#here we go again with the impala horns

[naughtystiel]

so many ways for me to show you how your saviour has abandoned you

praise the one who left you broken down and paralysed - he did it all for you

[stopcallingmethesacrificiallamb]

Suptober23 - Day 8: Satanic Panic

“There, standing among the wreckage, is what you presume to be a man. At least until the dust settles and then you can see him clearly. Deep red skin, horns that extend over his head,” Sam’s hands raise above his head, stopping midway to widen the distance between the two. “Straight until they curve backwards and then they come back up.” At everyone’s baffled expression, Sam huffs and grabs a piece of paper and Dean’s pen. Dean can’t see over the laptop, but it doesn’t take a genius to guess he’s drawing. “A long tail curves and lashes behind him. White eyes, no pupil to be seen, almost shining as he stares at y’all. No armor, but he’s holding a butcher knife in his hand.”

Sam grimaces at his drawing before putting down in the middle of the table. They all lean forward to see Sam’s stick figure fighting for its life to resemble anything. Dean laughs first, but Ash, Charlie and Castiel follow him easily. 

“No!” Sam successfully bats at his hand when Dean brings out his phone, but isn’t fast enough to stop Charlie’s. “Guys, come on!” He whines. “Murder demon waiting here.” 

Dean would bet his life on the fact that the groupchat Charlie created for the party has the badly drawn sketch as a profile picture already, but he puts his own phone down and raises his hands as a sign of surrender.

“That lawyer degree is clearly lost on you, Sammy, you’re Van Gogh’s second coming.” He cannot stop himself from saying, and smirks at Sam flipping him off.

“Oh!” Castiel says, looking up from his phone. “The horns, are they supposed to be a mimicry of an Impala’s?”

Dean leans towards Castiel and looks at his phone. “Motherfucker. They are!” He looks back at his brother. “Can’t believe you’re going to make me kill Baby.”

“We don’t necessarily need to kill him,” Ash points out. “But it does seem to be the fastest way to get the fuck out of here.”

“Shame on you, Samuel. What kind of sick fantasy is this that you’re nursing? Did Baby try to kill you or something?”

“He’s gonna attack you.” Sam deadpans.

“Wait, for real?” 

“Yes! You’re just standing there, covered in blood and not paying attention to him.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Dean says, “We’re messing around.”

“Is that a fiend?” Castiel asks, the player’s handbook that he brings to all sessions opened on the table. He’s such a nerd. 

“Technically, they’re humanoids.” Charlie responds before Sam can answer. “So I don’t think they count as fiends.”

Castiel furrows his brow. “Isn’t it a demon?”

“Ah,” Dean brings the book close to him and goes to the index. “No, man, it’s a tiefling. Half demon at best,” He finds the page he needs and goes to it to show Cas. “Kinda like how you’re not an angel angel.”

“I’m not an angel in any way.”

“Well, Aasimar is kinda-”

“There’s no angels in Dungeons and Dragons, Dean.”

“Shows what you know, there’s definitely angels in D&D.”

Castiel looks accusingly at Sam. Sam raises his hands in an echo of Dean a few minutes ago. “Not playable, more as a creature you can encounter.” 

“Aw, Cas, did you wanna be a lil angel?” Dean teases. 

“The symbolic relevance of it was an interesting counterargument to all that I was taught about this game in my childhood.” Cas answers, completely serious and taking all the wind out of Dean’s sails. “To be fair, I think my parents assumed this was more satanic and somehow selling our souls than fighting demons with math.” 

“It’s not about the math,” Dean despairs over Castiel’s whole life as he continues, “It’s about the adventure and getting to kill stuff and have a good time and not eternal damnation or whatever your folks said.”

Castiel smiles, small, before grabbing the book again. His hand caresses the picture of the tiefling on the book. “I know, Dean.”

“Well. Good.”

Sam clears his throat. “You guys gonna roll initiative now or what?”

[durmom]

Its Useless

Part 8

Part 7:

The next week you spent a lot of time training, mostly with Sam as Dean shockingly threw himself into research. It had been a while since a hunt so you were a little rusty but by the end of the week you had beaten Sam multiple times. Dean was trying to find a way to get Lucifer and kept coming up empty. You were debating on coming along with the boys or staying at the bunker. Knowing they were going to be captured by the secret service made you hesitant. They would have you on the outside but you have no clue how to free them, they had to make a deal with Billie. But if you were with them would you flee with Cas or get arrested with them? Either way they are going to be pissed so you’ve been living day by day enjoying your time with them. There were constant movie and game nights, drinking, smoking, and just all around joy. It was obvious they were stressed but you tried to help them relax, especially knowing they will be in confinement for two months. The day had come when they found another one of Lucifer's vessels, the CEO. 

“Are you sitting this one out?” Sam asks, knowing you didn't know.

“I think I have to.”

“Why?” Dean walks up to the impala with his duffle. He throws it in the bag and turns to you.

“Honestly it was the hardest decision I had to make. Knowing how everything goes down I think for everybody it's best I stay here. You boys are close. Luckily no one knows I exist, thank you Amara for wiping Rowena’s memory of me. Anyways, this will be the last time you leave, you will find Lucifer.”

“I’m glad you’re staying.” Dean says placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks Dean.” Sadness hits you, it's about to be a long two months. How can you tell them you will take care of everything while they are gone? 

“We should get going, Cas is waiting.” Sam informs you. 

“Alrighty,” your voice wavers. You give Sam a long hug, “I love you, please be safe. I believe in you.” Pulling away he kisses the top of your head, he looks away from you, to you it's obvious he's trying not to cry. Before you can say anything he gets into the car. Turning to Dean you give him a weak smile and laugh through the tears that are falling. He reaches out for you. Dean gives you the best hug you have ever had in your life, its better than how it looks in the show. It feels safe, like home. Like the crushing weight has been lifted off your shoulders. All emotions release, you flow through anger, annoyance, sadness, and joy. Pulling away you realize you have been crying, so has he, before he wipes his own tears he wipes yours. Closing your eyes you try to find peace, “Dean, I love you, please be safe.”

“I’ll try Princess” He reaches up to your chin and tilts your head up to him. His eyes are searching yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and time stands still. Your mind is racing, it'll be two months before you see them again. Your relationship with Dean has already been hard, and it's only going to get worse. They don't know about Jack yet. Hopefully he won't hate you, you can’t imagine him- your thoughts are interrupted by Deans lips on yours. You freeze for a second before returning the kiss with more force, passion. His hands are now cupping your face as you continue to kiss, your hands are running through his hair. He’s going to hate me now. Fuck that, you decide to enjoy the moment instead of thinking how in a few days he’s going to be yelling at you. The kiss you share tells everything about your relationship, you can feel the heat, the anger, the passion you have for eachother, but his hands are gentle, caring, they are sleeping in bed together to not have nightmares. It's everything. It's interrupted by Sam honking the horn. When he pulls away he rests his head on your forehead for a brief moment before standing up straight and holding your hands.

“Be safe Princess.”

“I will, Dean.” 

You wave them off and are now nauseous from the stress. 

The Boys POV

“So you and y/n huh?” Sam smiles widely at Dean, raising his eyebrows. Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “I was just saying bye.”

“Sure you were.” Sam laughs.  

“I was.” 

“I didn't get a goodbye makeout session.”  

“Shut up Sam!” He socks his brother's arm. Dean can't help but have a small smile, he’s been living with you for five months, sharing a bed for months, you have shown him true joy. You would always try to have fun when you could. Meaning movies, amusement parks, mini golf, whatever you could find, and you were good at finding something no matter where you were. Dean held so much anger towards you because of Amara, it was tiring having someone constantly mess with his life. She said that you were supposed to teach him something, he found that dumb as fuck but here he is eating his words because you definitely taught him something. It is hard for him to find words but that kiss dissolved all of the anger he had towards you. He feels ready to take on Lucifer. 

They arrive at the morgue to see Cas along with Crowley. It’s unsettling to see them working together, they seem to be joking with each other too. They ignore the situation between them since it’s Lucifer they are dealing with. When they arrive at the church to take a look around, Dean can’t help but think of you, how it would be nice to have your help. He especially wishes this when he finds the bodies. 

“I wish Y/n was here.” Sam says as they continue to find more bodies.

“Me too.” Dean agrees. You were always helpful, with ideas, insight on what was going on, without telling them the full story, you saved them from a lot of brain power. After leaving the church Dean calls you, “Hey Princess.”

“Hi Dean! What's up?”

“We just left the church, it was a massacre.”

“I know.” You say sadly, “Dean?”

“What hun?”

“He’s already the president.”

“You sure?”

“I'm positive, I just wanted to give you a heads up, save you from some work.”

“Thank you Princess.”

“You’re welcome.” You both sit in silence for a bit before Dean speaks up again, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too Dean, being alone in the bunker is hard.”

“I bet.”

“Yeah, I just wish you boys were home.”

“Me too sweetheart, me too.”

“So, I uh.. I do have something I need to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“I felt bad kissing you-”

“- huh?”

“Hold on, not because I don't like you, I do, I mean I love you but there's something that's about to happen and I know you’re going to hate me.”

“Okay… and what is that?”

“Dean,” You sign, exhausted, “Again, Dean I cannot tell you. But I do want you to know that it meant a lot to me, and even though you are not going to like me anymore I just wanted you to know that I do love you. Both of you boys.”

“Y/n you’re freaking me out. What is so big that I am going to hate you?”

“You’ll find out soon. But I just needed to get that off my chest, I’ve been thinking about it ever since you left.”

“I’ve been thinking about it too…” he sighs, “You mean a lot to me, I don’t know why, but I trust you, and I… I love you too.” The silence on the other end kills him.

“Sorry, I had to mute you to freak out.” He laughs, “You’re a nerd.”

“Thank you!” Sam walks out of the gas station they are at, “Alright Princess, Sam is here, I gotta go, we are staying in another motel tonight.” “Okay, you boys be safe, hand the phone to Sam, I love you!”

“Yeah, I love you too.” Sam raises an eyebrow at his brother who shrugs and hands the phone over. Dean couldn't hear the conversation but Sam looked concerned.

Back at the motel, Crowley popped in to confirm Lucifer was the President. 

“Why are your panties not in a twist?” Crowley asks the boys.

“We had a tip.” Dean informs.

“From who?”

“None of your business.” Dean says flatly. Crowley looks at Sam and Cas, “Is there a fourth member to ‘team free will’ that I don't know about?”

“Crowley, none of your business!”

“Woah, Okay, Squirrel!” He holds his hands up before speaking out of the corner of his mouth to Sam and Cas, “Squirrel must’ve found a nut!” Sam fights back a laugh. They all work to find a resolve to the situation. Sam tries to call Mick, Crowley offers Rowena. While Crowley goes to get Rowena, Cas goes to consult other angels, and Sam and Dean go to get food. The boys are on their way back when it happens, Cas pops into the car.

“Shit, Cas!”

“Hello Dean. Sam.” 

“Cas, what are you doing here?” Sam asks, twisting his body to the angel. 

“Something has happened.”

“Spit it out Cas.” Dean eyes him through the rearview mirror.

“Lucifer has created a nephilim.” The impala screeches to a halt. Dean turns to face Cas.

“I didn’t know he was dating.”

“There was a surge of celestial energy, bigger than a typical angel.” 

“Are you serious?” Sam asks.

“We all felt it in heaven and hell.” For a moment Dean feels annoyed, another thing to add to the list, now he has to go track down Lucifer's kid and kill him, he’s probably not going to be back at the bunker for a while now. Y/n is there…

“Fuck!” Dean punches the steering wheel. Why did you not tell him? Why would you let him kiss you knowing that? He gets out of the car, punches the hood a few times before taking out his phone. 

“Hello?” You ask, your voice is sweet and innocent, which pisses him off.

“You didn't think we needed to know!” He yells into the phone, you go silent for a few seconds.

“Cas just told you?”

“Yes! Cas just told us that Lucifer made a fucking kid! You didn't think you should tell us that?” His voice is booming in your ear. 

“Dean, again I couldn’t tell you.”

“No fuck that! You could’ve, do you know how many people this kid is going to kill?” You laugh, “Yes, I do.” 

“Are you fucking laughing?”

“Yes, sorry.”

“Is this a fucking joke to you?”

“Honestly Dean, a little bit. It's not funny right now though.”

“I can’t even fucking believe you, why did we trust you?”

“Dean, I couldn’t tell you because there was nothing you could do, even if there was I wouldn't want you to.”

“You’re insane.”

“I know I sound insane but I'm not. Trust me, this will all make sense later.”

“Fuck your later, and trust me bullshit! You either tell me now or get the fuck out.” Again you pause, “Dean, hun, I can’t tell you yet.”

“Then get the fuck out. You better be gone by the time Sam and I get back.”

“Dean-” He hangs up the phone, chucking it as far as he can. Once back in the car Sam and Cas look at him expecting an explanation but he just starts the car up and drives. 

Once the phone line goes dead you just sigh, there's nothing you can do. It’ll be months before they are home again. Luckily you predicted Dean’s reaction and when you talked to Sam that's what you told him. You boldly told him about the nephilim, just that Lucifer is creating a child. But that the child needed to be born for specific reasons. Telling him that they do deal with the child later. You told him Dean is going to hate you, he is going to be angry, not at the situation so much, but specifically at you for not telling him. So you told Sam that he would be your point of contact from now on, and to just let Dean cool down. 

When the boys get pulled over, it seems inconspicuous. Until they try to fire. When Ketch pulls up Dean feels confused. Cas does as Ketch says and wipes the agent's memories. Once Ketch introduces himself to the boys he leads them to a side road to talk. When Dean finds out that Sam was the one who called, he for the second time today, feels betrayed. While Ketch talks, Dean is just thinking about the whole day. The girl he opened himself up to, was vulnerable to betrayed him and Ketch had a grenade launcher, maybe this was the best thing to happen all day. He would love some new toys. However when Ketch asks what they are working on, he bargains, asking for trust first to prove Ketch is trustworthy. 

Dean can’t help but make a joke of the entire situation. Kelly was sitting in their motel, pregnant with Lucifer’s baby, “Well, to be fair, so is teleporting. But, ta-da!”

“Who are you people?” Kelly’s voice is shaking.

“Well,dear,” Rowena steps forward, “I'm a witch. He’s an angel.” 

“And I’m the king of hell.”

”Oh god!” Kellys shakes her head

“Actually he left.” Cas tells her. 

They continue to try to convince Kelly, the only thing that does is when he touches the bible. Everyone is convinced the nephilim is an abomination. Once Kelly agrees to help, Cas tells the group he will be back. Before anyone can ask where, or who, he is gone.

In the bunker you wait for Cas to arrive. When he does, you jump.

“Y/n? Whats going on?”

“Cas. I will be quick.” You grab ahold of his hands, “Save Kelly.”

“What?”

“Listen to me Cas! I need you to save Kelly. Her baby is not evil. He needs to be born, you will see that. Please Cas. Protect her, Please.”

“I-I dont know y/n.”

“Cas-”

“-I’ve got to get back, they are calling for me.” And he’s gone. You sigh and sit on the floor, knees to your chest. All you can do is cry and hope that it’ll be okay.

Next part:

[nfornaomi]

I've been MIA recently due to spotty reception and no wifi access. Most of our wildlife pictures are on our camera and Rob's phone and it feels wrong to post any pictures of the amazing sights we've seen without the actual photo quality 😅. So my posts will probably be a bit out of order but here we go.

We're on our 4th night at Kruger and so far have done some self drives, a guided night drive, guided sunrise drive, and this morning did a bush walk (guided as well, of course!). Aside from our self drives, this one was my favourite because we got to actually walk around and see the area on two feet rather than from inside a car. Precautions were taken in the form of the requirement to walk in a straight line behind the two guides without talking, and each guide had a rifle in case an animal got too close / aggressive.

It was a cloudy and fairly chilly morning, about 14 degrees, so it wasn't ideal for spotting animals. Nonetheless we saw a steenbok, wildebeest, vulture nests, and a herd of impala. Even better, we learned that hyena poop is white (2nd pic) due to the calcium from all the bones they eat. They also cough up furballs and I got to touch one 😁. We saw two rinoceros skulls and learned more about the poaching problem in the area and what's been done to try to combat it, from preemptively cutting off their horns (which didn't work because poachers killed them anyway so they wouldn't keep tracking a horn-less rhino), to not publishing any rhino sightings (not even to staff as they are often inside jobs).

We also learned that vultures are endangered due to elephants ripping down the trees where their nests are, and again from poachers who sometimes put poison on their kills so that the circling vultures don't alert law enforcement. Vultures are actually very important in the 'circle of life' and keeping the environment healthy, so their decline is of concern.

All in all, very informative and a great outing!

[aspenmissing]

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 (𝙿𝚝 𝟷)

Dean and a young woman lean close together at the bar.

"Seven, Four, Two, Zero"

"Seven, Four, Two, zero," Dean says, keying into his phone. "All right, you're in there. Perfect. So is that Brandy with a 'y' or an 'i'?" Sam sits at a table strewn with papers. Sam gestures to Dean, who gives him a 'wait' gesture as he laughs at something the woman whispers. Sam gestures again, and Dean's smile drops.

"All right, listen, I gotta go. Hold that thought, I'll be right back, okay?" He approaches Sam, holding three beers.

"Where's Y/N?" Sam asks. Dean gestures to the pool table, and they see Y/N playing a game with a man with a stubble beard and curly brown hair.

"Oi! Y/N," Dean shouts, and she looks over. "Come over." She nods and pots the black ball.

"I win," she says, winking at him as she passes him. She goes over to Sam and Dean.

"All right, I think we got something," Dean glances back at the bar.

"Oh yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit. What do you think, huh? I'm so in the door with this one."

"So, what are we today, Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?" Y/N asks, making Dean grin.

"Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean, hey, it's not that far off, right? By the way, she's got a friend over there. Possibly hook you up. What do you think? And Y/N already found someone." They look at her as she glances over at the man she was playing pool with. He winks at her, and she smiles at him. She then snaps her attention back to her brothers.

"What?"

"Dean, no thanks, I can get my own dates."

"Yeah, you can but you don't."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. What you got?" Dean asks.

"Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York, were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. There were no prints, no murder weapons, all..." Dean is distracted, continuing to check out women in the bar. Y/N keeps sneaking glances at the man she was with.

"Guys! No prints, no murder weapons, all doors and windows locked from the inside." Dean drinks his beer.

"Could just be a garden variety murder, you know, not our department."

"No. Dad says different."

"What do you mean?" Y/N asks. Sam points at a map.

"Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. The first one here in 1912, the second one right here in 1945, and the third in 1970, the same M.O. as the Telescas. Their throats were slit, doors were locked from the inside. Now so much time had passed between murders that nobody checked the pattern, except Dad. He kept his eyes peeled for another one."

"And now we got one. All right, I'm with ya. It's worth checking out. We can't pick this up till first thing though, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good," Dean says, heading back to the bar.

"Dean..."

"Ladies...did you miss me?"

"Well yeah," Brandy says.

"I'm just kidding. Listen, I talked to my producers, and it is looking good."

"Great. Cool," Sam sniggers. He looks over at Y/N only to see she's not in front of him. He looks back over at the pool table and sees her sitting with the man, drinking a beer together and laughing. Sam huffs a laugh.

"Twins," he mutters to himself, taking a drink of his beer.

==

Dean sleeps slouched in the passenger seat of the Impala, sunglasses on. Y/N is in the back, laying across the back seat, also asleep. Sam walks around the car, leans in, and honks the horn. Dean jumps a foot. Y/N just sits up, yawning. Sam sits in the driver's seat, laughing.

"Man, that is so not cool," Dean says, adjusting his sunglasses and mumbling.

"I just swept the Telescas with EMF. It's clean. And last night, while you were.... well...out..." Dean smirks.

"Good times," he says.

"I checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the Telescas."

"All right, so if it's not the people and it's not the house, then maybe it's the contents. Cursed object or something," Dean says.

"The house is clean."

"Yeah, I know, you said that," Y/N says.

"No, I mean it's empty. No furniture, nothing."

"Where's all their stuff?" Dean asks.

==

At an auction house, Sam, Dean, and Y/N wander around, looking out of place in their casual, rough clothing. Dean takes a finger food from a tray. One man especially watches them pass then excuses himself from his companion and moves towards them.

"Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for Wasps if you ask me," Dean takes more food from a tray on a table as the man moves up behind them.

"Can I help you gentlemen and ma'am?" The man asks. Dean looks him up and down and then puts more food in his mouth. Dean puts on a posh voice.

"I'd like some champagne, please."

"He's not a waiter," Y/N says, sharply to Dean, cocking an eyebrow. Sam holds out his hand to the man.

"I'm Sam Connors." The man just looks at him, not moving. Sam moves the hand he's holding out to point at Dean.

"That's my brother Dean," then points to Y/N, "And that's my sister Y/N. We're art dealers, with Connor Limited."

"You... are art dealers?"

"Don't sound so surprised," Y/N mutters.

"That's right."

"I'm Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now gentlemen, ma'am, this is a private showing, and I don't remember seeing you on the guest list."

"We're their chuckles, you just need to take another look." A waiter goes past with drinks on a tray.

"Oh, finally," Dean says, swiping a glass. Dean turns back to Blake, sniffs the glass, raises his eyebrows then turns and walks away. Y/N follows them, Sam hastily follows, shooting Dean dirty looks.

"Cheers." Sam, Dean, and Y/N check out the items for auction and are drawn to the painting of the family.

"A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn't you say?" A voice says. The three turn to see a sleek, classy, and a young woman in a black dress, coming down a spiral staircase. They all stare at her as she turns her back while taking the final part of the stairs. Sam and Y/N turn back to look at the painting again, and Dean, ogling, slaps Sam on the back and continues staring.

"Well, I'd say it's more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did," Sam says.

"Guilty. And clumsy. I apologize. I'm Sarah Blake."

"I'm Sam. This is my.... brother, Dean, and sister Y/N. Dean continues to stuff his face from passing trays, Y/N waves at Sarah.

"Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?"

"I'm good, thanks," Dean says, mouth stuffed.

"So, can I help you with something?" Sarah says to Sam and Y/N.

"Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?" Y/N asks.

"The whole thing's pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things this soon. But Dad's right about one thing, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones."

"Is it possible to see the provenances?"

"I'm afraid there isn't any chance of that," Blake says, coming up from behind them.

"Why not?" Y/N asks.

"You're not on the guest list. And I think it's time to leave."

"Well, we don't have to be told twice," Dean says in a horrible posh voice.

"Apparently you do."

"Okay. It's all right. We don't want any trouble. We'll go," Dean raises his eyebrows and walks off, Y/N following. Sam and Sarah exchange a long look before he follows.

"Dad, that was just rude."

==

Sam, Dean, and Y/N approach their motel room.

"Grant Wood, Grandma Moses?" Dean asks.

"Art history course. It's good for meeting girls."

"It's like I don't even know you," Dean says unlocking the room. They enter the room. The do not disturb door hanger is a silver outline of John Travolta from Saturday Night Fever. Disco music accompanies the camera as it pans across a totally over-the-top retro 70s disco fantasy room. The three look from one side of the room to the other and pause.

"Huh," the three say in unison. They move into the room, dumping their bags.

"What was... providence?"

"Pro-v-e-nance. It's a certificate of origin, like a biography. You know we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past."

"Huh. Well, we're not getting anything out of chuckles, but Sarah..." Dean snaps his fingers at Sam, smirking. Sam smirks back.

"Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin."

"Not me," Dean says, laughing.

"No no no, pick-ups are your thing, Dean."

"It wasn't my butt she was checking out." They exchange a look.

"In other words, you want me to use her to get information."

"Sometimes you gotta take one for the team. Call her," Y/N says.

==

Sam and Sarah are seated at a table in a restaurant.

"Nice place," Sarah remarks.

"Yeah," Sam replies. There's a long awkward pause. "Glad you called. Surprised, but glad."

"Yeah."

"Although you seemed to have a hard time getting out the words 'Would you like to have dinner?'" she says.

"Ah... yeah. I haven't really been on a date in a while."

"Welcome to the club." Sarah seems surprised.

"You're kidding me." A waiter comes over.

"Here we are. The wine list." Sam looks totally uncomfortable, flipping pages randomly.

"I don't know about Romeo here, but I'll have a beer." The waiter then turns to Sam.

"And you?" he asks. Sam smiles.

"Make that two." Minutes later, the two are still talking. "So you studied art in school, huh?"

"It's true. I was an artist. A terrible, terrible artist. And that's why I'm in the auction business. And you were pre-law?"

"Yeah."

"But you didn't go to law school. How come?" Sarah asks.

"Ah, that's a really, really long story for another time."

"You're not like any art dealer I've ever met." They exchange another long look.

"So, what did you mean when you said you haven't been on a date in a while? Trying to make me feel like I'm not such a loser?"

"I'm sure you're many things, Sam. I'm also sure loser isn't one of them." They exchange more long looks. "It was my mom. She died about a year ago. Totally unexpected. It really threw me. I went into this shell. A nice warm safe shell. But lately I've been thinking. It's not what she would have wanted for me. So..." They exchange even more long looks. "So what about you? You're a reasonably attractive guy." Sam laughs, embarrassed.

"Reasonable?"

"Why haven't you been out and about?" she asks. Sam thinks, looks at her, loses his smile and thinks some more. Sarah watches him. "Another long story for another time," Sam nods slowly.

==

Back in the motel room, Dean is sharpening his blade on a whetstone, Sam is looking through some papers, and Y/N is sitting on the chair watching the two.

"So, she just handed the providences over to you."

"Provenances."

"Provenances?" Dean says, haltingly.

"Yes. We went back to her place; I got a copy of the papers..."

"And?" Y/N asks.

"And nothing. That's it. I left."

"You didn't have to con her or do any...special favors or anything like that?" Dean says, and Y/N snorts.

"Dean, would you get your mind out of the gutter, please?" Dean laughs.

"You know when this whole thing's done, we could stick around for a bit."

"Why?"

"So you could take her out again. It's obvious you're into her, even I could see that. Plus, I think Y/N wants to spend more time with a certain someone." Y/N snickers stop, and she turns to glare at Dean.

"I'll give you to the count of three to run." She stands up. "1... 2..."

"Hey, I think I've got something here." Dean sighs in relief and goes over to Sam. Y/N huffs and follows. Sam hands Dean the papers.

"Portrait of Isaiah Merchant's family, painted 1910," Dean reads.

"Now compare the names of the owners with Dad's journal."

"First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. Peter Simms murdered 1912. Same thing in 1945. Oh, same thing in 1970," Y/N says, checking against the journal.

"They stored until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it. So, what do you think, it's haunted? or cursed?" Dean gets up.

"Either way, it's toast."

==

Dean leaps and easily scales the meter-high metal gates of the auction house and sprints into the mist.

"Come on!" Y/N follows, then Sam. Sam, wearing gloves, disarms the security alarm.

"Go ahead." Y/N, also with gloves, picks the lock. They shine their flashlights around inside, quickly searching for the painting. Dean spies it upstairs and they sprint up the spiral staircase. Holding his flashlight in his mouth, Dean flicks his switchblade and cuts the painting from its frame. They're in and out within a couple of minutes.

==

The painting lies in the dirt, Sam holding the flashlight, Y/N looking around to make sure no one is there, and Dean prepares the matches.

"Ugly ass thing. If you ask me, we're doing the art world a favor," he says, dropping the match and igniting the painting.

"Anyone got any marshmallows?" Y/N asks. The trio looks at her and rolls their eyes playfully.

==

Now, back in the motel room, Dean rushes in from the bathroom.

"We got a problem—I can't find my wallet."

"How is that our problem?" Sam asks, packing his duffel.

"'Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night," Y/N looks horrified.

"You're kidding, right?" she speaks.

"No. It's got my prints, my ID, well, my fake ID anyway. We gotta get it before someone else finds it. Come on."

==

Sam, Dean, and Y/N hurry around, looking everywhere in the auction house. Sam seems frustrated.

"How do you lose your wallet, Dean?" Dean throws his hands in the air and keeps looking. Sarah walks in and sees them.

"Hey, guys!" she says, smiling. The three spin around, then try to act cool.

"Sarah! Hey."

"What are you doing here?" Sarah asks.

"Ahh, we... we are leaving town, and, you know, we came to say goodbye." Dean and Y/N steal a glance at each other.

"What are you talking about, Sam? We're sticking around for at least another day or two." Sam looks at Dean, confused. Dean gets his wallet out of his pocket and looks meaningfully at Sam.

"Oh, Sam. By the way, Dean's gonna go ahead and give you that $20 he owes you." Y/N looks to Sarah. "He always forgets, you know." Sam looks at them, disbelieving.

"There you go," Dean says, holding out the cash, smiling. Sam snatches the cash from Dean, glaring at the two.

"Well, we'll leave you two crazy kids alone. We gotta go do something... somewhere." As the two walk away, they fist bump each other and laugh.

"So..." Sam says awkwardly.

"I had a good time last night."

"Yeah, yeah. I did too."

"Maybe we should do it again sometime."

"You know, I'd love to, I really would, but Dean and Y/N, they were just screwing around. We really are taking off today."

"Oh. Oh. Ah, that's too bad." Sam sees the painting they burned being carried past.

"OH MY GOD!"

"What?" Sarah says, jumping and turning to look.

"The... that painting... looks so good!"

"If you can call that monstrosity good, then... yeah, I guess."

"So... what do you know about that painting?" Sam asks.

"Not much—just that it creeps me out. We sold it to the Telescas at a charity auction the night they were murdered."

"Yeah, and now you're just going to sell it again?" Sam asks, his voice raising.

"As much as my dad wants to, no, I won't let him. I think it'd be in bad taste."

"Good. Yeah. You know what? Don't. Don't. Make sure you don't, okay?"

"Why? Don't tell me you're interested in that?" Sam is flustered and starts backing up.

"No. No, God, no. Not in buying it, no. You know what, I gotta go, I gotta take care of something. But umm, I will call you back... I will call you; I'll see you later."

"Wait, so you're... not leaving tonight?"

"No-o-o, I guess not. I'll see ya."

"O... kay," Sarah says, looking after him, confused.

[pawpupster]

untitled

Author’s Note: Hopefully the more I write, the better I will get at it… That said, I haven’t been writing much, so I don’t think I’m very good at it. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Just the experience of getting stuck in traffic. 

Pairing: Dean Winchester x male!reader

Warnings: nothin’ really

   It was a hot summer day in Kansas as the three men traveled down the highway in stop-and-go traffic. They had been at what should have been a quick one hour trip for three and half hours at this point, and it was easy to see that the three of them got sick of it a long time ago. The constant blaring of horns, the yelling of those in the surrounding cars, the flipping off to the car next to you, everyone on the highway was pretty pissed off at this point. 

   About an hour ago, Sam had managed to fall asleep, but that was unsurprising when paired with the fact that the dude hadn't slept more than a half hour consecutively for the past couple days. 

   Looking to the older of the Winchester boys from where he was slouched in the backseat, Y/N was practically able to see all the tension in his boyfriend's shoulders. 

   “You doing okay, baby?” Y/N asked as he watched Dean roll his eyes at the man speeding past in the emergency lane. 

   “Yeah, just rather be home, or anywhere but here for that matter, right now.” Was the man’s response as several cars expressed their hate for the situation once again through the use of their horns. 

   All Y/N did in response was nod slowly in agreement as he sat upright again. Leaning forward and resting his hands on Dean’s shoulders, Y/N began to softly rub the knots out of his lover’s neck and back. 

   Dean released a breath he hadn’t realized was being held as he began to relax against Y/N’s hands, silently encouraging the ministrations to continue. 

   Y/N began to press harder against the muscles in Dean’s shoulder’s and lay gentle kisses on the green eyed man’s neck, forcing his drooping eyes to fully close. 

   Y/N looked out through the dashboard of the impala and finally saw what had traffic stopped for so long. By all the car parts that were being cleared from the highway, it was safe to say that a harsh car accident had occurred. Past where the police were stationed, it looked that the flow of cars was finally speeding back up again. 

   Letting go of Dean’s shoulders, and pointing out the front window when he received a curious look from his partner, Y/N showed Dean that there wasn’t much of a reason to be stressed anymore. 

   “I’ll continue when we arrive back at the bunker.” Y/N whispered into Dean’s ear before slouching back into his seat. 

   “You better.” Was Dean’s only response as he picked up speed down the highway again. 

Not long after passing the scene, they finally made it to their exit and got back to the bunker in just under a half hour. Sam woke up and headed to his own room to decompress after both the hunt and the drive, while Dean dragged Y/N to their shared room to get the promise of a continued massage fulfilled.

[spn-rewrites]

01x18 (PART 1)

Season One Episode Eighteen: Something Wicked Comes This Way

part 2 part 3

Word Count: 2k

Summary: a text from John, an empty playground, and a rotted window sill

Late last night, a text came through one of Dean’s many burner phones. No words. Just a set of coordinates that, after looking, lead you to Fitchburg, Wisconsin. Dean insisted you left immediately, barely letting you get a shower in before he started honking the horn on the Impala, waiting impatiently for you. On the drive, you and Sam did your usual research but everything came up empty. Much to Dean’s displeasure. 

“We checked everything, LexisNexis, local police reports, newspapers. There isn’t a single red flag,” Sam explained after Dean questioned your sureness for the third time this hour alone. 

“Are we sure the coordinates are right?” You asked from the backseat. You had the map in your lap, looking right in the middle of Wisconsin. You saw the text. You knew they were right. But, maybe John typed them in wrong. 

“We double-checked. Dad wouldn’t send coordinates if it wasn’t important,” Dean argued. You rolled your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t see from the rearview mirror and then looked out into the empty nothingness of the state of Illinois. 

“I’m telling you Dean, we looked. There is nothing but a steaming pile of nothing. If dad’s sending us hunting for something, I don’t know what.” 

“Well, maybe he’s gonna meet us there,” Dean suggested. That made you snort out load, causing both the boys to glance back at you. 

“Like he’s been so easy to get a hold of lately?” 

“You know you’re a real smartass, right?” Dean eyed you through the mirror in between his glances at the road. You shrugged your shoulders and then mesmerized yourself in the corn fields again. Sam never brought up the whole ring of fire around Mordechai Murdoch thing and neither did you. There were a lot of things that you and Sam haven’t talked about. 

“I’m sure there’s something in Fitchburg worth killing,” Dean added. 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“Because I’m the oldest and that means, I’m always right.” 

Sam chuckled and shook his head. You could see the corner of his smile turning up as he looked at his brother. “No it doesn’t.”

“It totally does.” 

+

Glasglow’s Lunch was right in downtown Fitchburg. The main street was busy with cars and foot traffic but Dean was needing coffee, and you’ve never said no to that before. You sat with Sam on the hood of the Impala. He leaned his back against it, looking out at the park across the street. It was eerily empty for this time of day, you noticed. You had your heels on the front rim of the car and as Dean crossed the road, three coffee’s in hand, he yelled. “Not the shoes on the car, please?” 

You smiled and jumped off the car, grabbing the coffee he had tucked between his arm and chest. “Thank you,” you said. He returned the smile, although his was entirely too forced. Almost like he was mocking you. 

He handed Sam his coffee and said, “the waitress thinks the local freemasons are up to something sneaky but other than that, nobody has heard of anything weird going on.” You nodded your head, figuring as much, but Sam was still too focused on the empty playground. 

“It’s 10 after 4,” Sam said, catching Dean’s attention as he started to head back toward the driver's side of the car. “What’s wrong with this picture?” Sam nodded toward the playground. Of course, he noticed it, too. 

“School’s out, isn’t it?” Dean asked. 

“This place should be crawling with kids right now,” you said. Sam nodded in agreement and the three of you decided to head over to the park and talk to the one mother and daughter that were there. 

You approached her with Dean at your side. The mother barely noticed you two walked up until Dean spoke to her. “Quiet out here, huh?” 

“Yeah, it’s a shame,” she said, going back to her book, barely a glance at you. 

“Why is that?” You asked. 

“You know, kids getting sick. It’s a terrible thing.” 

“How many?” Dean asked. You watched as the woman’s daughter played on the yellow metal jungle gym. She had pin-straight black hair held up in a ponytail, a pink bow holding it all together. Her fair skin with blushing pink cheeks. The spitting image of her mother sitting in front of you now. 

“Just five or six, but serious. Hospital serious,” she told you. Her voice got quiet and she looked over at her daughter almost longingly, hopeful that her daughter would not end up like her classmates. “A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it’s catching.” 

+

You relayed the conversation to Sam, who had been waiting in the car doing more research in case he missed something. He was always double and triple-checking. Dean headed for the hospital without a second thought. All of the kids were being kept at Dale County Memorial Hospital and in order to get any information, it was time to play dress-up. Your dress was wrinkled from being kept in the trunk, but you tried to straighten it out with your hands. 

You passed the brothers their fake I.Ds and kept yours in your small purse. Sam scoffed when he read his. “This says bikini inspector on it, I can’t use this,” he hissed. 

“Why not? They won’t look that closely,” Dean told him. You were both confident enough to pull off these charades in your sleep. You had been doing it for years, but with Sam having been out of practice, he was skeptical. 

“It’s all about being confident,” you told him and pushed him toward the nurse’s desk. He tripped over his feet and had to steady himself on the counter. “Hi, I’m Jerry Kaplan, Center of Disease Control,” he said. He briefly held up his I.D, but not long enough for her to really look at it. “Can you direct me to the pediatric ward please?”

The nurse looked at him skeptically, but gave him the directions anyway and Sam thanked her before walking away. When he reached you and Dean, Dean whispered to him. “I told you it would work.” You had to laugh, but Sam didn’t find it funny. He just lead you up the stairs and to the kids. 

As you walked down the hallway, an older lady caught your eye. She had big, white hair, that covered her shoulders and hung down the back of the wheelchair she was sitting in. Something about her was ominous. It made you stop and stare and you didn’t know why. She slowly turned around and looked at you. Her eyes were almost white, her pupils becoming cloudy with cataracts. You held your breath as you looked up at the wall. An upside-down crucifix hanging next to the closed window. 

“Y/N,” Sam hissed, catching your attention. You looked at him and he nodded to you to follow him. 

You met with the head pediatrician at the nurse's station, Dr. Hydaker You thanked him for meeting with you on such short notice, and followed him down the hall. "I was just about to call the CDC myself," he told you. "How did you find out anyway?"

"Oh, some G.P, I forget his name, he called Atlanta and must have beat you to the punch," Dean explained. You followed the doctor all the way to the ICU. Through the big glass windows, you could see all the kids hooked up to machines and oxygen, lying lifeless in the bed.

"You have six cases?" You asked, turning your back to the boys and watching the children breathe. So soft you could barely see their chest moving.

"Yeah, in five weeks," Dr. Hydaker said. "At first we thought it was bacterial pneumonia, not that newsworthy. But now, they're not responding to antibiotics and their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are wearing out."

A nurse called out the doctor's name, running up with a chart in her hand. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?" Sam asked. You turned around to see Dr. Hydaker sign the chart and hand it back to the pretty blonde nurse.

"Nothing this severe," he replied.

"The way it spreads - that's a new one for me," the nurse added, taking back the chart and holding it to her chest.

"What do you mean?" You inquired.

"It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another."

"Do you mind if we interview some of the kids?" Dean asked. That might have been a good first step if any of them were conscious enough to talk. From the window, they all looked practically dead already. "What about the parents?" Dean asked next. Dr. Hydaker agreed and gave you the name of the most recent admission.

The youngest daughter, and most recent, was Bethany and her older sister Mary. Their dad was sitting outside of the ICU with bags under his eyes and sleep in his winkles. "We really appreciate you talking with us," you told him. He barely nodded.

"Mary's the oldest, right? She came down with it first?" Sam asked, getting the facts straight.

Mary's dad nodded. "She's 13. Then Bethany the next night."

"Within 24 hours?"

"I guess," he said. You exchanged a look with Dean as Sam talked. 24 hours was a short amount of time for a child to come down with pneumonia. "Look, I already went over this with the doctor."

"We just have a few more questions if you don't mind," Dean said to keep him in his seat just a little bit longer. The dad was rubbing his hands on his jeans, presumably getting the sweat off his palms. He was anxious to get back to his daughters. "How do you think they got pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?"

"We think it was an open window," he said.

"Both times?" You piped in.

"The first time, I can't remember. But the second time for sure. I know I closed it when I put Bethany to bed," he explained. Dean asked if maybe Bethany opened it herself and her dad replied, "It was a second-story window, no ledge, no one else could have."

You excused the sick girls' dad and walked back down the hall the way that you came and when Sam tried to voice his skepticism, Dean shut it down. "Look, Dad sent us here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree."

"I'm betting it'll be a while before that guy goes home," you chimed in, raising your eyebrows at the boys. Dean smirked and the admiration in his eyes was almost too much to bear. He looked like he could have hugged you.

You weren't finding much in the house. Dean was running the EMF reader throughout the room Bethany was taken out of and Sam had a blue light detector to check for any handprints that you couldn't see with the naked eye. The house was quiet, empty, and errie. You walked over to the window that faced out to the street and watched as the cars drove by. Your eyes dropped down to the sill. "Guys," you called slowly, unsure of what you were even looking at. What it could mean.

They were by your side within seconds, the EMF reader no longer making noise. All three of you were now looking at the window sill, where a big, black, rotted handprint was burned into the wood. "What the hell leaves a handprint like that?" Sam mumbled.

[hoboal87]

Storm

Title: Storm

Pairings: Dean x F!Reader, mentions of Sam x Eileen

Characters: Dean, F!Reader, minor mentions of Sam and Eileen, unnamed OFCs

Word Count: ±2.1k

Warnings: anxiety, car accident, major injuries, angst, fluff, blink and you’ll miss it pre-smut, post 15x19, more spoilers will be in the tags.

A/N: Requested by a nonnie: “Hi sweetie, I adore your writing especially dean fics. Can I pleaaase request a flangsty one shot of dean x reader where they get into a car crash and she's the one who's badly injured?? And maybe they are stuck in a snow storm or something so help would take forever to come and dean is just trying to keep her alive? With lots of worried and gentle dean?? But I don't want her to die pleaaase 🥺🥺 thank you so much. And no pressure if you don't want to write it ❤️”

A special shout-out to @deanwinchesterswitch​ for taking time during her #BlogAppreciationBounce to beta this for me! Thanks Kym, you’re the best!

My Full Masterlist

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Tags are open! Tag yourself here!

Have a request? Send me an ask or DM!

You walk through the aisles of the grocery store, pushing the ever-growing cart in front of you. You and Dean had finally moved all of your belongings into your new home, and now you needed to stock it full of food. Dean is like a kid in a candy store, grabbing so many unnecessary items that you can only shake your head and suppress your giggles.

A thunderclap from outside makes you jump slightly; spring in Kansas, a woman just a few feet in front of you notes, you politely smile as she suggests stocking up on bottled water and canned goods. When you were living in the Bunker, severe weather wasn’t even on your radar. It was a fortress, with all sorts of magic protecting it. But now, you and Dean are living in an ordinary, run-of-the-mill house, and Kansas is smack-dab in the middle of tornado alley.

Dean meets you at the checkout counter, two pies in hand, and you give the cashier a small smile. Another thunderclap makes you jump, and Dean immediately wraps his arms around your waist, calming you, reminding you that it’s just a little rain. Thunderstorms had made you anxious ever since your family was attacked by a wendigo when you were a teenager. Every storm dredges up memories of you and your family fighting for your lives as the creature used a storm to hide in the shadows and the sounds of thunder to cover its inhuman screams.

Rain begins to fall as you load bag after bag into the trunk of Baby, empty now that Dean has retired. A large bolt of lightning strikes, brightening up the sky, making the heavy, dark clouds visible for a moment.

As Dean pulls Baby out of the parking lot, rain has begun falling; scattered droplets softly thumping on the roof of the car. You and Dean live away from town, out in the middle of nowhere, your closest neighbors being Sam and Eileen, owning the property next to yours, but their house was still being built, so for the time being, it was only you and Dean for nearly five miles. It didn’t seem like a lot of distance when you first chose the property; in fact, you originally wanted to buy both pieces of land so that you and Dean could have all 10 acres to yourselves.

Dean drives past the Gas n’ Sip, the closest business next to your home, and turns down the road that would eventually lead to your new house. The five-mile distance shouldn’t seem like a lot, but now, as the rainfall becomes heavier, you wished you’d chosen a home closer to town.

The thick, heavy rain makes it almost impossible for you to see anything more than a few feet in front of you. You take a long, calming breath, trying to keep your nerves intact as lightning strikes again in the distance. Dean notices your nerves starting to get the better of you and reaches over to give your knee a reassuring squeeze before bringing the car to a stop.

“You wanna wait out the rain?” He asks, taking your sweaty palm into his own.

“Food’ll spoil,” you counter, trying to cover your growing nerves.

“S'just food, sweetheart,” Dean unbuckles himself and slides closer before reaching over to do the same to you. “We can get more tomorrow.”

Dean wraps his arm around your shoulders as the storm seems to grow even stronger. He places a gentle kiss on your lips and reaches to the back seat, grabbing a blanket to cover you both. Under the worn blanket, Dean’s hand rubs up and down your thigh, inching closer to your covered core. This wouldn’t be the first time that Dean’s tried to get frisky in the Impala; hell, not even the third or fourth but with your anxiety running on high, the last thing you want is to fool around.

You don’t have to say anything, just gently intertwining your fingers with his and he seems to get the message. You curl up against him, basking in his familiar warmth and smell, praying that the storm would soon be over. Your heart thumps rapidly in your chest as the wind howls with enough force to cause the Impala to rock slightly on the road.

After you’ve calmed, Dean suggests heading on home. You nod slightly, wanting nothing more than to crawl into the comfort of your bed. He slides back over before shifting the car into gear and slowly starts accelerating.

Pain. Cold. Wet.

Steam rises from Baby’s engine, and thunder claps again. The last thing you remember is a horn honking and Dean slamming on the brakes before everything went dark. Your body lies limp on the hood of the car, glass shards from the windshield surrounding you.

The Impala’s front end is crushed, and the heat from the engine warms you as you try to piece together what happened. You can hardly focus on anything; there’s another car a few yards away; it must be the one you collided with. You try to move your body, but it’s then you realize that you can’t feel anything below your waist. You groan as you desperately try to move, hoping that you can will yourself onto your feet and find Dean. You can barely make out a low moan through the sound of the rain hitting the metal. You want to turn, but you can't; pain radiates throughout your body, at least the parts you can still feel. You try to call out to Dean, to anyone for help, but you can't find the words to do so. Your brain and mouth aren't connecting, and the only sounds that you manage to make are whimpers of pain.

A figure appears in the rain, cursing as he seems to take in your broken figure; he's almost yelling at what you can only assume is some 911 dispatcher.

"Shit.. one of the passengers…conscious? The driver? I'll try…"

The man appears at your side, and you can still see the phone attached to his ear.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?" He asks cautiously, you want to nod, but you're too afraid to move your head, afraid that you could accidentally hurt yourself further. "Her eyes are open; she's breathing," the man relays into the phone. "Uh.. ragged. There's blood… Ma'am? I'll try that. Blink if you can hear me."

You slowly but deliberately blink your eyes. The man breathes out a sigh of relief.

"Y/N!" Dean's voice comes from through the broken windshield. The man hurries away from you and towards Dean. You can only make out the muffled noises as the man tries to convince Dean to stay inside Baby, but you know he won’t; he’s too stubborn to listen to anyone.

The rain begins to let up, and the man tells Dean that an ambulance is on the way. The sound of Dean’s boots on the wet concrete put you at ease, knowing that he’s, at the very least, in better shape than you are. You count the strides that Dean takes before he’s beside you, frowning slightly at the large gash on his forehead. Dean’s eyes rake over your body, and you know something is going on that neither man is telling you.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean’s hand gently cups your cheek, and you know that he’s trying to keep his voice steady. “Help’s comin’ baby, okay? You’re gonna be okay, y’hear me?”

You try to mumble a response, but the words still don’t form. The rain is now nothing more than a sprinkle, clouds shifting to reveal the night sky. Numbness has taken over the rest of your body as Dean keeps his eyes focused on you, assuring you over and over again that you're going to be okay. Off in the distance, you can hear a siren, and Dean squeezes your hand tightly as he tells the man to grab two flares from the trunk.

“Help’s almost here, Y/N.”

“De,” you barely manage to mumble out, “’m tired.”

“I know, baby.” Dean looks relieved at the sound of your voice. “Gotta stay awake, Y/N, please. Y’can’t go to sleep, baby, not until help gets here. Promise me you’ll stay awake.”

“Love you,” you murmur as your eyes close, and every breath becomes more difficult to take.

“Y/N, baby, I need you to open your eyes,” Dean begs as the siren grows closer. “Please, honey, just a coupla minutes. Please Y/N, you have to fight for just a little while longer; lemme see those pretty eyes, baby.”

With all the energy you can muster, you slowly open your eyes, focusing on Dean as he breathes out a sigh of relief. His face is wet; whether it's from the rain or fallen tears, you can’t be sure. Dean offers you a pained smile before leaning forward to press a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Red and blue lights illuminate the sky, and a handful of overlapping voices fill the air. A paramedic replaces Dean, who refuses to leave your side until a firefighter drags him away. Your vision blurs as the new person begins quickly examining you while another puts a brace around your neck. A team of paramedics turns you over, and slides a board under you before lifting you off the hood of the Impala and putting you onto a stretcher. You can barely register what’s happening around you, and you want to cry out as they load you into the ambulance.

The collar around your neck keeps your head facing up, and you try desperately to look for Dean. Your eyes frantically search from side to side before Dean comes into view. He reaches forward, and you feel the familiar calloused hands rubbing against yours. Voices are flying, asking Dean question after question; is she allergic to any medications? Did she lose consciousness? Any prior existing conditions? Blood type?

Your hearing becomes muffled and your vision becomes tunneled as Dean struggles to answer each question.

“She’s seizing!”

A steadily beeping heart monitor awakens you. There’s a tube down your throat and you’ve seen enough Dr. Sexy to know it’s a breathing tube. You cough as you try to breathe and the heart monitor’s beeping becomes more rapid. A nurse is in the room quickly, telling you to keep calm before calling someone else in to help remove the tube. She orders you to cough again and again until the tube is out.

“D’n?” Your throat sore and raspy from the tube being down your throat for who knows how long. “‘Ere’s D’n?”

“He’s gone home, Y/N,” the nurse, Rebecca, tells you calmly. “Visiting hours ended a while ago. We’ll call him as soon as we get you a work-up.”

“S’okay?” You hate that your brain and mouth aren’t working together, and you can only speak in half-formed words. Rebecca nods, smiling as she takes your vitals and calls for an orderly. “How l’ng out?” You struggle to ask, but she seems to understand your question.

“Six months.”

Hours later, you’ve been poked and prodded by too many doctors to keep count of. Words may take a few days, but you’ll get them back, a neurologist assures you, just keep practicing.

By the time they’ve returned you to your room, Dean is there, eyes glistening as Rebecca wheels you in. You want to stand up to meet him, but your limbs, like the rest of your body, don’t want to cooperate with you. Dean crouches down to meet you, the skin on his forehead slightly red from where you remember seeing the gash. He leans forward and presses a kiss on your lips.

“Missed you, sweetheart.”

Dean and an orderly help you back into bed, and he takes a seat in the chair next to you, taking you by the hand and rubbing the back of your palm gently. A team of doctors explains everything to you and Dean—that you’ll have a long road of recovery, you’ll need physical therapy for your limbs, you’ll most likely need a speech pathologist, but with hard work, you’ll be back to your old self in a matter of time.

“You’re very lucky, Y/N,” one of the many doctors says as the others clear out of your room. You let out a scoff, you’ve been in a coma for six months, and you’re lucky?

“Honestly, I’d call it a miracle,” he remarks before leaving, and for a moment, you swear his eyes flash red.

Feedback is appreciated!!

[ejlovespie]

Knocking On Heaven’s Door

Fandom: Supernatural

Author: EJ (@ejlovespie)

Summary: A car accident leaves the reader in a life or death situation...This was a reader’s request that was inspired by the classic song, “Knocking on Heaven’s Door” 

Pairing:  Dean x reader

Word Count: 2232

Warnings: Angst/Cursing/Near Death Experience/Somewhat Graphic Descriptions of Blood/Fluff 

Reader’s Request: Dean, Sam and the reader get into an accident while driving the impala. Dean and Sam get mildly injured but when dean turns around he finds the reader severely injured since the impact was from her side in the backseat and there is a huge chunk of glass stuck in her side and there is a lot of blood also she's pinned by the door so he has trouble getting her out. I would looove to see a little bit of dean pov. And can u pleaaase make it detailed as much as u can.

A/N: Thank you for the request anon; I hope you like it! This one was really long in the beginning events so I hope the ending doesn’t feel too rushed. Also, I apologize if any of the medical details are incorrect. Any feedback is greatly appreciated and any mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading! :) 

You sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, a rare occurrence since you usually got booted to the back. Sam was stretched out and snoring softly in the backseat as Dean drove, focusing on the road ahead. It was raining and you stared out the side window, counting the raindrops as they slid across the glass, out of view. An old rock ballad, something slow and sad played quietly over the speakers. Your eyes drooped as the music combined with the pitter patter of rain was soothing you into sleep. 

Mama put my guns in the ground

I can't shoot them anymore

You let your eyes close and smiled to yourself when you heard Dean, quietly singing along to the song. His low voice was deep and masculine and you were surprised by the amount of control he held when singing the words. 

That cold black cloud is comin' around

And I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Drifting to sleep, you thought about how you wished you could hear Dean sing more often.  

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

-

You were shocked awake in your seat when a blaring horn sounded. It was so loud. Whipping your head to the right, bright lights blinded your vision and you screamed as the impala was hit by a large truck and forced off the road. Everything happened so fast. One moment all you could hear was the deafening sounds of glass shattering, tires squealing, and metal tearing then, everything was silent but the sound of rain.

Dazed and disoriented, you felt blood dripping from your forehead down your cheeks. Your hand went to the cut above your brow and you wiped at it, trying to keep blood from dripping into your eyes. You gasped as the movement caused a sharp pain in your side. Looking down your body, you were horrified to find a large shard of glass was lodged in the right side of your abdomen. Although it was dark, you could see your white shirt and jeans were stained in blood and littered with shards of glass. Trying to remain calm and keep your breathing normal, you called out to Sam and Dean. When neither responded, panic gripped your heart and you twisted your neck to find them in the dark. To your left, Dean looked okay at first glance but he was still knocked out cold. You tried to twist further to see Sam but cried out loudly when a piercing pain kept you from moving in your seat. Looking back down, you noticed more blood oozing out of your wound. Keeping your upper body still, you only turned your head as you reached out with your left hand to feel for Dean. He didn’t stir when you squeezed his bicep or his shoulder. 

Becoming more panicked and a bit frustrated, you felt Dean’s face and lightly patted his cheek trying to wake him. You sighed in relief when you felt his head turn towards and you heard his slurred murmuring. Afraid he would lose consciousness again you yelled, “Dean wake up!” Your eyes had adjusted to the dark and you saw Dean’s eyes fly open and fill with panic as he realized what had happened. He whipped around and reached out for Sam who, thankfully, grunted when Dean shook him. Finally, you breathed a sigh of relief knowing the boys were safe but cried out again when the action moved the glass impaling you. Dean whipped back around to face you, to ask what was wrong, when he saw the problem. His face went completely white and his eyes grew wide with fear as he stared at you. You could hear the squeaking of leather as Sam slowly sat up in the back seat. In an alarmed voice, Dean asked, “What’s wrong Y/N?” 

“There’s a piece of glass stuck in my side. You can’t see it because it’s on my right...It hurts to move Dean.” Your voice had started off controlled but it broke at the end. You were scared.

Dean gulped and gritted his teeth before his hands came up to cup your face. They were a little cold but you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. In a gentle but firm voice he said, “You’re going to be okay sweetheart. Just sit tight.” You kept your eyes closed for a moment, not wanting him to see your fear. In the back, Sam cursed as both Winchesters threw their doors open. You heard Dean yelling at Sam to get a flashlight as you looked back to your right. Dean’s face appeared at the window. He had a flashlight in his hand and was moving the beam around as he assessed the situation. Pulling on the door handle a few times did nothing and he cursed before looking at you again.

“Your door got the worst damage Y/N.” He looked slightly to his right before continuing. “It looks like this pickup hit your door before jackknifing to the side. The passenger door is bent to hell. I don’t think I can open it without more tools.” Dean hollered at Sam to check the truck for tools before looking back at you. “It’s going to be fine. We’re gonna get you out of here.” Sam came to the window, shaking his head. The look in his eyes made you think the driver didn't make it and fear gripped you again. Oh God. you thought to yourself. Please don’t let me die like this. You closed your eyes as a tear slipped down your cheek. As Sam stepped away to call 911, Dean was there, reaching through the missing window. Being careful to not cut himself on the left over glass, he wiped your tear away before looking more closely at your wound. You looked down too and realized it had started to bleed more freely, turning your white shirt crimson. There was too much blood. As soon as you acknowledged this, you felt yourself getting light headed. 

Dean cursed violently before turning away from you to yell, “Sam, how long on the ambulance?!”  

Sam rushed over and said, “We’re in the middle of nowhere Dean. They said it could be 20 to 30 minutes.” Dean growled. “We can’t wait that long. She’s bleeding too much. Grab the first aid kit from the trunk and go check the pickup for anything useful.” He tried yanking on the door from the outside a few more times before he reached back through the window to try the inside handle. The door wouldn’t budge. “Okay. Y/N. Look at me sweetheart. I need to get you out but the door is stuck. I am going to pull you out through the driver’s side.” You whimpered, knowing the pain that was coming. You looked to your left as Dean crawled in through the other door. He carefully reached over to unbuckle your seatbelt before grabbing something from Sam. It was a bottle of whiskey and he was unscrewing the cap. Dean placed the neck of the bottle against your lips before tilting it for you to drink. You took a few pulls before he took it away and he screwed the cap back on. He praised you and placed a hand on your cheek before he leaned over you to look at your wound more closely with the flashlight. 

After a moment, Dean leaned back and said, “Okay Y/N. I can’t try to pull you out of the car with that thing in you. I am going to pull it out and you’re going to put pressure on it while I get you out alright?” You nodded and the motion made you lightheaded. You weren’t sure how much help you were going to be soon. Sam leaned into the car and said he was ready with the first aid kit. Dean pulled off his flannel and balled it up before giving it to you. “Use this to put as much pressure on your side as you can. Are you ready?” You weren’t but you whispered a “yes.” Faster than you could blink, Dean had pulled the glass from your side and threw it out the open window. You screamed at the pain and Dean yelled at you to put pressure on as he gently put his arms around you and pulled you from the car. Your head swam and your vision started to go black in the corners of your eyes as you were carried for a few seconds before Dean placed you on the wet ground. You noticed it had stopped raining as something was put behind your head before. 

Your heart was beating too fast and suddenly you felt so cold that your teeth started to shatter. Your brain registered the sound of Sam and Dean’s voices yelling but they sounded too far away. You couldn't make out the words but maybe you were hearing your name? You felt your body going into shock and tears silently ran down your face. You were going to die. You saw flashes of Dean’s fear filled eyes in your vision but you were having trouble focusing on them. Suddenly with perfect clarity, you remembered the lyrics to the song Dean was singing earlier. It was fitting for this moment and you found some peace as you remembered it.

That cold black cloud is comin' around

And I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door

You certainly felt like you were knocking on heaven’s door and you accepted your fate as your eyes closed and everything went black. 

-

Dean’s POV

Dean panicked when all of the color drained from Y/N’s face and she started to shiver as her body went into shock. Icy fear turned Dean’s blood cold when her eyes closed and she didn’t respond to his touch or voice. Tears streamed down his face as he caressed her cheeks and begged her to hold on, to stay with him. Sam had grimly stitched the wound to stop the bleeding but what if they were too late? Leaning over, Dean placed his ear on Y/N’s heart and listened to the slow beat. It was too slow but it was there. In the distance, the faint wailing of the ambulance's siren could finally be made out. Dean moved his ear off of Y/N’s chest and brought his lips to her face. His hands reached up to brush a strand of hair out of her face as he kissed her softly. “Be strong baby. You have to hold on for me. I...I don’t know how to live without you.” 

When the ambulance finally pulled up, the medics loaded Y/N in before letting Dean climb up to ride along to the hospital. He held her hand when he was allowed to and stayed by her side until they reached the hospital and she was rushed to the ER. Hours passed sitting in the waiting room and Dean jumped when his phone rang. Sam had stayed behind to wait for the cops and a tow truck and called with an update. Dean heard the hesitation in his brother’s voice when Sam asked, “How is she doing?” With a deep sigh, he responded that she was still in surgery and he didn’t know anything yet. “I will call you when I hear more.”

It was several more hours before a tired looking doctor came out and asked for Y/N’s family. Dean launched out of his seat as the doc explained that her surgery went well. She explained that the glass shard had pierced some of Y/N’s organs, causing her to lose a lot of blood, but they had been able to fix the damage before it was too late. Relief washed over Dean as the doctor spoke and he asked if he could see her. Seeing the desperation in his eyes, the doctor hesitated before saying yes but that she needed to rest. “It may be awhile before she wakes up.” She warned. It was almost two full days before Y/N woke but Dean was there. He held her hand and kissed her fingers as she opened her beautiful eyes. His heart swelled and he tried not to cry when Y/N looked at him.  

“There she is. Hi sweetheart.”  When she smiled at him it felt like his heart would burst. Even in a hospital bed, she was beautiful. He brought her hand to his mouth again, kissing her until she giggled and said that his stubble was scratching her skin. They smiled at each other for a moment before Y/N started asking questions. What happened? Where’s Sam? Was he okay? When could they go home? Etcetera. She fussed over him, asking if he or Sam had been hurt and her worry for them when she was the one in the hospital bed made him feel...well it made him feel something he had never felt before. He didn’t know what he would he have done if he had lost this woman.  

They talked for a while and Dean filled her in before Y/N’s face became more serious. Looking up at him she said, “Thank you. You and Sam saved my life…” She paused, looking slightly embarrassed before she asked, “Do you mind singing to me? Your voice is...well it’s amazing and it relaxes me. I would love to hear it again but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” The request took Dean aback but he was flattered and she could have asked him for anything in this moment and he would have moved mountains to make it happen. “Of course baby. Do you have any requests?” She contemplated for a moment, looking thoughtful before she answered him by saying, “How about a Guns N’ Roses song?” 

Dean Tags: 

@akshi8278 @wellfuckmyexistence @beabutterfly987

[watermelonlipstick]

Dreams, Chapter 14

If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:

When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.

Title: Dreams, Chapter 14

Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1976

Summary: Once more, a moment at the bar shifts the relationship between Sam and the reader irrevocably. 

Warnings: angst, FLUFF, swearing, s l o w  b u r n, this section has a little gentle smut 

           It was sweet, actually, taking things slowly enough that Sam didn’t feel an acute sense of betraying Dean. You started kissing in stolen moments like teenagers, accidentally honking the horn of the Impala before taking over from the day shift and walking in shyly with swollen lips and mussed hair, tasting the orange juice off of his lips after breakfast.

           Never more than that save a fumbled glancing grope here or there, Sam sometimes having to break away for a long walk in the brisk winter air before going to sleep with you at night, you taking extended showers to deal with the building tension. He simply wasn’t ready, and the additional closeness was already so much more than you’d had anyway, almost too much stimulation to handle. Not that it really made sense to you, that this was somehow different in his mind, but it didn’t matter.

           Dean came to you in your dreams with increasing regularity. He started teaching you how to go to places you hadn’t been, or hadn’t been with him, slowly reconstructing the bar and the cabin so you could show him around your new life. Sam had been right, of course, and Dean did love the bar as you showed it to him, scuffed floors and ever-present stickiness of the cash register included.

           It felt pretty real. And who’s to say it wasn’t, because it was really Dean and it was really you, the whiskey really poured and made his lips taste peaty like they always had. More than that, it was enough. You were able to relish your time together, drink Dean in while you slept feeling less desperate knowing that you’d see him again soon. The days got easier too, waking up warm inside from Dean and outside from the firm protection of Sam’s body. Neither Winchester ever told you what they did or talked about in their time together, but Sam got looser and looser. You had almost forgotten how goofy he could be, how enthusiastic and fun he was Before Everything, but the longer he spent dreaming with Dean the more he reminded you of that guy—the affectionate, quick-witted boy you’d split cans of Spaghetti-o’s with at Bobby’s a lifetime ago.  

           Going to work felt like a little game sometimes. Periodically one of the customers would comment on the way Sam always seemed to wait until you were right in front of the fruit before going to refill it so he had to press the length of his body against yours. Often you’d have to help him finish his side work before closing up together, having hung off him all night in a way that prevented him from getting everything done until it was just the two of you together in the darkened bar cutting up limes as your shoulders brushed against each other. The regulars thought you were finally comfortable enough to show them a little PDA, that you’d been secretly like this all along, and there was no other explanation you could give them. Like everything else, you rolled with their assumptions and got that same giddy-hot feeling in your chest and throat every time they said it—like you were being teased about some juvenile crush.

           The Wednesday it finally happened you were having a normal day at work, catching those little jabs after Sam snaked a bottle opener out of your back pocket while you rattled a shaker of martinis. He kissed your hair with a smirk when he passed by you, carefully not jostling your arms as you poured the drinks into chilled glassware. When you went to refill Joe’s pint of Spotted Cow, you noticed the tap start to stutter and foam the last dregs of an empty keg and raised your head to tell Sam it was out.

           He was leaning on his elbow, ankles crossed where the long stretch of his body met the floor and talking to Jake, clearly telling some joke from the way Jake cracked up and gave him that snapping handshake men often exchange instead of hugs. The smile on his face was just smug enough to show he knew whatever he’d said was funny, and more than anything he looked relaxed, looked comfortable. Looked like he belonged there, the reflection off green glassed whiskey bottles making his eyes seem lit from within. You decided to change the beer yourself and leave him in peace; the bar was slow enough that he could handle it alone for a few minutes, limited cocktail experience or not.

           Every time you went into the basement at work to change a keg you were amazed that Sam even fit in the room where they were stored; it was back at the end of the walk-in cooler with ceilings so low even you felt claustrophobic there. Aluminum kegs in varied states of fullness stacked by their respective lines, marked by stickers and tags of indeterminate ages, were in a sort of half-organization around the walls. Based on how fast Sam changed them when one went empty, you were pretty sure he would know instinctively which ones were which, but as it was you had to climb around the makeshift aluminum jungle gym to trace each looping hose back to its source. You finally found the empty Spotted Cow and the line that would tie it to its respective tap in the corner. To get there you’d had to hop on top of two others, one foot on a fresh Bud Light and the other on some Coors while your spine curved to avoid hitting your head on the ceiling. Unfastening the tap from the empty keg, you yanked back to tug it off and slipped on some extra moisture on top of the metal. It sent you off balance enough that you grabbed at the tubing at the end of the tap you were holding in an effort to stay on your feet.

           The hose pulled out of the line system and sprayed the rest of the beer within all over the room and you, brown ale getting in your mouth and eyes and sending you careening to the ground, tugging the empty keg on top of you with a huge clatter. You rolled it off of you, thanking God it was empty, and tried not to think too hard about the age of the beer remnant mixture leeching off the cement floor into your t shirt as you got up. By the time you got back to your feet, Sam was standing in the doorway, slightly out of breath with a look of concern on his face.

           “Are you okay? What happened?” he asked, surveying the scene.

           You still had the keg tap and hose in your hand, completely detached from the wall. “I was going to change the Spotted Cow but I couldn’t reach the back so I had to climb and then I…slipped.” Sam’s face smoothed in relief when he saw the smile spreading across your face. “And broke it.”

           “But you’re okay?”

           “Probably going to have a pretty kickass bruise tomorrow and I’m covered in beer but yeah, I’m okay. Sorry I pulled it out; do you know how to fix it?”

           Sam smiled, his dimples carving into his cheeks. “I’ll figure it out.”

           You pouted around your embarrassment and sheepishly handed him the tap. “I should probably get back upstairs,” you offered, shaking your wet shirt away from your body.

           “I’m, uh, I’m ready.” Sam murmured, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

           “Do you need me to go get tools or something?”

           “No—I mean, like, ready.” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and the emphasis crashed into you hard enough that it almost sent you careening back into the kegs.

           “Ready ready?” you breathed, sounding stupid and not caring, wanting to bound over and leap into Sam’s arms.

           “Ready read—” and Sam was cut off by your lips on his, taking a sharp inhale against your cheek as he kissed you. After a beat of electric shock Sam twined into the hair at the nape of your neck, his fingers hot from washing dishes and soothing in the air of the cooler. You slid down the soft flannel of his shirt and wrapped up fistfuls of it, desperate to have him closer, closer, closer, feel the firm slopes of his body when you weren’t sleeping. He groaned into you and it sent a shudder down your spine as you slipped down the edge of his jaw to kiss along the broad expanse of his neck, tendons squirming under your lips and the thrum of his blood pumping fast and hard.

           Sam moved a hand to your lower back and bent down to scoop under a hamstring, gently but swiftly lifting and spinning so you were pressed up against the doorframe by his body, hitched up in the air to better reach his face. You gasped and felt Sam’s smile against your mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist and greedily roaming the muscles in his chest as they flexed to carry you. The way the wall pinned you to Sam made it so easy to rock into him, feel the metal of his belt buckle through the worn cotton of your jeans and the heat seep through his shirt into the sticky beer drying on yours. “I—oh fuck—” Sam stammered between kisses as you rolled your hips, trying to balance the need to catch his breath with the pent-up magnetism between you. “We have—Jesus Christ, ah—there are customers upstairs,” he finally spit out.

           That zapped you back to reality, finally breaking away to press your forehead against his. “Fuck,” you moaned. A long second passed, sharing air between you and Sam as he held you suspended. “Do we care?” you murmured hopefully against closed eyes, smiling.

           Sam chuckled, breathy and low as he lowered you to the ground softly. “Unless you have another way of paying rent.”

           You gently knocked your head into Sam’s chest. “Man, couldn’t sit on that for a few more hours? How am I supposed to work the rest of the night?”

           He ran his tongue over his molars as he grabbed the tap from where it had fallen to the ground, accepting the gentle teasing. “I just—I don’t know, you were just standing there and it all kind of—it just made sense all of a sudden.”

           “The stale beer did it for you? If I knew that I would’ve broken all of the lines ages ago.” You bit your lip against your smile, suddenly a little bashful and exposed and feeling every drying drop of beer across your chest.

           “I um, might have another t-shirt in the car if you want me to check.”

           “Thanks. I can get it though, can I have the keys?”

           Sam snaked a hand into his pocket and you could see the muscles in his forearm ripple as he grabbed them for you. He handed the keys over, his face open and vulnerable even with the hint of smirk. Tapping the keys against the doorframe you stalled for time, wanting more than anything to have even just an hour without responsibilities. You reached out and stroked his arm. “You’re sure about this? It’s okay if you’re—”

           Sam’s head bobbed quickly. “Yeah. Yes, I’m sure.” He looked solemn, resolute in a way that reassured you. “I’m sorry it took—”

           “Nothing to be sorry about. I just wanted to check.”

           He closed the step between you, tucking a chunk of hair behind your ear and gazing down into your eyes. “I know. And thank you for that.” He kissed you on the forehead, grinning into your hair. “Now go change, you smell like a frat party.”

           You pushed playfully against his chest and made your way upstairs, leaving him smiling at your back as you walked away.

-

Continue to Dreams, Chapter 15

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

written for anon who asked for a fic where dean has a huge crush on cas, cas is asexual, and that changes nothing :) happy ace week <3

Dean finds out his crush is asexual, one fine Monday in a group chat — when everyone's wishing Castiel a >>> happy ace week. And it's not the most ideal setting, but at least now he has a timeframe to figure out his next move within.

(Figure out how to ask the most beautiful, awesomest dork on campus out. During Ace Week — because it's memorable that way, that's why. Basically, look into those unbelievably blue eyes, and somehow manage the words, "Please go out with me, Cas. Please." (but less lame, hopefully) without spontaneously combusting.

Easy.

Sure, he wants to flee already, but easy. Stupid, glorious eyes, laugh, voice — nope. No drifting away, Winchester. Easy.

He's got this.)

Charlie's a blessing, and it's not like Dean didn't know that already, but it feels like a realization of even greater magnitude when she sits with him through coffee after coffee, patiently (and kindly) dismissing his ideas.

It is what it fucking is.

Charlie's a blessing, and Dean Winchester is a chick-flick-saturated, ridiculous romantic.

("You've got to remember." She'd stressed, sympathetically. "Grand gestures can't be how it begins. We don't even know yet if he's a Blue French Horn kind of guy."

"I'm not a Blue French Horn kinda guy either."

She'd just tsked. "Well, you're a boombox serenade guy, so trust me, it evens out."

Dean had proceeded to sulk through the rest of that evening, obviously, but he'd come back to his dorm with the meaning of his best friend's words clear in his head. Lowkey it is.)

And here he was.

Parked outside Castiel's apartment — one year Dean's senior, same branch (engineering) — with sweaty palms and cold feet.

(It's not like he didn't know how stupid it was to overthink something this trivial, but also not like he could stop.)

His phone rings, and Dean jerks back to reality.

"Hello?"

"Dean, is that your car —"

Holy shit, it's Cas.

"Uh, I —" Before he can process words, or explanations, his hand decides the best move would be to turn completely incompetent at the moment, and he drops the phone. Rummaging for it immediately in the depths between the seat and the door, he feels his heart thud in his chest.

Goddammit, he hates crushes.

When he finds his phone finally, the call's ended — fucking obviously, he's such a mess — and he drops his head on the steering wheel.

Great.

Now Cas thinks he's a creep who spends time staring at random apartment buildings. Exactly the boost his confidence had needed.

He'd typically wallow a little (way) longer, but there's a knock on his window and Dean whips around to see Castiel blinking at him.

Ever the genius, Dean rushes to open the door — and freezes entirely when he sees Castiel's eyebrows pinch as the door up and slams into him.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so —" He chokes, horrified, beginning to roll down the windows but Castiel's already begun to walk to the other side, curving around the front of the Impala, laughing for some reason.

He pulls open the passenger's door, and gets in, still shaking with mirth.

"I opened my door in your face." Dean points out.

"I am aware."

Castiel returns, simple as that. He's wearing a hoodie with a local diner's logo on it — and either he won it being the millionth customer to order black coffee, or just woke up and decided to support small businesses. Either way, it's clearly overworn, bulky, and a shade of grey that matches his glasses, and he's too fucking cute for Dean's sake.

"And I'm hoping you didn't do it on purpose, because if so, I'm afraid I just defeated your motives by coming in." He adds, and Dean rolls his eyes. (Funny. Why did he have to be funny too?)

"Nah, you're always welcome."

Castiel beams. "Why thank you." At this point his eyes leave Dean's to check out his surroundings — and Dean mentally prepares himself to modestly receive compliments on his Baby, but Cas just stills, staring at the space between them.

Oh no, Dean recoils. The flowers.

"Are those —"

"Look, I can explain —"

They start at the same time, but Cas pauses, and allows Dean to go on with a hint of urgency in his frown.

And Dean — well, he does go on.

He goes on once he's picked up the bouquet, cleared his throat, and forced down the annoying heat rising to his cheeks to the best of his abilities. He goes on, holding the flowers for Cas.

"Happy Ace Week."

The tension in Castiel's brow evaporates as he brightens. "Dean."

"I - I think you're aces."

Castiel bites back a laugh, eyes shining. "That's a good gaydar you've got there. I am asexual."

"I know." Dean blushes. "And I meant the 'awesome' kind."

"They're both the awesome kind." Castiel teases.

"I know." Dean ducks his head, looks up at the other through his eyelashes. "I just meant, uh, the 'please go out with me, please' kind."

(Huh. Turns out he doesn't phrase it less lame after all. But Castiel's smiling, wide and happy, so maybe it doesn't really matter how he said it.

Of course, it will, but he doesn't know yet that this'll continue to plague him in friendly and family gatherings whenever Cas recounts their getting-together tale for posterity, but that's something else entirely.)

"You're way too adorable."

Castiel laughs, and takes the flowers from Dean — leaning in to kiss his cheek after he does, and as Dean blushes again, he knows all those coffees and embarrassment from the dismissed ideas was truly worth it.

Because anything that makes Cas look as happy as he does right now, is always going to be worth it.

Who knows, maybe the next time, he'd even show up with a less wornout pun?

"So that's a yes?"

"More of an of course." Castiel tells him as he smiles, and Dean smiles back, his insides still fluttering, but at least his chest feels warm instead of frozen.

"I can live with that."

[mookie--jam]

Chapter 16 (Part 1): The Chevy, The Pie and Mrs. Anderson (Empty Canvas)

The car horn honking is getting in my nerves. For fuck’s sake Johnny, how impatient can you be? We had a deal that he would pick me up at four in the afternoon. Yet he showed up at a quarter before four and expects me to be ready to go. He should know better by now. I leave everything to the last minute. So when I say four I actually mean five minutes past four. I open my window and look down. Johnny is hanging from the driver seat window, using his foot to blow the car horn.

“I told you I need four more minutes”, I shout down and he looks at me with a slightly evil look, a look that would not look misplaced on a Disney villain.

“It’s Thanksgiving! You know what that means. It means I’ve been starving myself for a week so I can eat without guilt. If you don’t get down here soon and we don’t get to the Cornell-Vedder residence in about twenty minutes I’m gonna eat my shoes!” he tells me and I just roll my eyes.

“Kiriakis, give me two more minutes, because if you don’t, we won’t have pie. Do you want that?” I tell him and I see a slight shift in his expression.

“You’re still baking the pie?” he asks and he sounds somewhat worried. 

“Yes, I’m still baking the damn pie. Now stop honking that fucking horn. I’ll be down in two minutes”, I tell him and close the window again. Just as I close the window I hear the ping of the my oven signaling that the pie is finally ready. I take it out of the oven and put it on my counter on top of three towels. All of which I intend to bring to the car with me, so the thing won’t burn my lap.

I take one last look in the mirror. I’m quite pleased with myself. I’m wearing a black velvet wrap dress, some tights and my suede over the knee boots. It’s Thanksgiving after all, so I decided to make an effort. The fact that I’m seeing Eddie for the first time since we ended things might have added a little to it as well, but I’ll never admit that. I put on my jacket, take my bag and grab the pie along with the towels off the counter. 

It’s quite the hassle, closing a door with a steaming hot pie in hand, but somehow I manage to close the door, put my keys in my bag and I make it downstairs.

“Finally”, Johnny screams as he sees me coming through the backdoor. He’s already got the passenger seat to his 69 Chevy Impala opened up for me. It’s a gorgeous car and he’s quite protective over it. It’s got this beautiful navy blue paint job and this really nice cream leather interior. I once asked him how he got such a nice car. Turns out that his dad owns a car dealership. They however don’t talk anymore. They haven’t talked since Johnny came out. As revenge Johnny stole this car. Well not exactly stole. He sees it as his inheritance since his dad disowned him. Anyhow, to say that Johnny is attached to Bluebell -yes he named the car Bluebell- is an understatement.

“I told you, I had pie priorities”, I explain to Johnny as I install myself in the passenger seat, making sure my lap is covered with the three layers of towels and the pie is secure in place, before I shut the car door. 

“Yeah, pie priorities my ass. Corrine is making the side dishes. I called to check in on her. Apparently she’s been at Casa Cornell since the crack of dawn. Well at least the crack of dawn according to musicians standards, which is 11. Apparently she has been able to advert three nervous breakdowns so far, but we need to get there asap for moral support. Also because I’ve been dreaming about her stuffing for days”, Johnny explains as he starts the car. I’m holding on for dear life on the car door handle, my other hand barely able to hold the pie in place. Why the hell did I decide to catch a ride with Johnny with a steaming pie on my lap? How could I forget that he drives like he’s Dan Aykroyd in a Blues Brother car chase? But even for his normal driving standard, he’s driving aggressively today. I’ll blame it on his self induced starvation. 

“You know, if one were to take that sentence slightly out of context, one could say that you sound very heterosexual today”, I tell him with a laugh, trying to relax a bit, because I’m stressed out. He just now nearly ran over an old lady. And she looks a lot Chris’ and Eddie’s downstairs neighbor Mrs. Anderson. I hope it’s not Mrs. Anderson, she already has so much to endure living under those two, the last thing the woman needs is a near death experience on Thanksgiving. 

“That’s what famine does to me. It takes away all my natural flair and reduces me to the cave man that I am deep inside that I’ve tried to overcome so hard my whole life. I blame it on my Greek heritage to be honest. Yia yia Kallisto used to stuff my chubby little cheeks with spanakopita so much on holidays, that whenever a major holiday happens I turn into a merciless binge eater. I also blame my Greek heritage for the outrageous hair growth all over my body. You don’t wanna know how much I have to shave to give people the illusion of a female leg”, Johnny tells me, completely getting lost in thought. I’m quite used to it already to be honest. He tends to just become a spewing volcano of word vomit whenever he’s driving. I just hope that we get to the party alive.

I see that we’ve advanced quite fast and that we’re only a few yards away from the building. Johnny takes a sharp turn to the right, onto the guy’s parking lot and I’m miraculously able to still hold on and to save the pie. I let out a sigh of relief, but I let it out too soon.

Johnny abruptly pulls up into a parking spot, the car coming to a screeching halt. Something I was not ready for. Something I and the pie were not ready for. Because in the final jerk of movement the car makes, I lose my grip on the pie and it’s spilled all over the front of my dress. 

“Oh my God”, Johnny moans shocked, yet somehow his reaction is over exaggerated, even for his standards. Jesus Christ, he’s probably more upset over the loss of food than the interior of car, which somehow hasn’t been blemished by the pie mess that’s currently sitting on my lap. I’m trying to think what to do, when the heath -that’s still very much oven level- of the pie starts to sink through my clothes. I quickly open the car door and get out. The pieces and chunks of pie all fall on to the pavement, still steaming. Johnny quickly comes to my aid and uses one of the three towels -the bottom one, which is the cleanest one- to clean most of it off my dress. 

“Oh my God, honey, are you okay?” he asks me and for the first time he seems genuinely worried. Worried enough to wonder if I wasn’t burned, rather than when he was gonna eat. 

“Yeah, I’m fine”, I mutter, calming down. Whenever I get panicked, I just turn dead quiet and go in shut down mode. Thank God I acted quickly enough, the damn thing could have given me burns. But after a quick peak down my very stained dress I can see that my skin is still unburned. Johnny looks down at the ground, sadness in his eyes. 

“Such a shame about the pie though”, he sighs out, before meeting my eyes as I give him a very unamused stare. 

“Such a shame about your dress as well, you looked beautiful”, he tells me and I just roll my eyes. Seriously, I could’ve been a burn victim and all he cares about is the fashion disaster consequences of the situation? 

“How about we go inside and get you cleaned up before dinner. We’ll send someone out to get another pie”, Johnny says, proposing a reasonable plan of action. I nod, still too relieved by the lack of burns to be able to emote any other emotion than post shock, as we start to make our way to the entrance of the building. Just as we get through the door, we see Mrs. Anderson coming up to the door, angrily shuffling forwards with her walker and we decide to hold open the door for her.

“Happy Thanksgiving Mrs. Anderson”, I half shout at her, knowing the woman is practically deaf. No wonder, she lives underneath Cornell, who snores like a warthog. It must’ve taken away the last bit of hearing she had left. 

“Thank you, Lola. Happy Thanksgiving to you as well my dear. And to you too Johnny”, she tells us with a smile, but she still seems somewhat distraught. 

“Are you okay, Mrs. Anderson?” Johnny asks her, raising his voice so she can hear him, as he closes the door behind her. I’ve already taken her grocery bags from her. Johnny is now helping her hold up her walker and gives her an arm. The landlord in this building is the laziest mother fucker in Seattle (and that’s a lot saying, coming from us, the apparent slacker youth) and has been refusing to fix the elevator for the past year and a half. It’s absolute torture on Mrs. Anderson who lives on the fifth floor, so the rule among the building occupants and frequent visitors is that whenever you run into Mrs. Anderson you help her up the stairs. 

“Yes dear, I just had a terrible fright earlier. Someone in a navy blue Chevy Impala nearly ran me over”, she tells us and I immediately give Johnny a scolding look and mouth the words to him: for fuck’s sake, you nearly ran over Mrs. Anderson. He gives me a guilty look as he helps her up the stairs. 

“That’s horrible, Mrs. Anderson. I don’t get how those people are even allowed on the road”, I tell her and now Johnny is giving me a scolding look. Is that really necessary, he mouths at me. 

“I don’t get it either, sweet child. But dear, what happened to your dress?” she asks me, sounding honestly shocked as we reach the third floor.

“Oh, I accidentally spilled our pumpkin pie on it”, I tell her. 

“And now her dress is ruined and we have no pie. I’m surprised she’s taking it this well”, Johnny chimes in on the other side. 

“It’s such a shame. I bet you looked like a million bucks before your dress got ruined”, Mrs. Anderson tells me as we get to the door of her apartment. She’s also got the beginnings of Parkinson’s disease so it takes her a while to actually put the key in her lock and open the door. Once it’s open we get in (part of the established rule is that you helps Mrs. Anderson until she’s safe inside her home and any groceries must be positioned on her kitchen counter, she’ll be able to handle things on her own from there).

“But I will be able to fix the pie, or rather lack thereof”, she tells us as she starts shuffling towards her kitchen and I follow her to the counter to deposit the groceries. On the counter top are two perfect pumpkin pies.

“I always make two pies. I still use the same recipe that I got from my mother and since I grew up in a big family it’s a recipe for two pies instead of one. I could easily half the recipe, but it doesn’t feel the same when I do so. Here, take one”, she tells me and it warms my heart. Sweet Mrs. Anderson, unbeknowingly feeding the man that nearly killed her. 

“Are you sure?” I ask her, feeling guilty. I just can’t do that to her.

“Yes, dear, it takes me two weeks to finish these pies between me and Mr. Anderson and by the end we always get sick of them. So please take one. Enjoy!” she tells us with a big smile as I take the pie from the counter. She shooing us to the door. 

“Now go and have fun! Happy Thanksgiving and tell young Christopher and Edward that I miss saying hello to them in the morning through the hole. Also tell them to get a hair cut, they look like my son did back in the sixties”, she says, waving us goodbye as we start making our way to the guys floor. 

“Bless her heart”, Johnny sighs happily as we arrives at Cornell’s door. He’s practically dancing with glee. It’s probably because of the smell of food that’s coming through the door. Corrine’s an amazing cook.

“Bless her guardian angel you nearly killed the poor woman”, I tell him as I knock on the door. “Nearly”, he retorts as he gives me one last eyer roll before the door flies open. On the other side is Cornell, wide smile on his face, dressed in a pair of black pants covered in duct tape (what he calls his discount leather pants) and a burgundy shirt, that’s practically open unto his navel. He looks like a very festive space age pirate.

“Happy Turkey day!” Chris shouts out, hugging Johnny, meanwhile quickly eying me up and down, as if he is expecting something to be off about my appearance. 

“Hi Chris, happy Thanksgiving. Don’t hug me, I’m covered in pie”, I tell him as he lets go of Johnny and closes the door behind us.

“I can see that. What happened,” he asks us and once again I have a feeling that he’s not as surprised or in shock as he should’ve been. The same feeling I got from Johnny. 

“Johnny’s driving, that’s what happened. He also nearly ran over Mrs. Anderson”, I explain to Chris, who at that last part turned his head so quickly towards Johnny, he might have given himself a whiplash.

“What the hell?” he scolds Johnny, who is trying to ignore Cornell as he peers into the living room to check which of the guests have already arrived. 

“She also gave us her extra pie, so we are not pie-less”, I further explain to Chris, trying to get some of the heath of Johnny. It’s not like he did it on purpose, did he?

“God bless that woman”, Cornell sighs out and he guides the both of us towards the kitchen.

“She also told us to say that she misses saying hi to you and Eddie in the morning. And that you should get a haircut”, Johnny chimes in but the both of us are startled by the shouting coming from the kitchen. 

“Get out of my kitchen!” someone shouts as we open the kitchen door. Turns out it was Corrine, who is now playfully threatening the recipient of her shout with a wooden spoon. The recipient of the commentary turns out to be Eddie, who is defending himself his a pair of barbecue tongs. He’s wearing a pair of black jeans, a T-shirt and a vintage looking blazer. He looks great. And I am covered in pie. Of course. Though there is one thing off about his look. He’s wearing one of his Steven Tyler scarves in his hair as a bandana. Then realization hits me. Corrine has the weird thing about kitchen hygiene, so obviously Eddie’s long hair would be taboo at the preparations for a Thanksgiving dinner.

“It’s technically my kitchen. And I need to check on the turkey”, he tells her, jokingly fencing with her whilst Jeff is looking on from the his seat on the edge of the windowsill. 

“You care an awful lot about turkey for a vegetarian”, Corrine quips back as she fences back, but not before quickly checking on of her pots, making sure nothing was getting burned. 

“It’s one of the only two days in the year I allow myself to eat meat. Thanksgiving and Christmas. So sorry, but I need to check on the turkey, rather than reenact Zorro with you”, Eddie exclaims, dodging one of Corrine’s jabs with a dramatic jump roll over the kitchen floor, which seems to have landed him right in front of the oven. Corrine laughs and turns her eyes away from him, now looking at me.

“Hi Corrine”, I tell her and walk over to her to give her a peck on the cheek and to put down the pie on the kitchen counter.

“Hi dear”, she tells me, now frantically chopping some celery on the cutting board with such a speed that it wouldn’t surprise me that she accidentally would cut off her own fingers. 

“Lola, what happened to you?” Eddie exclaims now up on his feet again after checking the turkey. He’s looking at me with a very confused expression. Exactly what I need from the man I love after I broke his heart. Oh fucking hell…

“Hi to you as well Eddie”, I quickly retort and I can’t hold back the sarcasm. “Johnny came to too sudden of a stop with his car and that caused me to launch my pumpkin pie on my dress”, I explain and Eddie looks at me with pity in his eyes, before quickly giving Johnny a scolding look. The look he gives Johnny somehow makes me feel better. It makes me feel like he still cares about me. Though I shouldn’t feel that happy about it at all.

“Someone get this girl some spare clothes”, Johnny lets out, clearly done with being held responsible for my partially orange look and wanting to get rid of the evidence.

“On it”, Cornell exclaims and he’s practically already out of the kitchen.

“What about you, Eddie?” Jeff mutters through clenched teeth as he gives Cornell a scolding look. What the hell is going on?

“Any clothes will do at the moment to be honest”, I say to no one in particular. I just want to get out of these clothes so I can forget about my miserable entrance and so that I can start drinking. 

“Yeah, sure, but won’t Eddie’s clothes fit you better considering your size”, Jeff says, still eyeing Cornell and Johnny. Cornell’s facial expression changes into something of a oh-yeah-right-good-point expression.

“Jeff does have a point there”, Johnny quips in, putting words to Cornell’s face after he quickly gives a scolding glance to Cornell as well. Fucking hell what is going on? This is getting more confusing every second. 

“I don’t care whose clothes I’ll be wearing, just get me something, because I want to wash out this dress so it doesn’t have an orange stain on it”, I tell them, hoping to actually inspire some action to take place, instead of unexplained scolding looks. And I thought that celebrating Thanksgiving with friends would save me from the drama that normally happens when I spend it with my family.

“Fine, Corrine, I leave turkey watch to you”, Eddie promptly says and I practically want to kiss him to thank him, but I refrain myself from doing so. He puts the tongs down on the counter next to Corrine.

“Great, something else to worry about”, she mutters somewhat sarcastically. She does have a lot on her plate. Well not a lot on her plate, but a lot to get on people’s plates, which is nerve wracking enough.

“Honey, I told you I’d help”, Jeff chimes in, but immediately gets shot down as Corrine gives him a furious look. Something which is very unlike Corrine to do. I swear to God, something is going on here. 

“If I wanted to poison people, I’d put arsenic in their food, much more effective than you in the kitchen”, she tells him though clenched teeth, though something tells me that her anger was caused over something else.

“Eddie, I’ve got it, get her some clothes”, she says as she turns to Eddie with a smile on her face and practically shoes us out of the kitchen. 

We get out and pass through the living room to get to Eddie’s room. In the living room are Stone and Mike, the rest of the Soundgarden guys, the Alice in Chains guys and Susan, Chris’ girlfriend. I all wave them hi and make a quick explanation for my appearance, telling them I’ll be back soon enough. 

One thing that immediately stands out is Jerry and Mike, or as I like to call them, the Toxic Twins of Seattle. They’re both already more wasted than Joe Perry and Steven Tyler have ever been. This is gonna be one hell of a Thanksgiving, is all I can think as Eddie and I enter his room.

[beasback]

What We Deserve Chapter 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Word count: 1506

Warnings: Angry/Depressed Dean

“Rise and shine, Sammy!”

Dean? Sam squinted slowly peeling his eyelids open. Dean was up awfully early for school. It wasn’t like him, unless... 

“Any word from Dad?” Sam yawned.

Dean smirked while tying his shoes on his mattress. Sam was always observant. Perks of being a hunter.

“He called this morning, said he doesn’t know yet. Could be a few hours, could be another week. We weren’t supposed to be here this long.”

Sam sat up stretching in arms above his head. “At least you've got Amanda. She’s cool.”

Sam didn’t really know Amanda. She was a senior and popular. Barry made sure to tell Sam he thought Dean was cool when he saw them sneaking out of the janitor’s closet one time.

Dean groaned, “Dude, she wants me to meet her parents. I don't do parents.”

Sam snorted.

“Besides, you have Y/N and what’s his name? The kid with the glasses.”

“Barry,” Sam rolled his eyes seeing the empty bed beside him. “Where’s Y/N anyway?”

Throwing his brown leather jacket over his shoulder Dean replied, “I drove her home this morning so she can get ready for school.”

Sam nodded in approval. Sure Dean complained out loud about Sam and Y/N always hanging out in the motel but he always took care of them. 

“Careful Dean, you might actually convince everyone you’re a good guy.” Sam joked.

Dean didn’t find the joke humorous though. Sam realized that when a pillow hit him in the face.

“Get ready.” Dean growled.

Dean’s left hand came up to rest on his latest conquest’s cheek deepening their kiss. The brunette’s right hand trailed down Dean's chest. The omega jumped, grasping Dean’s wrist as someone knocked at the door.

Dean pulled away calling out to the janitor on the other side of the door, “Five more minutes, Jerry.” before bringing the omega in for another kiss.

It wasn’t his first time making out in the janitor’s closet. Dean had been to different schools, in different places, with different girls. Truman High was no exception. Usually he met Amanda, a blonde senior beta in the closet but ever since he turned alpha he started to crave the touch and smell of a sweet omega.

The door creaked open behind Dean letting light flood the small closet. The young alpha released the omega and spun around, his eyes wide at the sight of Amanda standing in the doorway.

“Amanda, hey!”

The brunette’s eyes peaked at Amanda before returning to Dean. She knew Dean and Amanda had a thing but he was an alpha now. Amanda’s eyes searched Dean’s for an explanation after she caught the omegas brown eyes staring at her.

Dean turned to the omega asking “Uh, Gettysburg address, 1863, right?” He then turned to Amanda who simply blinked back at him, her arms crossed over her chest.

The omega pulled her lips into a thin line. This was awkward. Shoving her hands in the back of her jeans pockets she bowed her head not daring to look at Amanda nor Dean as she exited the closet.

“History test next period. We're studying.” Dean weakly replied.

Amanda shook her head and spun on her heel. Dean frowned following Amanda out into the hall. 

“Come on, baby. She means nothing to me. Don't be mad.”

Amanda spun around, her friends sauntering down the hall stopping behind her to watch the scene unfold.

“I'm not mad, Dean. I thought maybe... underneath your whole "I could give a crap," alpha bad-boy thing, that there was something more going on.” Dean stared at Amanda in disbelief. He expected her to yell at him, hit him, to do something out of anger. “I mean, like the way you are with your brother.” She shrugged, “But I was wrong. And you spend so much time trying to convince people that you're cool, but it's just an act. We both know that you're just a sad... lonely little kid. And I feel sorry for you, Dean.”

Dean’s gaze dropped briefly. He could see Amanda’s friends behind her whispering. People in the hall watching. He knew he was a sad lonely little kid. Despite the beta’s calm demeanor, her words cut him like a hot knife through butter. Maybe making out with the omega in the janitor’s closet was a cry for help. Sure as a teen alpha male his sex drive was high but he was also hot-headed and angry. He was looking for a reaction from someone, anyone.

Hurt and infuriated, Dean’s voice became cold. “You feel sorry for me, huh? Don't feel sorry for me.” Amanda scoffed, turning on her heel to join her friends. “You don't know anything about me. I save lives. I'm a hero.” Dean watched her blonde hair bounce with every step she took away from him. She was leaving. It was a stab to the heart much like her words, but isn’t that what he wanted? “A hero!”

The beta’s friends inspected Dean from head to toe scoffing.

“What?”

The three females raised their eyebrows at Dean pressing their lips into a thin line. He knew he saved lives, he didn’t need their approval. Any other day Dean wouldn’t have said anything. He would have kept his mouth shut about the family business like his dad insisted. Any other day but today. As the women walked away from Dean he noticed a few people lingering in the hall.

“What?!”

Sam shuffled down the crowded hallway, both hands clutching the steps of his book bag on his back. Between the mass Sam’s hazel eyes met Y/N’s Y/E/C. She waved Sam down and without missing a beat Sam pushed through the crowd to meet Y/N halfway. 

“Good job buddy” an upperclassman called out. “Sam, great job with Dirk the jerk” another shouted as he slapped Sam’s hand. He could see Y/N high fiving a couple people from the other end of the hall and the corners of Sam’s mouth twitched upward. Sam wasn’t used to all of the attention. He finally felt normal, he didn’t feel like a freak. 

Watching from the middle of the hallway Dean wanted to praise Y/N and Sam. To Dean, Y/N always seemed to fit in yet she chose to hang out with Sam and himself on occasions. He imagined this would be her life when they moved on from this town. It’s better to be popular in high school anyway. It’s for the best. They would be gone and she would be taken care of.

Sam was a different story. Dean was proud watching Sam fit in and he could see Sam getting out of this life, going to college, living the white picket fence life. Despite his happiness for his little brother, he still felt consumed by his rage, he felt like he was drowning. His life was crumbling around him and he couldn’t wait to get away from it all.

Walking through the hall, hands in his leather jacket Dean felt his phone vibrate. Glancing at the caller even though he knew only one person called his phone.

“Dad?” The hunt was over and John was on his way. Goodbye Truman. Dean was getting a chance to start over, to climb out of the hole he had been digging himself in. Dean sighed in relief, “Finally.”

Sam sat on the wall by the steps as Dean paced back and forth in front of the school.

“How’d Y/N take the news?” Dean asked?

Sam shrugged.

Y/N knew Sam and Dean were passing through town, they weren’t staying long. At least they weren’t supposed to. As days turned into weeks and weeks into months Y/N formed expectations in her head. She thought they would at least end the year together. She would get to sit next to Sam and cheer on with him as they watched Dean graduate. She thought they would spend the summer together, they would find a place to live permanently, Dean would go off to college and her and Sam would walk through Truman High’s doors once again next year.

Dean stopped pacing his hands in fists in his jackets pockets. “I can't wait to get the hell out of here. This place sucks.”

A horn followed by the unmistakable rumble of the 67 Chevy impala had Dean spinning around. As the sleek black car rolled to a stop Dean practically sprinted to the car. When he noticed Sam not following he called over his shoulder not stopping, “Come on, Sam.”

Sam huffed moving for the first time since he sat on the wall. He slung his backpack over his shoulder making his way to the impala. Glancing up at the window Barry waved weakly to Sam with a frown on his face. Sam smiled in return before climbing in the back of the impala. He would always think of Y/N, Barry, his teacher Mr. Wyatt and his time at Truman fondly, a time when he was normal.

Taglist: @vicmc624​ @sesamepancakes​

[pinknerdpanda]

Double Feature

Word Count: 1,508 Characters: Sam x Reader (Dean mentioned) Warnings: Fluff, lustful thoughts, awkward!Sam, allusions to sexy times if you squint A/N: Hey - I’m still alive! *awkward smile* This was written for and beta’d by the amazing @princessmisery666​​. I’m glad you liked this little ball of floof. I love you babe! Xoxo 

(Title Card by me; images found on Google, I own none of them or the characters, yada yada.)

"I wonder if there was a wreck up there or something?"

You chewed your bottom lip as you strained to see past the long line of cars ahead of you. 

Sam cleared his throat, long fingers curling around the steering wheel; clenching and releasing. Checking his watch for the hundredth time in the past 5 minutes, he sighed.

"What's wrong, Sam?" You gripped his forearm and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The flash of a smile crossed Sam’s face for the briefest of moments before falling away completely. 

“Wha...wrong? I don’t...uh,” Sam floundered.

Frowning, you jabbed a finger between his ribs. Sam let out a surprised ‘yip’ that sounded odd coming from his lips. Confusion creased his brow as he narrowed his gaze at you curiously.

“You know, for someone who has spent the majority of his adult life lying about who he is and what he does,” you paused, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as Sam deflected your next rib-poke. “You have the shittiest poker face.”

“I don’t…” Sam huffed, his eyes dropping to his lap for a moment.

You watched patiently as Sam quietly collected himself. His teeth dug into the flesh of his lower lip and you relished the way the movement forced one of his dimples to appear. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Sam began, his eyes flicking to yours briefly. “I saw that there was a drive-in nearby doing a double feature tonight; Hocus Pocus and Beetlejuice. You mentioned once that those were two of your favorite movies to watch at Halloween, and when I saw they were both playing...”

Sam’s lips continued to move, but they weren’t loud enough to drown out the dull whir of the thoughts in your head trying to knit themselves together around the confusion creeping in. It was like looking at a pile of puzzle pieces and trying to bring the picture into focus without touching it. The words were all there, but you had no idea what he was saying.

You’ve known the Winchesters for the last several years, though mostly in name only. A few months ago, however...hell, more than that...has it been a year now? ...awhile ago, the two of you wound up chasing the same nest of vampires through Wyoming. That hunt turned into half a dozen more and before you knew it, Sam Winchester became somewhat of a permanent fixture in your life. 

Even Dean recognized the ease with which the pair of you worked together. He said as much when the brothers approached you to move into the bunker with them. 

You’d been hesitant to agree, at first. Years of your life had been spent zig-zagging the contiguous United States, never stopping for more than a week in one spot. The idea of having a place to call home had been overwhelming to say the least; foreign and stifling all at once.

In the end, you’d said yes, and you’ve not regretted it for a second.

Well.

Not really.

It was little things at first. 

Like the morning you’d shuffled into the kitchen to find a shirtless Sam stretching his long limbs over his head as he waited for the coffee to percolate. You’d been more than a little distracted watching the taught skin of his back and shoulders ripple as the muscles underneath flexed, but the sleepy grin he’d thrown your way when he met your gaze was too much. Those five seconds had played on a loop in your mind for longer than you cared to admit to yourself.

And then there was the morning you woke up to find yourself snuggled into his chest after having fallen asleep watching a movie together the night before.

Well, mornings.

After the mortification had waned the first time, you’d reasoned with yourself that it wasn’t hurting anyone to enjoy the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around you and the way his steady, even breaths ruffled your hair gently. 

It wasn’t regret you’d begun to feel, per say. It was something more akin to...well, it made you nervous to even admit it to yourself.

But now?

Now it almost seemed as though Sam was nervous. 

Sam, apparently oblivious to the mental meltdown you were currently experiencing, continued to babble. Slowly the sound of his words flooded your ears again.

“...and I just thought it might be nice to have an evening to ourselves. But I didn’t realize the traffic was going to be such a pain in the ass, or I would have left so much earlier and - “

Before you could think through your actions and the possible repercussions, you gripped the collar of Sam’s jacket, pulled him toward you and smashed your lips against his, silencing him.

Feeling his body stiffen underneath your hands, you panicked. A ticker tape reading ‘You’ve ruined everything, jackass!’ scrolled through your mind just behind your eyelids. Though just as you began to pull back, Sam’s arms wound around you, bringing you closer as his mouth finally, finally began to move against yours.

All at once the mental ticker tape read ‘Nevermind! You’ve got this, bitch!’ for a second before going dark and all you could feel, sense, smell and taste was Sam. His kiss was fire and ice and it consumed you in ways you’d been too scared to hope for.

After what felt like an eternity and yet not nearly long enough, the angry blare of a car horn brought you back to the present and you reluctantly pulled back. Sam blinked, his hazel eyes now darkened and full of something wild, before looking around, realizing the line had moved forward significantly without either of you noticing.

Putting the car in gear once more, Sam swallowed hard. You found yourself mesmerized by the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing nervously as he pulled forward slowly. Once the distance between the Impala and the car ahead was closed, Sam silently put the car in park again and looked at you, his lips drawn in a sheepish grin.

“Th, that...that was...uh…” Sam scratched harshly at the nape of his neck and you longed to feel the silky chestnut strands between your fingers. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

Sam’s long fingers twined with your own, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. 

“Me too.” Sam smiled at you then, and the full force of it made your heart ache in the best way.

“So, were you actually gonna tell me that this was a date? Or was that part of the surprise, too?”

“I, uh…” Sam chuckled and winced slightly. “I don’t know, actually.”

“Well, next time give a girl a head’s up, maybe?” You winked at him.

“Next time?” Sam’s eyes shone with hopeful excitement and you shrugged.

Grinning, Sam nodded. “Next time.”

Lifting your hand to his lips, he placed a light kiss there and you hummed contentedly. “So, it’s not too cheesy?” He mused.

“Oh no, it’s definitely cheesy,” you grinned, squeezing his hand. “But I love it. Thank you. I’d say I’m impressed you remembered my favorite spooky season movies, but...I mean, you’re kinda Sam-Fucking-Winchester.”

A startled laugh burst from his lips. Glancing at the slowly advancing line of cars ahead, Sam’s smile fell slightly.

“Yeah, well, woulda been better if I’d planned this better,” he muttered.

You could almost hear the mental flogging he was giving himself and it made you want to poke him in the ribs again.

So you did.

Sam ‘yipped’ again and shot you an incredulous look.

“Stop beating yourself up, Winchester.” You leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I mean, if we’re being honest, I’ve seen those movies a dozen times at least.” Blinking up at him innocently, you smiled. “I’m sure we can find other, more creative ways to spend the time.”

Sam nearly growled, his irises receding until only a fine, hazel ring lined his darkened pupils. Grabbing your face with both hands, Sam dipped his head and kissed you with the fervor of a hundred suns, his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth before parting your lips and sliding against your own. Taking your lip between his teeth he nipped the flesh there before pulling back suddenly.

Sam hastily put the car in gear once more and in the blink of an eye - and with a small shower of gravel - flipped the car around and sped away from the seemingly never ending line. The nervous, babbling Sam from moments ago had been replaced by this Sam; confident, determined and hot. Without taking his eyes off the road, he wound his arm around you and tugged you into his side possessively. 

“So, Mr. Winchester, where to next?”

The smirk curving his lips sent a delighted shiver down your spine. 

“Not sure.” His breath tickled your ear as he leaned down to whisper. “But don’t worry. I promised you a double-feature and I plan to give you one.”

Like what you see? Want more? My SPN Masterlist is here, and MCU is here. Thanks for reading! :)

FYI I’ve updated my tag list, so if you don’t see your name below and want to, send me an ask. Weirdos are for everything, Heroes is MCU and Hunters is for SPN.

Weirdos: 

@hannahindie​​ @amanda-teaches​​ @ellen-reincarnated1967​​ @feelmyroarrrr​​ @masksandtruths​​ @princessmisery666​​  @jamielea81​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @becs-bunker​​ @super100012​​ @shy-violet-soul​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @impandagrl​​ @donnaintx​​

Hunters:

@deanwanddamons​ @iwantthedean​ @pretty-fortune​ @sgarrett49​ @defenderrosetyler​ @sandlee44​ @deanwanddamons​ @lyarr24 @akshi8278​

[bluesteelchester]

Race to Center - Chapter One

Summary: Nightmares have invaded your dreams, just as midterms crank up the heat on your semester. Things get even more stressful when two FBI agents come to ask you some questions.

Series Masterlist

Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel, OC (Angels), Reader Pairings: None yet in this chapter Word Count: 1,362 Warnings: Angst, Language, Canonical Violence A/N: It’s been a long time off. I apologize for a long wait. (Good thing I kept notes hm?) Hope you enjoy the first chapter. Feedback is always greatly appreciated.

Your eyes stung, as the sky grew painfully bright. You couldn’t believe what was happening. It was as if the sun itself was crashing to Earth. Thousands of brilliantly streaking comets were falling from above. 

The earth was trembling beneath you, splitting into wide canyons. The stench of brimstone burning your lungs and bringing you to your knees coughing. High-pitched shrieks were bursting forth from below, as bony and battered hands tore at you. Fear was quickly overtaking you. It didn’t matter how hard you tried, escaping their grasp was impossible, as the creatures drew themselves up from the earth. Their hollow and tormented eyes met yours.  You screamed. Tears were falling down your cheeks as you attempted to wrench yourself free. Their grip was only growing tighter, your struggling growing frantic with each breath…  

- Your alarm blared loudly next to your ear, as you struggled to pull an arm free from the sheets tightly entangling about you. Smacking the snooze button, you groaned and sat up. It was the third time this week that you’d had this dream. Including the times from last week, would make it five. Stretching, you reached back and wiped the sweat from your neck. Your pillow and sheets were drenched. Again? None of this made any sense.

At first you thought this was all just a result of the stress from your midterms. After all, you were taking an extra course to get ahead this semester… but you rarely ever had the same dream twice. And these were just so vivid… and so violent. They’d wake you up in the middle of the night screaming. At times shaking so violently that it would take you hours to fall back asleep. Something was wrong, and you were beginning to wonder if you needed help.

“So lemme get this straight… he’s already here?” Dean asked between bites of eggs and bacon.

“Correct. The brands only appear once Michael’s lieutenant has taken up their vessel.”

Taking a sip of coffee, Sam looked around the café. “But you don’t have any clue who it is?”

Castiel shook his head curtly, “No. Michael had very few confidants, and not many of those survived the fall from Heaven… but there are rumors one may have survived. Other angels have noticed the change and are looking for him as well…”

“Great! Nothing like hunting for a douchebag with nothing to go on…” Wiping his hands, Dean stood. “—let’s get started.”

Finishing the last of his gluten-free toast, Sam joined his brother. “Hey Cas, Dean and I are heading to the police department to see what we can dig up… see what you can find on your end?” 

The angel nodded and disappeared.

______________________________________________________________________

Lazily, you tapped your foot along to the beat from your earbuds as you waited on the light to turn. It was barely quarter to five and you were on your second large cup of coffee for the day. The familiar, paced beep of the crossing light sounded and you stepped from the curb. Maybe it was because you were so exhausted but you never even saw it.

The car horn blasted, your coffee flying from your grip, as you were violently jerked out of the way. Falling back to the curb, your heart was thundering. You looked around bewildered. There was your drink, spilled on the street… but the person you were certain had pulled you from harm’s way? Nowhere.  It was certain. The stress was getting to you. You were beginning to crack. 

Dusting yourself off, you took one last look around for your hero. 

“Get it together…” you reasoned, pulling your scarf tight.

You had too much to do before the night was over to be losing your mind.

 ______________________________________________________________________

“Well that was a complete waste of time…” Dean huffed, taking a long drag of coffee from his styrofoam cup. 

The sun was setting, and they were no better off than when they had started that morning. Security footage from all of the vandalized funeral homes had shown no signs of any break ins. Not a soul or even a ‘staticky’ disturbance on the screen. No one had been there.

Sam slumped against the impala, crossing his arms. “You suppose Cas has found anything…?”

As if on cue, a gravelly voice announced his arrival. “- Dean.”

“Whaddya got Cas?”

“I have as they say, the good and the bad news…” He shrugged.

Rubbing his forehead, Dean could just feel a headache starting in. “Well, it couldn’t just be a milk run, now could it…?  Start with the bad first.”

Dipping his head, Cas began, “I have discovered which lieutenant of Michael’s is the Trumpeter…”

Dean frowned. “But…”

The angel’s expression became somber. “John. However… John perished during the fall from Heaven… ” 

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Cas, how is it possible for this to be happening if John isn’t in his vessel? Is another angel doing this?” 

Dean nodded in agreement.

Cas held up his hands in pause. “I do not have reason to believe that another angel could use John’s vessel… at least not to its true potential as he would have. It seems that somehow, even in his absence the vessel has become active without the need of its host.”

The three exchanged  worried looks.

“So you’re telling me there’s an unmanned nuke walking around town….?” Dean opened the trunk of the impala, his eyes wandering over the tools at his disposal. “How do we even find, let alone stop something like that?” He briefly ran his fingers longingly over the grenade launcher, with a small smile.

“Is this where you tell us some good news Cas?” Sam prompted.

“Yes.” He replied. “I have discovered some information that could help us narrow down the area where this individual may reside… ”

Pulling a map of the town from his trench coat, he smoothed it out across the hood of the car. 

“These circles are the funeral homes where the deceased were branded…” he gestured with a broad stroke of his hand.

Looking over his shoulder, Sam pointed at an empty space on the map. “Cas, what about this empty space in the middle of them all?”

Cas provided a light sigh, “I was getting to that… That I believe is where the vessel resides, as all the affected funeral homes are within equal distance of this area.”

“- It doesn’t look like that big of an area. What’s the catch?” Sam continued, tracing the area with his fingers.

Dean peered over at the legend, and read aloud. “UNIVERSITY OF MASSACHUSETTS  - AMHERST… Great.”

Cas shrugged, folding the map back up. “We will have to discover who the vessel is quickly. As their power increases they will become more easily perceptible to other angels, as you and Sam once were as vessels.”

Dean instinctively winced, grasping his ribs. “Dickbags. What’re we waiting for? Let’s get over there before those vultures can… ”

______________________________________________________________________

Wearily, you looked up at your fifth-floor bedroom window and smiled. Maybe tonight you’d finally get some sleep? You definitely earned it after two long exams, and a lecture from a professor without an off-switch. You dragged each foot up the set of steps to the front door of your apartment complex. Fumbling with your keys, you stopped.

“Excuse us… - Miss. We know it’s very late, but we were wondering if you could answer a few questions for us?”

You turned slightly on your heel. It was late. Two men in suits and ties were approaching you. Why?

You cautiously slid your keys between your knuckles. “Help with what…? It’s very late. I’d like to go to bed.”

Coming to rest just short of you, the two men each reached into their jacket pockets, and in sync flipped open a pair of FBI badges.

“Again we’re very sorry Miss… but this is urgent business. It can’t wait.” The taller one spoke softly, offering an apologetic smile.

“I’m Agent Hall. This is my partner, Agent Oates. As we mentioned, we need to ask you a few questions...” The shorter man interjected, pocketing his credentials. 

What were a pair of FBI agents doing on your doorstep at 11 o’clock on a Tuesday night?

_____________________________________________________________________

TAGS: @its-not-show-its-a-lifestyle @whimsicalrobots @eurusholmmes

[ultrastimpaks]

tag game | 5 songs from your oc’s playlist

For Whom The Bell Tolls - Metallica

Desolation Row - My Chemical Romance

Before I Forget - Slipknot

Cowboys From Hell - Pantera

Máscara - Pitty

     1. Thanks, I Hate It - Simple Creatures

     2. Soy Bomb - Honest Bob And The Factory-To-Dealer Incentives

     3. Elephant - Tame Impala

     4. LEMONS - Brye

     5. I Hope You Die In A Fire - Grand Commander

     1. Heart Attack - LOONA

     2. LA DI DA - Everglow

     3. Sunshine, Lollipops And Rainbows - Lesley Gore

     4. Together - Sia

     5. ... Baby One More Time - Britney Spears

     1. Creature Comfort - Arcade Fire

     2. FEVER - INK.

     3. In Cold Blood - Alt-J

     4. Misery - The Maine

     5. Vampire Money - My Chemical Romance

     1. POP/STARS - K/DA

     2. Horns - Bryce Fox

     3. Bad Guy - Billie Eilish

     4. Chase Me - DREAMCATCHER

     5. Keep Your Hands Off My Girl - Good Charlotte

     1. Even Flow - Pearl Jam

     2. Song 2 - Blur

     3. Bullet The Blue Sky - U2

     4. Cheap Thrills - Night Cap

     5. Weight Of Love - The Black Keys

     1. Eyes On Fire - Blue Foundation

     2. Twice As Hard - Interpol

     3. Bad Moon Rising - Creedence Clearwater Revival

     4. Black Sheep - Metric

     5. Michelle - Sir Chloe

     1. Worst Of Times - Bread & Butter

     2. Stupid Cupid - Connie Francis

     3. Bron-Y-Aur Stomp - Led Zeppelin

     4. Here It Goes Again - Ok Go

     5. The Less I Know The Better - Tame Impala

     1. Feel It Still - Portugal. The Man

     2. Lethal Enforcer - We Are Scientists

     3. Sugar, We’re Going Down - Fall Out Boy

     4. Sunshine - Trapdoor Social

     5. Dancing On Glass - St. Lucia

     1. Mess Around - Cage The Elephant

     2. Gold Rush - Death Cab For Cutie

     3. Shame - Elle King

     4. Girl Who Cried Wolf - Ashe

     5. Bad Idea! - Girl In Red