#sam and dean mush

[mlobsters]

supernatural s4e14 sex and violence (w. cathryn humphris)

Yeah. You see, sirens can read minds. They see what you want most and then they can kinda, like, cloak themselves. You know, like an illusion.

[deanswhiskey]

𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐞 - 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; while stuck at home, you find some christmas decorations in a storage closet

wc; 1935

warnings; kissing, tooth-rotting christmas themed fluff, that’s really it

authors note; merry christmas and happy holidays!!

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

christmas had always been your favorite holiday growing up. you hadn’t spent much time celebrating since you started hunting. your parents were hunters but they sent you to your uncle bobby’s whenever they’d hunt. you didn’t know what was happening, just excited to see your uncle.

when you started hunting, looking for whoever, or whatever, killed your parents, you didn’t get to celebrate much anymore. the days mushed together half the time.

after you met sam and dean, and eventually joined them, you tried to bring as much of the holidays as you could, seeing as they didn’t get to much.

you find little plastic decorations at the shitty gas stations you’d stop at in different cities and states. hanging christmas scented air fresheners from the mirror in deans car, even when he’d get annoyed, he couldn't say anything because he knew how much you loved it. you’d always buy funny little headbands for sam and dean to wear too, just so you could snap pictures of them on your camera.

it was midday in december when the boys were leaning up against baby while you were inside the gas station. “geez, what’s takin’ her so friggin long?” dean asked while checking his watch. he’d finished pumping gasoline what felt like a half hour ago.

you walked out of the gas station with a slightly full grocery bag and a huge smile on your face. they knew that smile. that ‘i-just-got-something-you-won’t-like-smile’.

you walked up to the boys and before you could even say anything, dean interrupted, “what did you get this time?”

you fake acted offended, “how dare you, dean!” you then giggled and pulled out two silly christmas headbands. one was reindeer antlers one had to little santa hats on springs that moved around.

they both gave you a look. they didn’t want to wear them but they were anyways. you ripped the little bit of packaging tbh eh had and held them out, silently telling them to pick one.

sam grabbed the one with the reindeer antlers and set them on his head. you continued to hold out the santa hat one. dean rolled his eyes and put them on. “don’t give me that, dean, you love it.” you chuckled at the dancing santa hats on his head.

you reached down into the backseat through the window to grab your camera out of your bag. “smile!” you said turning on your camera. and they did, they smiled for you. you snapped the picture of your two boys looking adorable in their christmas headbands.

when the three of you found the bunker, there were rooms upon rooms upon rooms to discover.

during a hunt, you got badly injured. one of the vamps had harshly shoved you and you fell down some old stairs, leading you to breaking your foot.

now the boys stopped hunting for a little less than a month so they could tend to you, even against your wishes not to.

sam spent most of the time right next to you; he didn’t want you out of his sight. he acted as if you were sick and could hardly stand.

“i’m not terminally ill, sam,” you said with a giggle as he picked you up to move you from the kitchen to the couch in the living room.

“i know, my love, i’m just being cautious,” he said stopping and giving your forehead a kiss.

once the doctor released you of your crutches, leaving you with just a boot, the boys finally went back to hunting. sam, reluctantly, agreed, with the exception that he’d call you multiple times to make sure you’re okay.

one of the days the boys were away, you decided to go through some of the storage closets you three had yet to go through.

you limped down the halls making your way to one of many. the room was lined with various boxes and cabinets that had a thin coat of dust.

you opened the first box which had nothing but spare bedding. thankful it was the first box you opened; definitely setting that aside to take out and put them in a closer storage closet.

the next box had old clothes, along with the next few boxes.

the next box you picked up and dusted off made a noise; a jingle sort of noise. you took your box cutter and quickly opened the box.

to your surprise, it was christmas decorations. the men of letters must’ve loved christmas. you couldn't find a tree in sight, nor any ornaments. that was okay, there were plenty of other decorations to do the trick.

you looked over at the pile the box was in to see if there were any more. you only found one more box which was full of string lights. you carried the boxes, one at a time, to the living room to start setting up what decorations you had.

your phone was set out on a table with a speaker connected to it and you had christmas music blaring through the bunker. you wanted to start with the lights. so that’s what you did. you grabbed the step ladder from a closet, the bag of push pins, and many extension cords and went to work. you wrapped the main staircase railing and many door frames and miscellaneous pieces of furniture with the yellow christmas lights.

next up was this little christmas village you found. there was a perfect table in the library for this. you grabbed the empty light box and put all the different pieces into it and carried that to the library. you meticulously placed each little building and extra pieces just the way you wanted.

the last of the decorations went up and there was only one left. the mistletoe. where could i put it, you thought to yourself.

it had to be somewhere where everyone could see but not in a doorway where everyone stands often. you decided to put it on the doorway to the living room. it was a simple and easy place to put it.

you grabbed a thumb tack and hung it up there, careful not to fall off the ladder with your boot. if sam knew that you were climbing on a ladder with a boot on your foot, he’d throw a fit, demand you sit on the couch and he do all the work.

not long after you hung the mistletoe, you made yourself some hot chocolate and cozied on up on the couch with the book you were currently reading. the christmas music was still playing but it was soft now.

sam had texted you he’d be home soon about 15 minutes ago and now you were just anticipating their arrival. you were so excited to show the boys the new and improved, and festive, bunker.

your ears perked up as you heard the best bunker door begin to open. you all but threw your blanket off of you and placed your book open face down and rushed to the door.

“holy shit,” you heard dean say in the distance. you fretted the boys as they were walking down the stairs. their eyes lit up and they scanned the room and beyond of the decorations.

“what’s all this, sweetheart?” sam said leaning to give you a kiss, half still distracted at all the decor.

“i was going through some closets and found a whole bunch of christmas decorations!” you beamed.

dean set his duffel bag on the table in the war room and went to go look around in the library and further.

sam set his duffel done too but stayed with you. you were admiring the joy on his face; you could tell he needed some holiday joy, especially since he never really got to have this.

“this is,” sam paused, speechless. he didn’t know how to describe this. “amazing. i can't believe you did all of this.” he smile wide as he looked at you.

you smiled back, impossibly harder since your smile was already big. sam interrupted you before you could get a word out. “wait,” you brows furrowed slightly. “did you climb up on a ladder to hang this stuff?” he questioned.

you simply nodded. you knew he was gonna be upset, he won’t be too upset with you, just concerned. “y/n, you could’ve hurt yourself further.”

“sam, baby, i’m okay. i promise i was extra extra careful. just for you.” you grabbed his hands, rubbing the back of them with your thumb to reassure him.

he just looked at you with worry in his eyes. “i’m okay, baby. why don’t you go take a shower,” you lean up closer to his face. “then meet me under the mistletoe.” you gave him a sweet kiss before patting his butt, the two of you giggling.

a little while later, you sat in the living room waiting for the love of your life. christmas music still softly filled the living room while you sipped on the last of your hot chocolate.

sam walked in, his sweatpants hanging low and his navy blue v-neck hugged him perfectly. his hair still wet but not dripping. he looked beautiful. he stood under the mistletoe and leaned against the door frame.

you looked up at him and smiled with adoration. you made your way over to your beautiful boyfriend.

standing in front of his tall frame you look up at him, “can we dance?” you ask.

“of course, my love.” he says contently taking your right hand in his left. his right went around your waist. your left rested on his chest.

the two of you just gazed into each others eyes while you rocked back and forth. elvis’ ‘blue christmas’ played softly in the background. it was one of your and sams favorite christmas songs.

occasionally, sam would spin you just to hear those melodic, beautiful giggles.

your head now resting on his chest; hearing his heartbeat was so relaxing to you.

“hey,” you look up at him. “we’re still under the mistletoe, you know.” sam smiled.

you look up and the mistletoe you hung up earlier, “huh, i guess so.”

the two of you kept your gaze before sam slowly dipped his head down. the two of you fit perfectly like a puzzle piece.

his lips soft against your as they moved in sync with yours. sams hands found theirs way to your thighs, lifting you up while your hands made their way around his neck, tangling in his hair; his lips never left yours.

sam blindly made his way to the couch, sitting down with you straddling him. the kiss didn’t last much longer. you pulled away and laid back against his chest, cuddling into him.

sam was the first to speak up, “this place looks amazing, baby, i’m proud of you.”

“thank you, sam.” you gave him a kiss on the cheek, laying back down against him.

the cinnamon candle you lit earlier was still burning and the christmas music still played as the two of you fell asleep on the couch.

the next morning, dean made his way to the kitchen and brewed himself a fresh cup of coffee. the coffee finished breeding and he added whatever he did necessary for the perfect cup. he took that cup and walked to the living room, unsuspecting of the two of you sleeping there.

he approached the living room and saw the two of you, you were in almost the exact same position as when you fell asleep. dean chuckled to himself, “those kids.” he said before sipping his coffee and walking back to the kitchen.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

[povcastiel]

ROAD TO REDEMPTION

[ Well, well, well… I’ve been sitting on this for so long, I caved and decided to allow you all into my mind. My first official series! Giddy up ya’ll, it’s time for outlaw Dean Winchester! As always, please, please let me know what you think and if you wish to be tagged on future postings. Series Main Post Here ]

Synopsis | It’s been five years without him. You’ve moved on, made a new life for yourself. But no one can really outrun the past, right?

Tags | Supernatural Western!AU, Cowboy!Dean, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Winchester Brothers, Outlaws, BrothelWorker!Reader, Female!Reader, Priest!Castiel, Dean x Reader

Warnings | Eluding to violence, Minor sexual context, Angst, Loathing, Mentions of blood/harm, Mentions of religion

Word Count | 3k~

Rating | R, MDNI

Barren land stretched on for miles, out in the open with only the stars and moon to spy upon you. A raging fire warmed your cheeks, now a rosy shade and possibly darker if he was to continue looking at you in that way. He stoked the flames a while longer, as they licked higher and higher into the air, until eventually settling. A crackle and pop were the only sounds that passed in the silence between you. Dean rose to his feet. His frame towering and broad. You proceeded to pull the quilt, around your shoulders, more tightly to your hunched form. He tended to the horse in the meantime.

“We’ll have to move by first light.” He informed you, his voice distant but soft.

The hair that was once tucked behind your ear had fallen down against the side of your face. Thick and long, cascading down your back.

“I know…” You murmured, clearly lost within your own thoughts. Your eyes drifted down to the torn, tattered fabric of your lace trimmed dress. Leather boots just as worn to accompany.

Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of you. His hat was left hanging on his satchel. The glow of the fire illuminated his features, delicate for someone so burly and gruff. His face covered in a shadow of stubble, hair long and pushed back. A white undershirt clung to his chest, jeans covered in dirt, barely even a shade of blue. He reached for your hand, wrapped snug in a torn piece of your cotton gown. The blood had soaked through and worry seemed to stretch across his brow when he looked it over.

“It’s okay.” You attempted to reassure him, but your tone wasn’t as convincing as you’d hoped. He dismissed it and went on to unwrap the makeshift bandage.

“How bad does it hurt?” He asked, green eyes raging with concern. His soft fingertips ghosted over your wrist, a contrast to how rough they appeared. His hands alone could tell stories of what he’d endured, the life he’s lived.

“Not bad.” You shrugged, as the blanket fell off one of your shoulders. That was a lie. The cut was deep, and had been throbbing the entire journey.

He reached for his canteen of water and laid it in your lap. Encouraging you to hydrate, while he pulled out a familiar silver flask. The cap spun with a metal swirl and before he could chug down what was left, you opted for the alcohol over water. Dean was easily caught off guard, watching the liquid flowing into your mouth. You gulped and bared the sting with tight closed lips, before using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth.

“Easy, darlin’…” He snickered, taking a swig. “Drink some water. You’ll need it.” He insisted, motioning to the jug.

“Are you implying I’m weak?” You quipped with a raised brow.

“I ain’t saying anything, but you tend to find yourself in a lot of trouble.” He chuckled, low in his chest. White teeth gleaming. Such a charmer he was.

…

The thunder crashed on. Rain steady against the roof. Dry ground had now turned to mush. Clear Tusk had been swallowed by the night and just as usual, you had a job to do. Although, given your sympathy, your client duties had been temporarily put on hold. Specifically to aid a young girl. Fresh blood, with a look of naivety. Easy prey.

At least that’s how the men would see it.

It had been her first night. Her acquaintance hadn’t been so friendly. Needless to say, she was reduced to a puddle of emotions. Crying and loathing in self pity. You were one to give her a pass. A simple understanding, as you’d seen yourself in her. There was a time too, in which you had to find your own footing. You just didn’t particularly have this line of work in mind.

Her red strands of hair were now wet streaks against her freckled face. Pursed lips, on the verge of quivering again. She settled her tears on the way to the church. You trudged through mud, stomping it off on the wooden porch and led her in through the front. The door heavily slammed behind you, which left her jumping with fright. You wrapped an arm around her frail form, soothing her fears as your boots clanked and creaked against rotting, old floor boards. Somehow, this place was holding together.

You knew well that Cas, the town’s only priest, would call it ‘the Grace of God.’

Whether you believed that yourself, was another story.

Candles were lit along each pew. The sound of rain was consistent against poorly sealed windows. Which would explain the tin buckets collecting water. Castiel appeared. He must have heard the door. His figure came into view from the other side of the vast, yet cramped, room. He was clutching a bible, his index and middle fingers tucked between the thin pages to keep his place. His black suit blended against the dark tone of the room, his white collar the only means for him to stand out.

He addressed you by name. Familiar and gentle. Despite your lack of religion, Cas brought an inexplicable aura of peace and calmness. You felt safe here and you knew that Merrien would too.

She sniffled and extended a hand to him. He immediately tore his blue orbs off of you and greeted her with a new found warmth. He smiled, tenderly. “Hello. You two seem to be comin’ from something troubling?” He looked between the two of you. His voice full of gravel.

You spoke for her, “She just needs somewhere safe to rest for the night. I thought here would be best.” You clarified the situation, preferring not to go into detail.

Castiel nodded, briefly pausing, but he was quick to regain himself. “Well, right this way.” He extended his arm for guidance. Merrien was reluctant, but she walked ahead of him and toward his study.

Before you could see yourself out, he was turning back and coming toward you. Your hands still clutching the skirt of your dress. You noticed his wandering gaze then, once you had faced him. Surely he noticed the tucked fabric, pinned to your hip and revealing a set of stockings, your bare skin visible, beneath your gown. It was certainly more erotic than he was used to.

The preacher cleared his throat. “You know I’m good for the help, but I really wish you wouldn’t subject yourself to this madness.” He mumbled. Now he sounded like a figure of authority. The treatment you had been desperate to escape from. The prison your father had created.

You averted your gaze, all but scoffing. “I’m serious. You take in a new victim n’ some dirt bag roughs her up.”

“We are not victims!” You hissed, disliking in how he seemed to put the blame on you. As if you led the poor girl into a trap.

“No, but you’ve chosen a life that invites evil. Ever since those Winchester’s rode off you’ve-“ You cut him off. “I’m not here to be guilted to kneel at your altar and confess my sins.” Your tone was biting. “Goodnight, Father.” You turned sharp on your heels and hurriedly made your exit.

…

The man did his best to tend to your wound, ensuring it wouldn’t become infected. You were thankful for his attentiveness. If you were honest, this was the most vulnerable you’d ever seen him.

He used a clean cloth, his bandana rather, to wrap your hand again and secured it with a side knot. After his doctoring, you’d found yourself migrated to the hard ground, using all the blankets he possessed to keep warm. You used his arm for a pillow, while he opted for his jacket, bunched up and rolled to support him.

Somewhere in between the burning heat of flames, your skin, and your feelings—an overwhelming urge washed over you. His leg tucked between your own, half on his side as he hovered above you. His mouth eagerly tasted you in a bruising kiss. It took all the breath from your lungs, for a moment you forgot to breathe entirely. A heavy exhale blew from your nostrils, while your fingers tangled into his chestnut strands. He barely had to touch the sleeve of your dress, before it was hanging off your shoulder. Revealing more of your lithe, warm skin. He kissed you there. His wet lips leaving a trail. First your collar bone. Next, your throat. A soft sigh emits from you and he’s pleased to hear it.

There’s a moment you look at each other. Chests heaving with anticipation. And it’s then that you taste the sweetness of your self autonomy. The choice to be his. The possibility to make a life outside of judgement and fear. Dean’s known this kind of emancipation since his father’s death, even before then. Constantly running. Town to town. Despite the erratic uncertainty, you were envious. And yet, somehow, this man was willing to risk all of it to give you a piece of liberation.

Youthful lust grows heavy. You’re fumbling with his belt, as his hands roughly hike your dress up your legs. You’ve never wanted him more and you’re surprised by your sudden desire, especially after the day’s events.

Then again, it seemed unlikely there’d ever be a moment when you wouldn’t want Him.

…

The anger in the pit of your stomach was bubbling to the surface, rising in your throat, the entire walk back to the brothel. You didn’t even bother to use your shawl, the garment hanging low below your waist and loosely holding at your arms.

You weren’t sure if hearing his name or the insinuation of bad intent had triggered you. Either way, you had your fill for the evening.

Despite your foul mood, the atmosphere remained the same. Music filtered through the bar and up the stairs. Every round table was occupied. The bartender satisfied his customers from a range of stacked liquor, on shelves that nearly looked ready to cave. The room was packed, giving no one a choice but to sweat. Once you entered, their eyes were roaming. A rowdy crowd of cowboys, the town sheriff and his men, along with a few townsfolk. They were all well-known faces. Every last one, a strong reminder of how much you wished to leave.

You climbed the staircase, with limited space from clients nearly over the railing with their public affection. The smell of liquor and cigars lingered, a hard smell to filter. Especially out of your clothes. It was something you’d grown accustomed to.

Your door was left ajar. Pushing it wide open, you disregarded the man inside. You sat behind your vanity and proceeded to pull the pins from your hair, unleashing your mess of hair. Arthur rose from your bed, creaking in its wake. He took a swig from the bottle in his hand.

“I’m not in the mood.” You informed him. You hadn't even bothered to look at him.

He was a routine customer, though you wished he wouldn’t come at all.

Your hands were busy rolling your stockings down, when sat his sweating bottle onto your table. He leaned behind your chair, his fist gathering your hair and forcing you upright. Your reflection met his own in the rounded mirror. Your jaw tightened. It was all just a delightful game for him.

“What do I pay ya for, sweetheart?” He gruffed against your ear. His beard scratching your skin.

You grimaced at his hot breath.

“You’ll do well to know your place.”

“And you’ll do well to call it a night.” You turned toward him. If it hadn’t been your father, you weren’t sure you’d have the confidence to tell off a man half your size. His grip painfully pulled at your scalp. Your nose brushed his, and you weren’t quite sure how his mood would shift. His lips smashed against yours. Sloppy and warm.

Eventually, he released you. Not without force, as your hands gripped the front of your vanity to steady yourself. The small legs skidding against the floor. You exhaled, mainly due to your irritation, as his boots heavily shuffled toward the door. Eventually, his movements were drowned out by the people beyond your room and you rose quickly to slam and latch the door shut. Your hands laid flat against the surface of the wood, head hung low.

There was the unmistakable sensation of emotions welling in your chest. Brutal memories flooding back to torture you and you refused to drown. Not again.

Not after five long years of letting him go.

You’d keep swimming, like always. Just as you had, right after your mother’s sudden death. An event that transformed your father into an unrecognizable monster. Possessed by the all consuming tainted liquid. It replaced his wife, soon it even replaced his own daughter.

Shaky fingers worked on undressing yourself. Layer by layer, lace by lace to undo your corset. The four walls that barricaded you from the outside, were a modest display of your dwelling. A wooden nightstand, lopsided by a shortened leg. On top rested a single candle and your father’s old pocket watch. Your vanity was turned diagonal against the corner and facing toward your bed, a wash basin directly beside that. A trunk and dresser to fit most of the things you owned combined.

There was a part of you that was deemed to feel ashamed of your circumstances. A string of poor choices to lead you here. One starting with your relationship to Dean Winchester.

You’d begin to wonder if he was even alive. Maybe all those bad deeds had caught up with him. ‘May God rest his soul,’ Castiel had always put it, when expressing his worry about the outlaw brothers. Sam, specifically, was always viewed as less threatening than his older sibling. Your truth, on the other hand, was something far different than what the town had depicted.

Their faces covered every post and front door through town. It amused you to think that the posters held any sort of value, in terms of gaining information. It was unlikely they’d show their faces again. So many years had passed, but you were aware that the sheriff had a grudge to hold. You were guilty of the same effect—the inability to move on. The inexhaustible attempts of letting time heal those open wounds. Regardless, Dean was a kind of love that burned until it scarred. And even if by some miracle he came striding back into town, dapper as ever and sweeping you off your feet. It was far too late.

If you hadn’t been able to forgive him after all these years, it was unlikely that day of reckoning would come.

…

The brim of his hat covered his eyes, resting against the bridge of his nose. His brother was concentrated, a journal against his thigh, while he scribbled down his thoughts. The scratching of his pencil was disturbing Dean, propped against the smooth edge of a rock.

“For the love of God Sam, get some rest.” He gruffed, throwing his hat down into the dirt.

“I’m almost done.” He muttered, while proceeding to write out the date at the bottom of the page. Finally, he shut the book and wound the straps around the cover to keep it closed. He stood, tucking the prized possession into his satchel. His boots shuffled against the ground. Dean, opened an eye.

He grunted, proceeded to sit up right. “Gimme that.” He motioned toward the silver flask. Sam bent down to grab the container, before handing it off to his brother.

“What’s going on?” He asked, before chugging down the whiskey. Each gulp burning more than the last. He swallowed the alcohol with ease.

Sam sat back on the blanket, the flames dancing in his eyes. A familiar expression resting on his features. Revealing to Dean that he was anxious.

“I know that look. What is it, Sammy?” He prodded again.

Sam exhaled, “I just… I don't think this is a good idea.” He disclosed.

“What? Goin’ home?” Dean responded, questioning him as if it was obviously their right to do so.

Sam shook his head, glancing out over the stretch of dry land. His eyes slowly following back to Dean.

“You know what I mean.”

“Clear Tusk is our home. We have every right to be there, just as much as those sons of bitches. It ain’t right Sam… you know it.” He ranted, clearly upset by his brother’s reluctance.

Sam accepted defeat on the matter. Despite being worried they wouldn’t have the welcoming Dean anticipated. Not to mention, the possibility of violence or even arrest. Those outcomes never phased his brother, not when he had his heart set on something.

Not that the two men had known any different. Their mother died, as a result of their father’s recklessness. Hellbent on revenge, he raised his children to be just as callous. This, in return, wasn’t enough to stop Sam or Dean from trying to escape. In fact, once Dean had met you, there was hope in the idea that he would, for once, be truly happy. Sam had never seen him so infatuated. Unfortunately, a whirlwind romance like theirs couldn’t stand on two feet. Her father refused the relationship from day one, because of their family’s reputation. Secrecy ensued, as did their demise.

Dean and you had calculated a plan to leave. To run away. The two of you would start over in another town, another place where your faces were unrecognizable.

Of course, after realizing what had transpired, your father caused a ruckus in town. The sheriff rounded his men and where you chose to rest hadn’t been quite far enough.

Aurthur, Kalvin, and Henry had ripped you from Dean in every sense of the word. The image branded into his mind, painfully. Your screams, all for him, forever haunting. The other two had subdued him with a few blows. Intent on killing him. He regretted never turning back for you. Like a coward, he ran to meet his brother.

In those long few days, you actually waited. Something Dean wasn’t aware of. Starving and locked in your room, you laid beneath your window. Listening for his arrival, his return to rescue you. Gradually, agonizingly, the days turned into weeks, turned into months.

Eventually, Dean settled his mind and folded his arms over his chest, before laying back. “Go to sleep…” He muttered to his brother.

By morning… the Winchester’s would be back.

[stusbunker]

Tattered: Epilogue

A Supernatural A/B/O Fanfiction Series

Featuring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sam

Word Count: ~3250

Warnings, etc: Just some thoughts and kitchen sex

Series Masterlist

Reader

The house is entirely too quiet as I park the van. No shrieking voices wafting from the playroom or doors swinging open on the chance that I brought home snacks. I still don’t know if I’ll ever get used to it. But school days loom ahead of us for the next ten months and another twelve years after that. My babies are school aged and it tightens my chest in grief as much as it soothes my mind with the idea of free time.

My Alphas have both had their adjustment periods. However, I have been nominated for drop off duty indefinitely after Dean cried so hard he couldn’t see the road on the first day of school.

Sam’s excuse is that he prefers to run in the mornings.

Oh well, I don’t have to deal with the pick up queue and for that I am grateful. I hang up my keys as I step inside the eerily peaceful house. Sam’s in the shower, water audible even downstairs. I beeline for the kitchen and a second cup of coffee and debate what I should do before I have to run back into town to mail out deliveries for Bobby’s online parts business.

I jump when I find Dean at the table, coffee in one hand and a book in the other, which makes sense why I didn’t hear his thoughts because he tends to get lost in the story and I can’t tap into his feelings when he’s lost to his imagination.

He smirks and I try to play it cool.

He pretends to keep reading as I fix my coffee, his amusement bright on the air. I run my fingers through his hair as I brush past him on the way to my usual spot and his brow softens before he goes back to his book for real. I watch Dean read, relishing in the ordinary of the little pucker of his lips as he thinks, the shadow of stumble along his jaw, the ease in which we all exist these days. I can’t help but get a little emotional over how far we’ve come as mates, as a family.

I must be dwelling because Dean reaches out his hand, palm side up against the table and I grab onto it as he continues his literary journey and I sip my coffee with my opposite hand. Reassured and supported.

Sam joins us and disrupts the quiet with the shrill whirl of the blender for his daily smoothie. And as much as Dean hems and haws about it, he’s not actually mad. He winks at me over his probably cold coffee and I nudge his foot beneath the table. Sam sits down opposite me, smelling clean and enthusiastic.

“It’s so quiet,” he huffs a little in disbelief.

“Cherish it, it’s only seven hours a day,” I remind him.

“Right?!” Dean emphasizes using a coupon for the new fro-yo place as a bookmark. He leans back and stretches out his arms. In just a t-shirt and jeans, I get a good view of his strong torso and gorgeous arms. He holds the stretch and I pull my feet up under the table to rest against his lap.

Sam eyes me over his fancy smoothie tumbler and I consider moving upstairs, and taking them both back to bed.

Dean sinks back into his chair, hands finding my calves beneath the table and starts rubbing them gently. God, those hands. My eye lids droop in the pleasure of Dean’s grip, head lolling back as I laze in place. Sam gets up and rinses out his dishes, and when he’s done he makes his own move onto my shoulders. Sam’s hands are massive and no matter how many ways he touches me, I always feel safe.

I fall into the sensations, Dean’s thumbing into the arch of my foot and Sam working out the knot between my shoulder blades that I get from bedtime stories and too much time at a computer. It’s the happy kind of ache. Before I even realize it I’m mush. And Dean is having one of those silent conversations with Sam over my head. I can hear their intent, naked, table, Omega. But most of all I feel the pride and the hunger of their thoughts.

I can’t hold back the shiver as Dean twists the fabric of my leggings against my thighs and pulls, lifting my hips from my chair and dragging my pants off with expert fingers.

Sam leans down and kisses the side of my neck, chest hot behind me. Before I realize he’s no longer touching me, my chair scrapes against the stone floor, pulling me away from the table, baring my naked legs to them both. Dean’s out of his chair and rounding on me, eyes dark and playful. As Sam tugs at my sleeves, drawing my focus away from Dean as he rips my hoodie off of me, leaving me in nothing but my cami and panties.

I don’t know if I should lean back and keep making them work for it or stand up and take what I want.

Dean makes up my mind for me as he drops to the floor at my feet and starts kissing up my thigh. He watches me as I spread my legs open, want thickening in the space between us as he nibbles his way to my core. Sam’s not waiting his turn, instead he drapes himself over me and kisses me upside down. The fresh tartness of his smoothie still on his tongue, he invades my mouth.

I get a hand in his hair and I hold him there, meeting his every stroke. 

Then Dean’s nuzzles against my seam, breathing and lapping against the patch of slick soaked cotton.

I can’t help but rock against his pretty face.

Sam’s long fingers delve down the front of my top, sure and steady they tease my nipples into peaks. I moan into his mouth and Dean drags me further off the seat of my chair, hoisting my legs over his shoulders one at a time. I squeeze him closer, but Sam’s pulling back and I can tell that he needs more of me than this angle allows.

I blink back to reality, watch Sam’s chest rise and fall as he takes stock of the room. Dean’s threading his knuckles into the legs of my panties, teasing me with the fabric as he sucks a bruise on my inner thigh. Everything is hot and churning and none of it is enough.

“Up, Dean,” Sam barks. And they’re lifting me by my thighs and my armpits and spreading me out across the table like a goddamn buffet. Dean works my panties off, but Sam just shoves my top down,  getting his mouth on my tits as soon as he can. I arch into the heat of his mouth, snake my fingers into his hair and tug. My skin prickles with Sam’s deep growl.

Dean’s there to catch the next wave of slick fresh from the source. He slurps at my cunt and I twitch with the electricity humming beneath my skin. But they’ve only begun to pull me apart.

I drag Sam’s mouth to my own, my tongue challenges him for more. He breaks the kiss to catch his breath.

All I am and all I have is wet and empty.

I inhale deeply and reach for Sam’s waistband. He didn’t bother putting on shorts after his shower, his dick is heavy and thickening as I pull it out of his sweats. I realize I forgot breakfast, and take my fill anyway. He tosses his head back as I gaze up at him from the tabletop, all wide chest and damp hair. His huge hands clamp down on my chest and I loosen my jaw, breathe through my nose and let Sam fuck my throat.

My lips bump into the heat of his knot and I begin to drool from the fat of his shaft. I swallow instinctively making Sam moan my name. Dean pushes my legs further apart, and strokes my thighs as his soft lips pull on my clit, focusing all my pleasure on that tiny mesmerizing patch of nerve endings. He draws it out of me, and the tether of my climax starts to break loose, like a clothesline in a tornado.

Two thick, calloused fingers slide inside me and I start to cough in warning to Sam. He knowingly pulls out and almost immediately Dean is tapping against my g-spot, making me bend and writhe. And with one last wide swipe of his tongue, I explode, straining towards Dean’s face. Desperate and thrashing.

When I gather my bearings, Sam’s actually holding me down by the wrists and by the looks of Dean it’s because I decided to use Dean’s ears as handles. His usually bright eyes are heavy with betrayal as he rubs the abused skin. “Easy!” 

I can’t even pretend to be sorry. I sigh and shift against the wet patch beneath my ass. I look back up at Sam and tip my chin up, cracking my jaw wide as the pulsing of my channel ebbs away. Sam juts out his chin and sticks his tongue in his cheek, impressed with my gaul. I get my reward, my hands released and that satisfying, suffocating stretch of his cock back down my throat.

Dean, in retaliation, drags me by my hips to the other edge of the table, almost making me drop Sam. Fucker. But Sam follows, height in his favor as he rests his balls on the kitchen table and continues to fill my mouth, pumping gently as Dean drops trow and works himself up to fuck me himself. I feel and hear Dean’s actions, unable to see anything but the wood grain of the table top, Sam’s heavy sack and his slowly filling knot.

I tease Sam’s crown with my tongue, coaxing him deeper, harder.

Then I feel the welcome shift between my legs, the hot press of Dean on my swollen lips, and he’s home. They’re both home. With me. In me. Us. They move in sync, like a well oiled machine, slick and sleek and determined. Stuffing me until I come again on a silent cry. Sam’s got one hand on my shoulder, the other cupping my chin, caressing while holding me in place. Dean’s thumbing my clit, threatening through clenched teeth and I know how competitive he is, how he’s trying to rack up his come count while he’s got his hand on one of my magic buttons. His knot soon to drag against the other.

I know how sensitive his ears are, so it might be a little bit about revenge too. But it’s well worth it. I wiggle my hips and clench around his dick, taunting him back until he pulls out completely and I whine at the loss.

Dean fucking paints me with his seed, shoots over my cunt, thighs and belly. Though his knot is unfulfilled, he grunts and falls face first against the soft pooch left over from the pups, mouthing against my skin, he catches his breath.

I tremble from the sensitivity, but I still have another Alpha to satisfy. I reach down and pet Dean’s head before planting my feet on the edge of the table and shoving my chin against Sam’s pubes. My nose is filled with soap and Sam, his balls a cushion as I try to make him feed me his knot.

A noise catches in the back of Sam’s throat and he thrusts shallowly as I hum around him. I swallow and feel his wide tip catch, I keep swallowing, breathing through my nose. Growing desperate I hum deeper, try and use my tongue for better pressure.

Dean’s warm palm slides up my chest, both soothing and praising as I focus on Sam. I wish I wasn’t upside down, I wish I could see Sam’s face. Instead, I scream at him in my mind. And the bastard chuckles, stroking my chin he finally starts to really move, sharing in the work. I am a drooling, sated mess, but he’s still hard as ever.

Dean pulls himself off of my sticky body, dropping into Sam’s forgotten chair. Cautiously, I relax my jaw, easing Sam out of my mouth so I can finally face him. He grips his knot and watches me darkly, waiting to see what I’ll do next. I sit up and flick his shoulder before kissing him sloppy. His big hand holds my waist tight against him and he teases me with that sinful, long tongue.

We break apart and lock eyes. Sam smirks, so I know he’s on board.

“Dean? How should I finish Sam off?” I call over my shoulder, feeling my first Alpha thoughtful behind me. Sam and Dean have another silent conversation.

The moment stretches with anticipation and I shiver, reminding me that I am the only one completely naked.

“Bend her over the table, I want to watch her face when she comes the last time,” Dean decides finally.

I shriek as Sam hauls me off the table with a stiff forearm to my lower back, but I love it from behind so I settle face down and hoist myself up onto my tiptoes, giving Sam and his ridiculous height the best angle I can. He still has to squat to get low enough to notch at my entrance. But then he’s stretching me open once more and I sigh with the fullness.

I open my eyes and look across the table at Dean, and he licks then bites his bottom lip. Idly, he cups his junk, too soon for more, but it won’t be long. I can tell he’s making plans for the rest of our childfree hours. Sam picks up the pace and I gasp, making Dean chuckle.

Sam angles his hips down and I squeal as he drags against my g-spot, his knot burning against my swollen lips. Fuck, they’re ruining me all over again. Like always.

I fight to keep my eyes on Dean, but Sam’s really fucking me deep and my body wants to focus on all that heat and friction more than it wants to see how much my other Alpha approves. Sam smacks my ass and I clench and then it all comes crashing together inside: Dean’s jizz sliding against my belly as we further debauch the table, Sam stuffing his knot inside of me so hard, so fucking wide and my eyes burst open as I come one final time, gushing against both mine and Sam’s thighs.

“That’s it, there she is.” Dean’s husky voice makes me twitch. 

I whine but Sam’s nipping across my shoulders as he leans down to catch his breath, bracing himself against the table. Then I inevitably fall asleep waiting for Sam’s knot to deflate.

We do eventually get decent and clean up after ourselves. And all of us go with to pick the kids up from school, because that’s the kind of saccharin crap our lives have become. It’s amazing and safe, however stressful, but still floors me so many years in. 

Usually siblings aren’t kept in the same classrooms, but there aren’t enough kindergarten classes to completely separate our brood. Luckily, the administrators listened to us and let Jimmy and Sophie into the same class. Joni’s a social butterfly and we weren’t worried about her making friends.

Naturally, Joni is the first one out of the door and sprinting across the playground to reach the van. Dean rolls down my window and cheers her on. The rest of the school pours out of the doors in a steady stream of pigtails and oversized backpacks and not-yet-broken-in school shoes. Just as Joni reaches the back door Sam had slid open, I spot Sophi and Jimmy marching down the steps, hand-in-hand beside their teacher, who seems amused at whatever story Jimmy is telling her.

Sophie stops herself from eating her hair twice.

“We are having a field trip to a pumpkin farm!” Joni announces out-of-breath and ecstatic.

“Wow, princess. Lucky!” Dean replies.

Joni throws her arms around Sam’s neck and continues on at top volume. “We get to go on a hay ride and pick our own pumpkins to bring home with us!”

“Hey, I’m right here, okay?” Sam reminds her about inside voices.

“Sorry—- Can you come?! Ms. Mary says she will take any parents who can go,” she barely lowers her voice.

“Sure, peanut, we’ll look at the permission slip when we get home. Let’s get you in your seat,” Sam agrees and redirects.

Jimmy and Sophie take their time, heads bowed and backpacks so light and big they bounce off the backs of their legs. 

“What else did you do today?” I ask Joni as we wait for the other two, turning in my seat.

“Um, gym? And we had broccoli at lunch.” She makes a face and Dean visibly shivers along with her.

“Gross!”

“Daddy!” She giggles at his exaggerated face of disgust.

“What? You don’t even like broccoli?!” Dean teases back.

“But you’re a grown up!” Joni reminds him, because he needs the reminder.

“Don’t mean I have to like gross food. Dad likes that crap, not me.” Dean explains.

“Nice,” Sam mutters, climbing out of the back seat to make room for the two pokey puppies.

“Hey guys!” Sam cups their heads with his big hands, hugging them awkwardly without bending over.

“Sophie’s sad, so we need some feel good tunes,” Jimmy explains.

“Tell Daddy, okay, buddy?” Sam tells Jimmy before bending down and scooping Sophie in a tight squeeze. 

Jimmy climbs into the van and whispers into Dean’s ear, as much as a five-year-old can whisper. “She didn’t get her picture done and now she thinks the art teacher is mad at her. Back in Black, Daddy.”

Dean nods and glances at Sam and Sophie as they get settled into the van. Dean scrolls through his phone and finds the song, while I glance at Sam to see if speaking to Sophie is wise.

Sam straps her in as the familiar opening comes to life through the van’s well used speakers.

“This one goes out to Little Miss. Sophia Winchester, top of your lungs sweetheart!” Dean points at her until her sad little face cracks a smile and she sings along with Brian Johnson, getting half of the words wrong. Dean bobs his head, checks that Sam made it into the way back and pulls off the curb into the barely crawling line of SUVs and minivans.

We all join in on the chorus. And everyone is still singing along with the playlist as we pull back up to the house. We unbuckle the pups and collect their forgotten backpacks, letting them run around and relax before it’s time for dinner. One of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere, plenty of places to play. 

I watch their little heads as they chase each other in the slanting sunshine of an autumn afternoon. Three whole pieces of my tattered heart roaming free, capable of bringing so much joy and so much ache. And then there’s the two reasons they’re here in the first place, my Alphas. The reasons my heart is so tattered to begin with, not just from all the pain we went through to get here, but because they loved me so fiercely the whole time. 

And well-loved is something I’m grateful to be.

Tell me what you think?

Tagging: @idreamofdeanie​​​​ @stoneyggirl2​ @delightfullykrispypeach​​​​    @dolphincliffs​​​​ @flamencodiva​​​​ @crashdevlin​​​​ @dontshootmespence​​​​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​​​​  @rockhoochie​​​​ @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis​​​​ @cosicas-cuquis​​​ @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler​​​ @ericaprice2008  @wingedcatninja​​​ @akshi8278 @itmighthavebeenintentional​​​ @smi727​ @princessmisery666​​ @impalaslytherin​​​

[casbeeminestiel]

Day 2: Pillow Talk

They get home well after midnight, stumbling into the bunker with errant bits of corn silk on their clothes and the lingering warmth of cider on their breath. Sam and Eileen lead the way, Sam turned as much towards her as possible as he signs something Dean can’t quite make out.

That’s okay though. He squeezes Cas’ hand three times and shoots a wink his way. Cas smiles like he’s never been happier. Dean knows for a fact that he hasn’t.

Earlier, at the corn maze, they had stayed together the entire time. It wasn’t a plan exactly, but Dean was certainly pleased with the outcome. He still feels the ghost of Cas’ stubble on his lips, barely refraining from reaching up to touch them with his free hand.

It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t so damn sweet.

They peel off into separate directions. Sam and Eileen go to the kitchen, and Dean and Cas head down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

When they reach Dean’s door, they stop, unsure.

Do I invite him in? But wait, what does he expect tonight? Am I ready for sex?

Castiel, as if sensing his thoughts, rushes to assure him.

“I would be amenable to spending more time with you tonight. I thoroughly enjoyed kissing you, but I hope you know that I don’t want anything you don’t want. Your happiness is the most important thing to me, Dean. We could do anything, or we could do nothing. To me, it would still be everything.”

And Dean, well. Dean damn near sheds a tear. To have someone anticipate his anxiety and for him to know that Cas means every word of reassurance? Dean thinks he just fell in love all over again.

As it is, he can’t stop himself from cupping Cas’ face and kissing him sweet and slow. Cas closes his eyes and sinks into the sensation immediately, his hands coming to rest on Dean’s heart over his flannel. His lips taste like cinnamon. When they pull apart, Dean nips at ‘em.

“Fuck, c’mon in, Sunshine.”

Dean opens the door with shaky hands and lets them both in. As soon as the door is closed, Cas is up in his space (as if he ever really left it), catching his eye in a clear request.

Dean nods. Of course he does. They’ve spent twelve years not kissing each other, and it’s a damn shame and an error that must be amended immediately.

They fall into each other in an instant, restraint checked at the door. Dean’s higher function shuts off, leaving his brain in a state of primordial mush. Cas makes a sweet sound into his mouth and wraps his arms tight around Dean. Dean closes the remaining gap between them, pressing their bodies together heads, shoulders, knees, and toes.

It’s desperate, in a way. But it’s not demanding. Dean marvels at this. So rarely has he been with a partner who wants him, but also simply wants him to be comfortable.

They keep kissing through the lump in Dean’s throat, and they only break apart when a tear rolls down his cheek and meets Cas’ hand at the seam of his jaw.

“Dean,” he brushes another tear away, tender. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, Cas. I’m… I’m not good with all this touchy-feely emotional stuff.”

Cas’ eyebrows knit together.

“Do you want to stop?”

“What? No. No, man.” The very thought.

“Then what…?” The question is implied. What can I do to make you feel good about this?

“Cas, listen. I have my hang ups about this kinda stuff, ok? I’m not saying I won’t trip up down the road. I mean, you know me,” he breathes through a chuckle.

“This though? Right here? I’m good. I’m more than good. Fuck, I’m finally kissing the guy that I’m in love with, so y’know.”

“Dean,” Cas melts against him at the words. He folds him back into his arms, tucking his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. Dean releases a shuddering breath, knowing Cas feels it when he clings tighter.

For a while, they just sway in place like this. There’s none of the urgency of earlier to be found in their embrace.

That is until Cas pulls back just enough to draw Dean back in against his lips. Then, Dean is lost to bliss and ignorant of time as they move together. It’s all heat and honey bee buzzing.

They land on the bed, they lose their shirts, and they find each other over and over and over again. It’s a crescendo with nowhere to go, a taste of what’s to come and a dose of perfect medicine.

Kissing Cas is like pumpkin pie and whiskey and everything good in this life. Dean is warm and full from this simple piece of human contact he’s practiced thousands of times with countless people.

Maybe it’s strange to call his previous experiences practice. But right now in this bed with the love of his life, he can say confidently that it was all a rehearsal for this moment. Cas is the big leagues. The boss. The curtain call.

This is why, when they finally slow down and Dean rolls off Cas to land with a breathless laugh beside him, he feels like maybe he could do this forever. In his chest, where something heavy and rotten usually resides whenever he thinks of love, there is only steam and sugar and bright, beautiful air.

And when they talk into the night until the very moment their eyes grow too heavy to hold open, heads snug on the same pillow, Dean knows who he calls home.

[weaksspot]

i need to put sam and dean in my mouth and crunch them like hard candy until theyre blended together in a sugary mush

[lordstormageddidnt]

But We're Bulletproof

Ship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Summary: Dean thought he was being fairly obvious with the fact that he and Cas were officially a couple now. But when Sam asks him what his boyfriend's name is, well, where's the fun in telling Sam when he can wait for Sam to figure it out for himself?

Word Count: 2,220

Read on AO3

Dean was no stranger to pranking his brother when the opportunity arose. When it came to how messed up and tragic their lives were, he saw no harm in finding happiness in the little things, like fitting old spoons in his brother’s open mouth.

And, yeah, Dean knew he shouldn’t lie to Sam about major life milestones, like the fact that he and Cas were dating now– the word “dating” felt so weird in his mouth but still managed to turn his insides to sappy mush. But it wasn’t even really lying. Really, it was Sam’s fault for not noticing, because he and Cas had made zero attempts to hide their relationship (and even Jack had commented on it, and Jack was basically a toddler). 

No, this wasn’t lying, this was just…a very good opportunity to play a friendly prank on his little brother.

“You said “I love you”,” Sam said as Dean hung up the phone. “Who were you talking to?”

Keep Reading

[bitchinfawkseh]

Heaven Knows Your Name, I've Been Praying: Chapter 7

————————————————————————

Summary: Dean's "birthday gift" to Cheryl is a case that their Dad sent them on.

W.C: 7983

Warnings: N/A

[A/N] Some fun stuff this chapter.

Masterlist | AO3

It's been six days since Chicago. Carlos called Cheryl early the next morning to get an explanation for everything and to tell her that her bike was safe in his garage. Things have been tense - between all of them, the need to find another case (the Hell House in Texas hardly counted), the lingering awkwardness of Cheryl meeting their Dad and the fact that she sobbed like a baby in front of Sam and was caught by Dean too. 

11:59 PM, one more minute until Cheryl was twenty-eight. She stared up at the ceiling blankly, counting down the seconds until the clock changed. Unbeknownst to her, Dean was also waiting. He had to be the first to wish her a happy birthday, after all. 

Three beds, all of them separate, and Sam was finally getting some much needed sleep after tossing and turning for a couple of hours. Dean's eyes narrowed, he swore that he just saw Cheryl blink - he wasn't entirely sure that she was awake. Then, he glanced back at the clock, catching when it goes from 11:59 PM to 12:00 AM. He turned onto his side and inhaled deeply, "Happy birthday." He whispered. Cheryl's head snapped over in his direction and she pursed her lips together. "Gracias... I didn't know that you were awake." She confessed. She scooted closer to the edge of the bed and turned to face him. She then tucked her hands into her chest and bit her bottom lip. "You scared me." She whispered back. 

He frowned, "Sorry."

"It's okay."

"I'm kind of sad that I'm so old." She whispered. She mushed her face into the cool pillow and sighed deeply, she missed her youth - and she wasn't even that old. Cheryl's eyes flickered up to meet the dark outline of Dean's form, "You know, it's been ten years since I started hunting officially."

"Damn, congratulations." He whispered. Cheryl was silent for a moment, inhaling deeply before speaking again. "It's also been ten years since I got married... and six years since I got divorced."

"You got married and divorced on your birthday...?" He asked in confusion. Then, as he realized, his eyes widened. "You married into hunting, didn't you?"

"Yup." Some people were born into the life, joined later on - usually due to a family member dying, or married into it. Some hunters wanted out of the life, so they married a pretty woman (usually), popped out a few kids and forgot about the horrors they once faced. And then, of course, they were dragged right back in by some inexplicable force.

"Do you have kids?" He asked, his eyes narrowing. It may be an insensitive question, especially if she had a kid that died or something, but he was curious. Cheryl sighed heavily, "No, that was part of the reason why I got divorced. He was ready, I wasn't." 

"Ah, do you ever want kids?" Dean swallowed hard and listened to the rapid beating of his heart. Cheryl shrugged and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth. "Yeah, if I ever stopped hunting. But... I don't see that happening. What about you?"

"Same." He replied simply. He never wanted to quit hunting - there was always going to be someone or something to hunt. Kids, a family, a house... it wasn't in the picture for him, it just wasn't possible.

The next morning, Cheryl was the last one to wake up - and unfortunately, it was a pretty bad wake up call. She reluctantly opened her eyes as Dean shook her shoulder and groaned loudly. "What?" Cheryl murmured as she buried her face in one of the fluffy pillows. Dean's lips quirked up into a smile and he cocked a brow. "Can't sleep the whole day, Cher." He mused. She rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets up to her shoulders. "It's my birthday... I can do whatever I want." 

"Well, speaking of which. I have a gift for you." He grinned and sat down by her legs. Her eyes thinned to slits and she lazily turned her head, "Dean - I said no gifts. No anything." 

"We have a case, Dad sent some coords. Fitchburg Wisconsin." Dean said. Cheryl shot up, her eyes wide and a slow smile started to spread across her face. "Wait - really?"

When he nodded, she let out a gleeful squeal and kicked the blankets off of her. Dean chuckled as the blankets bunched up near his hip before standing up. He was already dressed - ready for the day and sporting his usual: worn jeans, a plain shirt, and a flannel under his leather jacket. Cheryl glanced around, "Where's Sam?"

"Shower. Come on, we gotta be outta here by twelve."

"Oh God! You're actually the best!" She cheered. Dean grinned and crossed his arms against his chest, her excitement over a simple hunt brought him more than enough joy. "Right you are, Cheri."

Cheryl tilted her head, "Cheri? That's new."

"Yeah? What about... Cher bear?" Dean teased. She rolled her eyes and let out a silent chuckle, she's never heard Cher bear before either. It was something you'd call a dog or a baby. "Now that's just weird."

Cheryl swiped some concealer under her eyes and started to blend it in with her fingertips. "I just got some new makeup, I have this nice gloss I've been wanting to wear."

"You bought makeup?"

"No." She deadpanned. She sighed deeply and pulled the cap off of her brow pencil. "I left all my stuff in that room in Chicago, and I want to look pretty, so."

"You always look hot." Dean quickly said. Her brows knitted together and she looked him up and down, what an odd thing to say. Dean shrugged and smiled a bit, "Chick's are hot when they just wake up, they're all sleepy and cute. Plus the morning sex is -"

"Oh my God, shut up." She said with an eye roll. Cheryl squatted down to do her fill in her brows in the reflection of the TV. Dean smirked and his eyes settled on her round ass, the pair of sweats she was wearing weren't doing much for her - and they really left quite little to the imagination but damn was she cute. Sam rubbed his hair dry with a towel as he came out of the restroom - shaking his hair out like a dog before he noticed what was before him. His brows furrowed and his nose twinged in slight annoyance and disgust. "Dude." He scolded. Dean's eyes widened and he jumped, seemingly out of his "trance." Busted. 

That little fucking asshole - Cheryl wasn't MILF age - Dean was completely out of his mind. She wiped the fog off the mirror and climbed onto the counter to sit - she had to get up close and personal to the mirror when she did her eyeliner. Sometimes Dean's flirting was annoying, or his comments, the looks and gawking she could handle - but the gross comments were getting old.

Cheryl straightened her posture and looked over her shoulder at the two of them. Her brows furrowed in confusion and then her face dropped, she had this unimpressed look - like she knew exactly what Dean was doing. "Was he looking at my ass?"

"Yeah." Sam answered.

"Hey! She's hit MILF age." Dean defended. Cheryl's jaw went slack and her eyes widened, then, her nose scrunched up and she snatched up her grocery bag full of makeup before storming into the bathroom. She yelled a string of angry insults and curse words as she slammed the door shut.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he gave Dean a look that said "really?" Dean scowled and wrinkled his nose at him, he yanked the zipper on his bag to close it - a little too aggressively because it got caught on one of his shirts. "I don't like her - dunno where you got that idea... how... how can I be better though?" He muttered under his breath. Sam shrugged and glanced back towards the bathroom, "I dunno, maybe... stop being a pervert?" He suggested. Dean's lips thinned and he nodded slowly, he didn't want to make her uncomfortable or anything. And if all this was making her uncomfortable, he was dedicated to quit doing it.

"You should say sorry, dude." Sam said. He shoved some dirty clothes into his duffel and Dean grumbled something under his breath. "I meant it as a compliment."

"Well, she didn't take it like that - she's our friend, dude. Why do you keep making comments like that to her?"

"Like what?" He asked defensively.

"All your sad attempts at flirting - it's pretty obvious that she's not into it. Stop objectifying her." Sam sighed. He turned to face Dean and crossed his arms, "If you actually want her you should like... maybe take into consideration the cultural divide. I'm pretty sure in Mexican culture you have to court a girl first."

"What the fuck is courting?"

"It's like... before the relationship starts - gift giving, chivalry, respect. Basically it aims to win the girl over." Sam explained. Dean scoffed and then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. This was so stupid, "What makes you think I want Cher?"

Cheryl smoothed out the black mesh top that she had thrown on over an intricate lace black bra. She desperately wanted to look nice today - she couldn't look like a bum, especially on her birthday. She let out a heavy sigh and shrugged on her infamous red leather jacket. It was her statement piece - what made Cheryl Cheryl. She didn’t feel like herself without it - and she already felt like a piece of her was missing with her Harley being gone. 

Suddenly, the bathroom door jerked open and Cheryl stepped out - her usual minimal makeup on, she purposefully ignored Dean, brushing past him as she went to dig fresh clothes out of her bag. "Hey." He started. He eyed Sam for a moment and then tried to talk again - but he was cut off by Cheryl locking herself in the bathroom again to change. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair, "Okay, yeah. She's real mad."

"Has every right to be." Sam added. He groaned and palmed his face, he never wanted to make Cheryl feel bad. And now that he was really thinking about it - saying she's hit MILF age was not a compliment. 

She grasped the doorknob, twisting it until it popped out and opened. "All right, let's get going now." Cheryl sighed heavily. Dean's head snapped over as soon as he heard her voice and his eyes raked up her form - but once he caught himself he immediately quit. He sucked in a breath and briefly glanced up at Sam, silently asking for some privacy. Sammy smiled a bit and heaved his bag over his shoulder, "I'm gonna go throw this in the car."

Cheryl's eyes narrowed, "Okay." She said. They both watched Sam leave, and once the door clicked shut their eyes met. "I'm sorry, Cheryl. Very sorry." Dean exhaled. She cocked a brow and stepped forward, he gulped and bit his tongue. Was she gonna slap him?

Cheryl bit her lip and tilted her head, "You should be submissive more often, makes you more tolerable." She teased. Dean's cheeks flushed and he stared down at the ground, "Yeah, okay. You forgive me?" He asked quietly. She nodded and offered him a hand to help him up, his apology was sufficient. And quite cute. "Yeah. I do, now come on. I'm excited about this case."

"Really?" She asked. He nodded fervently and his lips quirked up into his signature grin. "Very sorry." Dean said. Cheryl smirked and swiped her tongue across her bottom lip. "On your knees." Dean's eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise - the pounding of his heart gradually grew louder in his ears. "What?" He stammered.

"Beg for my forgiveness. On your knees." Cheryl mused. Heat filled his cheeks and his stomach twisted into a knot. "I-..." Dean trailed off and swallowed hard when she batted her lashes at him. God, she could get whatever she wanted from him. "You really are sorry, right?"

"Yes..."

"Then you'll do what I ask." Cheryl whispered. Dean's brows knitted together and he glanced around - as if he was making sure there'd be no one to see this. Then, he sank down to his knees and stared up at her pleadingly. "Please Cher... I'm real sorry... for everything, the stares, comments, flirting. Please forgive me, sweetheart. I'm begging ya." Dean said quietly. God. This was just mortifying. 

--------------------------

Dean scratched his chin as he read over the menu in an old scratchy font above the counter. He nudged Cheryl's arm gently with his elbow and glanced down at her. "They have a frappuccino, want that?"

"What is that?" She asked.

"It's like this sugary blended coffee with whip cream." He explained. Cheryl's eyes twinkled and she smiled wide, nodding her head fervently. That sounded just delicious. "Yes! Gracias."  Dean smiled himself and his eyes softened for a moment, "De nada."  He replied. Cheryl's eyes and nose crinkled in joy, there were faint lines stretching out from the corners of her eyes - otherwise known as crows feet. "That was really good." 

Dean flushed and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, "Yeah... I've been practicing." 

Sam leaned against the hood of the Impala with his arms crossed, watching the empty playground intently. There should be kids here - playing - but there was just only one little girl accompanied by her Mom. He sucked in a breath and glanced over at Dean as he handed him a cup of coffee - Cheryl trailing behind him and she had this fancy frappuccino looking thing with piles of whip cream on top. "Dean, what's the time?" Sam asked, never taking his eyes off of the park. He pursed his lips together and checked the watch on his wrist. "Uh, ten after four. Why?" Sam gestured ahead, ignoring how Cheryl obnoxiously slurped on her drink once before stirring it. "What's wrong with this picture?" Dean's brows furrowed as he took in the sight before him, this was certainly weird. "Schools out isn't it?"

"Yeah, the place should be crawling with kids right about now. So where is everybody?"

Dean approached a brunette woman who was sitting on the bench reading a magazine, she was presumably the little girl's Mother. He cleared his throat and flashed her a smile, "Sure is quiet out here..." He commented. She frowned deeply and closed her magazine, setting it down on her thighs. "Oh, yeah. It's a shame."

"Why's that?"

"You know, kids getting sick. It's so awful."

"How many?" Dean asked, his brows furrowing together slightly. This thing was going after children - poor innocent children, human or monster. It didn't matter, anyone who hurt kids was evil. "Just five or six but serious, hospital serious. A lot of parents are getting pretty anxious. They think it's catching."

Sam took one glance at his fake ID before wrinkling his nose. "Dean - I can't use this." He whispered. Dean adjusted his tie and raised his brows, pursing his lips together. "Why not?"

"Because it says bikini inspector on it!" He said, exasperated. Cheryl leaned over and plucked the ID from his hands, she pursed her lips together and swiped her thumb across the "bikini inspector" part. "Just put your thumb here when you show em, they'll just give it a once over." Cheryl passed the ID back to Sam and Dean sent him a thumbs up. This had to be some sick cruel joke, why the hell would Dean willingly pay for this if it says bikini inspector on it. "All about confidence, Sammy."

After marching up the stairs, they turned down this long corridor with rooms on each side. Dean peaked inside a door that was open and an old woman with long, thin grey hair sat in a rocking chair. She rocked mindlessly, facing a wooden crucifix that was hung on the wall and was notably upside-down. Dean's brows furrowed and he glanced down the hall to Cheryl and Sam, they hadn't noticed he stopped and continued walking. "Shit." He mumbled under his breath as he jogged a few paces to catch up with them.

Sam flushed and he and Cheryl both stopped at the reception desk, he adjusted his tie and smiled half heartedly. "Hi. I'm Doctor Jerry Caplin, Centers for Disease Control." He briefly glanced over at Cheryl and she smiled wide, she felt a little weird - mostly because she was wearing pink lipstick and a pantsuit. "Doctor Amy Green," She introduced. The lady behind the desk looked between the two of them and sucked in a deep breath, clasping her hands together just a few inches from a keyboard. "Can I see some ID?" She asked. They both nodded and Cheryl showed off hers first, which was completely normal (aside from the fact that it was fake.) Then Sam, he made sure to cover part of it with his thumb - like she said. He held his breath as the lady leaned forward to inspect it closer, exhaling heavily when she nodded and gave them the go ahead. "Would you mind directing us to the ped's floor?" He added.

"Uh, down the hall, turn left and go up the stairs."

"Thanks."

"Thank you for taking the time to see us, Dr. Hydecker." Cheryl smiled. The tall brunette Doctor smiled down at her and shook his head, pursing his lips together. "Oh, no problem at all... I was about to call you guy's myself." He said. Cheryl smiled softly and nodded along, setting her hands on her hips and she glanced up at Dean expectantly. They usually traded off after every little bit when talking to people for a case. Dr. Hydecker crossed his arms, "How did you guy's find out?" He asked.

"Oh some GP, I forget his name, he called Atlanta and, uh, he must've beat you to the punch." Dean explained.

"So, six cases so far?" Sam questioned.

"Yeah, five weeks. At first we thought it was garden variety bacterial pneumonia. Not that newsworthy. But now..."

"Now what?"

"The kids aren't responding to antibiotics. Their white cell counts keep going down. Their immune systems just aren't doing their job. It's like their bodies are ... wearing out." Sam sucked in a breath, he was about to ask another question when a red-headed nurse came and handed the Doctor some papers. "Excuse me, Dr. Hydecker." She whispered softly. He took the papers from her, flipping through them and reading them over.

Sam smiled briefly, "You ever see anything like this before?" He asked. Dr. Hydecker shook his head and passed the clipboard full of papers back to the nurse. "Never this severe." He said.

"And the way it spreads... that's a new one for me." The nurse added. Cheryl's brows furrowed and her lips parted, "I'm sorry, what do you mean?"

"It works its way through families. But only the children, one sibling after another." She explained. Dean frowned, children were... innocent - they've usually done no wrong. They don't deserve to face things like this. "Mind if we interview the kids?" He asked.

"They're not conscious."

"None of them?" Cheryl breathed. The nurse shook her head and frowned deeply, poor kids - so sick and their siblings are following suit. Cheryl tucked some of her hair behind her ear, "Can we interview the parents?"

"If you think that'll help." Dr. Hydecker said.

"Yes, who was your last admission?"

Cheryl took a seat next to the Father of the new admits, a soft, understanding smile on her face. He had this sullen expression on his face, anxiously tapping his fingers against his thighs. "I really should get back to my girl's." He murmured.

"We understand and we really appreciate you taking the time to talk with us. Now you say Mary is the oldest?" Cheryl asked. He nodded and looked at Sam and Dean who were standing in front of him. Cheryl found that when you were "on their level" and spoke kindly and softly they were more... at ease. Willing to share more. "She's thirteen."

Sam nodded in understanding, "And she came down with it first, right? And then..."

"Bethany, the next night."

"Within twenty four hours?" Sam asked. The man nodded sadly and Cheryl frowned deeply, she gripped the armrest of the chair she was sitting in, her shimmery green nails digging into the pleather. "That's awful, I'm so sorry. How do you think they caught pneumonia?"

"An open window..." He trailed off. Dean tilted his head and tucked his hands into his pockets, "Both times?"

"The first time, I, I don't really remember but the second time for sure. And I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed."

"Do you think she opened it?" Sam asked gently.

"It's a second story window with no ledge. No one else could have."

Dean clutched the EMF reader in his hand, his nose wrinkling in annoyance when it didn't pick anything up. "Anything?" He asked Sam, sparing him a quick look. He sighed deeply and shook his head, dropping his arm to his side. "No, nothing." Sam answered. Cheryl sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of her nose, whatever this thing was it knew how to cover its tracks. She shuffled towards the window - which was open a crack and peered outside. Her eyes dragged down to the windowsill and her lips parted in surprise. A ghastly charred hand was imprinted into the white wood, the surrounding area had rotted around it. "Uh, guy's?" She breathed. Dean's head snapped over and his brows raised, "What?"

Cheryl paced after Sam and Dean, panting heavily. "Could you guys slow down once in a while? It's unfair to the vertically challenged."

Dean snorted, "Not our fault that you're short." She gasped and glanced up at Sam, her brows knitted together and she pouted her lips. "Hit him." She demanded. Without warning, Sam smacked Dean on the back of the head and smirked. He clenched his teeth and rubbed the back of his head and scowled at the both of them. "That was unnecessary."

"It was totally necessary," Cheryl shot back. She inhaled deeply and her arms rested at her sides, "Anyway, you think it's supernatural? I mean... if we think logically I'd say yes."

"It could just be pneumonia." Sam pointed out.

"Dad wouldn't just send us here for no reason, Sam. I think something opened that window - we're barking up the right tree." Dean added. Sam nodded and shrugged, maybe they were right. It was weird that so many kids were getting ill, not responding antibiotics, and it was working its way through siblings. "Well, I'll tell you one thing." Sam began.

"What?"

"That guy we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home."

"Great, before we commit a felony, can we change?" Cheryl asked.

She pointed to the hand print and stepped back from the window to allow Sam and Dean to take a look. "Well, it's definitely not just pneumonia..." Cheryl whispered. Dean's face fell and he shoved the EMF reader into his pocket, he recognized this... he knew what they were after. Dad was making him stop this thing once and for all. His face paled and he glanced away, his eyes screwed shut as he tried to shake away past memories. "I know why Dad sent us here. He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job."

They pulled up to an old looking and vacant motel, Cheryl was itching to shower and crawl into bed. She appreciated how nonchalant Sam and Dean were about her birthday, no gifts (aside from the case), no songs or cake - they acted like it was any other day. Cheryl sucked in a breath and leaned her chin up against the front bench. "What is a shtriga anyway?" She asked.

"It's ... kinda like a witch I think. I don't know much about 'em." Dean answered with a shrug. He glanced over at Sam and twisted the keys out of the ignition, the Impala's soft rumble gradually died down as he tucked his keys back into his pocket. "Can't believe you don't remember, Sammy. Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas like seventeen years ago..."

Sam sighed in annoyance, "Well seventeen years is a long time, Dean... I would've been... what... five?"

"Whatever... I'm gonna get us room," Dean grumbled. He leaned back and turned his head to watch Cheryl, "Wanna come with?"

"Sure..."

Cheryl stuck her hands in her pockets and strolled along with Dean to the reception desk. He was trying to match her pace - and it felt like he was going at a snail's pace. "So you said your Dad faced something like this before?" Dean nodded and pulled the door open, "Yeah, think it's the same one too."

Her brows shot up, "Really? He didn't kill it?"

"No... don't think so anyway." Dean muttered as they reached the front desk. He tapped the little bell once before a small boy with shoulder length brown hair popped out from the little housing set up behind the see-through curtains. His lips thinned as he smiled faintly, "Hi."

Cheryl smiled back, "Hey, uh, got any rooms with three queens?" She asked. The boy shook his head and she deflated almost immediately. Dean patted her shoulder and chuckled softly, "Two queens is fine."

"No it's not!" She hissed through her teeth. He sighed deeply and rolled his eyes dramatically, "Fine. Alright. Two rooms, two queens and one queen." Dean said reluctantly.

The boy chuckled and shook his head slowly, "I know who wears the pants in the relationship." The boy snickered under his breath.

Dean's brows raised, "What?"

"I said nice car." He smirked. Cheryl's nose wrinkled and she set her hands on her hips, she didn't quite catch what the kid said but it definitely wasn't "nice car." A dark haired woman entered through the main door - presumably the boy's Mother. She smiled wide, "Hi."

"Hi." Cheryl and Dean both replied in unison. She shot Dean a quick glare and tapped her fingers against the wooden counter. "Checking in?" The woman asked. They nodded and she glanced down at the boy, gently giving his shoulder a squeeze. "Do me a favor and go make your brother some dinner."

"But I'm helping a guest!" He argued. His Mother sent him a warning look and she crossed her arms against her chest. He groaned and swiveled around on his heel, "Two rooms. Two queens and a single queen." He grumbled as he slipped past the curtain. Dean chuckled faintly and flipped open his wallet, "Funny kid."

"Yeah, he thinks so at least. Will that be cash or credit?" The woman asked.

"You take Mastercard?"

Cheryl laid back in bed, finally getting some well deserved privacy after sharing a room with two dorks for so long. Though, it was a little weird not having someone to talk to or just be around. She actually felt a little lonely... Suddenly, her phone started buzzing, Cheryl cocked a brow and leaned over to check out the caller ID and her heart nearly jumped into her throat. "Rosità!" She beamed into the phone's speaker. There was a quiet chuckle in the background and the sounds of a baby babbling. "Hi, I wanted to wish you a happy birthday." Rosità said. "Sorry I'm so late." She added.

"No! No! Not at all, thank you... how are you?" Cheryl asked.

"I'm good! Marshall got promoted at the firm so we're considering moving into a bigger place."

"That's amazing, I'm happy for you... how's Owen?"

More incoherent babbling was heard faintly, and a few muffled words from Rosità before her voice became more clear. "He took his first steps yesterday! I'm so proud of my little man." Rosità cooed. Cheryl giggled softly and rocked forward to sit on the edge of the bed. Her and her sister didn't talk much, Rose was busy with her baby and Cheryl was busy with hunting. "You know, you should come visit again sometime. I haven't seen you since Owen was first born." Rosità added, a hint of sadness in her voice. Cheryl sighed deeply and nodded slowly, "Yeah, I'll try to swing by sometime next month... it's just... things are a little complicated right now."

"How?"

"I... I don't exactly have my bike right now and the guy's I'm with... you haven't met." She explained.

"Wait, wait. You made friends?"

"Yeah, why is that such a crazy concept?" Cheryl scoffed with an eye roll. Rosità hummed in thought and then sushed baby Owen as he began to fuss. "No reason, you just aren't exactly friendly."

"How rude."

"Your only friend growing up was Carlos."

"Touche..."

Dean slid a map across the old and stained table that had numerous spots where the cheap paint was chipping off it. "Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far, and dead center?"

"The hospital." Sammy breathed out. He rubbed his thigh and glanced up at Dean who was pacing around. "And - when we were there I saw an old person."

"An old person huh?" Sam asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. He nodded fervently and stopped once he realized Sam was making fun of him. "Fuck you. She had an inverted cross hanging on the wall." Dean quickly defended. Sam's brows shot up and he swallowed hard, well, this was better than nothing. The first and only lead they've had so far. "I'll call Cheryl..."

"Yeah, you better." Dean muttered.

They filed into the old woman's room silently with their guns drawn. Dean crept around the woman who was still in her chair, his eyes never leaving her. Her white eyes were wide open - they were lucky she was blind... but it was still eerie nonetheless. He peeked at Cheryl - she was camped out by the door, watching out the little crack in case anyone came by before he leaned a little closer to the woman's face.

Cheryl's brows knitted together and her forehead creased, "Wait so - they disguise themselves as humans?" She asked in disbelief. Dean nodded and they continued to rush through the dark hospital parking lot. "Yeah."

"So it could be fucking anyone!"

"Yeah, but there was an inverted cross."

"Huh." She hummed out, tucking her tongue into her cheek. She glanced up at Sam and her eyes narrowed, one of the many cons of them being in separate rooms was having to catch each other up on anything new.

The woman's head snapped over, "Who the hell are you!?" She demanded in a raspy tone. Dean gasped and jumped back into a cabinet, fear filling him to his core. The damn woman was supposed to be asleep. "Who's there? Are ya stealing my stuff!" She accused. She turned away from Dean's general direction and slowly shook her head. "They're always stealin' around here." She grumbled. Cheryl stifled a laugh and flipped the light switch, it flickered for a moment before the bright yellow bulb settled and illuminated the room. "No! Ah, ma'am, we're maintenance. We're sorry. We thought you were sleeping." Sam quickly said. The old woman laughed and her thin grey hair fell into her face. "Nonsense! I was sleepin' with my peepers open!" She gestured towards the crucifix on the wall and scrunched her nose. "And fix that damn crucifix will ya?! I've asked four damn times." Dean sucked in a breath and placed his hand over his racing heart - he didn't say anything. He flipped the cross and it swung a couple of times before landing upright.

Sam chuckled and shook his head, "I was sleepin' with my peepers open?" He quoted. Cheryl snorted and hid her face in her hands, "Oh man. Dean was so scared." Dean scoffed and shut the Impala's driver side door, they'd been out practically all night and hadn't had a chance to sleep quite yet. "I almost smoked that old girl! I swear! Its not funny!"

"It kinda is." Cheryl snickered. He glared at the pair who were making fun of him, "Yeah, laugh it off. Now we're back to square one."

Dean's brows furrowed and he stopped in his tracks when he noticed the same boy that checked them in sitting on a bench out near an old blue trailblazer. "Hang on..." He murmured as he approached the crying boy. Dean knelt down to his level and frowned, "Hey... what's wrong?"

"My brother's sick."

"The little guy?" Dean asked sadly. He nodded and hung his head, "Pneumonia. He's in the hospital. It's my fault."

"Ah, c'mon. How?"

"I shoulda made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't've got pneumonia if the window was latched." He said, his voice thick with guilt and tears. Dean swallowed hard and his stomach tightened into a knot, this was all too familiar to him. Feeling responsible for his little brother - always having to watch over him and protect him. It wasn't fair. "You listen to me, okay? It's not your fault, I can promise you that." He comforted.

"It's my job to look after him."

The Mother hurried out of one of the motel's rooms, purse in hand. "Michael, I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service so don't bother with any of the rooms." She said as she fished through her purse for her car keys. Michael quickly rised to his feet, "I'm going with you."

"Not now, Michael." She sighed heavily.

"But I gotta see Asher!"

Hey Michael. Hey. I know how you feel - I'm a big brother too - but you gotta go easy on your Mom right now, ok?" Dean soothed. Cheryl frowned deeply and looked up at Sam, it was quite obvious that Dean was taking this... very personal. The Mother dropped her purse, "Dammit!" She cursed. Sam bent down and tucked the little lip balm back inside before handing it to her. She sighed deeply and her bottom lip wobbled, "Thank you."

Once she was safe behind the closed passenger door, Dean leaned over to Sam and Cheryl. He grit his teeth and the faint smell of his deodorant and body wash hit Cheryl's nose. "We're gonna kill this thing, I want it dead. You hear me?" He growled. Her brows knitted together and she nodded slowly, Dean has been on edge ever since they figured out what this was. He was making it... quite personal.

"You know what, you're in no condition to drive. Let me give you a lift to the hospital." Dean offered with a kind smile. The woman shook her head frantically, "Oh no... I couldn't possibly..."

"It's no trouble, I insist." He said. Dean held out his hand and she hesitantly dropped the keys to her car into his awaiting palm. Her lips thinned into a straight line as she muttered a quiet thank you. "Be good, Michael." She warned.

Cheryl leaned towards the computer and squinted, "So every fifteen to twenty years it moves to a new town..." She trailed off. She glanced over at Sam and cocked a brow, "You getting this?" She asked. He looked up from his Dad's journal and cleared his throat, nodding slowly. "Oh, yeah. Sorry." He said sheepishly. She smiled faintly and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "It's okay.... uh, anyway. They suck the life out of kids for months until they die."

"How far back does it go?"

"Uh... 1890... Black River Falls." She answered. She scrolled down to an old newspaper article, studying it for a few seconds before scanning the picture. Her eyes widened, "Holy shit..."

"What?"

Cheryl sat on the edge of Sam's bed, watching as the brother's argued back and fourth. Dean currently had his back turned to the both of them, rubbing his face and grumbling incoherently under his breath - something he always did when he was ticked off. Sam sighed heavily and stretched out his arms, "Dean. You've been hiding something from the get-go. Since when does Dad bail on a hunt? Since when does he let something get away? Now talk to me, man. Tell me what's going on." Dean sighed deeply and squeezed his eyes shut, his heart clenched when he thought back to what happened all those years ago. How upset his Dad was, how upset he was at himself. 

She pointed to a black and white photo of numerous Doctors surrounding a sick child's bed. "Is that..." She trailed off. Sam's brows shot up and his lips parted in surprise, "Dr. Hydecker..."

"It makes perfect sense - disguising himself as a doctor - that way he can control everything." Cheryl added. Sam grasped his phone and flipped it open, Dr. Hydecker - that son of a bitch was the shtriga... he was the one hurting these kids. "Yeah - it does. Doctors are trusted... nobody suspects them." He speedily scrolled through his phone contacts, "I'm gonna call Dean."

"Yeah, good idea."

"Fort Douglas, Wisconsin. It was our third night in this crap room and I was climbing the walls. Man, I needed to get some air." Dean started. He slowly turned to face the two of them, a sullen expression on his face. He was ashamed of his past actions, he was supposed to protect Sammy and he failed. Cheryl's eyes softened as he explained what happened, it was clearly difficult for him to talk about. She couldn't imagine what it was like in the moment. 

Sam crossed his arms against his chest and watched the two of them intently. When they didn't say anything - he cleared his throat to catch their attention, "I just don't feel comfortable using Michael as bait, can't one of us hide under the covers?" He suggested with a shrug. Dean shook his head and Cheryl withdrew her hand from his knee. "No, it won't work. It's gotta get close enough to feed - it'll see us. Believe me, I don't like it, but it's gotta be the kid." Dean sighed. Her lips thinned and she rubbed her clammy palms on her denim clad thighs. "We need a plan, this kid's wellbeing is at risk." She added.

Dean plopped down next to Cheryl and hung his head in shame, "Dad just ... grabbed us and booked. Dropped us off at Pastor Jim's about three hours away, but by the time he got back to Fort Douglas the shtriga had disappeared, it was just gone. It never surfaced until now. You know, Dad never spoke about it again, I didn't ask. But he...ah...he looked at me differently, you know? Which was worse. Not that I blame him. He gave me an order and I didn't listen, I almost got you killed." He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam's brows knitted together in concern and he stared down at the floor. "You were just a kid..." 

"Don't. Don't. Dad knew this was unfinished business for me. He sent me here to finish it." Dean excused, waving him off. Cheryl set a hand on his knee, she gently squeezed it and smiled softly. "Well, we're here to help you. Okay?" His heart clenched and his gaze flitted up to meet hers, there was nothing but kindness and an understanding in her eyes. He nodded slowly and swallowed hard, she's always been supportive. Cheryl was a damn good friend.

Michael threateningly held up the landline phone, "You guys are crazy! Just go away or I'm gonna call the cops!" He yelled. Dean raised his hands in surrender and his brows raised, the last thing they needed was the cops showing up. "Woah, woah. Hang on. Just listen to me. You have to believe me, ok? This thing came through the window and it attacked your brother. I've seen it. I know what it looks like. Cause it attacked my brother once too." He said carefully. Michael slowly lowered the phone, his eyes never leaving Dean. "Does... does it wear a black robe?"

"You saw it last night, didn't you...?" Dean trailed off. Michael nodded and set the phone down, "I - I thought it was a nightmare."

"I'd give anything not to tell you this, but sometimes nightmares are real."

"So why are you telling me?" Michael asked sassily.

"We need your help." Dean answered.

"My help?"

"Yeah, We can kill it. That's what we do. But we can't do it without you." Dean said. Michael shook his head wildly and crossed his arms against his chest. "What! No way!"

Dean propped up a security camera in the corner of Michael's room, maneuvering the wires around so it didn't cover the lense. "This cameras got night vision so we'll be able to see ya, alright?" He glanced back at Michael who was curled up beneath the covers in his bed. He nodded and Dean adjusted the camera once more, "Are we good?" He asked loudly. Sam's voice came out from the speaker of the camera, "A hair to the right..." He nudged the camera gently, "Yeah, that's good." Sam's voice echoed again.

Cheryl bit her lip, tapping her foot against the ground nervously as she debated whether or not to step in. Finally, she inhaled heavily and stepped forward. "Michael, we think if we kill it, Asher will get better. All of the kids will get better." She said. Michael's eyes landed on her and he went silent - Asher could get better...? His nostrils flared and he glanced up at Dean, "Is she right...?"

"Yeah." Dean nodded.

"....Okay. I'll help."

"What do I do?" Michael asked. Dean glanced over and stepped down from the small desk chair he pulled out to reach the high shelf. He sat on the edge of his bed by his feet and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "Just stay under the covers."

"And if it shows up?"

"We'll be right in the next room. We're gonna come in with guns. So, as soon as we do, you roll off this bed and you crawl under it."

"What if you shoot me?" Michael asked nervously.

"We won't shoot you. We're good shots. We're not going to fire until you're clear, ok?" Dean raised his brows in a questioning matter and Michael nodded tentatively. His eyes softened as he noticed Michael's nervousness, this may be old news to him... but to a kid it was different. "Have you ever heard a gunshot before?"

"Yeah, like in the movies?" He asked hopefully. Dean shrugged a bit, "It's gonna be a lot louder than in the movies. So I want you to stay under the bed, cover your ears, do not come out until we say so. You understand?" Dean warned. Michael nodded and let out a shaky breath, he closed his eyes to focus on slowing his racing heart and Dean frowned. "Michael, you don't gotta do this if you don't want to. I promise I won't be mad." 

"No, I'm okay. Don't shoot me." He said humorously.

"We won't."

Suddenly, movement was picked up on the camera near the window. A long pale and thin hand pushed the window open, the curtain softly billowed as the night wind crept into the room. Cheryl's eyes widened and she snatched her gun up from off the table and watched as the shtriga slowly stalked towards the bed. "Now?" She whispered. Dean shook his head and leaned forward as if it would help him see better. "Not yet..."

The three of them intently watched Sam's laptop that displayed the footage in Michael's room like it was the world cup. Cheryl leaned back in her chair, quietly groaning when her back cracked. "What time is it?" She whispered. Dean glanced down at the clunky watch on his wrist and his lips thinned into a straight line. "Three." He whispered back. She sighed deeply and rubbed her nose on the back of her head. "Are you sure the iron rounds will work?" She asked.

"Consecrated iron rounds, and yeah it's what Dad used last time." Dean answered quietly. Sam glanced away from the laptop and studied Dean for a hot minute. "Hey, Dean. I'm sorry."

"You know, I've really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad's orders. But I know why you do it."

Dean chuckled awkwardly, "Oh, God. Kill me now."

Once the shtriga was leaning over Michael's "sleeping form," that is when they made their move. Dean booted the door open and raised his gun as the shtriga opened its mouth with a loud croak. A wispy white energy waved off of Michael - just barely reaching the monster's gaping mouth when Dean yelled: "Michael down!"

The shtriga hissed at them and Michael rolled off of the bed - scooting under it and clapping his hands over his ears. Cheryl was first to shoot, without hesitation she shot once, then twice at its chest while Sam and Dean laid a few into the shtriga themselves. The monster lurched back and then collapsed to the floor lifeless, Dean raised his brows and lowered his gun just a smidgen. "Mike, you all right?"

"Yeah." He called out from under the bed.

"Just sit tight, peque." Cheryl wavered. 

The monster fell back - much more convincingly this time he found and he let out a heavy breath. "You okay, little brother?" Dean called out. Sam panted and nodded slowly, holding up two thumbs before he reluctantly climbed to his feet. Cheryl scooted back and motioned for Mike to come out from under the bed. It was definitely safe now, the white ghastly energies were slowly creeping out of the shtriga's gaping mouth - also from the bullet hole in its head. "Are you okay, Michael?" Cheryl asked gently. He nodded and smiled faintly, this kid's innocence was just taken away - monsters were real. And he had seen proof of it. He was taking it like a fucking champ.

Dean slowly crept around the bed to where the shtriga had dropped dead, he gently nudged its corpse with his foot and when it didn't stir he glanced back at Sam and Cheryl. "We're g-"

"Dean!" Sam yelled, panicked as the shtriga quickly rised and gripped his throat so tight that he swore there'd be bruises before he threw him into a far wall. The monster forced Sam to the floor effortlessly and pried his mouth open - the familiar wispy white smoke started to stir off of him. Cheryl dropped and crawled towards the bed, "Michael, close your eyes!" She ordered. The boy squeezed his eyes shut just as Dean weakly aimed his gun dead center in the shtriga's forehead. "Hey!" He barked. The monster glanced up and he fired, numerous times.

And just like that, her entire world came crashing down.

Cheryl tossed her bag into the trunk and carefully shut it - she'd rather not get one of Dean's lectures about being gentle with his car again. Her phone buzzed in her hand just as she was about to pass it off to Sam for safe keeping. She briefly looked at the caller ID, her brows furrowing when it was an unknown number. "Uh, excuse me. I gotta take this." She said as she clicked accept. Cheryl raised the phone to her ear and strolled towards the hood of the car - just out of Sam and Dean's earshot. "Hello?" She said, confused.

"Mija!" Cheryl's Mother wailed. Her brows furrowed and her heart started to race - why in the hell was her Mom calling her? Especially sobbing like that. "Mamá?! What's wrong?!" 

"My baby!" She said, clearer this time.

"Mamá!" 

"Rosità is dead! She's dead!"

[mlobsters]

supernatural s11e20 don't call me shurley (w. robbie thompson)

[alyygx]

Who I write & do edits for:

✨ If you don't see a character within one of my listed fandoms that you would like to make a request for just ask!! ✨

Arrow:

Tommy Marlyn

Oliver Queen

Band of Brothers:

• Don Malarkey

• Babe Heffron

• Shifty Powers

• Chuck Grant

• Floyd Talbert

• Skinny Sisk

• George Luz

• Joe Liebgott

• Dick Winters

• Eugene Roe

Bridgerton:

• Anthony Bridgerton

• Benedict Bridgerton

• Colin Bridgerton

The Flash:

Barry Allen/The Flash

Cisco Ramone/Vibe

Wally West/Kid Flash

Eddie Thawne

Legends of Tomorrow:

Ray Palmer/The Atom

Marvel:

• Steve Rogers

• Bucky Barnes

• Peter Quill

• Loki

• Scott Lang

• Peter Parker

• Steven Strange

The Maze Runner:

Thomas

Newt

Minho

Gally

Newsies (Bway & '92sies):

Davey Jacobs

Jack Kelly

Casey (Crutchie) Morris

Jojo de la Guerra

Racetrack Higgins

Mush Meyers

The Pacific:

Eugene Sledge

Sidney Philips

Romas (Burgie) Burgin

Peaky Blinders:

John Shelby

Finn Shelby

Son's of Liberty:

Sam Adams

Dr. Joseph Warren

Paul Revere

John Hancock

Tim Kelly

Star Trek (Movie Trilogy):

• Dr. Leonard 'Bones' McCoy

• Pavel Chekov

• James T. Kirk

Stranger Things:

• Steve Harrington

• Eddie Munson

• Jonathan Byers

Supergirl:

Winn Schott

James Olsen

Mon-El

Supernatural:

Sam Winchester

Dean Winchester

Castiel

Gabriel

Teen Wolf:

Stiles Stilinski

Scott McCall

Derek Hale

Jordan Parrish

Isaac Lahey

Ethan Steiner

Aiden Steiner

Top Gun: Maverick

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Turn: Washington's Spies

• Ben Tallmadge

• Robert Townsend

[ziggykatzfan]

um nobody asked but i think hell is such a fucking stupid thing to exist on supernatural.

IGNORING how the stakes are utterly obliterated for salmondean post season like, 2, the fact that characters die and go to hell and come back is so fucked. they come back basically normal? like dean has his moments, he's a little more callous and oh look a single man tear as he recalls the 40 years he spent in HELL. from the BIBLE. but overall nothing's really changed. he can still cope okay and he still watches movies and cracks jokes and kills monsters.

sorry but that's incorrect. if you went to hell for 40 years and came back you would be unable to cope. i personally believe you would not even be able to form sentences. your mind would be mush. sure it wasn't your physical body getting tortured but you still felt that pain like it was real. you still felt the utter despair about being trapped in the FIREY PIT for 40 years.

after 10,957.275 days of straight torture in ways unimaginable to the human mind you would not be "mostly normal." plus another 10 years of doing your own torturing? yeah you would not function ever ever again.

don't get me STARTEDDDD on sam's century with satan. that's too much. if dean would be mush after his 40 years, sam would be like... negative matter. dust.

supernatural is a dumb show but we all knew that already i just haven't seen many other people talking about this.

[samswound]

vas I'd die for you taste in music ESPECIALLY your taste in music when it comes to sam n dean

😭💓 vit beloved VIT!!! PLEASE!!! i’m incomprehensibly mush rn. also! i have a samdean playlist that i was thinking days ago about remaking. there you go!!! um!!! (hides face behind hands)

[notheretoperch]

Rules: name 10 of your favourite characters from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people to do the same.

Tagged by @brillemos, thank you! :o

I have a very select few one and only favorite favorite characters because I'm fickle and fall deeply in love w/ most characters but! Here are a few: new, newer, old, and very old. No particular order???

1. Discworld: Sam Vimes

2. Black Sails: Captain Flint (Miranda is a close 2nd w/ Silver trailing in 3rd)

3. Supernatural: Dean (Cas is the superior character imo, I just have the same bad taste he does lmao)

4. Tomb Raider: Lara Croft (finally playing the reboot and the crush I have is as bad as the crush I had as a child)

5. Dishonored: Billie and Corvo, please don't make me pick

6. Farseer Trilogy: The Fool

7. Lord of the Rings: Boromir and Faramir (followed closely by Eowyn and Eomir, tragic siblings ftw)

8. SVSS: Shen Yuan, my fav unreliable narrator.

9. FFVII: Aerith (I need time to play the remake asldjjdk)

10. WWDITS: Guillermo and Nadja

I feel like I'm probably forgetting several characters?? My brain is mush, please don't judge me.

Hi, it has been 84 years since I've tagged anyone: @airstyledraconos @snackerdoodle @skippydabeaver @tacomortal @shadowpeople @drivingsideways @thiswaycomessomethingwicked @coruscas @bcengine and anyone else who wants to.

[ao3feed-deanandsam]

I Think, Therefore I Am Not by mentholpixie

https://ift.tt/fIKRjmv

https://ift.tt/7SbjLm0

I Think, Therefore I Am Not

by mentholpixie

Pointless brotherly mush featuring crazy Sam. Another vague instalment of my Genesis 'verse

Words: 1567, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 3 of Genesis

Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005)/works)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: Gen

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Relationships: Dean Winchester &Sam Winchester

submitted by /u/PrincessUnikittySPN [link] [comments] from ao3feed_deadandsam

[casbeeminestiel]

I posted 8,480 times in 2022

That's 7,842 more posts than 2021!

1,025 posts created (12%)

7,455 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@bitingmp3

@thenightwemetnatural

@ledzeppelinmixtape

@castielsupernatural

@xofemeraldstars

I tagged 2,593 of my posts in 2022

#duckposting - 690 posts

#supernatural - 64 posts

#grey’s anatomy - 55 posts

#duckacrossthepond - 50 posts

#grey’s anatomy spoilers - 39 posts

#castiel - 35 posts

#dean winchester - 34 posts

#florida - 33 posts

#destiel - 26 posts

#prev - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 137 characters

#all it takes is one common interest or nonsense exchange and suddenly you’d die for your faceless mutual from the other side of the world

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Day 2: Pillow Talk

They get home well after midnight, stumbling into the bunker with errant bits of corn silk on their clothes and the lingering warmth of cider on their breath. Sam and Eileen lead the way, Sam turned as much towards her as possible as he signs something Dean can’t quite make out.

That’s okay though. He squeezes Cas’ hand three times and shoots a wink his way. Cas smiles like he’s never been happier. Dean knows for a fact that he hasn’t.

Earlier, at the corn maze, they had stayed together the entire time. It wasn’t a plan exactly, but Dean was certainly pleased with the outcome. He still feels the ghost of Cas’ stubble on his lips, barely refraining from reaching up to touch them with his free hand.

It would be ridiculous if it wasn’t so damn sweet.

They peel off into separate directions. Sam and Eileen go to the kitchen, and Dean and Cas head down the hallway toward the bedrooms.

When they reach Dean’s door, they stop, unsure.

Do I invite him in? But wait, what does he expect tonight? Am I ready for sex?

Castiel, as if sensing his thoughts, rushes to assure him.

“I would be amenable to spending more time with you tonight. I thoroughly enjoyed kissing you, but I hope you know that I don’t want anything you don’t want. Your happiness is the most important thing to me, Dean. We could do anything, or we could do nothing. To me, it would still be everything.”

And Dean, well. Dean damn near sheds a tear. To have someone anticipate his anxiety and for him to know that Cas means every word of reassurance? Dean thinks he just fell in love all over again.

As it is, he can’t stop himself from cupping Cas’ face and kissing him sweet and slow. Cas closes his eyes and sinks into the sensation immediately, his hands coming to rest on Dean’s heart over his flannel. His lips taste like cinnamon. When they pull apart, Dean nips at ‘em.

“Fuck, c’mon in, Sunshine.”

Dean opens the door with shaky hands and lets them both in. As soon as the door is closed, Cas is up in his space (as if he ever really left it), catching his eye in a clear request.

Dean nods. Of course he does. They’ve spent twelve years not kissing each other, and it’s a damn shame and an error that must be amended immediately.

They fall into each other in an instant, restraint checked at the door. Dean’s higher function shuts off, leaving his brain in a state of primordial mush. Cas makes a sweet sound into his mouth and wraps his arms tight around Dean. Dean closes the remaining gap between them, pressing their bodies together heads, shoulders, knees, and toes.

It’s desperate, in a way. But it’s not demanding. Dean marvels at this. So rarely has he been with a partner who wants him, but also simply wants him to be comfortable.

They keep kissing through the lump in Dean’s throat, and they only break apart when a tear rolls down his cheek and meets Cas’ hand at the seam of his jaw.

“Dean,” he brushes another tear away, tender. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, Cas. I’m… I’m not good with all this touchy-feely emotional stuff.”

Cas’ eyebrows knit together.

“Do you want to stop?”

“What? No. No, man.” The very thought.

“Then what…?” The question is implied. What can I do to make you feel good about this?

“Cas, listen. I have my hang ups about this kinda stuff, ok? I’m not saying I won’t trip up down the road. I mean, you know me,” he breathes through a chuckle.

“This though? Right here? I’m good. I’m more than good. Fuck, I’m finally kissing the guy that I’m in love with, so y’know.”

“Dean,” Cas melts against him at the words. He folds him back into his arms, tucking his head in the crook of Dean’s shoulder. Dean releases a shuddering breath, knowing Cas feels it when he clings tighter.

For a while, they just sway in place like this. There’s none of the urgency of earlier to be found in their embrace.

That is until Cas pulls back just enough to draw Dean back in against his lips. Then, Dean is lost to bliss and ignorant of time as they move together. It’s all heat and honey bee buzzing.

They land on the bed, they lose their shirts, and they find each other over and over and over again. It’s a crescendo with nowhere to go, a taste of what’s to come and a dose of perfect medicine.

See the full post

89 notes - Posted October 2, 2022

#4

Day 3: Digital

Jack pops into Sam’s room abruptly, completely engrossed with the Nintendo Switch in his hands. Sam sits up with a yell, prompting Eileen to startle and smack him in the face with a sleepy hand. The kid seems to realize his manners a second too late and shoots a sheepish look at Sam.

“Jack, remember what I said about knocking?” Sam pinches the bridge of his nose, blearily checking the alarm clock on his nightstand to discover it’s 7:00 AM. 

Eileen raises her tousled head from where it was soundly buried in her pillow, squinting at Jack and offering him a quickly signed hello before falling right back into the blankets. Sam can’t help the smile that grows on his face despite his exhaustion. They were up late last night scheming… among other things.

“Sorry! I meant to appear in the kitchen, but I was distracted by my game.” Sam wants to be mad, he really does. But Jack is a good one.

“Maybe uh, don’t fly and game at the same time, yeah?”

Jack nods firmly. He gets that from Cas, that same cruciality with which he takes to everything. Something as silly as this is treated with the same consideration that a life or death mission is.

“What made you so distracted anyways?” Sam thinks he might as well catch up with Jack since he’s certainly not catching up on sleep anymore. Eileen on the other hand- Sam absently brushes a stray hair out of his fiance’s face and envies her ability to return to her slumber so readily.

“Oh! Well, I’m playing Animal Crossing. See?” He tilts the screen around to show Sam. “I was just fishing in the game, and I found it very peaceful. Dean and I went fishing once, remember? Anyways, I went to his room first to show him, but he and C- he was sleeping, so I tried to go to the kitchen. But then I ended up here!”

Sam bites the inside of his cheek, knowing fully well that Cas ended up in Dean’s room last night. He wants to tell Jack that his secret is not as much of a secret as he thinks, but he decides to let it slide under the radar. He still wants to let Dean take his time with this one.

For now, he settles for asking Jack more questions about his game until Eileen wakes up again and asks what’s for breakfast.

The three of them make their way to the kitchen, Jack chattering away about his adventures for the past few weeks. He’s been making the rounds with Jody, Donna, and the girls as well as Amara and Rowena. When he’s not with them, he’s been doing cool stuff like spending a day under the ocean with a pod of dolphins (he rescued a calf from a fishing net and befriended the group) or bowling with a biker gang in Baton-Rouge (“Terri-May looks scary, Sam, but she actually is very nice”).

Sam doesn’t even pretend he isn’t fascinated by Jack’s adventures. The kid just seems to make friends wherever he goes. He has that effect on people, apparently. And the way he approaches life, all genuine curiosity and an undaunted kind of love for the bizarre, reminds Sam that this is what they fought for.

He lets Eileen take over some of the conversation as he makes pancakes and coffee for them, though he still listens and offers input every now and again. He watches the two sign back and forth in glances while he stirs the batter, mentally rattling off his breakdown of breakfast the whole time.

Pumpkin pancakes for Dean, Jack, and Eileen, and banana pancakes for me and Cas. Coffee, black for Dean and I. Two sugars for Eileen. Honey for Cas. Apple juice for Jack. Bacon for everyone but me, and an extra piece for Eileen. Fruit on the side for all of us. 

Like clockwork, Dean and Cas wander into the kitchen as soon as he slides the last pancake onto a plate and spoons some sliced strawberries to the side.

“Mornin’ everybody.” Dean is more free of tension than Sam has seen him in years, loose-limbed and wrapped tightly in his beloved dead guy robe. He won’t think of the implications, but he does leave a mental note of gratitude for Cas, who looks as equally pleased with life this morning as Dean does. Their hands aren’t quite brushing, but it’s a close thing.

Cas spots Jack and makes a quick detour to hug him on his way around the table. Jack reciprocates instantly in an embrace that absolutely no one would mistake for anything other than a son hugging his father. If Sam catches Dean’s fond smile at the two of them, he doesn’t mention it.

“I missed you, Jack.”

“Missed you too.” Jack steps back and addresses Dean, “And I missed you.”

It takes all of two seconds for Dean to break. “Shit, bring it in, kiddo.”

Dean wraps his arms around Jack tight. Sam knows his brother has a complicated history with the kid, but he also knows his brother too well to think he doesn’t love Jack like family. Dean will spend the rest of his life making up for his past mistakes with the boy he considers his own. That determination to make things right is one of Dean’s best qualities.

The thought almost makes Sam forget about the corn maze retribution plan he’s hatching with Eileen. 

Almost, but not quite.

He thinks about it some more as he eats his pancakes and enjoys the casual domesticity of their makeshift family, pretending he doesn’t know Cas has a hand on Dean’s thigh beneath the table. Turns over scenarios and logistics in his mind between bites of strawberry, drinks revenge in with his coffee.

Jack’s digital mishap this morning may have given him a wonderful, horrible idea. 

Dean, he thinks, enjoy your peace and quiet now, man.

90 notes - Posted October 4, 2022

#3

I’m talking about Florida a lot today, so I should also emphasize that there are thousands of LGBTQ+ kids whose education and mental health are being put in potential danger by a recent legislative decision. We’re under a red majority here that tends to lean conservative on many social issues. You may have heard of the “Don’t Say Gay Bill” that recently passed through the House and has Governor DeSantis’ approval. If you haven’t, it’s essentially an ambiguously worded bill regarding parental involvement in education. The bill claims to restrict conversations about sexuality and gender to age-appropriate subjects, but it does not define what is considered inappropriate for the classroom. Parents can also opt their children out of learning what they deem to be “inappropriate”, and teachers can be reported for violating this bill. Furthermore, people are concerned that the implementation of this bill can give schools the liberty to out LGBTQ+ students to their parents, which is an infringement of their privacy and a potential danger to their lives. This bill is just vague enough to sound harmless, but the consequences could be damning. Religious schools hardly teach sexual education, let alone LGBTQ+ history. This bill has the potential to do the same thing to public schools here. I will attach the link to the bill below-

https://www.myfloridahouse.gov/Sections/Documents/loaddoc.aspx?FileName=_h1557c1.docx&DocumentType=Bill&BillNumber=1557&Session=2022

Below are some Floridian LGBTQ+ initiatives, organizations, and funds. Do your research before supporting any organization, please. But I’m worried that whatever progress being made in my state will be set back if this bill is weaponized. I’m not going to guilt anyone into reblogging, nor donating. That sucks. But I’m going to pin this to my blog and ask you to consider looking into this bill and it’s implications. Florida and Texas and other red states are known for political decisions like these, but not every citizen supports how things are being done here. And kids and teenagers deserve better.

https://www.jaxcf.org/lgbtq

https://www.thetrevorproject.org/blog/fighting-for-trans-youth-in-florida-and-beyond/

See the full post

195 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

#2

I love how fanfic authors decided that half of Dean’s sexuality problems could be solved if Cas pushed him against a wall and made out with him because honestly they’re right

219 notes - Posted June 19, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

It’s a beautiful day to remember that Red, White & Royal Blue is going to be a movie

266 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[carronpatrick]

aiGHT i gotta explain this one because its a mf doozy

so when i first started watching spn, i was 100% a sam girl. i loved him, cried for him when he first died, hated ruby’s guts, the whole nine yards 😂

but thEn around seasons 2-3, i moved on from little brother to big brother, because…dean, yanno? thats the only real reason i need 😂 (plus all the cringey quizzes i took said dean would love me 😌💁🏽‍♀️)

then came season 4, and dear old castiel stole my heart. from 4 alllll the way up to his departure in 15 (i still have not forgiven the spn writers and producers for that shit 😤), he was my main man (even though soulless sam, demon dean, and even my boy lucifer made my eyes stray for a bit too long)

ALSO KINDA OFF TOPIC BUT WHEN LUCIFER POSSESSED CAS??? OOOOOH BOI THAT WAS THE END FOR LIL OL ME

but to answer your question, i have settled as a cas girl 😂😂

Okay, so, one of my favorite things about Cas, lol, is how he was only supposed to be in a few episodes and so Misha did a deep voice for him (which, thank you VERY much for that, sir) and when they asked him to stay on as a regular, he slowly destroyed his voice. 😂😂😂 Instead of just, slowly raising it to his normal voice he kept doing it. Maybe that's a favorite thing about Misha, I dunno. 😅 Either way, A++ choice!

And Lucifer possessing Cas was 🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻 like. I haaaaated Lucifer in the first few seasons with him, but then the later ones came and I'm like. Yes, he is horrible. But shit, if Chuck was my dad, I'd have tortured people, too, man. 🤗

Also, I'm ngl, I read that as Lucifer possessed cats at first and I was like. WTF, HOW DID I MISS THAT?!

Also, I was a Sam girl, 10000% the first like, 10 times I watched. But now, as I've gotten older, every time I rewatch I'm like. Oh, sweet Sammy- Oh. Hey, Dean. 😈 And then Souless Sam happens and I'm like, wait. Wait. Back to Sam. And then Demon Dean happens and I flip back like, oh no, whiplash. I'm doomed! 😭 And any time they're around kids my brain goes mush and I'm just like. What do I doooooo?! 🤦‍♀️ So, I was a Sam girl, still kinda am, but man, I'd absolutely date Dean if given the chance, too. 😂😂😂