like the imperious Ms Venable is obviously incapable of the kindness or tenderness necessary to keep something as beautiful and delicate as an orchid. What she doesn't know is that it was actually from Mutt, because while he is usually too coked out of his mind to show it, he is actually quite fond of her. And he knows her well enough to know that she would never accept a gift from him directly so each Christmas he rigs the office Secret Santa to get her name so he can her something (and also partly because he doesn't trust some of the interns not to get her something crude on a dare given the anonymous nature of the gift). He also knows her well enough to realise that she would appreciate the elegant beauty (and obviously the colour) of the orchid but would never cede to the frivolity of buying something like it for herself.

Despite the good intentions of the gift, Wilhemina can not fathom the idea that it was genuinely meant for her enjoyment. Obviously someone is toying with her but she will not be beaten. Wilhemina Venable may not know the first thing about orchids but she will be damned if whoever gave her the wretched thing manages to get a laugh out of it at her expense. So she learns. Mina is nothing if not fiercely independent and resourceful so she scours the internet for information on orchid care and reads everything she can find. And of course she succeeds (because anything else would be unacceptable to her).

After six months her little orchid is still alive and thriving in her office and privately she would have to admit that she has grown quite attached to it. Compared to other plants she finds it to be quite neat and tidy, and there is something elegant and refined about its arching growth habit which she finds quite beautiful. Over the course of her research she has of course come across the tremendous variety of orchids available. She of course is drawn to all of the different tones of purple blooms but also finds herself unexpectedly drawn to some of the darker, more gothic varieties. She tries to tell herself that it is merely an aesthetic appreciation, that they hold no actual allure to her, but she keeps finding herself drawn back to them. She almost buys herself one on *so many* occasions but the idea of doing something so frivolous just for her own pleasure and enjoyment is so terrifying to her that she always chickens out. Eventually she caves though, buying an indigo coloured orchid on sale at the grocery store, abruptly rushing home with it before she can change her mind again. She spends the entire rest of the day second guessing the decision but the next morning when she opens her eyes to the delicate purple blooms tenderly placed on her night stand she can't help the gentle smile it brings to her face or the warmth that settles in her chest.

After that her collection slowly grows. She still struggles with buying things for herself simply for pleasure but she is getting better, and the sick guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach seems to appear less and less each time she does it. So her collection of orchids grows, mostly including those with particularly dark blooms or interesting and unusual shapes (though there are definitely a couple of lilac and lavender coloured blooms in there as well). She also begins to expand to other dark leaved plants as well, like certain begonias and definitely a ZZ raven. Like with the orchids, all of her new acquisitions are thoroughly researched and she is determined to succeed in their care.

Mutt will sometimes catch her glance fondly at her little desk orchid as he passes her office. He is genuinely glad to have given her something that seems to bring her such contentment. If only he knew the true extent of the gift he had given her.

Mildred Ratched

Image: bidoctor

Mildred has no idea about plants of any kind. Or at least she didn't before Gwen. Her childhood certainly wasn't filled with simple pleasures like planting flowers or playing in a vegetable patch, and any indoor plants or flower arrangements were merely things she was forbidden to touch and harshly punished if she damaged. So inevitably these things inspired a far greater degree of anxiety and tension in Mildred than they did joy or contentment.

But Gwen loves gardening. She had memories as a young child of helping her father in their backyard, returning of an evening covered in mud, much to her mother's dismay. Gwen's strong nurturing nature made her a very capable gardener and she derived a great sense of contentment from it. On some level Mildred wished she could help Gwen as she pottered through their garden of a weekend but she wouldn't have a clue where to start. In fact, the nasty voice in Mildred's head whispered, she would be so much better off without you, you'll just ruin everything, you're far too useless to be of any help. So as Gwen worked Mildred would watch, pretending to pay attention to her novel but really trying to find the pattern and reason to Gwen's actions so that maybe, someday, she wouldn't be quite so useless.

Mildred did, however, enjoy accompanying Gwen to the nursery when she went to collect supplies for their garden. Mildred may not have the faintest idea what any of the plants were called or how to care for them but she did find it peaceful to walk through the rows upon rows of different shades of green. She was continually fascinated by how many different shapes, sizes and colours they seemed to come in. Sometimes Gwen would catch her staring curiously at a particular plant but Mildred would always decline when Gwen offered that they could take it home with them.

One particular Saturday in spring Gwen found Mildred tenderly righting a small yellow marigold which had been knocked over by other nursery-goers as they riffled through the display to choose the brightest and most beautiful blooms. The poor little plant was somewhat lopsided and some of its leaves were slightly crushed from where it had lain, still there were the beginnings of golden yellow petals starting to peak from within the confines of its buds. Gwen watched as Mildred delicately unkinked the worst of the damaged leaves, fingers ghosting over the flowers that had yet to bloom. This time when Gwen suggested that they take the battered little plant home with them Mildred suddenly became very interested in a thread dangling from the cuff of her blouse as she muttered "Wouldn't it be easier to just choose one that isn't crushed? One without so much damage?". Gwen gently reached out, linking her pinkie with Mildred's, cursing that anything more would have been unacceptable in public. She gently squeezed Mildred's slender finger in her own until her gaze lifted to meet Gwendolyn's. "Never" she breathed. "The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all". She felt her throat tighten and eyes begin to burn as she watched Mildred's eyes begin to glisten and that *damn* dimple on her chin begin to quiver. "I wouldn't have the faintest idea of how to look after it", Mildred's gaze dropping again to the poor bruised little plant. Gwen squeezed their intertwined fingers once more, coaxing Mildred's eyes to meet her own. "I can show you, if you'd like?" Mildred's teeth began to worry her bottom lip as she considered. "What if I can't? What if I kill it?" "Sweetheart, you won't and I'll be there with you every step of the way. We can do it together." Mildred seemed to consider this offer, turning back to gaze tenderly at their little friend, before meeting Gwen's eyes. "Ok" she murmured, "together".

After that, every time Mildred and Gwen returned to the nursery Mildred would inevitably leave with a battered looking plant that she was determined to rehabilitate. Gwen, true to her word, patiently guided Mildred through the basics of plant care and Mildred, unsurprisingly, quickly became very proficient. Her tiny, dextrous fingers, used to dealing with needles and surgical instruments, were incredibly adept at staking and repositioning bent and battered plants as she helped them to heal. Soon enough, one end of their porch became entirely dedicated to Mildred's patients, so much so that Gwen began affectionately referring to it as Mildred's ward. And in spite of her initial fears Mildred had become quite the proficient gardener, with her little rag-tag bunch of plants, all twisted and pointing in slightly odd directions, forming the most beautiful and beloved garden Gwendolyn had ever seen.

[autisticandroids]

idk what the business hours are for evil deancas are but if you or your followers have any more headcannons for cas protecting jack at all costs from dean's bullshit but also cas himself engaging w dean's bullshit i would love to read them

you see, this is NOT evil deancas because healthy castiel who can do things like “care about things that aren’t dean” and “say no to dean” and “acknowledge dean as anything but simultaneously the embodiment of perfection and an object to be coveted” is antithetical to evil deancas. this is why, post-jack, there is no longer any such thing as evil deancas. there is instead working-on-ourselves deancas. they really gave cas a baby and it fixed all his problems.

but anyway i did make this dumb post immediately in the wake of 15x18 and it still, imo, holds up. like the thing about jack is that he isn’t dean’s son. he’s his stepson. he’s more sam’s family than dean’s, honestly. but in order for sam to have a good ending he needs to get out and away from dean, and jack needs to stay with cas because cas is his real dad. 

i actually think that not being around sam and spending a lot of time with cas will help dean grow just..... naturally? because the thing is that sam has given up. he gave up in like season eight. he rolled over and stopped fighting back. and it’s not like that’s his fault! like. being involved in a toxic/abusive family dynamic is, well, it’s exhausting. but i do think it encouraged dean to become worse. because dean got used to being able to absolutely control sam and 1) that’s awful for sam, primarliy, but 2) he got used to being able to do that to everyone. 

because like........ cas? before jack? cas is whipped. he’s not under dean’s thumb the way sam is, but he would never actually resist dean because he worships him. the only thing cas would really stand up to dean about is dean’s own safety. like, occasionally they disagree but to cas dean is his god and his commander. he’ll generally do whatever dean says without dean needing to control him. and he’s certainly not going to protect sam, unfortunately. he might commiserate with sam when dean is out of the room but he’s not going to help because, well, sam disobeyed dean. you don’t do that. 

like unfortunately i think cas could probably successfully step in to protect sam and improve the brothers’ dynamic, if he thought of things that way, but he doesn’t, really. like, i wish he did because it would make him a better person but unfortunately cas doesn’t really have a moral compass, exactly. like, i was joking earlier with a friend about this but for cas it really only takes a rather low threshold of inconvenience for him to think “hey. i could kill my way out of this situation.” and then do that. he doesn’t really have a strong sense of an objective, distant “right” and “wrong.” he’s all about people and loyalty. and his loyalty goes to dean first, always. until jack comes along, that is. then suddenly his first loyalty is to being a good parent. and that’s an INCREDIBLE shakeup.

the thing about cas is that he is pathologically stubborn. he’s totally capable of standing up to dean, as we’ve seen. he just doesn’t because there’s almost nothing that’s worth it to him. but jack’s happiness and emotional safety are, and so he would. combine that with dean not having sam to form bad habits with, and i think their little nuclear family could straighten out into something vaguely healthy.

anyway, in the finale fix that leo @davidfosterwallaceandgromit and i outlined, and leo is writing (with a bit of my help but only a bit), the last scene is dean and cas, five years later, in their hunter bar that they run, and jack is doing his homework in the corner, and dean says “it’s about time that boy learned to mix a drink, you know, help out with the family business,” and cas narrows his eyes and says “no. jack’s schoolwork is very important to him.” and dean throws up his hands and say “alright! alright! i’ll leave him alone!” and cas kisses him on the nose.

[booasaur]

(same anon) i wud hate so much if they were just setting this up to be a "leyla is an addication" storyline cus, while we haven't seen a lot of them, they have set this up so differently than lauren's other relationships and i can't believe they'd do that so deliberately just to break them up, i did have the thought that the stress of this wud actually lead lauren back to drugs but i didn't want to linger on it too much b/c there's already so much potential conflict 1/2

i can't see them managing like three different leyren conflicts all at once, i mean for one that'd mean giving them more screen time than i believe they'd be able to get but who knows and then wow yeh now i'm def thinking about people not knowing about them.... idk leyla makes lauren SO happy and they've stressed it enough that i just don't see the pay off of them doing all this just for it to end in tragedy but i might just be hopeful, either way, s4 is gonna be a rollercoaster 2/2

sent my other two asks before i saw the rest of what your friend said and yes i agree that part of this is very lauren in the way that she is just a bit entitled and used to getting her way with certain things also just that her char (and well a lot of chars on this show) have always been a bit dramatic in nature and it's something that i very much identify w/ and love, but yeh i agree that's it seems like a 'door open' thing so it can go anywhere from here but i hope it goes our way

Haha, yeah, definitely hoping that if they were waiting to see the response, then it's been positive enough to keep with it. Surely this isn't the kind of thing you just do for a bit and then drop? Both for the very interesting character of Leyla, but also what it's been for Lauren. What's next for her? If she ends up blowing this, what exactly will future eps look like for her? Well, I suppose they could do it like the Floyd/Evie split where she accepts the end and just goes back to normal if maudlin Lauren? Which would be sad as hell! At least coming back from the addiction and accident/therapist fling were like victories of sorts. This is just...what's it saying about her?

And that's actually also what I've been thinking about, in the context of "Leyla is a new addiction" because...then what's the resolution? This attachment clearly isn't because Leyla is doing anything unhealthy here, she's not isolating Lauren or enabling her or forcing Lauren to rely on her. So are we saying Lauren just...can't be in relationships? That she should find someone she loves less than Leyla? Yes, people recovering from addiction should be careful about getting into relationships right after recovery but this is well after. What's the timeline gonna be? When's it safe for her to be in a relationship? She's growing and learning through this one, it doesn't have to be over because she hasn't learned everything yet.

You mentioned what my friend said in that other ask but I also thought @flurry-of-beaus-pop-pop's reply was a great addition too:

From the perspective of someone in the mental health field, I don't see Leyla or the relationship as being an addiction. Honestly? I think Leyla is amazing for Lauren because the issue Lauren has is that when things don't go right, she acts rashly, does things she probably shouldn't. If she bribes the dean, its not because of her relationship, but that need to have control over the situation. Again though, this is where Leyla is great for Lauren. She's the calm to Lauren's rash.

She's patient and understanding and makes Lauren take a beat and think about things instead of just going full speed ahead. Perfect example, the breakup scene. Its hard to tell where they are going to go with this storyline but it has so much potential for character growth regardless of what Lauren actually did because she's never necessarily had someone there before that was able to get her to take a breath and think and even if Leyla is pissed at her, I still think Leyla can be that for Lauren.

It can also add character development for Leyla who has struggled so much with asking for help and letting herself be taken care of. She can learn to let someone else take care of with this storyline

That basically, Leyla is the healthiest part of this and, as we discussed, as Lauren goes through this whole process, regression and then moving forward, learning more coping strategies and just how to be in an adult, loving relationship, Leyla could be an integral part of it.

[dahlia-coccinea]

What’s your opinion on the main characters in WH (like one for Nelly, one for Catherine etc)? Do you have a favourite and a least favourite?

There are a lot of main characters...I guess Nelly Dean, Heathcliff, Catherine Earnshaw, Cathy Linton, Hareton Earnshaw, and Linton Heathcliff? I feel bad cutting out Edgar and Isabella, they are important characters but I could easily write a thesis on each character and I don’t want to make this unbearably long (you’re going to regret asking me this as it is lol).

Nelly - She is not the “sensible soul” that she esteems herself to be. Compared to other characters she may seem discerning, but that’s partially because she’s just a witness to events that more deeply affect other characters. She can be very biased towards and against certain people, and her opinions tend to be fairly rigid. Her actions and convictions seem more an unconscious exhibition of societal norms of the time and her station in life; rather than her objective rational thinking. She certainly isn't immune to common superstition and small-mindedness. That being said, she is not the villain of the novel as critic James Hafley argued. She certainly isn’t heartless and cruel and she is motivated to do what she believes is the right thing to do. Overall I like her character.

Heathcliff - It's a testament to the complexity of his character that there is such a wide range of narratives on him…some I admittedly don’t understand. While a powerful force in the novel, I think he shows himself to be very human and fallible, and not the “ghoul” or “vampire” he is sometimes accused of being. It makes me laugh how many times I’ve seen critics say he is the human embodiment of the Heights but the first meeting of him it's literally said that he is a “singular contrast to his abode”? It’s also strange that his physical nature is often questioned by critics that reduce him to an elemental symbol, yet I would think Catherine is a better candidate to say she is more symbolic since we first encounter her in a dream and she is merely a memory/ghost in half the novel. Not to mention that throughout her life she displays a fixation on the spiritual and divine (not that I think she is symbolic either). I think he’s meant to be read as a human, not a devil or a symbol, and it makes it more interesting to read him as such. He can be sarcastic and witty and also utterly devoid of humor. His pain and loss is tragic yet his anger and hatred is fearsome. He plans to enact revenge over decades and (kind of) succeeds yet he also is so short-sighted and often misjudges characters and situations. He’s a villain and a victim and never plays either part in exactly the way you’d expect. Despite all this, he never feels inconsistent or out of character. 

Catherine - I’m such a broken record on her lol. We get a lot of negative opinions about her from Nelly but everyone else loves her? So I think it’s worth questioning what Nelly says about her. I don’t agree with popular narratives that exaggerate how terrible she is. She is certainly proud, quick-tempered, and her strong, unrelenting nature is unique for any character and even more so for a woman. These traits also make her Heathcliff’s natural counterpart, although she is never cruel in the way he can be, and she doesn’t seem to enjoy that side of his character either. I think audiences/readers often forget the better parts of her character, such as her love for her father regardless of his constant admonishments, her love of Heathcliff despite his harshness and his wrongdoings, and her brother Hindley in spite of all his cruelty. The tragedies of the novel are not her fault as it has sometimes been suggested. 

Hareton - It is interesting his character probably has the most physical descriptions and I’d say is the most flatteringly portrayed male character. Yes, he starts off being described as brutish by Lockwood, but we later get many moments showing he also has a gentleness. His faults are normally immediately shown as not wholly his doing and I’d say he has the most character growth, even more than Cathy. Cathy’s appearance gets a lot of mentions too, but because Lockwood is kind of a romantic and in a faraway, lonely place, it makes sense that he projects a lot of romantic notions on her. We don’t need to know that Hareton is good-looking but it’s certainly made known lol. I think it’s in part because Cathy’s and Hareton’s good nature are meant to be shown as desirable and Nelly certainly makes an aesthetic connection there in her descriptions of them. I really like his character, and how despite everything, and his initial pride, he tries repeatedly to help Cathy, even though it does nothing in gaining her good opinion and only puts him at odds with Heathcliff, who he sees as a father. He also shows that you don’t have to be the product of your upbringing.

Cathy - I really like how she tries to do the right thing and is good, yet doesn’t allow anyone (even Heathcliff) control her. She has faults but she’s able to grow from them. She also has a lot of similarities to her mother. For both Cathy and Hareton, I really dislike the idea that their move to Thrushcross is the symbolic win of culture over nature. That’s never made any sense to me and makes even less sense when you consider that Emily preferred nature, and the freedom and spirituality she found there, and not riches and formality. And after all, Cathy and Hareton are the successors of Catherine and Heathcliff. I can’t imagine they will become supremely refined, cultured, and gentle. Everyone forgets they are both wild and proud, and at their worst, they both physically hit the other - Cathy cuts Hareton with her whip, and years later Hareton hits her. This notion of their new domesticity comes from the narrative of the Heights = wildness and Thrushcross = respectability and progress, and I’ve mentioned before this also distorts our image of Isabella and mislabels her as a weak, refined, gentlewoman, even though she shows herself to be highly spirited. Sorry, got a little off-topic at the end there. I think they can forgive and learn to be kind to each other without equating it to them becoming genteel and upper-class. I don’t like that critics do this. 

Linton - I get why he’s no one’s favorite character but I don’t hate him. He is tragic, despite the fact that he also very annoying and bratty lol. I understand why he doesn’t care to better himself, and it seems pretty clear his behavior is a cry for the safety and affection that has been missing in his life since his mother died. He’s a pawn in a game he doesn’t understand, and yet he’s very aware of his role as a pawn and that his life will be short and its meaning and worth are ascribed inasmuch as he can prove useful. It’s understandable that he would cling to Cathy and her kindness to him. Of course, some of his sufferings are his own making. It seems he could less lonely if he was perhaps a little kinder to Hareton who doesn’t seem to have a preconceived dislike of him but is pushed away by Linton’s snobbishness. 

Favorite: That's a really difficult question. The simple answer is I love them all hah! It does change, but I do often go back to Catherine Earnshaw. Charlotte Bronte wrote that there is a “certain strange beauty in her fierceness” and I think that sums it up perfectly. The fact she dies tragically young and the closest we get to her as a narrator is the little bit of her diary Lockwood reads, and that her memory lives on so strongly with Edgar and Heathcliff, all make her a compelling figure. The fact that so many readers hate her also makes me like her more lol. 

Least favorite: Everyone always says Linton and Joseph are the worst so I’ll say Zillah because she doesn’t get picked on enough lol. She literally didn’t realize Nelly was being held hostage and instead believes some bullshit story about her being lost in a marsh and assumes Heathcliff saved her?? She was terrible to Cathy - granted she had been proud and stiff-necked but she was clearly being held against her will? Like is Zillah just not at all aware of her surroundings? She doesn’t get Dr. Kenneth when Linton is dying and instead leaves Cathy alone crying in the stairway, supposedly out of fear of losing her job if she disobeys - yet she didn’t seem worried about that when she puts Lockwood in Catherine’s old bedroom? She also knowingly embarrasses Hareton when he shyly asks her to ask Cathy to read aloud for him - she immediately says that Hareton is the one asking for it. Zillah is just one of those people that has no self-awareness and no consideration for others beyond her self-preservation. So yeah she wins the spot of “least favorite” lol. I’m not sure if you meant my least favorite of the main characters? If so then it would have to be Linton just cause no amount of sympathetic feelings towards him makes him less annoying lol sorry.