(also known as “thor 1 loki that precious little bean my love uwu”)
Request: @saltyxaltae-real : when loki (during thor I)comes down to odin's vault, he walks in an argument between the reader andthe all-father (which would be about hisheritage,) finding out the truth causes outrage, and he has no one else to take it out on but you when odin falls into the odinsleep. these moments plague him for the rest of the day and when he's had enough, he lets himself rethink it all; then and there he realizes...you care for him. so much. and most definitely more than anyone else has.(kinda cliche but its literally 2.35 amsojust bear with what almost-3am-mewants)
A/N: I hope it’s what your almost-3am you would like! It was actually the first time I have written a reader that was Asgardian and I actually liked it even tho I’m more of a “Midgardian Reader” person.
Big thank you to my betas! They write their own stories, too! I highly recommend them! You can find them on @high-functioning-lokipath @shawarmavenger and @avengersbau masterlists.
Pairing: Loki x Asgardian Reader (gender neutral)
Loki’s pronouns: he/they
Word count: 3072
Warnings: some angst, Odin’s A+ parenting
Summary: As a healer your job was to take care of the staff in the palace but when the younger prince comes to you in the middle of the night a secret is revealed and bad chioces are made.
Tag List: @twhiddlestonsstuff @dreamingyouth @xladyxfatex @castiels-majestic-wings @lokistan @amwolowicz @cozy-the-overlord @whatafuckingdumbass @electroma89 @dpaccione @gaitwae @poetic-fiasco @lokitrashfan @weirdfangirl2416 @rorybutnotgilmore @the-emo-asgardian (If you want to be added let me know in the comments or send me an ask)
Being a healer wasn’t the easiest job. Being a healer working for the royal family was even worse. The amount of guards you patched up during your stay in the palace was uncountable. On rare occasions you even got to help the princes. Most of the time it was Thor who injured himself during a battle but you’ve been seeing Loki in your medical wing more often than usual. It’s never been anything dangerous-twisted ankle, a cut, bloody nose- but you always talked for hours after you were done tending to his wounds. Loki became your good friend. Until things went south.
It was late at night when Loki knocked on your door. Still tired and incredibly irritated you let him only to catch his exhausted body before it hit the wooden floor.
“I didn’t know where else to go…”, Loki mumbled and lost their consciousness right after. You panicked. There was an unconscious prince in your arms in the middle of the night. What were you supposed to do? Taking a deep breath to compose yourself you dragged Loki’s body to your bedroom and laid him down on your mattress. And Norns, who would have thought the trickster was so heavy.
Now that your mind was completely awake you realized how serious this situation was. There was an heir to the throne of Asgard lying unconscious on your bed. But you didn’t have any time to worry now. He was technically your patient now. And so you got to work. You touched his face to examine it and noticed how cold it has become. If it wasn’t for Loki’s heavy breathing you would have thought the prince was dead. There were no bruises, no cuts… there was nothing. Maybe a spell went wrong and did something to the god? You will definitely ask him about it if he wakes up. No, when, when he wakes up.You had to mentally slap yourself for thinking about the possibility of Loki not waking up at all.
Making sure the trickster was comfortable, you went to your washroom to get some warm towels but when you came back the person laying on your bed did not look like Loki. Their skin was blue and had some strange markings. A Frost Giant….. But Loki was not Jötun, right? He was a son of Odin and the last time you checked no one from the royal family was a frost giant. Was it a spy who took Loki’s shape? Should you go get help? Your anxiety levels were rising dangerously high with every passing second. You were about to leave the room and shout for the guards when the weird-looking Loki mumbled your name. He sounded as if he was in a lot of pain and you really couldn’t leave them like that.
And so you got to work.
After some time the blue skin turned back to its "normal" state revealing the younger prince. By now you kinda figured out what was going on but you had to be sure your assumption was right. You were planning on asking Loki when they woke up when a thought occurred to you- did Loki even know about it? If yes, why would they hide it?
You suspected why; Jotuns weren’t very popular here on Asgard, or any realm for that matter. Then why was one of them an heir to the throne? Was Loki truly a son of Odin?
“What time is it?”, Loki’s raspy voice pulled you back from your thoughts. He opened his eyes but his head ought to still hurt because the prince closed them immediately, massaging the sides of his forehead.
“The sun will rise soon”, you replied, nervously picking at your palm. “You should go back to the palace, they are probably looking for you, Loki.”
“Oh, thank you”, they said, still feeling a little light-headed. But whatever it was that you’ve done, it definitely helped. "My little caretaker." They brought your hand to their lips and gave it a gentle kiss. “I really appreciate your help, my dear. I hope my visit didn’t disturb you much and if it did I will make it up to you, I promise.”
His smile made you feel better but when you looked Loki in the eyes all you could see was the red of his irises. Your eyes wandered along the places where the markings had been. You should be terrified but it was Loki. Your Loki.
“Are you well, darling?", the trickster asked, pulling you out of your inner battle.
“I, yes, of course I am!”, you replied a little bit too cheerfully. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”
Loki seemed to buy your lie because he only nodded and let go of your hand. You didn’t even realize they were holding it all this time.
“As I said before, I am terribly sorry if I disturbed your night.”
“There’s no need to apologize. It’s my job.”
Loki didn’t try to make further conversation and left your house immediately.
There was something wrong with you and it wasn’t sleep deprivation. The young prince knew it.
Loki followed you everywhere. They knew something wrong happened the night he paid you a visit and the young prince was determined to know what it was. At first nothing much happened because you were working with other healers until noon. You would usually go to the library after your shift but this time you headed to Odin’s chambers. That was intriguing. As you were walking you made sure no one was around, but little did you know the god of mischief knew how to stay unseen.
You were nervous. Scared even. Hundreds of different scenarios formed inside your head and they didn’t seem to stop anytime soon. Your anxiety rose with every step you took and you feared you would pass out the moment you step inside.
The trickster sensed your worries and knew he had to follow you now. Not to feed his own curiosity anymore but to make sure you will get out of there in one piece. And so he stayed close to the door after you walked inside his father’s office.
“Your Majesty,” you walked into the room and bowed. Odin looked annoyed and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of your visit or something else.
“What is it?", he greeted you, coldly. Norns, you hated that guy. When Loki heard how cold his tone was they wanted to go there and cause some chaos just to get on their father’s nerves.
“It’s about Loki, your Majesty. Something hap-” you tried to explain but the king interrupted you rudely.
“What has he done this time?” You were shocked at this comment. Was Odin not concerned about his son at all? If Loki even was his real son, that is. Why was it that if something happened everyone assumed it was Loki’s fault? It was so unfair. You wished it could change.
Loki’s face was squished to the wooden door and the prince could hear everything perfectly well. Now the real question was, what was wrong with him?
“Loki did nothing wrong,” you explained. “I am concerned about his well being. He came to me last night. He was hurt but I couldn’t figure out what happened. And then..” you swallowed heavily, remembering the events of last night. If Loki was truly a frost giant it would make him the enemy of the kingdom. What would Odin do to him? Were you betraying your friend right now? The prince held his breath as if expecting the worst possible outcome. Were they dying?
“What happened to Loki?”
“I think Loki is a-” you took a deep breath. You were doing it for your prince and a friend. It was okay. “That he’s a Frost Giant.” You were too afraid to look your king in the eyes.
It was absurd, Loki thought, scratching the door to ease his anxiety. That wouldn’t be possible. He was the son of Odin after all. His father would never allow a monster to live in the palace!
“And it will stay between us.” Odin didn’t even look up from the document he was pretending to read.
“I’m sorry?” you blinked and shook your head, not believing your own ears. Odin knew that Loki was not fully from Asgard. But if he knew why hasn’t he done anything about it? You tried so hard to find any sense in it but your brain wouldn't cooperate with you. Loki couldn't believe what they were hearing. He expected his father to laugh, say it was the most absurd thing he has ever heard. But instead he just told you to stay silent. He didn’t even deny it.
“You will not speak of this to Loki or anyone else for that matter.”
“Doesn’t Loki deserve to know?” you asked desperately, you were doing your best to change your king's mind which only earned you a cold stare. You feared he would exile you. Or worse, make you an enemy of the kingdom and execute you.
“It would be better for everyone if Loki had no knowledge of his true heritage.” The king didn’t say anything else and you took it as your queue to leave. You wouldn’t win that battle anyway. For now you had to do as he said. “Is that clear?”
“Yes, your Majesty.”
Loki was gone right after his fath-Odin stopped talking. He needed to make sure it all wasn’t just a joke. A cruel joke the universe has made to torture him further. He needed to know and needed to make sure now. And there was only one way to do it.
After the catastrophe that was this day, you came back home exhausted. You were about to take a nap when Loki burst through your door.
“How dare you?" he yelled, slamming the door against the wall. “You knew! You knew and you kept it a secret like everyone else in here!”
You looked at his face and noticed his angry tears. Loki must have found out about them being a Jötun. And you knew it didn’t go well.
“Loki, I can explain”, you put your hands up, trying to calm him down.
“Explain what?” the trickster chuckled coldly. “Explain how you knew what I was and instead of telling me you went behind my back?”
You wanted to tell them how it wasn’t true but that would be a lie. Your intentions were good but that didn’t matter now.
“Look, I-I didn’t know what else to do!” Now you were screaming too. “I was scared!”
That sentence cut through Loki’s heart deeper than any blade ever could. “Because you were scared of me, right?” he didn’t want to know the answer to that question but their fury didn’t allow Loki to feel anything else but anger and betrayal. “Don’t be shy,” he said, his face was numb, as if he couldn’t feel anything anymore. It terrified you. “Say how disgusting I looked and how petrified you were when a monster was lying on your bed.”
You stayed silent for no words could leave your mouth.
“SAY IT!” Loki shouted and you flinched. “You are nothing more than another liar who pretended to care about me. And you dared to call yourself my friend? Pathetic!”
“No, Loki it’s-”, you walked to him, wanting to explain everything. Frost giant or not they were still your friend. You were about to lay your hand on their shoulder when Loki stopped you with his hand.
“Don’t you dare touch me,” he warned you. His grip tightened and you groaned in pain. Loki didn’t seem to care and wouldn’t let you go.
“Loki, it hurts,” you struggled to free your hand but nothing worked. “You’re scaring me.”
Loki seemed to snap out of his thoughts. Their mind was still clouded by anger but the last thing Loki wanted was for you to think of them as a monster. Although, it was probably too late for that.
“Maybe you should be scared, then.” His voice broke as if their lips formed those words against their will. The god left before anymore damage could be done.
Your knees buckled, making you sit down on the cold, marble floor after Loki slammed your door with such an impact that some books had fallen from your shelf.
Neither you nor Loki could sleep that night. You because the guilt of keeping that secret was killing you and Loki, well…. Their entire life has been a lie. They were nothing but a political opportunity.
Odin had told him everything after Loki found himself before falling into Odinsleep. The trickster had to make sure it wasn’t another cruel joke made by the universe. They held the casket from Jotunheim when his so-called father came in. Loki was nothing more but a souvenir from a successful battle meant to be locked away just to remind the owner of their victory. Son of the enemy. Son of Laufey. An outcast who was left to die as a child. A monster. Because that’s what he was. Nothing more than a monster.
Your terrified face will forever hunt Loki’s mind. The anger got a hold of them and he hurt you in the process. Oh Norns, what has he done? It wasn’t like you knew about his heritage. You found out about it by accident and went to Odin because you were concerned. You were his best friend, why would Loki ever think you could betray him? Yes, they were angry you didn’t come to them first, but who could blame you? One of the princes of Asgard just turned out to be a son of the enemy, of course you were scared! Loki didn’t know if he was excusing your behaviour because you really didn’t mean any harm or because they were scared of losing you.
All those years you were the only person who understood them and Loki couldn’t think of the possibility of you not being friends anymore.
He had to fix it.
A loud banging on your door made you snap out of your thoughts. Did people know you weren’t the only medic in this godforsaken kingdom? You neither had time nor energy for bandaging one of those soldiers in training who kept bugging you.
Frustrated, you left your bed and angrily went to tell your visitor off. “It’s the last time I’m telling you this, Eirik! If you need help go to someone who actually works at night and st-”
“Who’s Eirik?” Loki’s voice cut you off. You were standing there, dumbfounded, still holding the door. The silence between you was awkward and you prayed to the Norns it all was just a dream. You didn’t know how to talk to Loki now that things were complicated between the two of you. Neither did Loki. But he had to make it work again.
Although their intentions were good, you still feared the only reason Loki came to you this time was to yell at you even more.
“May I come in?”, the prince asked, nervously picking at their palm. He looked like a lost puppy. You didn’t reply and just motioned him to come inside. “Thank you.”
The room was silent again. Both you and Loki tried to think of something to say.
“I’m sorry for-”
You would definitely giggle at the situation if it wasn’t that serious.
“Forgive me,” the trickster said, shyly. “Allow me to go first?” you nodded and sat down, pointing at the stool next to Loki. “I can stand, that’s no problem.” Norns, he was so nervous. You wished you could embrace them and make all his worries disappear. But no you were one of the main sources of his worry. “I am incredibly sorry for the way I spoke to you earlier. I was angry….I still am, but that doesn’t excuse my behaviour and I am so, so sorry-” Loki kept repeating the same thing like a broken recorder and if you didn’t know better you’d think he would collapse any moment now.
“Loki, stop it.” You stood up and put your hands on their shoulder to try and help him calm down. “It’s not your fault. I am the one who should apologize. I should have never keep it a secret.”
“What choice did you have? I heard you when you were talking with fath-, with Odin,” they confessed, embarrassed. “I know I shouldn’t have done that but it doesn’t matter now. I couldn’t deal with all of this and I took it out on you and I’m-”
“Sorry, I know,” you gave him an empathetic smile. Your hand wandered to Loki’s face, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. “You’ve been saying that a lot since you came here. I’m sorry, too. For not telling you first.”
Loki leaned into your touch. “Now that you know what I am,” they looked at your face as if trying to memorize every detail of it. “Do you think I am a monster, too?”
“Loki,” you had to pause. Is that what he thought he was? A monster? Jötuns weren’t very popular among Asgardians but Loki wasn’t evil! You weren’t even sure if the frost giants were evil at all in the first place or if it was another lie told by Odin to make people feel afraid. “I never, ever in my entire life thought of you as a monster! You are the best thing that happened in my life.”
Loki tried to find any signs of you lying to him but your words seemed to be true. You really cared, didn’t you?
“I really needed someone to say that, you know?”, their voice broke as tears flooded in his eyes. It was as if the dam broke, releasing all the sadness that Loki bottled up. “I don’t even know who I am supposed to be now.”
“Be who you want to be, Loki,” you embraced him tightly. “Don’t let anyone dictate you what to be. Not Odin and Frigga, not Thor or anyone else in the universe. I will support you no matter what.”
“You are truly an angel,” the prince said, wiping away the tears on their face. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve you, but I’m glad to have you.”
“I could say the same, Loki.”
Title: Breaking Point (part five of the ‘Buried Secrets’ series)
Summary: Dean realises exactly how badly he messed up - but you’re not ready to forgive him. When you and Sam get even closer on a hunt, how much of a rift will be driven between you and Dean? Will you ever be able to cross it?
Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader (fem pronouns) (mostly sam x reader in this part)
Warnings: some swearing, Angst™, canon-typical violence, also more angst :(
Word Count: 4,811 (its a long one, sorry...)
note; ok so this part is based around 11x07, ‘Plush’ - I stayed somewhat true to canon but ended up tying up the hunt a lot more quickly and easily than the episode for my own convenience lmao. also sam isn’t having the visions from “God” in this series, at least it’s not gonna be brought up bc that’s all just A Lot for me to try and keep track of and i wanna keep focus on the fic plot not canon lol, sorry! anyways hope u enjoy this part!
Part One | Two | Three | Four
It was too bright, and his head hurt. It was almost enough to make him forget the events that had transpired the night prior - almost.
Dean rubbed his tired eyes as he stumbled to the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee as he bit back a yawn. He poured a cup and stared at the nearly-full pot for a few moments before realising no one was coming to join him. Right - Sam had taken your side.
The anger raging through his veins had burned out long ago, replaced only with a hollow feeling of guilt that made him feel sick to his stomach as his brutal words bounced around the chambers of his mind. The hurt in your eyes was branded into his brain, and he clenched his jaw as he recalled your timid voice, your shaking hands as you fled from him as though you were scared of him.
As if he could ever hurt you.
But you did, his brain whispered. Dean slammed his mug down on the table, hot coffee splashing onto his hands, the tiny droplets scalding his skin as he swore and shook them off. He clenched his fist midair, bringing it to crash back against the wood of the table. He felt so guilty - why did he feel so guilty? You lied to him, lied to Sam, to Cas, to everyone - and he was the one feeling bad?
But the spark of anger fizzled before it could grow, and he resolved to set his feelings aside, at least for now. He was good at that - avoiding things. It was practically in his Winchester genes to ignore his emotions until they broke him. And he wasn’t at breaking point - not yet, at least.
Dean’s fingers found his phone, and he toyed with it absentmindedly, thumb hovering over your number, and then Sam’s. After staring at it a little longer than he’d have liked to admit, he slipped it back into his pocket. You weren’t coming back - not yet, at least. But even though you were gone, Amara was still a threat. Weird connection to her or not, he needed to find a way to get rid of her.
Assigning his pain to the backseat, Dean hit the books.
The eldest Winchester started awake, the shape of the book before him sharply imprinted onto his cheek. He rubbed it, wincing his bleary eyes at the discomfort.
“Cas?” he groaned. “What is it?”
“Have you slept?” The angel’s voice was weighed with concern, and Dean rolled his eyes.
“Obviously,” he muttered, wiping the dried spit crusted at the corner of his mouth as he swallowed back the unpleasant taste an unexpected nap always left. “Found anything?”
“Nothing new,” Cas said, glancing around the empty bunker. “Where are Y/N and Sam? Shouldn’t they be helping you research?” he asked disapprovingly, and Dean chuckled dryly.
“I haven’t heard from them in two days,” he said, plastering on a humourless grin. Castiel’s brow creased.
“Are they on a hunt? They could be hurt, we should-”
“No, they’re not on- Y/N’s a witch,” Dean blurted, and Castiel’s eyebrows flitted skywards in surprise.
“You heard me,” Dean growled, turning back to the books. “She- she used a hex bag on me, so I kicked her out. Sam went after her - texted me, told me not to follow ‘em.”
“That doesn’t sound like Y/N,” Cas remarked, and Dean scoffed.
“Yeah, tell me about it. She said it was to help me, whatever that’s meant to mean,” he muttered. Cas gave him a knowing look, and Dean’s defences shot up.
“What? I’m fine, I don’t need help!” he said angrily, and Cas made a disbelieving sound.
“Right. Of course not. Have you considered that Y/N might just have been worried about you, and really did want to help?” Cas prompted, and Dean rolled his eyes.
“Of course I have, Cas. But that doesn’t justify her lying about being a monster! We’ve known her years, and she never told us the truth!” he exclaimed. Cas hummed disapprovingly.
“Dean, you know that witches aren’t all bad. You just happen to have a great deal of experience weeding out the… bad apples,” he said slowly. “Can you really blame her for keeping it a secret, considering how you’ve reacted?”
Dean’s jaw ticked, and your teary face flashed again into his mind. He wondered how long you’d cried - if Sam had comforted you, like the big softie he was. If you’d thought about him at all the last few days. If you wished he’d reacted differently. ‘Cos god, he was wishing that right about now, too.
“She-she’s dangerous,” Dean protested lamely.
“If you really believed that, you would never have let Sam go after her alone,” Cas reminded him gently, and he couldn’t find the words to argue back. He let his eyes fall on the yellowed paper before him, the fading ink blurring into a meaningless jumble of letters as he struggled to make sense of the mass of emotions tangled amongst his thoughts.
“Why was I so angry?” he asked eventually. “She lied to me, and- and I was so pissed. But now I just… I miss her,” he admitted. Cas offered a tight, sympathetic smile.
“You do have a tendency to lash out when you’re hurt,” he informed the Winchester. “I know that better than most. And it’s understandable that you could feel… betrayed,” Castiel continued slowly, and Dean grunted in agreement.
“Yeah, well, she did lie to me,” he muttered.
“So has Sam. And I, in the past. Don’t be angry, but… you do tend to latch onto small things to push people away. And I know,” Cas interjected as Dean opened his mouth to protest, “this isn’t exactly a tiny secret. But I think that the reason why she kept it was quite clear. The real question is - why did you feel the need to push her away in the first place?”
Dean swallowed hard, hating that the angel was right in his analysis, and hating even more how obvious the answer seemed to him now. Why had he pushed you away, just as you were starting to get close?
The answer came to him as easily as the alphabet. Because he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve your concern, your care, your smiles. And above all, he certainly didn’t deserve your love. He didn’t deserve to be happy with you - he knew he’d only bring you down.
And so, Dean had done what Dean did best - found a means to push you away. To alienate himself from you, so that even if he changed his mind, you wouldn’t want to be with him after the way he had wronged you. So that you could be free of him. And it just so happened that your newly exposed identity as a witch was the perfect excuse to slice a rift between you.
Dean ran his hands over his face as he groaned. “God, Cas, she was just trying to help. She was trying to help me and I was such a fucking dick to her. How do I go back from that?” he asked helplessly, voice cracking as he raised his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. The angel’s face was solemn.
“I’d imagine you start with an apology.”
Dean sighed, mouth half open to speak when his phone vibrated against the table. His jaw fell closed, and he shot Cas a tense look before holding the phone up to his ear.
“Dean,” he muttered.
“Hiya, Dean!” Donna’s cheerful voice greeted. “Look, it could be nothing, but I might have a case for ya…”
You glanced up from your book as Sam’s phone vibrated across the room - the youngest Winchester had gone for a walk to clear his head from the seemingly endless lore and news articles the two of you had been picking apart since your hasty departure from the bunker. Sighing, you heaved yourself to your feet, rubbing at your temple absentmindedly as you glanced at the caller ID.
Breath catching in your throat, you set your jaw and purposefully declined the call. Thoughts of the eldest Winchester didn’t bring you sadness, not anymore - instead, they fuelled your system with rage. How could he treat you like that, say those things to you after all you’d been through together? You humphed in annoyance, and just as you were about to re-take your seat, the phone began its incessant buzzing once more. Defeated, you held the phone up to your ear, bracing yourself for what was to come.
“Sam’s phone,” you said tersely, and the line fell dead silent.
“Y/N?” Dean asked, voice barely rising above a whisper. You cleared your throat, careful to keep your voice steady as you responded.
“That’s me - the one you kicked out, remember?” you said brightly, though your voice was underlaid with acidic anger that corroded your cheerful tone.
“I remember,” Dean muttered. “Y/N, I-”
The door opened, and you exhaled in relief as you pulled the phone from your ear. “Sam, it’s your brother,” you said stiffly, and Sam quirked an eyebrow before accepting the phone in your extended hand.
“Dean?” he asked in surprise, and you picked up your book again as Sam walked into the bathroom, closing the door while he continued the conversation with his brother. You heard his voice rise in irritation, but after a few more moments, he walked out with a defeated expression.
“Donna needs help on a hunt,” he said apologetically, beginning to gather his things. You jumped up and began to prepare your own, but paused at the confused expression clouding Sam’s face.
“Uh… Dean’s gonna be there. You don’t have to come,” he told you, and you shrugged half-heartedly.
“I feel so cooped up in here, I honestly don’t care. A hunt would do me some good - help me get out some pent up anger,” you explained, and Sam frowned but didn’t object again. “So, what are we looking at?” you asked.
“Uh, Dean said something about a “killer bunny,” Sam said, and you shot him a confused look.
“That’s all he said - it might not even be our kind of thing. I say we go down, give Donna some peace of mind, and if it’s not our kinda gig we let the police take it from there,” he said, and you nodded.
“Yeah. Okay. Let’s hop on down and check out this killer bunny,” you said, smiling cheekily. Sam groaned.
“Really, Y/N?” he asked, though his tone was tinged with amusement. “Puns?”
“Hey, maybe it was an accident - you really ought to stop jumping to conclusions,” you defended, and he rolled his eyes.
“An accident? Yeah, I doubt it - you’re hardly being subtle,” he replied, and you grinned slyly.
“I guess you could even say I’m dangling a carrot in front of your face,” you pressed, and Sam turned to you in exasperation.
“You done?” he asked, despite the smile playing on his features. You grinned.
“Not even close.”
“Well, I’m putting an official ban on rabbit puns for at least the ride down,” Sam said, and you pouted.
“Why?” you whined, and he shot you a playful grin.
“They’re just not bunny.”
A pun-filled car ride later, the two of you strode into Donna’s precinct in your FBI getups, where Dean was already waiting for you.
“Sorry if we’re a hare late, traffic was a nightmare,” you greeted, pointedly ignoring Dean as you gave a laughing Donna a hug. Sam rolled his eyes fondly, and you winked at him before your sights fell on Dean. His eyes met yours, and he quickly lowered his gaze, clearing his throat before turning to Donna.
“So, what makes you think this is our kind of thing?” he asked. Donna explained the situation - gruesome murder, and an apprehended perp whose mask refused to budge. You whistled as she finished.
“Well, it’s certainly a hare-raising tail, but I’m not sure it’s our thing,” you said with a mischievous smile. Donna laughed, Sam rolled his eyes affectionately, and Dean tried a tentative smile of his own.
You ignored it.
“Yeah, but if uh, you’ve got a wild hare...” he added playfully. “See what I did there?” Donna laughed again, but you rolled your eyes and acted as though he hadn’t spoken, refusing to even meet his gaze. His heart sank, and the smile fell from his face.
A short while later, Donna led the three of you to the holding cells, where you frowned at the sight before you.
“Any witnesses?” Sam asked, and Donna nodded.
“Ex-wife - thought she was next, but the bunny just up and walked out the door!” she exclaimed.
“You ID him yet?” Dean queried, and Donna shook her head.
“Nope. No wallet, cell… ran his prints, but no prior record. Couldn’t even get our hands on him long enough to check for any identifying marks. Only thing we do know is he’s caucasian, roughly eighteen to twenty-five… and terrifying,” she breathed.
Donna was called away by Officer Stover, leaving the three of you, plus bunny, alone. You frowned, stepping closer and squinting at the bloodied mask.
“Are we sure it’s not just a really committed furry?” you asked slowly. Sam’s brow furrowed.
Dean frantically shook his head at his brother. “You don’t wanna know,” he interrupted, and the exaggerated fear in his voice brought a smile to your face. You quickly composed your expression, clearing your throat as Dean stepped forward and threw some mocking quips at the masked figure.
“What, took too much molly? Super-glued your mask to your head? Got paranoid, stabbed a guy? Been there,” he chuckled, and you scoffed. Dean turned around, frowning at your reaction, and the bunny seized the moment of distraction to grab him by the neck and slam him against the bars of the holding cell.
Sam busted out the holy water, to no avail. “Not a demon,” he remarked. You stood to the side, panic flaring in your chest at the sight of Dean struggling. No no no no no!
“Well, he’s strong!” Dean snapped, and Sam grabbed the bunny’s hands, trying to pry them off his brother’s neck. You rubbed your temple, trying to soothe your stress headache and willing yourself to think when it hit you.
“Wait, I’ve got this,” you muttered, pushing Sam back as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.
“Any time now, Y/N!” Dean pressed.
“Shut it!” you snapped, before thrusting your hands forward. A surge of power had the attacker flying backwards and slamming into the wall. It didn’t seem to faze him - he got to his feet and stood perfectly still, those fake, glassy eyes seeming to stare straight at you. Dean winced, rubbing at his neck. As the adrenaline seeped from your veins, you felt your headache fade away.
“Thanks,” Dean muttered, and you folded your arms, resolutely ignoring him. Meanwhile, Sam’s eyes fell on the bunny’s t-shirt - Minnesota Tech - and the tattoo on his arm - ‘Kylie Forever’.
“Kylie forever,” he mused. “That’ll work.”
It didn’t take you long to compile a list of potential ‘Kylie’s’, and Dean whistled at the length of it. “Alright, Y/N and I will take the first ten. Sam, you can-”
You cleared your throat. “Uh, actually, I’ll go with Sam,” you interjected, and Dean raised his brows in surprise.
“But- but we always team up,” he objected, voice ringing with hurt. You shot him a tight smile.
“Yeah, well I wouldn’t want you to have to swallow your disgust, would I?” you spat, and Dean flinched at your words as the reality of the situation crashed over him. How could he forget?
“Listen, Y/N…” he began, but you shook your head.
“Just… leave it,” you grumbled. “We’ll check in later. C’mon, Sam,” you dismissed, grabbing Sam’s arm and walking away. Sam shot his brother an apologetic shrug, letting you guide him towards the exit.
Dean watched as you left, expelling a deep sigh as he ran his hand over the side of his face before shaking his head to himself. He jumped when Donna’s voice echoed from behind him.
“What’d’ya do to get her knickers all up in a bunch?” she asked, and Dean barked a dry laugh that died on his lips.
“I messed up, is what I did,” he informed her. “Things were good. Great. Better than, even - we were… well, we were about to be somethin’, anyways, but I… said some things I shouldn’t have. And now I dunno if she can forgive me. If I even deserve to be forgiven.”
Donna frowned. “Sounds like you should try apologising, bud. Don’t be afraid to go real sappy, neither, just make sure ya bein’ honest,” she advised, and Dean grunted.
“Yeah, I would if she’d actually talk to me,” he scoffed, and Donna hummed.
“Well, if she needs space, you gotta give it to her,” she said simply. “Can’t expect a girl to give ya a civil conversation if you didn’t give her one to start with, can ya? Piece of advice, though - if ya wanna patch things up, ya betta get in sooner rather than later. She and Sam are lookin’ real chummy,” she said, elbowing him slyly. He frowned.
“Her and Sam? No way. Really?”
Donna whistled. “Oh, yeah. Besta luck,” she said, patting him lightly on the back. “Catch ya later.”
As the blonde left, Dean stood for a moment, stewing in his own overwhelming emotions and chewing on the advice Donna had offered. You clearly wanted your space… and if you really were moving away from him and towards Sam… well, wasn’t pushing you away exactly what he’d wanted in the first place? Wouldn’t it be better for you to be with his kind, thoughtful brother instead of being stuck with… well, whatever kind of a mess Dean himself was?
He sighed, shaking his head and ignoring the hollow aching in his chest as he forced himself back to work. He could deal with this later - he wasn’t at breaking point.
It didn’t take long for the puzzle pieces to fall together - once you realised you were dealing with a ghost and managed to piece together a list of the costumes he was attached to, it took near no time at all to sort it out between you, Sam, Dean and Donna. You’d stuck with Sam the whole time, communicating with the others in quick phone calls and texts.
Sam was by your side when you tossed a match on the final costume, watching the fire sear through the fabric and the reeking smoke drift into the air as the ghost of Chester Johnson was eaten up by the tongues of hungry, flickering flames. You exhaled heavily as silence fell across the forest the two of you had found yourselves in, an echoing quiet broken only by the crackling of the fire.
“Well, that’s that,” you murmured. Sam swallowed, nodding.
“Yeah. Nice work.”
A smile sloped your lips. “You too. Now what?”
Sam’s phone buzzed before he could reply, and he tugged it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before his eyes met yours.
“Now we meet up with Dean and Donna,” he said. You were quiet.
“Y/N… maybe you should listen to what he has to say. It seems like-”
“I can’t, Sam. Not right now, not after he… it’s just too soon,” you mumbled, and Sam offered a tight, sympathetic smile.
“Yeah. I get it. But you can’t stay mad at him forever,” he reminded you. You averted your gaze, eyes cast downwards.
“I know. But… I can’t forget. Not yet.”
Sam’s eyes softened, and he rested his hand soothingly on the curve of your waist. You ignored the stutter of your heart.
“Come on, let’s get back.”
The car ride back to the station was quick to draw the lingering tension between the two of you, replacing it with easy banter and refreshing laughter that still bubbled on your lips as the two of you stumbled into Dean.
“Hey - is it done?” he asked, and Sam nodded.
“Yeah - he’s gone. Everything’s burned,” Sam confirmed, and Dean grinned, clapping his brother on the back.
“Great work, Sammy!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s Sam,” he corrected affectionately, and Dean brushed him off with a nonchalant,
“Pssh.” He turned to you. “Good work, Y/N - you always could handle yourself on a hunt,” he complimented, and the smile died on your lips. Your jaw was taut as you avoided his gaze.
“Yeah. Thanks,” you muttered. As much as a small part of you appreciated that Dean was making somewhat of an effort, the memories of that fateful night weren’t so easily erased. Years of friendship reduced to ashes in a single moment as Dean’s rage sent you packing - the echoes of his words still cut you, and you were yet to determine whether their scars would be permanent. At any rate, you knew you weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.
Dean sighed. “Look, Y/N… can we talk?”
You half scoffed, feeling your defensive walls rise as you shook your head. “You didn’t exactly give me the liberty of a discussion the other night, did you?”
Your words came out harsher than you intended, and you felt a flicker of guilt at the hurt in Dean’s eyes that you quickly forced yourself to quell. Dean shook his head in disbelief, the action paired with a sharp intake of breath as your words slammed into him like a brick.
“C’mon, man… I was angry. It was a lot to take in, you can’t expect me to just-”
“Dean,” Sam warned, cutting his brother off before he could raise his voice. Dean took a breath, nodding, and you interrupted him as he opened his mouth to speak.
“Whatever, Dean. I’ll be seeing you.” The words were cold, your tone colder as you spun on your heel, stalking back to the car. Despite the hurt welling in your chest, you found yourself half-hoping that he’d follow you, that he’d properly apologise, that things could go back to some semblance of normal…
But Dean watched as you left, Donna’s words ringing in his head. “If she needs space, you gotta give it to her.” As much as every bone in his body longed to follow you, to hug you and kiss you and whisper the words that would fix everything, he stayed put. There were no magic words, no embraces nor kisses that could fix the mess he had made.
And so, with a heavy heart, he let you leave.
The car ride back to the motel was draped with a silence so thick you could have sliced it with a butter knife. You didn’t want to think, not right now, so you busied yourself staring out the window at the scenery, leached navy and grey in the moonlight. The road was quiet at this time - the two of you were alone, your only company the yellow glow of the headlights bouncing back at you from the green road signs you passed.
You could feel another headache coming on, so you popped some aspirin and swallowed them dry. The pills were bitter and powdery as they started to crumble on your tongue, and you winced as you finally got them down. Sam glanced over at you when he heard the crinkle of the aluminium sheet of tablets, but maintained his silence.
When he pulled into the parking lot, you headed to the room in sullen silence. You collapsed onto your bed still fully clothed, kicking off your shoes as you sighed. Your conversation with Dean had left a hollow sensation in your chest you weren’t quite certain how to shake. Glancing over at Sam, you saw him climbing into bed and shooting a concerned glance your way. You met it with a ghost of a smile.
“Do you mind…”
He chuckled. “C’mon,” he invited, nodding to his bed. A breathy laugh fell from your lips as you crawled into his bed, letting him tuck you against his chest. You’d slept beside him every night you’d stayed in the motel thus far - his warm presence helped you drift off better than any of your hex bags ever could. Your magic couldn’t replicate the gentle rise and fall of his chest, nor the patterns his fingers would trace over your spine.
“This is just a mess, isn’t it?” you asked weakly, and felt the sudden sinking of Sam’s torso as he sighed.
“Maybe a little,” he allowed, shooting you a small smile that you instinctively returned.
“I just… I don’t know how to feel. I wish things could just go back to the way they were, but… that’s not going to happen, is it? Not now that he knows,” you whispered. “God, I wish I wasn’t… me. Everything would be so much easier.” Sam fell into a thoughtful silence, and you almost thought he’d fallen asleep until his voice broke the comfortable quiet hanging over the room.
“Things won’t be the same,” he said eventually. “But… maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe this is something you needed, something to push you towards…” He trailed off, sighing again as he shook his head. “I dunno. But I don’t think you should just give up on things getting better,” he said. “And you definitely shouldn’t regret being true to yourself. You… God, you’re incredible, Y/N. And if Dean can’t see that, then that’s his loss.”
You smiled at his soothing words, glancing up at him in the darkness. Shadows clung to his skin, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the perfect disarray of his hair. He caught you staring and chuckled, the dimples in his cheeks protruding at the action.
“Thanks, Sammy,” you said eventually, and he shook his head, fingers moving to comb through your hair, gently tugging out the knots. You stared at him a moment longer, your lips forming your next words before you’d even realised you’d spoken.
“Why do you let me call you Sammy? You always correct Dean,” you realised, and Sam laughed sheepishly, the sound swallowed by the darkness. He shrugged.
“I dunno. I guess… when Dean says it, I know he’s seeing me as just his kid brother. But when you say it… it feels different. Almost comforting.” He shrugged again, ducking his head in embarrassment. “That probably sounds stupid…”
You shook your head. “No - not at all,” you breathed, breath catching as his eyes flitted to yours. You were vaguely aware that at some point during your conversation your headache had faded, the space it occupied replaced with Sam’s smile, the warmth of his voice, and solid presence of his arms around you.
His proximity seemed to become more apparent as you became aware of your heart thumping against your ribs. If he noticed, he kept it to himself, though you knew there was no way he could miss the sudden hitch in your breathing as he adjusted to nestle you snug against his side. The simple, caring movement unleashed a wave of emotions you’d been fighting to hold back for longer than you cared to admit - feelings you’d bottled up and pushed away, dismissing them as faint impossibilities, distant fantasies that would never see the light of day.
And so, how fitting it was that you found your breaking point under the dark protection of the night.
Before you could stop yourself, your mouth was slanting against his, sleepy and soft and slow. Sam froze beneath you, and you quickly pulled back, but before you could panic he was returning his lips to yours. Your eyes fell closed as his thumb found the side of your face, brushing along your cheekbone as he tilted your chin up to gain better access to your mouth. Sam’s hand wandered to your waist, clutching you close against him as he twisted his neck to deepen the kiss, the press of his mouth on yours a far more important cause than maintaining his own comfort; your smile, captured in the gentle exploration of his lips over yours, made the straining of his muscles worth it.
But as all good things do, the kiss came to an end. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face as you leaned into Sam’s chest, closing your eyes as his lips found your hair, whispering his goodnight into your scalp. But as sleep began to carry you off in her gentle waves, your mind couldn’t help but drift to Dean - in the bunker that felt more than a thousand miles away, the other side of his bed cold but for the empty bottle he was surely nursing. Dean - still sleeping alone.
His tired, green eyes were the last sight your mind conjured, before sleep finally washed you away.
Read part six here!
Buried Secrets tags: @clarinette07 @demonsofhunting @carryon-doctor-lock @coupleofgoons @colie87 @non-exclusive-trash @txnii-hxrdyy @spaghettiwoes
Forever Tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme @spnlovr73 @kina666 @liviaolivia @simplyxparker @helpmeluci @demonsofhunting
Sam tags: @sammys-dimpless
Dean tags: @polina-93 @justagirlinafandomworld @coupleofgoons
If you want to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know!
Summary: Michael is AWOL with Dean, so Sam drives while Cas rides shotgun. They fill silence with a light inquiry into the nature of Enochian pronouns and their relationship – or lack thereof – to human vessels’ gender.
...it’s more fun than it sounds.
Word Count: 1,221
Rating: Gen (there’s a single swear)
Pairings: Sam & Castiel (are good nerdfriends)
WARNINGS: brief references to social prejudice against queer identities. Angel lore nonsense. References to past harm done to Baby’s clutch.
Complete story in post, or on AO3.
They’ve been creeping down the same stretch of interstate for five hours. They long ago run out of podcasts and Dean’s more bearable cassettes and weird lore chit-chat and dumb car games – Sam has learned the hard way that 20 Questions with Cas is actually either 3 Questions or Infinity Questions.
They’re finally in the same county as their turn-off, but they’re still at least three hours out from Lebanon and they’ve officially run out of silence, too. Castiel is pretty good at keeping quiet when he’s in the back, at least over long hauls – Sam would sometimes catch Dean glancing into the rearview just to check that he hadn’t poofed out at some point.
Having Cas ride shotgun is something else. Just having another body there pokes Sam in the brain, demands comment. The other body is usually Dean, and Dean sucks at silence. If it’s not talking, it’s music. If it’s not music, he’ll starts fucking humming or tapping or whistling. Dean is nature, abhorring a vacuum.
Only Dean’s not here. So it turns out that silence is currently a very painful conversation.
“I’ve been wondering about something,” Sam says.
Castiel has his eyes closed, but they snap open immediately. “Oh?”
Sam adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “So…the other angels. They call you he, right?”
“They normally call me Castiel.”
Sam shoots him A Look, and is rewarded with a microscopic smile. “No, I mean – you all have…consistent pronouns. That don’t change based on your vessel. From what I can tell.”
Cas shakes his head. “Not usually, no. You have to understand, Sam – most angels have never occupied a vessel, nor would they ever expect to. It’s a specialized field.” He shifts down a bit on the bench, folds his arms.
“So you do all have…some kind of…essential gender? In your true forms?”
Castiel hums non-committally. “The pronouns you hear us use in English are an approximation of an Enochian form of address. One that has nothing to do with reproductive or social roles.”
“What’s it describe, then? Rank? Age?”
Sam can’t help it: he laughs. “What?” The unbidden mental image is of Castiel strapped on one of those vomitous centrifugal wheels they used to velcro kids into at Space Camp.
Cas sighs, although it sounds more embarrassed than aggrieved, as if Sam were asking after the origin of an off-color family in-joke. “When angels traverse the common areas of Heaven, our wings manifest as rotating bands of energy. There are two possible planes – axes – of rotation. The pronouns refer to which axis that angel’s wings occupy.”
“So, what…it’s not he and she, it’s more like… righty and lefty?”
Cas snorts. “I’d never thought of it that way, but the analogy is apt."
“Are there any, um. Ambidextrous angels?” Sam squints and kicks on the turn signal as they crawl up towards the nearest eastbound exit. There’s a lava flow of red brakelights ahead of them.
“A few. ”
“Anybody we know?”
“You know me.”
Sam hesitates, glances over at Castiel. He's got his elbow up on the door, chin braced on the splayed fingers of his far hand. Everything he’s wearing looks like it needs ironing, including his face. “Oh yeah?" Sam manages, lamely.
"Mm," Cas replies, which is frankly about as much as Sam deserves.
"Is that...what's that like?"
A forest green Outback two lanes over is suddenly seized by the need to exit at 126 A and Sam has to stomp on the brakes to avoid getting side-swiped. By the time Sam has brought the car back up to speed, Cas still hasn't answered.
"I'm sorry," Sam says. "Kinda none of my business." His knee is starting to ache from kicking out the clutch. They could’ve switched drivers a few hours back when it was bumper-to-bumper. Sam officially chalks it up to his pride, but really it would be admitting that Dean will be gone long enough that Sam will have time to replace the clutch after Cas fucking incinerates it.
Cas lowers his arm. "I'm not offended, Sam. I was considering my answer."
Sam shrugs; “I know angel stuff is a sensitive subject. Didn't want you to feel interrogated or anything. I'm just, you know. Curious."
"Yes, I've noticed that about you." There's a thin smile in Castiel's voice. "It was...it is...largely unimportant. I would usually adopt the same manner as the angel I was interacting with. It makes it easier to coordinate our movements. Since the majority of angels are of the axial group referred to with masculine English pronouns, I'm usually considered," and here he deploys air-quotes, Jesus Christ, if that isn't a throwback –"one of the boys."
Sam frowns, squints against the reflection off the back window of a church minivan. "I think that'd bother me."
"Why? It's simply practical. It describes the greater part of my behavior, at any rate."
“I dunno, it’s still…reductive, right? I mean, which way would you–” Sam winces a bit in anticipation at how dumb this is going to sound –“rotate, if you were alone?"
Cas, as usual, takes the ridiculous in stride. ”I truly don't have a preference. Each has its tactical strengths and shortcomings. The ability to alternate between the two is an advantage in battle, of course, and it grants me access to a broader array of potentially suitable vessels."
Cas turns his face away, as if he's checking out the blind spot, or maybe his own reflection in the side mirror. "It's part of why I was chosen to retrieve Dean in Hell, and then to interact with him after his resurrection."
They finally slip off the interstate and onto the four-lane state highway, a slim river cutting through an old growth forest of gas station signs and fast food logos. They could be literally anywhere in North America, and Sam feels his shoulders relax. Anywhere In North America is Sam's hometown.
Cas sighs. “You must be hungry by now. You should pull over."
"Nah, I'm okay. I'd rather get back to the Bunker before dark.”
There’s a pause which Cas somehow manages to imbue with maternal concern. "Sam. You do need to eat."
"We have food at home."
"Cas, seriously. I’m fine.”
“I can tell that you've lost weight."
"Yeah, well. Probably because I don’t have Dean shoving garbage in my face every five hours.”
Sam feels the resulting silence as an actual, physical tension in his chest.
“I’ll stop somewhere when we’re over the state line,” he adds. Cas makes a little noise of consent.
Castiel turns his face forward again, drops his arm into his lap. "It does make some in the Host uneasy. The dual axis,” he clarifies, as if the ranks of Heaven might possibly have an opinion on the particulars of where Sam gets his next chicken sandwich. “They think it suggests a deceptive or indecisive nature."
They hit their first stoplight, and Sam looks over at him. “You're telling me there’s an angel equivalent of biphobia."
"You are," Castiel says dryly, "a fount of damning analogies today, Sam Winchester."
“Wow. That’s, uh. That’s…fucked up? Not sure why I’m surprised, though. As above, so below, I guess.”
“I’ve come to see the relationship between Heaven and Earth as a lateral one,” Cas answers. Then he smiles.
“But that’s just me.”
Ok, of course I finally manage to see the episode 3 days later with no spoilers and I come back online to find talk of a future deal with Lucifer. Lmao. Thanks EW.
Btw, here’s my opinion. I will focus on narrative choices on the premise that SPN right now is a fan service machine in full operation, so you have been warned, I am not necessarily positive towards anything. I reflected a lot on SPN (more than it deserved for sure) and I want to see if my perception of SPN being written purposely to keep the different sections of the fandom happy, with Cas in the middle as a pawn because why the fuck not use an amazing character like this, has any truth in it.
Main Fan Service to: Destiel
We’ve got the entire first half of the episode where it’s not clear if all I was going to get was Dean’s Batman voice and two dick angels wondering on what Cas deserved, and a second half where the Manpain is the protagonist to finally satisfy the crave for suffering built in the first half (nb: I have absolutely no crave for suffering). Dean’s prayers go unaswered, all his hopes get crushed. The pain is quite heavily focused on Cas & Mary, but in the general desperation even Crowley gets a mention (....Rowena who?).
One concept that finally got crushed is that aaaaall the world needed was Sam&Dean together4ever and everybody else can go fuck themselves, THANK YOU, FINALLY. I don’t know what to think about the him/’em thing; on one side, Dean definitely says him because the official captions say so, on the other hand I’m wondering if it wasn’t clearly spelled on purpose. Whatever, the script says him, offering a nice parallel to Cas’s “ I love you, I love all of you”. Unclear pronouns brought to you by The Show Where Nobody Thinks About It.
Jack (aka Cas-lite)
I was indeed surprised that he was so adamant that Castiel was the daddy; but soon the realization came: 1- in this episode Cas is v Loved and Important not to mention Dead, and it’s important to love the Dead, 2- where do you go from here if not down? Jack could have been more conflicted about this, so that choosing Cas would be a pivotal, positive pro Cas choice. What will we get in the future, now that Jack is already “Castiel the II”? Sam&Dean parenting union where their humanity and bravery shape Jack in different ways? The rejection of Castiel when they finally meet? The possibilities are endless!
Also important to mention, in this episode Sam & Dean are normal hunter brothers who understand they have a responsability to other people which makes possible for Dean to accept Jack in his home to keep the rest of the world safe.
This said, I can’t say the guy isn’t likeable, but he’s thousand miles away from Castiel as a character. When Cas is awkward, we’re talking about a bamf warrior Angel of the Lord who can willingly outsmart you & smite you into oblivion AND that can also be surprisingly kind and adorable and weird. Of course Jack is adorable... he’s a fucking baby ffs.
Final opinion: Everybody loves you When you’re Dead.
Special mention: I loved Drunk Angel Girl (even if admittedly I didn’t understand her Becky-roommate-whatever speech). She was a dick & wearing a tan trenchcoat and I headcanon her as a bitter Cas girl.
Remembering (Sequel to Memories) (Gabriel x Reader)
Pairing: Gabriel x Reader (female pronouns used)
Warnings: more Heartbreak, Angst, Fluff
Info: This is a sequel, please read the first part first. You can find it here.
The unexpected call from the Winchesters the next morning was – well – unexpected. They had called and asked you to visit them at the bunker as soon as possible but they didn't tell you what the fuss was about. So since you had nothing better to do you packed up your few belongings and checked out of the motel. It was a good thing that the drive only took you about an hour because otherwise, you didn't know how you would have managed to stay calm.
'Maybe it's just a hunt that they need help with' you thought but the nervousness wasn't fading anyways.
As soon as you reached the bunker you got out of your car and knocked on the big door. After a few seconds, Sam opened it for you with a distressed look covering his face.
“What is it? What is wrong?” you asked promptly.
“Come in (Y/N). I'll explain everything in a second.” And so you did, following the younger Winchester into the library, where his brother and Castiel were already sitting. The two men looked up at you as soon as you entered the room with Sam. Dean smiled and hugged you while Cas resorted to a polite handshake and smile. He had always been very careful about physically being close to you since you were his brother's and he didn't want to spark any sort of fight with Gabriel.
You sat down at the table and repeated the question you had asked earlier only to be met with silence once again. The boys looked at each other and seemed to try and communicate without actually talking.
“What is wrong?” you repeated again this time more angry than worried.
“(Y/N)... I don't know how to tell you this...” Dean started. “I know it'll hurt you and I don't want to do that to you.”
“I don't think anything can hurt me more than the last years did, Dean. Don't worry just tell me,” you replied with a small but still fake smile. His thoughtfulness flattered you but if they didn't get to the point already you felt as if you would explode with curiosity.
“My brother (Y/N),” Cas said in his deep voice. “Gabriel. He's been alive this whole time.”
“No, he's dead.” you responded quickly and raised your voice. “He's been dead for years now! Don't try to pull me into anything! I know he isn't with us anymore! Can't you guys just leave it?”
“(Y/N), please.” Sam tried to calm you down a little. “We didn't know it either! He just popped in earlier and demanded we get you here. He's not doing very well himself.”
Suddenly it was as if time had been stopped. Your whole world came down with those few words. All the pain and agony you had felt over the last years crashed down on you at once.
A whimpered “What?” was all that could escape your mouth before tears started streaming down your cheeks.
How could he do this to me?
Was I not worth it?
Couldn't he have just told me?
Where has he been all this time?
Why didn't he tell me?
Maybe he didn't want to be with me anymore?
Why didn't he just break up with me?
Why does this hurt so much?
“Where is he?” you cried out but anyone could hear that there was just as much anger in your voice as there was sadness.
“In my room (Y/N). We thought it might be better to talk to you first.” Sam answered and took you in his arms while you were still shaking.
“How could he do this to me?” you sobbed.
“Lucifer had to believe he is dead and so we all had to believe it as well,” Castiel answered you.
“But why didn't he tell me after Lucifer was put back into the cage? Why did he make suffer for two more years?” Your voice was broken and the tears wouldn't stop flowing down your cheeks so you left Sam's embrace to dry them with your oversized flannel's sleeve.
“I...” Castiel began. “I don't know, (Y/N). But I am sorry.”
“You don't have to defend his actions, Cassie,” you answered. “I would like to talk to him now. Alone.” You glanced at the brothers who nodded.
Dean told you they'd be on a little supply run and that you should call him if anything gets out of hand. Castiel also offered you to pray to him, just in case. You were thankful for their concern but you didn’t think you'd need any of it since Gabriel was still going to be your Gabe, right? He'd still be your candy-loving, smirking, smug archangel, wouldn't he?
But what if he's not (Y/N)?
After what he's done to you?
Do you still think he cares about you?
Your thoughts were dark and you knew it but there was still that last glimmer of hope that, maybe, he would have a reasonable explanation for his hurtful behavior.
You watched the brothers and Castiel leave the bunker before slowly making your way to Sam's room. Standing in front of the closed door you felt another tear run down your cheek. Quickly you swiped it away and cautiously opened the door.
There, sitting on the bed, was Gabriel.
The man you had once thought was the love of your life.
The man that you had believed to be dead for years.
The man that broke your heart.
The man that broke you.
He stared at you and you returned his gaze. None of you moved, both overcome with emotions. Finally, he stood up and slowly walked over to you.
You almost flinched when he hugged you and you were sure he could sense your reluctance since his expression was one of worry. Still, he embraced you warmly and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him as well. No words left your mouth and you knew if you tried to speak you would simply break down crying once more. You savored his body warmth and presence until you noticed a weird feeling on your left shoulder where Gabriel's head was. It felt wet?
That was when you realized Gabriel was crying as well. Not like crying of sadness but more like a few happy tears were escaping his eyes. Slowly you took a step back and embraced his face with your hands before using your thumb to swipe away the tears.
Finally, you felt stable enough to speak. And so you asked him the one thing you wanted to know, hoping he would have an answer for you.
“Why, Gabriel? Why?” Your voice was colder than you had expected it to be but really who could blame you?
The angel gazed into your eyes and laid his hands over yours which were still on his cheeks.
“Darling, (Y/N), I thought it would be better for you. I endanger you, sugar, and we both know it.” His voice was just as raspy and exhausted as yours but you couldn't find yourself to care as he stated this. Of course, you knew it was true, but how could he be so selfish as to not ask you for your opinion and simply decide this on his own?
“But what if I'm willing to live with that danger if it means having you by my side?” you murmured and watched a single tear fall from the angel's eye.
“I'm sorry, pumpkin,” he whispered. “I've realized how much damage and pain I've caused and...” he stopped to remove your hands from his face before continuing his apology “and I know I don't deserve another chance and I don't deserve you at all but I can't live without you. This has been the most miserable time in my life. And sugar I've been alive for millenniums.”
You could feel that his words were sincere and the underlying dread in his voice was erasing the last few drops of anger which still lingered inside your heart.
“Thank you, Gabriel,” you responded quietly. “I don't think I can go back to what we were.”
With those words you saw pure panic in his eyes, so you were quick to continue.
“Just yet, I mean. We should start slow again.” you smiled at him, the first sincere smile that had adorned your lips in a long time.
His face lit up again and he smiled at you as well.
“Sure thing darling. So, how about a dinner date tonight?”
“That sounds lovely, Gabriel”
Taggin the lovely people who wanted to see another part: @lacqueluster @fand0maniac