#it's sloppy but i'm about to pass out in my chair lol

[pricknim]

imagine pinkie pie wearing this top:

You are absolutely right

[angrycolorkid]

It's so hot to think about you slowly losing your coordination, starting to slur just a little but trying to seem sober, then forgetting and chugging a beer. Do you get sloppy when you're wasted? Don't skimp on detail.

The slurring, or sometimes it's forgetting what/ how to say a word is usually the first sign I'm getting drunk. Then it's the clumsiness, knocking over a beer when I try to grab it (which usually results in me yelling "party foul" and chugging the rest of it) or I get up too fast from the couch and have too much forward momentum that I end up staggering for several steps before I re-orient myself and hone in on my beer fridge. Doesn't matter how drunk, full or bloated I get, I'm getting that next beer. I always play it off as if I'm sober and just shrug when my S.O. smirks at me for my obviously drunken state. Then it's the realization that I might actually be drunk, and will take a shot to celebrate that fact. I don't think I really get sloppy, not that I remember of at least lol. Aside from the accidental beer knock-overs and progressively worse body coordination, I'm generally a very clean and held-together individual when drunk. Although I will pass out ANYWHERE. Floor in front of the front door? I sleep. Some nice looking stairs you got there, I sleep. Mudroom when it's pouring rain outside because I can't figure out the door lock? I sleep. Trying to play video games in my favorite chair? I sleep. S.O. holding me upright so I can piss? Fuck, I'll sleep there too. The number of times I've woken up in bed while fully clothed might be a little concerning to some, but I'm just like "hell yeah"

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Forehead Kiss - Stinger & Kotaro (Kotaro rescues Stinger from an undercover mission gone wrong and Lucky's there... for Luck lol :p)

[Commentary: Every Kyuranger should have Lucky in them because he somehow makes the mission successful lol :p]

Anon, this is so cute! Conveniently enough we finally watched the second half of the Yodonna special just the other night, so I have a good mental image to hand of what it'd look like if Stinger got captured by mobsters.

At this point the issue isn't so much with the remnants of the Jark Matter command structure as it is with the hangers-on. Organized crime had flourished under Don Armage's rule, which is hardly surprising, and even knowing that he can't ever possibly deal with all of it, Stinger's been working himself to exhaustion trying to uproot every poisonous criminal weed he can find.

Of course, said exhaustion is probably why he's now tied to a chair in a crime boss's lavish apartment while his own blood drips into his eyes. Maybe he's been getting a little sloppy.

Boss Kujira, who has a full head of improbably curly hair despite looking otherwise like a large, bipedal frog, is sitting across from him in a much nicer chair. "So," he's saying, calm as anything, "I have to say, I'm kind of impressed, it took two months before anyone even had an idea that something might be funny about you. Although I admit we were maybe a little distracted, we don't see a lot of you Sasori types around here. Who do you work for? I bet I can pay you better."

Stinger considers this and quietly resolves to ask Tsurugi for a raise, but says nothing. If he focuses, he can maybe get his tail moving a bit, get his arms free--

"Or maybe not. Hey, Lenny, he's got the tail, right? Those things valuable?"

Stinger freezes with his tail centimeters off the ground as the drab person tucked into the corner checks their handheld and says, quietly, "The tail has no particular market value, but the venom is saleable--"

"Well, that's something--"

"--when obtained from a living specimen. Venom from the dead loses its potency."

That's nonsense, though, venom is venom whether the Scorpion who created it is alive or dead, and Stinger twists around to look at Lenny.

Who winks at him very slowly from behind an obscuring curtain of white hair.

There's a knock at the door, and a buoyant voice in the hallway says, "Hey hey hey! I've got a pizza delivery for some crime guy?"

Boss Kujira leaps to his feet, and the thugs standing at his shoulders start to move, but before they can do anything, they're knocked off their feet by the door, which goes flying off its hinges as an enormous, light blue fist slams through the doorway.

Balance, who is carrying a pizza box, strolls into the room and waves. "Hey, baby."

Lenny--Naaga--puts aside his handheld and says, "Hello, Balance."

Boss Kujira's eyes go wide. "Lenny? You sold me out?"

"Lenny is enjoying his retirement elsewhere. My name is Naaga Rei."

There's a racket in the hallway, and the sound of Kotaro saying, "I can't really get through the door like this--"

"Don't worry about it!" Another, equally familiar buoyant voice. "We can just knock a hole in the wall, right? Lucky thing we found him so quickly!"

The thugs have very nearly gotten out from under the door when Lucky comes rocketing in and lands squarely on top of it, knocking them over again. "All right, lucky, I landed on my feet this time!" He beams at Stinger, waving. "Tsurugi got called away on some urgent politics thing, but I was passing through and got your extraction signal! And Balance and Naaga were in the area, and Kotaro's been worried sick about you so he was already on his way! Lucky, yeah?"

Stinger very nearly lets out a sigh of relief. "That does sound like you."

There's a thump, the wall around the doorway cracks and Stinger hears Kotaro mutter several words that he didn't think Kotaro knew. Then after a moment Kotaro comes through the doorway at his usual size but still in costume, walks directly up to Boss Kujira, and says, cheerfully, "Hi! You're under arrest!"

Boss Kujira gapes down at him. "How old are you?"

"I turn fourteen in a few weeks." Kotaro reaches for his Kyuutamas. "But I can get big again if you want."

"No, uh, that's fine, I surrender."

Kotaro handcuffs Kujira as Balance and Lucky are taking care of the thugs and Naaga is undoing the ropes binding Stinger to the chair. When his arms are free, Stinger stretches, and then winces when Kotaro thumps into him. "Hey, uh. It's ok, I'm fine."

Kotaro's Kyuuranger suit dissolves into his usual uniform, and he doesn't stop hugging. "I'm gonna kick Tsurugi."

"I promise I'm fine." Stinger pats him awkwardly on the shoulder. "I'm, uh...I'm sorry I scared you."

"I'm not scared," Kotaro says to the middle of his chest, "I'm mad, he's supposed to tell me when he's sending you somewhere super dangerous."

"I mean, we can't exactly go telling people when I have undercover work."

"I'm not people, you're my brother."

Stinger blinks. "That's...you're right, I'm sorry, I should have let you know." He extricates himself from the hug, wraps an arm around Kotaro's shoulders instead, and kisses him on the temple before turning to Kujira and saying, "So, as my brother was just saying," and he can feel Kotaro grin next to him, "you're under arrest for, among other things, money laundering, tax evasion, manufacturing and distribution of illegal substances, trafficking of sapient beings--"

"He also threatened to cut your tail off, or possibly extract your venom for sale," Naaga says, helpfully.

Kotaro freezes. "He what."

"--and threatening to cut my tail off, I'm not sure what that would be covered under."

"Several things," Naaga says, "depending on how he planned to do it, what he said while doing it, and what he intended to do with it."

"You didn't say he was going to cut your tail off!"

"It had just come up when you all got here, don't worry about it. Would you hand me a cloth or something, by the way? I still have blood in my eyes. You have the right to remain silent, and anything you do say can and will be used against you--"

[trekkiehood]

Impossible Decisions - SPN Fanfic

Title: Impossible Decisions

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 4.3k

Setting: Brotherhood AU - During S1, "The Benders"

Characters: Caleb, Dean

Ship: None

Ao3 Link

Summary: Caleb has a vision of Dean being tortured by the Benders. When he meets up with the Winchester's, he realizes it's not the physical wounds that need to be mended.

Trigger Warnings: Torture, Mention of Body Horror, Mention of Death, Psychological Horror

Authors Note:

Hey guys!

This fic was unexpected. Not even sure where it came from. I wrote most of it on my plane ride home from college. It came out of nowhere and I had to write it immediately. I meant to post it before now, but I got hung up on a title (still don't love it but hey). It was originally just Caleb having a vision of the Benders and spiraled into... well you'll see lol.

This is based off of Ridley's Brotherhood AU and has multiple references to the cannon series. If you haven't read it, I would highly, highly recommend it!

The first bit in italics is taken straight from the S1 Episode "The Benders"

Supernatural and the Brotherhood are not mine, I'm just playing with them :)

Please enjoy!

It was dark, it took him a moment to realize that his eyes were closed. He groaned with the pounding in his head and was not surprised when the voice was not his own. He'd felt the vision coming on, and since he was alone in a motel room, there was no reason to fight it. Caleb wasn't quite sure who he was viewing this through but when he tried to move, he found himself immobile. He was used to being the monster, but this felt different.

He finally worked his eyes open, his head was pounding, and it was more than the usual side effects of a vision. Someone was in front of him. He felt a spike of panic from whoever he was viewing it from. The emotion was strong, but purposely tampered.

"Come on, let us hunt him." A man, probably in his thirties said, leaning over an older man.

"Yeah, this one's a fighter, sure'd be fun to hunt." Another voice joined in. He was having trouble tracking what was happening.

And for a moment Caleb worried that he was the monster after all. A monster captured by hunters who weren't prepared. Then he found his mouth moving.

"Oh, you got to be kidding me." And Caleb's own emotions threatened to overwhelm. He was viewing it through Deuce. That's why this felt different. It had happened before due to their connection, but it was never pleasant. And never a good thing. "That's what this is about - you yahoos hunt people?"

"You ever killed before?" The oldest of the group said. Dean's vision had cleared some and Caleb could now see there was the old man, two younger men, probably the guys kids, and a little girl.

"Wha-?" The pain and confusion were making it hard to think. Even if it wasn't his own, he was having trouble concentrating through the pain and very obvious concussion. "Well that depends on what you mean."

"I've hunted all my life." The man continued, "Just like my father, his before him. I've hunted deer and bear, I even got a cougar once. But the best hunt is human. Oh there's nothing like it. Holding their life in your hands. Seeing the fear in their eyes just before they go dark. Makes you feel powerful alive."

He was struggling to hear the words, but enough sank through, and he had to work to keep the fear out of his voice. "You're a sick puppy."

The man scoffed, "You give 'em a weapon, give 'em a fighting chance. It's kind of like our tradition passed down father to son." There was confirmation of the family lineage. "Of course, only one or two a year, never enough to bring the law down. Never been that sloppy. "

"Yeah, well don't sell yourself short. You were plenty sloppy." And that was likely what led to being tied to a chair in a house so run down that it made the places the Winchester's normally stayed at look like the Hilton. Looked like Dean had been a bit sloppy too. If John was there, he never would have let them hear the end of it.

"So what? You with that pretty cop. Are you a cop?" Far from it. But Deuce could have gone the cop rout.

"If I tell you, you promise not to make me into an ashtray." He needed to have a conversation with Dean about self-preservation. Then again, he had learned from the master of baiting your captors. And it was a defense mechanism. Dean was in pain and helpless and he didn't do well with either of those circumstances.

The hard punch to the face wasn't unexpected, but he struggled to keep his eyes open. He was already in bad shape, the last thing that he needed was to be knocked around more. Dean shook his head, trying to get his vision to come back and shake away the pain so he could keep his head in the game.

"Only reason I don't let my boys take you right here is that there's something I need to know." Meaning once it was gotten, he was dead. Caleb absently wondered where Sam was.

"Yeah, how bout it's not nice to marry your sister."

"Tell me," The man was losing his patience, "any other cops gonna come looking for you?"

"Eat me. No, no, wait. You actually might." He was biding his time. He knew he was a deadman. The longer he could keep him talking the more likely he'd make it out of there alive.

One of the son's grabbed his face, he grunted. His panic spiked up a notch as they held his head still. A moment later the father was standing over him with a hot poker in his hand. The red hot fire was gleaming in the darkened house.

"You think this is funny? You brought this down on my family. All right. You want to play games? We'll play some games." He addressed the man holding Dean. "Looks like we're gonna have a hunt tonight after all boys." All the fear up to that point was nothing compared to the overwhelming terror that overtook him. "And you," He made eye contact with Dean, "Get to pick the animal. The boy or the cop."

That answered the question of where Sammy was.

"Okay wait, wait, wait. Look nobody's coming for me alright, just us." Fear for Sam would always trump fear for himself.

The man was past negotiating. "You don't choose I will."

The poker came down and the pain in his shoulder was so stark it actually numbed some of the pain in his head. Dean cursed, trying to fight the pain. The poker was readjusted, coming towards his eyes. He could feel the heat and he wanted to close his eyes, but the goon holding him was forcing it open. The panic he felt now, rivaled that of his fear for Sam. If he started crying, he'd blame it on the concussion. He friggin' hated fire. The poker came an inch further, ready to either pluck out or burn through his left eye.

Caleb pulled himself out of it, gasping awake. The pain lingered for a moment, the excruciating pain in his shoulder and the pounding headache. Fear surged, both an after effect of Dean's as well as his own.

He fumbled to get his phone open, feeling his stomach revolt at the images still playing in his head. He dialed Dean and was sent to voicemail. He tried two more times before trying Sam and getting the same. He hadn't gotten an address except hillbilly nation and that could be anywhere.

The only consolation was that his link to both of the boys was strong. They were both alive. Even if nothing else they were both alive.

But Deuce was being tortured, possibly mutilated beyond repair. Caleb lost his battle with his stomach, barely making it to the bathroom and hitting his knees before losing everything he'd eaten in the last day. With one last grasp at hope, he dialed John. Getting his message to call Dean sent a spike of fury through his already pounding head. "I had a vision. If you know where the boys are, call me. Now." He smashed the phone closed, taking a calming breath.

He could always have his dad track them, but they didn't have anything recent of Dean's to use. Dean hadn't been to the farm or to New York in months. Even Bobby hadn't heard from the oldest Winchester boy since Sam had entered the picture. Ever since John officially disappeared, he'd been distant. He couldn't blame the kid. Caleb had been intentionally MIA. He would be there for Deuce if he needed him, but he was busy being overrun by knight duties as well as Tricorp and just John's order to stay out of it in general. It had caused him to check in less and stay away from Dean. It was easier to stay away than to be there but not be allowed to help. Maybe he'd made the wrong decision. He was supposed to protect him. He was the Knight. If the future Guardian got killed it would be on him no matter what his father or Pastor Jim would try to make him to believe.

John had always threatened to pull out of the Brotherhood if he was not allowed to continue his personal hunts, Sam had outright left the Brotherhood, breaking off all contact. Deuce had always loved and thrived in the Brotherhood. But Caleb knew that if Dean was forced to choose between the Brotherhood and his family, his family would always win. Maybe the two sides had finally pulled him too much. Pushed him too far.

None of that mattered right now. What mattered was that Dean was being tortured by the Donner family in some backwoods condemned building and Sam was also captured, possibly about to be hunted like a dog, and that was if they didn't decide to just shoot both of them right there.

His duffel was already packed, had never really been unpacked, and he quickly threw it in his jeep. His initial thought was South. It fit the creepy backwoods vibe.

He was about to pull out of the motel parking lot when he received a test. It was one word.

Minnesota

Looked like John did actually care about the lives of his children. Shocking.

He was about three hours from the border. And if John wasn't going to be more forthcoming than that then he probably didn't know exactly where. Caleb pushed down the fear that he wasn't going to get there fast enough. That he was going to be too late. Walk into a dilapidated kitchen and find the mutilated body of his best friend. If that was the case, he'd kill them. All of them. He might do it anyway.

~SPN~

Caleb had just reached Minnesota and was wondering where to go from there. Both Dean and Sam were still alive. That was about all he could say for them. He was hoping that as he got closer the link would get stronger and he could tell how much pain Dean was in. He wasn't sure when the vision took place. Dean had already been captured in the vision and he was already roughed up at that point. Who knew what had happened before then. But it wasn't like Dean to not answer his phone. John? More chances of him not than answering. Sam? About a fifty-fifty shot. Deuce? If he didn't answer, there was a problem.

He'd now called Dean ten times and left five messages. If Dean was able to get to his phone he would have.

No matter how hard he tried or reassured himself that Dean's link was still strong, he couldn't get the mental image of a bloodied corpse out of his mind. A partially burned body, one eye socket empty and the other a pained filled glassy eye forever frozen in death. Blood dripped from the mouth, nose, and ears. It was gruesome and gory and definitely not going to happen. Ever.

Deuce hated fire. He hated fire almost as much as Caleb hated water. Crazy how watching one or both of your parents die had a habit of ruining the elements involved. Seeing and feeling Deuce be burned, tortured, brought back memories of a wide-eyed and sick ten-year-old trying to hold it together while Griffin Porter used him to get information out of Caleb. And this was even more extensive. If Dean was even half as bad as he feared, he'd kill the old man real slow and make his son's watch.

Caleb's phone lit up and he almost ignored it until he saw who was calling. Feeling a mix of terror and hope he flipped it open.

"Deuce?!"

"We're okay." He sounded weak and tired, Caleb could feel some of the pain now that he was more strongly connected, but it didn't matter right now. Dean was alive and apparently not missing any body parts. Winchester's might be stoic, but even in the book of John Winchester, missing body parts warranted a reaction.

"Thank God." Was all he was able to muster, letting his head hit the back of the driver's seat with a thump.

"Sorry we just now got back in cell range… I take it you had a vision…" His voice was hesitant, "What exactly did you see?"

Caleb let out a small huff, "Let's just say I'm taking it on faith that you wouldn't be this calm unless you had both of your eyes."

"Yeah," Dean just sounded tired, but he tried to offer a laugh. "Yeah."

"Deuce?"

"I've got to go, I don't know if the cops will be actively looking for me or not but considering I'm legally dead I don't want to take the chance." Caleb absently wondered if the cop mentioned in his vision had died. If Dean had chosen her death over Sam's, it would explain his desire to get out of town.

"Where are you?"

"Look man, I appreciate it but we can take care of ourselves."

"I'm already in Minnesota. Where are you?" He needed to see Dean with his own two eyes. He needed to see what damage was actually done, how far the psychopaths had gotten.

Dean sighed, and Caleb could practically see the younger man rubbing a hand over his face. "We're in Hibbing right now, but we're heading out. We don't have a place in mind, just… away from here."

"Meet me in Duluth?"

"Yeah, okay, I'll see you, Damian."

"Deuce-" He cut in before Dean could hang up. "You did what you had to do, okay? Sammy's alive and that's all that really matters."

Dean's guilt and grief swept over him so strong that Caleb almost jerked the car off the road. "Yeah." His voice was quiet. "Yeah, he's okay. We'll be there soon."

This time Dean did hang up. Caleb was even stronger in his resolve to meet up with his best friend. Something was definitely wrong.

~SPN~

Caleb reached the motel first, he was tempted to check into one of the nicer hotels, but unsure of what shape the boys would be in, decided to go with one of their typical, run-down ones.

He texted Dean the address, getting a simple "k" as a response.

When the impala pulled into the parking lot, Caleb frowned to see Sam driving. Deuce rarely gave up the keys to his baby. He remembered the mild concussion he felt during the vision and wondered just how bad Dean had to be feeling to willingly sit on the passenger side. Dean shouldered his bag before slowly walking towards the room. Sam hung back, watching.

Caleb opened the door as his friend was reaching it. "Deuce." He nodded, letting the younger man in.

"Damian." His voice was even weaker in person. He pushed past Caleb, keeping his back to the older man. "You get us a separate room or is one of us sleeping in the impala?"

Caleb appreciated his attempt at levity when he clearly didn't feel like it. "I was thinking the Runt could sleep on the pull out. Save us some money."

"Since when are you concerned about money?" Sam rolled his eyes, entering the room. "You just thrive on making my life miserable."

Caleb smiled, "Well when you put it that way." Sam was concerned. He wasn't even trying to shield it. The joking was forced and uncomfortable. True to their normal banter but without the normal lightheartedness.

Dean was another story. He had his shields up and reinforced. Not much was getting through except an occasional wave of pain that he was quick to tamper. Emotionally he seemed almost dead. All locked up. He'd probably let Sam drive just so that he could work to pull his walls up on the ride over.

"Speaking of making your life miserable, how 'bout you go on a food run."

Sam raised his eyebrows, "You paying?"

Caleb rolled his eyes, pulling out his wallet and handing him a fifty. "I expect change, Runt."

"I'll be sure to save some pennies for you."

Sam's eyes flickered over to Dean, and he gave a pleading look. Caleb nodded. Sam started towards the door, but Dean's voice stopped him.

"No, I can go, you two stay here."

"Really Deuce? You look like death warmed over."

Dean rolled his eyes, "No one asked you to come here, Damian."

"Yeah, well too bad. I'm here, and I want food, and as already pointed out it's my job to make the Runt's life miserable." He nodded to Sam who offered a sheepish smile to his brother before leaving.

"I could have gone." Dean grumbled, glancing at the door.

"Yeah, well, the kid could use some time away."

"I think he's had enough of that." Dean mumbled. Caleb wasn't sure if he was referring to Sam's time at Stanford or something else. He cleared his throat.

"So you want to tell me what happened out there?" Caleb asked, wincing as the words came out a little too much like John Winchester.

"Monsters I get, people are crazy." Was the cryptic answer.

"So we are looking at 100% humans?"

"There's no we in this Damian. Everything's taken care of."

"So they're dead?"

Dean turned, his eyes darkening, "They're human Caleb."

"If what I saw was anything to go off of, barely."

Dean grunted in response, turning back to his bag. In the brief second Dean had turned to him, he'd seen the bruising on his face. The bleeding had stopped, and had likely been cleaned by either Dean or Sam. Even turned around though, it wasn't hard to miss the way Dean was holding his left arm. The arm that the father had burned in his vision.

"You let Sam clean the burn?"

Dean turned back; face set blankly. "What burn?"

"Come on Deuce, freaky visions, remember?"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, sure felt fine when your skin was being melted off. Distracted from the concussion at least."

Dean glared at him, and Caleb thought he was going to actually fight him on this. But Dean sighed, sitting down on the bed. "How much did you see? I know you said… but how far did it go?" The walls were breaking down and the fear, and anger, and pain, and most staunchly, the guilt nearly caused the psychic to physically react.

"That was it. Started when you woke up tied to the chair and ended as the poker was coming up towards your eye."

Dean ran a hand over his face, "I'm guessing it was from my point of view."

Caleb nodded. Dean sighed.

"I assume you brought your own first aid kit. Ours needs restocked."

Caleb took it as the concession it was. As he went to grab his Dr. Ames approved medical kit, Dean began working his shirt off. It was painfully slow, but Caleb knew better than to offer assistance.

There was a white bandage over the skin, but Caleb could already see the swelling. He began to peel away the bandage, causing Dean to hiss.

"Come on Damian, I thought you wanted to try to fix my burn, not tear my skin off."

"Looks like you did a good job of ruining your skin yourself. This is definitely infected."

"Don't overreact. It's only been a couple of hours."

"Well, I'm looking at it and it's definitely not okay looking. I doubt the Donner's sterilized their fire pokers."

"Benders. And it was on fire, shouldn't that make it sterile enough?"

"Don't let my father here you talk like that, or you'll be stuck listening to a speech on proper triage etiquette. Benders?"

"Yeah, the family. Psychopaths, all of them. They kidnapped people then let them escape so they could hunt them. It was sick."

"So, you didn't kill them?"

Dean sighed, closing his eyes as Caleb worked to clean out the wound. "Kathleen killed the old man. Said he was trying to escape. Don't believe her for a second. He killed her brother."

They both knew had either Sam or Dean died, no one would have been left alive.

"Who's Kathleen?" Talking was good. Silence was not.

"A cop. Let's just say she wanted to find out why people were disappearing as much as I did." There went the cop's death theory. Dean wouldn't feel guilty about the old man's death, right?

"And how did you get mixed up in a family full of serial killers?"

"They took Sammy." Well, there was a valid reason for guilt.

"What?! Why didn't you call man? I could have helped find him! Or Mac-"

"By the time Mac would have gotten down here it wouldn't have mattered. He was gone for less than twenty-four hours."

"And me?"

"You haven't exactly been the most available guy, dude. And you would have talked to Mac who would have called Jim who would have called Dad…" His voice trailed.

And Caleb realized what this was really about. Dean had lost Sam. Like in Flagstaff. Like in that diner when he was a kid. John would have been ticked.

"Johnny's not the easiest person to reach right now, Deuce."

"Still would have been ticked." Great, now Dean was reading his mind.

"It's not your fault. He's an adult. You can't always watch out for him."

Dean's voice was quiet when he spoke again, "That's not the worst thing I did."

They were finally getting to the root of the problem. He taped the piece of gauze over the wound. "I'll need to look at it again tomorrow to make sure it doesn't get worse. And as for whatever you think you did, you're both alive so it can't be all that bad."

Dean gave him a look saying that he clearly disagreed. "I told them to kill Sam."

And Caleb didn't know how to respond to that. Of all the things he thought Dean would say, that wasn't even on the list. "What?" he said dumbly.

"They asked me to choose. Sam or Kathleen. I told them to hunt Sam."

"Deuce-"

"What kind of a brother am I?" He stood up, running his good hand through his hair. "How could I let them hunt Sam like that?!"

"It was the most logical choice, Deuce." And he wasn't just trying to comfort his friend. They had been trained to save innocents. That's what Dean had been trying to do. "Sam is a trained Hunter. Not just a normal hunter either, he's a member of the Brotherhood. He could have easily evaded them. Clearly, he did."

Dean snorted, "Yeah well that's not exactly what they had in mind."

Caleb's eyes darkened, rising to meet his friend. He hadn't noticed any marks on Sam, but he hadn't exactly been looking. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He told them to shoot him in the cage. Both of them. He wanted me to make a decision just to make one and I chose wrong!"

"Deuce, hey, it's not like that. They put you in an impossible position. You made the best decision you could with the information you were given."

"How could you say that?!" Dean was worked up, dangerously worked up. "I almost let them kill him!"

"Dean they had you tied to a chair while they tortured you! I don't think that's letting it happen!"

"But they made me choose-"

"And it didn't matter! Get that through your thick skull! It didn't matter who you chose! He always planned to kill them both! They were trying to break you the best way they knew how, and you can't let them win, okay? You can't let them break you!"

"I'm not broken!" He snapped.

Caleb deflated, dropping back to the bed. "I know you're not. You're the strongest person I know, Deuce. But you can't let this eat at you. Everyone's okay and that's what you need to focus on. You never had any control over the situation. You were trying to protect innocents. It's what you've been trained to do."

"I've been trained to look out for Sammy."

"And maybe you're finally starting to realize that Sam can take care of himself."

Dean sank down beside his friend. He let out a sigh. "He grew up at college. Even more than I realized."

"Yeah," he answered back quietly, "He did."

"Dad would be proud of him."

Caleb felt something lodge in his throat, "He'd be proud of you too, Deuce. He is proud of you. And once this whole mess is done, he'll come back and tell both of you."

"Yeah," Dean cleared his throat, "well if this overwhelmingly girly chick-flick moment is over, I haven't slept in two days."

"Probably because you have a concussion."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Fine, then you can do the honors of waking me up when the food gets here."

"Only so long as you don't stab me again."

"Dude, that was one time. And it was your fault. You know to watch the hands."

"Whatever dude. Go to sleep."

"Stop acting like a girl and I will."

Caleb rolled his eyes. "Goodnight Deana."

Dean sank down into the ratty mattress, grumbling something that would have had Jim fetching the soap. The young man's eyes were falling shut before his head hit the pillow.

Caleb remained silent for a moment, seeing what he could glean from his best friend without blatantly disregarding his privacy. The guilt was still there but not as overpowering as before. The mental image of Dean tortured beyond recognition was still burned in the older hunter's mind. But it was okay. Yes, Dean felt some undue guilt, but he'd get over it. Sam was fine. Dean had made sure of it. And Dean, he would be fine too. Caleb would make sure of it.

~TH~

I hope you enjoyed that! Would LOVE to know what you think!

I definitely have some more ideas for Brotherhood fics and hopefully I'll have some time over the break to write them!

Please let me know what you thought!

Merry Christmas and God bless,

Jamie

[sarah-sandwich]

Oh? Ohh? A snippet from "WORST IDEA" mayhaps?!

Lol okay so idk if you’ve read my freak out verse but the worst idea comes from that. Peter and Harley have a youtube channel and canonically there are a total of 203 episodes by the final scene in the epilogue, but only 4 are actually written out in the series.

The WORST IDEA would be creating a new work in that series and it’s just the youtube videos...all 203 of them. Undertaking this thing that literally no one asked for may actually kill me but if I could convince my brain to let it be a fun thing that I just casually update whenever the mood strikes then it would be a really cool addition to the universe.

OKAY all that said, here's the beginning of their first video since you asked for a snippet. This is from chapter 7 of Don’t Freak Out:

The Iron Interns Vlog

Ep. 1: Q&A

 Harley and Peter are sitting at a small table. The wood is dark in contrast to the light green wall behind them. The lighting is good. They both look a little tired, a bit worn. Harley’s hair is flattened like he’s been wearing a hat while Peter’s is a wild tangle of curls upon his head. Peter is sitting up straight and smiling brightly looking at the camera and Harley is slouched back watching Peter attentively.

 “Hi everybody! I’m Peter Parker and this is Harley Keener. Welcome to our first video!” Peter greets the camera with a grin. “This’ll be kind of sloppy because we didn’t really plan it out, but I’m hoping in the future we’ll have more of a structure.”

 Harley looks at the camera. “We had a crap day,” he says bluntly. “Couldn’t go anywhere without being stalked by reporters so we decided to make a Q&A video to answer some of your more pressing questions so we can get on with our lives. Also, if you're one of those reporters who gave us hell just for trying to go to the post office, go BLEEP yourself.”

 Peter startles. “Harley! No swearing!”

 Harley looks at him, incredulous. “What? It's YouTube. People swear in YouTube videos all the time… Right?”

 Peter frowns down at the table, forehead creased with stress. “I… I don't remember. Maybe? Oh god, we're so unprepared for this.”

 “It'll be fine.” Harley rolls his eyes and the two boys jostle as Harley bumps him with his knee. “I'm like 70% sure you're allowed to swear on YouTube.”

 “I'm gonna go check." Peter gets up from the table and scurries out of frame while Harley sighs and slouches further in his chair.

  There’s a cut in the video where an untold amount of time has passed and Harley is now leaned forward with one elbow propped on the table, chin in his hand, while he drums the fingers of his other hand against the wood. Peter’s chair remains empty. Suddenly, Harley sits up straight, looking beyond the camera.

 "Are you watching Vine compilations?"

 "Listening for swears!" Peter’s voice is distant.

 "Oh my God, Parker. I thought you were going to read the terms of use or BLEEP-ing Google it or something."

 "Oh, that's a good idea!"

 Harley stares into the camera like he's on The Office.

 Another jump cut and Harley’s slouched again, looking annoyed as his eyes follow something just beyond the frame. Peter shuffles into view and retakes his seat at the table.

 "What took you so long?" Harley grumbles.

 "It was a really good compilation, okay?" Peter says without looking at him.

 "Are you-,” Harley rubs a hand over his mouth. “You're killing me. Just… what’s the verdict?"

 "Depends.” Peter looks at him. “Do we care about making money?"

 Harley blinks. "I actually forgot you could."

 "Then swears are a go!"

 "That's what I wanted to BLEEP-ing hear."

 Peter hesitates. "…Maybe you should hold back a little though. So we don't alienate any listeners."

 Harley sets his jaw and stares dead-eyed into the camera.

 “We’ll edit all that out,” Peter says, folding his hands together on top of the table.

 “Don’t you dare.” Harley points a stern finger at his face. “The world deserves to see how you make me suffer.”

 Peter rolls his eyes. “Fine, but I’m bleeping out the bad swears.”

 “That’s 15 minutes of my life I’ll never get back,” Harley complains.

 Peter grins at him, crinkling his nose and Harley pulls a face in response before turning away so Peter can’t see the way his lips begin to curl.

Ask me about the WIPs on this list

[aworldoffandoms]

For the drabble prompt I'm asking for #28...or #12. Or both together cause that sounds like a fun Tuesday. XD Stay wonderful!

Authors Note: This is adrabble from the drabble prompt challenge. It’s number #12 and #28. It’s myfirst one so please let me know what you think of it! (also be gentle haha)Thank you for the ask @harlequinash! This is quite long as my words got away with me but Iswear I’ll be brief next time lol. Hope you enjoy!

This drabble is separate from my series ‘Runaway’ but I’musing the same MC haha

[Edit: The outline and placing of stuff on this post are messed up on the mobile version yet seem fine on the desktop version. Just warning you :) ]

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC[Ariel]

Word Count: 1, 982 (give or take)

Warnings: Swearing, drunkenness

Lava 

The Queen of Cordonia could hold her liquor. She was a master at it.Being an American and New Yorker, respectively, she had her fair share of night’s out. A few times after long week’s ofcorrespondence with delegates, ambassadors and many insufferable nobles she lether hair down and dabbled in a few drinks to calm herself or have fun.

She didn’t know how Liam did it. He was the epitome of a king and thequeen herself? Well…let’s just say she was still learning.

It’s only been 6 months since the wedding and she’d been thrust rightinto the work of a monarch and she had been run off her feet since.

She was exhausted.

So, it was after a long day of meetings, a bill passing through theRoyal Council and a very long, detailed meeting with their Director of RoyalCommunications, that saw her sitting in the lower wing of the palace in the secluded bar just outside the copious palace grounds.

She was sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in her hand, sipping onit slowly, thinking about her schedule tomorrow which consisted of brunch withthe Queen Mother and a few meetings she had to attend with Liam. A burst of exhaustionwent through her.

I am so ready for sleep…

“Heyoooo!”

A booming voice rang through the quiet space of the downstairs bar andAriel winced at the volume, her body jumping in shock. Her mouth pursed into ascowl, having enjoyed a few moments of silence before the hurricane known asMaxwell Percival Beaumont flew in.

However, as soon as she met the excited, blue eyes of her self-adoptedfun-loving brother, her earlier annoyance fizzled out to be replaced by abright smile. Maxwell’s energy seeping into her tired bones.

“Hey, Maxwell. What are you doing down here?”

Maxwell shoots Ariel a grin, nodding to the bottle of Russian vodka onthe shelf next to the bottle of Jägermeister. On further thought, Maxwellpointed to the Jägermeister as well. The bartender nodded, handing over bothbottles before putting down a shot glass.

Ariel stared at her friend, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Maxwell…whatthe hell are you doing?”

“Well, Your Majesty…I believe that for a woman who has been working ashard as you have deserves a load off so…” Maxwell pauses, reaching over the barand grabbing more shot glasses. “I think it is time for some alcohol!”

Ariel resisted the urge to groan. She could hold her liquor, yes. But Russianvodka, Jägermeister and the already two glasses of whiskey already buzzing throughher veins would not be a good combination in the long wrong run. Mixing drinksis always a bad idea.

Ariel gives him a long-suffering look. “Maxwell…that’s very thoughtful.But I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have brunch with Regina tomorrow and Ican’t afford––”

Maxwell interrupts her with a wave of his hand. “Bruch, smunch. Youdeserve this.”

“But––”

“No buts, Ariel. You need to relax a little. All that queenly stuff andpaperwork isn’t good for one’s social life.”

Ariel stares indignantly at Maxwell. “I have a great social life,Beaumont!”

Maxwell scoffs, a laugh bubbling up from his throat. “Yeah, because youhave to. You’re the Queen of Cordonia but that doesn’t mean you socialise withthe right people.”

Ariel raises an eyebrow. “Are you implying that you’re the right people for me to be hanging with?”

Maxwell’s grin grows wide. “Naturally.”

“Oh, Maxwell…” Ariel laughed, shaking her head at the youngest Beaumontbrother. He was so incorrigible. Despite how tired she felt, Ariel couldn’thelp the smile lifting her lifts. Maxwell was just that kind of person whoalways lit up a room with his energy.

Ariel finished off the last of her whiskey, setting down the glass witha soft tap against the bar. She groans as she stands up, her feet throbbingfrom being on them all day.

“Uh, uh. Where are you going?”

Ariel stares at him for a minute. “I am going to bed, Maxwell. I havestuff to do tomorrow.”

Maxwell rolls his eyes but continues to pour two shots of vodka forthem both. “Come on, Ariel. You know you want to…”

Ariel sighs, running her hands through her hair. “I have a feeling youaren’t going to stop until I placate you and say yes.”

Maxwell leans back, grasping the two shot glasses and handing one overto her. 

“You’re quite right about that.”

Ariel rolls her eyes, the hint of another smile on her lips as theyclink glasses and they both toss back the shot, the strong Russian alcoholburning down her throat as it went. 

***

“Maxwell…you a succhh a bad in-plueence on me…”

“Whaaat can I say, Ariel? I am one half of the Brothers Beaumont. Ihaaavve to be at least good at something, right?”

Ariel giggles, the sound loud in the room they occupied. They had movedfrom the bottom level bar to the drawing room next to it. Maxwell and Arielwere seated on the ground, their backs leaning up against the sofa.

“You know what, Maxwell?”

“What?”

Ariel lolls her head to the side, her mind a haze with the amount of alcoholshe had consumed.

“I think I could beat you at a game of lava.”

Maxwell looks at her quizzically despite his inebriated state. “Lavv-a?What kind of game is that?”

Ariel’s lips pull up in a large grin, her excitement growing. This is onegame that Maxwell wouldn’t know about.

Ariel pours herself another shot of vodka and downs it, slamming the glass on the coffee table before standing, wobbling on her feet slightly.

“Okay…now, I will teach you this custom. It was basically the childhood gameof all American child-renn…”

Seeing Ariel’s smile, Maxwell follows her, jumping up on his feet,himself almost falling over.  “Okay! Showme this custom of yours, Little Blossom!”

Ariel laughs, clapping her hands in childlike excitement. “Okay. Soooo…youhave to pretennd that..the ground is hot like lava and that everyything else isssaaafe. So…let’sss say I call out ‘lava’…then we’d have to find the n-nearestpiece of furniture and stand on it. The first one to fall down or trip loses.”

“Buuut…” Ariel says, lifting up a finger. “The last one to land on a piece of furniture has to take a drink.”

Maxwell smiles, nodding his head in drunken excitement. “Ooooh…let’s dothisss. P-prepare to lose, little blossom-m.”

Ariel and Maxwell begin on opposite sides of the reading room. Both ofthem in the middle, eyeing prospective places to keep off the floor. With themany shots of alcohol running through her system Ariel gives a devious grin toMaxwell and shouts at the top of her lungs,

“LAVA!”

With that yell, Ariel shoots away and jumps on to the nearest thing shecan find which was a cream coloured reading chair beside the fireplace. Maxwellhad found a brown oak coffee table to settle on. Both Ariel and Maxwell laughas they take turns in jumping on the furniture, shooting back vodka and yelling‘Lava’ a few times their voices almost raw.

“Lava! Oh, Ariel—watch out!”

In her excitement to get to safety on top of the sofa, Ariel missed herfooting and with the momentum of her upper body she tumbles over the back of thesofa and lands with a loud thud.

“Ow! That f-fucking hurt!”

“Craaap! Are you alright?”

“What in the world is going on in here?”

Ariel freezes, her body going rigid at the voice. She recognised it. Herface scrunched up in a grimace. It wasn’t many times that he saw her drunk butnow was one of those times.

Ariel thought it best to stay behind the sofa. It was the safest place forher to be right now.

Ariel peeked underneath it, seeing Maxwell standing atop the piano. Shestifled a giggle that wanted to bubble up from her throat but she slapped ahand on her mouth to stop it.

“Maxwell? What are you doing on the piano?”

Ariel sees as Maxwell stumbles for words, himself swaying on the pianotrying to appear sober but failing miserably.

“Um –– I…I don’t…you see…it was Ariel’s idea…”

Thanks a lot, Maxwell… 

“Ariel? Is she here? Where is she?”

Ariel closes her eyes as her heart beats widely against her chest.

Shit. Shit. Shiiit.

“She’s hiding behind the sofa.”

Ariel hears a sigh and feet hitting the floor before a shadow passesover her form and she inclines her head upwards and locks eyes with herhusband. His face was a neutral mask of stoicism but his eyes told a differentstory.

He was mad…but even in her drunken state she could see remnants ofamusement in them too.

“What are you doing down there, my love?”

Ariel stares at Liam for a small while and then she grins. “Oh, I’m justplaying Lava with Maxwell. You know…a game…with a few shots of vodka here andthere.”

Liam’s shoulders shake with a low chuckle and he shakes his head. “Ariel…whatam I going to do with you?”

Ariel smiles from her position on the floor. “Uh…maybe take me to bed? Ithink I had a little too much-h to driiink.”

Liam smiles, his blues sparkling with affection before he bends down andscoops his wife into his arms. “Come on, my queen. Let’s get you to bed. Youhave a long day tomorrow.

Ariel smiles, giving Liam a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “That sounds nice.I love youuuu…”

Ariel’s eyes were already slipping shut. She feels the low rumble ofLiam’s laugher against her ear. “I love you too, Ariel.”

***

Ariel awakens, her eyes throbbing and her head pounding. She felt likeshe’d been thumped in the head a few times.

“Ugh!” Ariel groans. “My head…”

Ariel tries to open her eyes but the light against her lids is painfuland she snaps them shut with a hiss.

“Sore head, Ariel?”

Ariel lies back down against her bed and groans. “More like a sorefreaking everything.”

Liam chuckles, leaning down to kiss Ariel’s forehead gently. “I’m sorryto hear that, my love. But unfortunately, duty calls…you have a meeting in an hour withRegina.”

Ariel’s eyes snap open, all thoughts of her pounding headache gone. Inher rush to get out of the bed, her feet tangled up and she falls to thefloor, her arms flailing about.

She lands on the floor with a loud thump. “Geez! Ow.”

Liam’s warm laughter fills their bed chambers and wraps around Arielmaking her shiver. “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

Ariel pops up from the floor, giving her husband a questioning look. “Secondtime? When was the first time?”

“When you were in the bottom parlor and hiding behind the sofa?”

Ariel brings a hand to her forehead and scratches it in confusion. Theevents of last night all but a blur.

“How drunk was I?”

Liam grins, his eyes crinkling atthe edges with mirth. “Drunk enough to proposition me, strip down to your underwear before passing out.”

Ariel gasps, her head beginning to throb louder. “Oh. Sorry…” 

Liam chuckles, running a fingerdown her cheek. “No qualms about that, my sweet. Maybe another time.”

Ariel gives him a sly smirk. “I’llbe holding you to that.”

Liam chuckles, giving her a quickkiss before heading to the doors that lead out of their suite.

“I look forward to it. Oh, andAriel?”

Ariel glances back at her husband. “Yeah?”

“Maybe next time we can play ourown game.”

Ariel gulps. “I––I look forward tothat.”

Liam gives her a wink before slinkingout the door and leaves Ariel to take care of her throbbing headache and the fact that she had to appear sober in front of Regina when in fact she had a killer hangover.

This was going to be a long day,indeed.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Do you think we were supposed to be getting MOC!Dean vibes from how excited Dean was to have the Colt back? I mean, he got pissy when the First Blade was taken from him to, though he ultimately ended up giving that to Cas, but y'know... willingly. Idk where I'm going with this, just something I thought of...

Yeah, idk if it was meant to be exactly like Dean and the First Blade but he was definitely being a bit obsessive about it :P Once you sleep with something under your pillow you cross a line where if this was the sitcom version of the show the next day he’d walk into the library and Sam and Cas would have hung an intervention banner :P 

I mean I don’t think we need to go over Dean’s detailed history with the Colt, either in actions or emotionally how much was connected to it and the obvious security a kill-anything weapon has to your well-being (a rare feeling for him although 12x18 proved that could be preeetty useless when not applied properly anyway)… but he was also personifying the gun and he does this with the car and I guess in a way it’s stuff he puts a bit of himself into. 

(I watched 9x10 recently enough to still be laughing at Crowley calling the car Dean’s phallus on wheels - I don’t think that’s an accurate representation of what Baby is to Dean, and 11x04 showing her as a protective womb and somehow almost cosmically attuned to him as a friend is way more accurate, if we don’t go with her being a representation of his soul. But hands down she is feminine and not just because he calls her so, but symbolically. But the Colt. Definitely a phallic representation for Dean.)

But his weirdness about the gun got him in trouble in 12x18, that the bad guys got the better of him, and, well, the dude in 5x09 who complained why do they not put their weapons on a bungee? Highlights the problem of relying on a kill-anything weapon (and pfft now I think about it like this - WAS that foreshadowing that they gain and lose the Colt in one episode immediately after that because Dean dropped it after Lucifer threw him across the field? :P)

I think the problem is this is such a coveted item, it’s its own curse. And I just spent a moment trying to think of what other thing in pop culture I could compare this to aside from the obvious of the One Ring and realised I was thinking of season 3 and the Colt. So. Uh. I feel like there’s a very obvious comparison to some item that was only got through stealing and was its own curse but my brain is ALSO now just saying, hey, rabbit’s foot in 3x03, and at this point I give up. My brain is a mess of Supernatural and I can’t remember anything else any more. 

Anyway, it’s not something spelled out in the text like that, but right before the Colt comes back into play, like bungee guy and his warning about losing weapons, we have this:

SAM It’s a hell of a luck charm.

BOBBY It’s not a luck charm, it’s a curse! She made it to kill people, Sam!See, you touch it, you own it. You own it, sure, you get a run of good luck to beat the Devil.But, you lose it, that luck turns. It turns so bad that you’re dead inside a week.

SAM Well, so I won’t lose it, Bobby.

BOBBY EVERYBODY LOSES IT!

(Lol to “beat the devil” I hate this show sometimes)

Obviously Colt didn’t make it AS a curse - he made it to kill demons and lock a Devil’s gate shut… But from the outset it has the problem that because it can LOCK the gate it can also OPEN it. So the very earliest we see the Colt is two demons coming to get it from Samuel Colt; it’s a beacon of potential and Colt may have used it for good, but there’s an immediate reaction of interest to use it for bad, because it’s power, and power, of course, corrupts. (Like the ring of power, or the First Blade comparison, as two items specifically about the corrupting influence of dark bad power) 

But still. Once it’s there…

SAMUEL COLT (nods) Not bad. (Samuel opens his jacket so Sam can see the colt in his holster) You don’t want it. It’s a curse. Believe me.

SAM Great. Then let me take it off your hands.

Sam actually is given the Colt (and that scene now to me feels like 9x11 riffed off it a LOT - Dean taking the Mark from Cain feels almost identical in mood, only Sam taking on this “curse” was a lot more benign, unless of course it somehow twists time and fate up to make the Colt so much of their problem in the future). Anyway, he takes it to Dean seemingly with permission and no hard feelings from Samuel Colt, and so it’s sort of got a sense of ownership to them, but not exactly the strongest, especially as it may have just been on loan.

Best I can guess, based on the Elkins connection, after they disappeared back to the future, Elkins the bartender came out and saw the ash and had no interest in it, but did see the Colt and took it, then when Samuel Colt came to town it was like no i never saw no gun, and Colt assumes Sam took it (and hey he did want to pass on that curse :P) and that’s it. Elkins passes it down through his family, Daniel Elkins sort of can’t believe what he’s got, and maybe for all we know was a hunter because having the Colt invites trouble and his family had a history of it and had to learn the hard way.

Dean steals the Colt from him in 4x03, and fails to use it while discovering how their family is well and truly cursed with Mary’s deal. 

John wanted it from Daniel Elkins and never got it from him while he was alive because I bet Elkins did not want to share that curse and had some fear about what it would do to John - the Elkins family having it is sort of like Bilbo having it all the time in the shire - he messes around doing party tricks with his magic ring, but the plot doesn’t come for HIM. 

Vampires eventually steal it, John steals it from them, he gives it again to Dean, but retains a loose ownership of being the one who’d be mad about wasting bullets, even if Sam and Dean wave it around and shoot it a few times, John reclaims it and gives it to Azazel. Azazel gives it to Jake. Sam steals it from Jake, Bela steals it from Sam, gives it to Crowley who gives it to Dean, and then immediately steals it back from him and gives it to Ramiel. Ramiel is killed for it by Sam (unintentionally) and Mary steals it, for Mick who gives it to Sam, who gives it to Dean, who Cas steals it from, who loses it to Dagon, who melts it and the poor ghost of Samuel Colt, haunting miles of railroad in the middle of Wyoming, suddenly has his spirit freed and goes up to Heaven at long last like, finally :P 

Pretty much everyone who either steals it or has it stolen from them is killed for it or because of this struggle - losing it is a safer way to not die, so Dean dropping it at the end of 2 time travel escapades, or after attempting to kill Lucifer, sort of means the gun falls off the radar, in a kind of threw it into the deepest ocean way, where it stops being on the board. But the curse is clear and the power struggle for it. 

I think this sort of desirability of it as an item IS the curse, and Dean is best placed of anyone in the world to know about it because he’s been not just connected to the story all along, but also with the time travel things, especially 4x03, intimately connected with its  history in a really weird way. He was the one who shot the phoenix, after all, even if Sam got the Colt in the first place. Dean being the last “true” owner of the Colt is a nice way to end it, in that Dean is the centre of the universe way. But also that Sam brought it to him and Mary stole it for them - the family history, the family curse… (I still think Samuel Colt’s journal was in the Campbell library because there was a family connection)

Also it’s great Cas stole it and shot it and had a part in that - also mirroring Eileen’s attempt to shoot Dagon, which makes me feel like she’s part of the family and should marry Sam >.>

ANYWAY all that said, I think that’s the curse/pull of the Colt, the sort of “my precious” feeling that would come from it. It’s an object soaked in blood and in the supernatural world that seems to leave a mark. I think the gun was actually almost bonded to their story or to Dean, and he would have the Gollum-like intensity over it because it’s been his for hundreds of years all through its existence, in the “i’m my own grandfather” way time travel messes with things. And I think that it wasn’t EVIL per say but the “curse” had a truth to it that Samuel Colt couldn’t even begin to understand what he’d created, and what it would become. And all the people who died for it - all that power and all that swapping hands? If ownership puts a bit of something into a thing like Dean personifying Baby until she looks out for him in turn like 11x04 showed, then think of the gun going through all those hands, and all the evil or desperation they poured into it while coveting its power.

I don’t think it necessarily drove Dean mad in the way if we had a longer arc with it it MIGHT have Gollum’d him like the First Blade did but for the 3 episodes he owned it, it definitely seemed like a danger and I think this is why he was susceptible to it. I think 12x18 in a way might be a great thing to rewatch for Dean and the Colt - how it influenced him in that time, that he was sloppy and filled with bravado… I said in my notes for that episode that he was happily waving his phallic gun around that represented a sort of power and therefore virility he doesn’t normally feel - a GOOD feeling about himself, self-confidence and self-assuredness, and so Dean hooking up felt a natural part of exercising that power. But it made him reckless and vulnerable and so he ended up being the damsel tied to the chair and thrown in a meat locker. Sam, who had a tearful reunion with the Colt and saw it in a completely opposite light to Dean, as a dangerous, cursed tool, as Samuel Colt said and Sam knows full well, had a clarity about it.

I think if Sam kept the Colt Cas probably wouldn’t have stolen it, and the Colt would still be un-melted, because a totally different story would have been told.

But it got to Dean. It probably wouldn’t have CHANGED him long term, but the immediate personality effect was all over 12x18 and it suddenly filled a huge part of the emotional drama of 12x19 where Cas stealing it became a Cas or Colt situation and they were weirdly paralleled closely together (as well as that weird sexual side to Dean owning the Colt that 12x18 explored, being used with the Colt being in his bed, and Cas stealing it from there…) - if it had been some other McGuffin and not The Colt with all its history I think Dean also would have been a lot more chill in 12x19, and not be betrayed, and not waver even for a second to seem like he was messed up enough to be weighing the worth of the Colt against Cas in the first place. 

I don’t think if the Colt hadn’t been melted it would have had a long term affect on their relationship even if Dean would have been upset about Cas taking it…

I am still wondering if they’ll develop that Cas nearly died FOR Mary to steal it and if Dean would ever clearly be made aware that the BMoL stole it from Ramiel and that’s why they were there and what Mary was doing.

I want more on the cursed family history and whether they mention the Colt or not in that, it just existing for a moment in this season has dragged up more than enough of that…

Okay I have way too many thoughts about this ask I went way off point with. 

But yeah, I don’t think the Colt ACTUALLY would have been like the Mark of Cain and First Blade to Dean, but metaphorically that’s the emotional impact it had, with the family history and HIS history with it being the Mark, and the Colt of course being the Blade.