#she broke up with dean within the hour

[alwayshinny]

Hinny ♥️ - The Chronicles of Harry J. Potter's mind

She's Ron's little sister 😡

She's Ron's sister.😠

She's Ron's... 🫤

She's... 😵‍💫

She's so beautiful. 😍

Shit, she's looking my way. WAIT. DID SHE JUST WINK AT ME? 😳

Stop staring. Look somewhere else. Fuck, I think Dean noticed... Awkward... 😬

Okay, try to act cool. Stand against the wall, cross you arms, and look nonchalant, like you don't care. 😎

*stubbles with hand placement and footing* 🫨

Ginny: "Hi Harry"

tries to cover his dopey smile but ends up swooning instead. 🥴

[atzfilm]

king’s play (m);

🎨 wc/pairing; professor!hj/f.professor reader (4,1k)

🎨 genre/content; college!au, fluff, smut: rushed, explicit & unprotected smut 

🎨 summary; shadowing your colleague as a new professor, you come to realize the reason why his classes are at full capacity within five minutes of registration

🎨 note; this is self-indulgent and i have no remorse you all are coming down with me.

You balance three coffees in one hand as you rush up the steps, desperately trying to be on time once in your life. Students say hi to you as you run past, a quick smile as you greet them back. You have exactly one minute until your dean scolds you for being late, again, and you were sure this was the time you would be there. But unfortunately the train stopped in the middle of the tracks for a car accident, twice, and it left you with barely enough time to get here. A short 15 minute ride turned into an hour one. It’s not your fault, no, but she’d somehow blame it on you. You push through the front doors, almost dropping a cup as you run through the halls.

“Fifteen seconds!” You fly by Professor Jung’s class, shooting him a glare as he laughs at you, closing his classroom door. You slide around a corner, almost making it to the auditorium. The bells ring before you can open the doors. You slow down, swinging it open with your free pinky and running inside. The room is already full with your students, the Dean sitting in the corner of the classroom, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose. She sighs softly, rubbing her face as you run up the steps, placing the coffee carefully on the podium. You throw your bag down on the table next to it, reaching for the projector remote and turning it on.

The chatting from the students fades out when you clear your throat, tapping on the mic lightly.

“Today’s lesson,” you start, trying to catch your breath. “Is that you never trust public transportation. Ever,” you add. A few students chuckle, your Dean’s frown deepening. The world must be against you; on the one day you needed to be early you couldn’t. And it’s the day she evaluates how you run your classes. You sigh into the mic, rubbing your face. “Pardon me, but I left my usb on the train by accident. Still, you all have the slides I emailed you correct?”

A hand is raised in the front, and you gesture to her. “Yes, Soyeon?”

She points to your side table, “Professor, the coffee is spilling everywhere.”

You quickly turn, the brown liquid dripping to the floor. Perfect. Just… perfect.

“That was a disappointing show you gave me this afternoon, Professor y/n,” your Dean says once all the students leave. There’s no use in hanging your head in shame, but you do anyway. It was indeed embarrassing, but you could’ve been worse. You heard that one of the anatomy professors broke a projector and wrote on the whiteboard in permanent marker.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean for anything like that to happen. We were supposed to use the coffee for watercolor, but so many things went wrong and…” you trail off, her unpleasant frown only deepening as you try to excuse yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“This is unacceptable,” she starts up again, tucking her files into a thick black binder. “I’ll have to reduce your classes next semester, Professor. At least until you get your act together. You won’t earn a permanent spot on the faculty if you continue down this route.” She stands, tucking her purse underneath her shoulder.

“Wait, is there anything I can do? Please, I really didn’t mean for this to happen. I had an amazing lesson planned but things just happened. Please Dean, I really do apologize. I’ll do my best the rest of the semester.” You can’t lose your spot here. This is one of the top universities in the country, and being fired or removed from the faculty is a black stain on your record. No one would want to hire you. You’d be forced to move back to your hometown, and deal with the disappointed looks your parents will give you.

She pauses, eyeing you. “Despite your display today, the students do enjoy your classes. You’ve had high ratings in comparison to the other adjuncts that are currently here. So although I do not like what happened, I can give you another chance. Professor Kim Hongjoong is teaching another class right after this block, and I would like for you to shadow him. Attend his class tonight, and speak to him after about times where he can help assist you in your journey to possibly becoming a full time faculty member. Will that be okay with you?”

“Yes!” you say it a bit too loudly, coughing. “I mean, yes. Thank you for helping me out.”

"You do know the reason why I observed your class. A student complained about your tardiness. That is something we don't allow at our university."

"I understand," you plaster a fake smile as she nods, leaving you behind in the classroom. You know exactly which student told on you; the only person you've ever failed. He was the grandson of one of the university's largest donors (to the point where a building was named after their family) so it was unthinkable to fail a student in that high regard. You hate nepotism, so you didn't give them a chance. He barely showed up to class, and expected an A? You could barely hold in your exasperated scoff when he complained to you. And that choice led you to now. On the brink of losing your job.

"Fucking hell," you mutter, making your way back to the podium to pick up your things. Shadowing Professor Kim. It's going to be a long, long night.

-

You grip the large coffee in your hand as you walk in the classroom. It’s a large art studio, several paintings on display already. You were going to take a seat in the back, but you decided to place your things on the side and observe the work instead. You take slow steps, taking in each painting. Being an art professor yourself, you can see what techniques each student used, and where they lacked. But overall, the paintings were amazing, especially for a freshman class. Students began to walk in while you were walking around, so you sit in the far back, enough to not disturb but close enough to see what’s going on.

“Evening,” Professor Kim walks into the classroom. You’ve seen him on campus a lot. The art department is pretty liberal with its dress code but he always stands out from the rest; customized clothing that he obviously did himself, piercings lining his ear, nose, and brow. Most of his clothing is oversized but it fits him well. You’ve sat near him in meetings, his jovial nature contagious. And he wasn’t bad looking, at all. You often were at a loss whenever he spoke, his soft tone pleasing to the ear.

Hongjoong gives easy smiles to the students, chatting with each before he gets to the middle of the circle. He claps his hands, a light grin on his lips. “Ready to paint tonight? A quick recap, we’re on the last night of this painting, and for the next, it’ll be freestyle. Any painting medium you’d like, just make sure you can finish it in five sessions.”

Light groans fall from the lips of the students, and he nods, “I know I know. I’d rather at least eight, but we only have six classes left until your final. Need five of those to work on it. Oh,” his eyes flick to yours. “Didn’t even realize we had a guest.”

“Ah, sorry. Thought the Dean mentioned it,” you say, bowing quickly to him. He waves you off, telling the students to start on his paintings. He makes his way over to you, hopping over brushes that lie scattered across the tiles. He stumbles slightly over his own feet, before making it to you and stretching out his hand. You take it with ease, noticing his painted nails. They’re black, fingers adorned with rings.

No wonder students fought to get into his class.

“I’ve seen you in meetings, but we never get the chance to speak,” he says, grinning. “Nice to officially meet you. I’m Professor Kim, but you already know that.”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Professor y/n,” your smile matches his. “But of course, you already know that.”

He laughs loudly, completely genuine. “Well, I’m assuming the Dean put you up to this? She always sends people she doesn’t like to my class,” he sighs. “Not your fault!” he says quickly, eyes widening. “God, now you probably think it is your fault. This is why the other professors don’t like me.” His pout is almost adorable, but you don’t get the chance to dwell. A student calls him over, and he apologizes, leaving you back to your own devices.

You sit back in your spot, watching as he speaks to the students softly. You hear various music genres playing out of students’ headphones as he makes his way around. He definitely has a lot of leeway in his class, the Dean telling you that you couldn’t allow students to play music while they’re drawing. Sure, this is your first semester teaching at this university, but you know how to run a classroom. You’ve been teaching at public highschools for years. So you sit there bitterly, watching as students listen to his advice, his slight jumps when he thinks of an idea, his widened eyes as he listens to their feedback. You could probably watch him all day.

A soft bell rings out in class. He turns off his alarm, saying his goodbyes to students. They clean up their workstations as he packs his things, moving around the students and making his way over to you. “So, what d'ya think?” He wiggles his brows, his piercing moving along with it. “I honestly am not too sure why she’d make you shadow my class, especially in the middle of the semester. I’m not doing much but watch them paint,” he rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“Nope, I can definitely see why they’ve taken this class,” you admit, looking at the paintings. “I mean, they’re just freshmen and they already have their own styles and ways of doing things. And you don’t dismiss it like I’ve seen others do. You embrace it and encourage them to build on it,” you meet his eyes. “Think you have an open spot for a professor?”

He laughs, blush coating his cheeks. “You’re flattering me.”

“Maybe, or maybe I’m being one-hundred-percent honest,” you grin, throwing your tote over your shoulder. “I think a few of your students have questions. I’ll see you next class, hm?” You gesture to a group of young women.

He nods, wishing you a goodnight and quickly moving over to the students. You shake your head at him, moving around the easels and leaving the room.

-

It’s a bit intimate, watching another’s eyes as they focus on something else entirely. The quiet observation, hushed breath as they take in whatever they’re looking at. Observing how they smile, their eyes widening in realization, the way their gaze flicks to yours in awe. It’s overwhelming when your eyes finally meet, your stomach dropping slightly when they look at you in surprise. There Hongjoong is, staring at your eyes as you look back in shock. You wonder if he felt the drop that you usually do, but he keeps your gaze, soft and innocent. Until you see his pierced brow quirk up, waiting for you to say something. That’s when you have to tear away, show your excitement without focusing on his gaze.

“I can believe you have this set! I mean, how? Really, how. Did you steal it from Picasso or something? Raid an art supplier? Professor Kim, this is insane,” you hold it delicately. As if the palette will suddenly shatter if you gripped it too tightly. Of course it wouldn’t, but no ordinary person just holds this.

You’ve been shadowing him for the past two weeks, watching as he walked around the classroom with effortless confidence, spoke to his students with excitement only someone who’s passionate about their subject could muster. Professor Kim Hongjoong was one of the most talented and spirited colleagues you’ve ever met. A lot of them were older and cared less about teaching art (not all, but many). But the way he commanded the room had you silent, staring in awe. Looking past his outer appearance, he cared about what he did. And it only made your dilemma more difficult.

The two of you spent time outside of class together; at first speaking about classes, but soon going into discussions about personal lives and hobbies. You learned that he had his own studio and he invited you to it one night. So, here you are, staring at one of the rarest painting palettes to exist.

Hongjoong laughs at your suggestions, shrugging. It’s modest how casual he is about having it in his possession, and it’d make you want to slap him if you weren’t so immersed in the bright colors. “A friend of mine had a friend who was friends with a famous art seller. Word spreads around, and I found out where they sold these sets. I sold my first car just to get it,” he says.

Your eyes almost fall from their sockets. “You’re shitting me.”

“Shh,” he holds a paint covered finger to his lips, glancing at the open studio door. “The dean will kill us both if she hears you speaking with banned, colorful words,” he wiggles his fingers, and you laugh. “What? You know her, she’d take classes away from me next semester!”

“Not you, but maybe me,” you say, placing the palette back in its place. “She’s been out to get me ever since I won that faculty award last February,” you frown. “It’s not like she could win anyway, no one likes her. And it’s rare for a student to enjoy her history classes. I barely kept my eyes open when I was an undergrad here.”

He frowns. "I was unfortunately one of those faculty members that had to sit in on one of her lectures. I can see why her ratings were so low," he snickers. "Her tenure was definitely the only thing keeping her here. And she isn't too bad as the dean. A bit straight laced for an art school, but you have to be in a position like that.”

“Yea,” you agree, placing the palette back in its spot. You look around the room. You can tell that he loved using acrylics the most, his paintings abstract and bright. But you saw racks and racks of custom clothing as well. It was definitely a messy studio, he mentioned it before you entered, but you loved it. It’s like you’re walking into his mind, seeing what he’s seeing. You stop at an unfinished painting. It looks like a person, though you can’t quite tell who it is.

“That’s my first love,” he says behind you, hands tucked in his pockets. “She tore up my heart, but she was my muse and the start of my journey. S’not finished, but,” he runs his hands along the outside of the canvas. “Not sure if I want to finish it anyway.”

“It’s already beautiful,” you say, tilting your head. The strokes are bold, as if he was angry as he painted. It’s barely done, but you can already imagine where it’ll end up. “Fucking Hell. You’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever met.”

His laugh is loud, echoing around the large room. You turn to him in mock anger, pouting. “Are you laughing at me, Professor Kim?”

He nods, “Don’t know why I get all giggly when I’m around you. Maybe it’s because you’re my crush.”

“Don’t tease,” you roll your eyes, ignoring the thump in your throat. You hold it in, only a grin exposing your feelings.

-

Nothing else came of that night. Just you wondering each day if he actually meant those words. If he found you attractive, if he had a crush on you. He didn’t mention it again to you either, the heavy flirting continuing. It almost made you feel a bit kiddish, thinking about your crush on him. You thought you grew out of the giggling with your friends about a boy stage, but apparently not. You’ve spent each night recollecting his words, screaming into your pillow. It was embarrassing and you’d rather not think about it. But he’s been on your mind ever since, taking over every day dream.

“It’s pathetic,” you murmur, putting an earbud in your ear. You’re at the annual conference with other professor’s, making a painting to showcase at the end of the event. You only had a few hours and you barely started, most of your canvas empty. You glance to your side, looking at Hongjoong’s. His was as covered as yours, so it was a relief. You looked back at your painting, feeling a heavy stare.

You glance to the side again, Hongjoong meeting your gaze.

“I hate being stared at, you know,” you retort. His lips curve into that lopsided grin of his, your face warming without remorse. “That implies that I want you to stop staring, Professor Kim.”

“It’s your fault you’re so pretty, Professor. It’s a bit hard to look away even for a brief moment,” he says softly. But he follows what you say, eyes moving back to his painting. As if he didn’t utter the tenderest compliment you’ve ever heard. You let your hand rest against your chest, trying to control your heart. You don’t notice how his eyes flick back to yours for a moment, amused.

"You can't say things like that," you start. He pauses his stroke, glancing at you.

"Why not?"

"People might get the wrong idea." (People = yourself).

"And what if it's not wrong at all?" He raises that pierced brow of his again. It's taking everything in you to stay in your spot, your teeth grinding together as you grip your stump. Think good thoughts think good thoughts–

"I want you, Professor y/n. It's as simple as that," he adds in.

You almost press the paintbrush into the canvas, hard. You look around quickly, the other professors in the room too immersed in their artwork to notice what he’s saying. And all of them have headphones on, so his soft whispers won’t go past you. You look back at him, wetting your paintbrush.

“Don’t tease me,” you whisper back, lightly mixing the red.

He sighs softly, “I’m not teasing. I don’t know how much more obvious I can make it. We’ve been on two dates already.”

This time, you do paint incorrectly, your brush falling to the floor. You grab your cloth, dabbing the canvas quickly to get rid of the mistake. Luckily it disappears in an instant. You let out a sigh of relief, turning to Hongjoong. You lean closer to your canvas, making sure no one can read your lips.

“Two dates? I don’t even remember the first?”

“First, my studio. Second,” he gestures around here. “This.”

“You’re calling this conference a date?”

“I invited you to sit next to me,” he smiles, glancing at you. “Is that not enough for one?”

Kim Hongjoong may be one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever laid your eyes on, but man, was he a dumbass. You nudge his foot, glaring at him. “You are such a-!”

“Hm?” He raises his brow. “Such a what, y/n?”

You lose your train of thought, mouth opening and closing as he stares at you in amusement. You never thought that someone saying your name would sound so… alluring. You swallow, turning back to your painting. He doesn’t say anything else to you, but you feel his shoe tap yours. You still don’t say a word, even as his foot covers yours.

“I swear Hongjoong–”

He stops tapping, and you falter.

“Hongjoong?” He whispers softly. “Fuck, say my name again.”

Nope.

You stand, grabbing his arm. He yelps, a few professors glancing. This is completely and utterly unprofessional, but you don’t care at that moment. Because right now, you want to find the nearest empty conference room and - well. You drag him into the first room you see. Just as you peek in and make sure no one is around, he shuts and locks the door behind you. There’s only a momentary pause, before his lips are on yours. His work is quick, teeth hitting against one another’s, vests tossed to the side, coats somewhere on the opposite side of the room. Your back hits the conference table rather harshly, ouch spilling from your lips. It makes his quick pace falter for a moment to look at you in concern, but you’re already unbuttoning your blouse. He lifts his shirt up with one hand, and you have only but a brief moment to admire his tattoo decorated skin before he’s on you again.

“Think they’ll notice we’re gone?” You tease through kisses, his lips traveling down your neck. He snorts slightly, looking back up at you.

“They wouldn’t if you weren’t so involved in the presentations,” he slips off his pants, playing with the buckle of yours. Your hands cover his, aiding him. Soon enough you’re both pantless

“No one was speaking up, there had to be a sacrifice- oh-”

His fingers slip into your underwear, sinking into you with ease. His palm nudges your clit as he does so, lips still against your neck. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer into you. He curls them, moving in and out quickly. You hold back a moan, fingers digging into his skin. You hear a speaker in the distance, grabbing his hands and pulling them out. He looks at you in confusion, but you only slip your hand into his pants, stroking his cock. He groans, head pressing against your shoulder.

“No time,” he murmurs.

“I know, that’s why we need to be quick,” you whisper, nudging him closer to you. “Think you can fuck me and be done in less than five minutes?”

He rolls his eyes, “Not in college anymore.”

“Hongjoong…” you frown, and he swallows slowly.

“Fuck, I love when you say my name,” he pushes his underwear down. Just as you’re about to say it again, his cock sinks into you with ease. You press your hand against your mouth, holding back the moan that threatens to escape. His fingers grip your hips, pulling you closer to him as he presses his hips into you. You let your hand slip in between the both of you, rubbing your clit at the pace he sets. His fingers dig harshly, breaths loud.

“You feel so good around me,” he mumbles. “Just like art.”

“Joong,” you utter, only causing him to move quicker. He lets go of one side of your hip, moving your own hand away and rubbing your quickly. “Fuck, I’m close.”

“Come for me, pretty girl, come on,” his teeth bite your neck softly. You wrap your arms around his back, humping his hand. It happens much quicker than you realize, his soft whispers in your ear pushing you over the edge. You hold him tightly as he stills of you. “y/n, fuck, y/n I need to come pretty girl.”

You let him go and he pulls out immediately. He disappears before your eyes in a moment, grabbing the garbage under the two of you and coming. The sight is humorous in itself, but you’re in too much of a daze to let a laugh out. You slowly get up from the table, looking around for your vest as you pull up your pants. He steadies himself, turning around to look at you. A lazy smile crosses his lips, following your suit to redress. After a couple of minutes of gathering yourselves, you turn, looking at him.

“A garbage can?” You snicker, tossing him the hand sanitizer you keep in your pocket. He catches it with ease, frowning.

“There’s nothing else around!”

He adjusts his shirt, messily. You move closer to him, helping him adjust his coat and shirt to look not too wrinkled. He does the same for you, tucking loose strands of hair back into its place. His eyes stay on yours as you do so, flicking back to your lips.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says. “You are pretty beautiful, y/n.”

“You’re pretty handsome too, Professor Kim,” you smile at him, ignoring the rattling of your heart.

“I don’t…” he trails off, thinking. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing, I want us to be more than a one time thing. You’re more than that to me.”

“I want that too, Hongjoong.”

Relief washes over his face at your words, “You’re not teasing me right?”

“No, I do like you. I wouldn’t have let you do any of that if I didn’t. But maybe we take it slower next time? Like taking me out for coffee?”

“Okay,” he steps away from you, glancing at the door. “Time to go, then?”

“As long as you don’t go out there with that lipstick on your mouth,” you grin. He grabs his phone and looks at his face. There it is - a long streak of lipstick against his cheek. He rubs it quickly, using your hand sanitizer.

“You would have let me walk out there like that?” He asks, eyes wide. You only shrug, walking past him and out into the hallway.

[jasmines-library]

Can you do a Winchester brothers (mostly Dean) x sister reader where she is captured but they tie her to an anchor and drown her and the boys have to save her and bring her back to life

Sounds of Someday

WHUMPTOBER DAY 24: Prompt: “I thought they were with you?”

Fandom: Supernatural.

Summary: the request pretty much says it all. When you and your brothers split up during an unusual hunt, you get caught and become part of a witch’s ritual, which ends with your life slipping away and your brothers struggling to reach you as you are dragged away.

Warnings: Drowning, blood, capturing, character death.

Word count: 2.3k

Note: thank you so much for requesting anon! This was really fun to write. I hope you don’t mind that I included it in my whumptober series, I thought it fit interestingly with todays prompt!

MAST ERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

You and your brothers weren’t sure what you were hunting. There was no pattern- nothing set in stone to follow and every time you thought you had latched onto something in the lore, it would change unpredictably to something that contradicted what you’d just believed. At first, you thought it was a vampire. It had appeared out of nowhere, slinking in from the darkness. But then people started to go missing and the bodies were being discovered in strange ways: with nasty scratches, dark bruises or completely torn to shreds. Then, Sam led you on to believe it a spirit, looking to extract some sort of revenge. But you weren’t sure. Nothing was linear and it was making your head spin just thinking about it.

The town you were hunting in was quaint residence in the centre of Minnesota. It was surrounded by woodland and was fairly isolated from the rest of the world around it, making it the perfect stomping ground. It honestly surprised you that this place hadn’t cropped up before.

Your feet had begun to ache as you trudged slowly through the pine needles behind your brothers. You had a backpack slung over your shoulder which rattled as you hauled it higher up on your back. You had been walking for ages, training behind your older brothers who, given the fact they were much taller than you had managed to move at a much faster pace, having to take less steps due to their long strides. Sam had insisted that you stake out the woods in chance of finding something hidden nearby, but the area was vast and the three of you were yet to find anything in the hours of walking behind you. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon too, making it increasingly hard to gage your surroundings and keep your bearings.

“We should split up.” Sam said suddenly as you came to a fork in the path. It broke the silence that had gradually settled over you once you had run out of things to talk about.

Dean furrowed his brow. “What? Are you stupid, Sam?”

The tallest Winchester sighed deeply and slowed his pace to a stop. “We’re not going to find anything if we all huddle together. It’s getting dark and our best shot at finding something is if we split up.”

“That’s exactly my point, Sam. It’s getting dark and we don’t know what’s out there. Besides, there’s no way y/n is going out there on her own-“

“Y/n is old enough to go back to the motel alone-“

You scoffed, cutting him off with a stern look. “Do I get a say in this?”

“Y/n-“

“Dean.”

“You know we don’t like it when you go off alone-“

“I’m not a child, Dean. I can take care of myself.”

Your eldest brother let out a relenting sigh after shared an unspoken glance with Sam. The two of them had a habit of doing that. “Fine. But if you’re not back here within the hour then you’re in deep shit.”

You grinned, turning to head down the middle path.

“And y/n-“ Dean called out to you. You glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Keep your phone on.”

You nodded and made your way down the trail. Dean didn’t move for a while. Something nagged at him, so he stood as you wandered off into the trees, watching you with careful eyes. Little did he know that he wasn’t the only one watching you.

~

You had been walking for sometime. Too long. The woods had thickened and the darkness made it impossibly hard to tell the path ahead from the path you’d just taken. As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you were lost. And to make matters worse you hadn’t even found anything useful. You had considered messaging Dean for help; but that would involve admitting that you were wrong and you knew that if you did that you wouldn’t hear the end of it. You were reluctant, but when you reached into your pocket to pull out the device, you found that it was missing. You then considered turning back, you knew something was wrong and it was nearing an hour since you had left and were due to rendezvous with your brothers, so you would be able to reach them without worrying them…but that was when it caught your eye.

Dangling limply from a brunch, a piece of blood-splattered cloth hung. It was fresh, still dripping blood onto the muddy ground below it. It looked as though it had snagged on a branch. You reached out to collect it in between your fingers, turning it over slowly as your examined it. When you went to pocket it, there was a loud snap of a branch to your left.

Almost mechanically you had dropped the cloth and replaced it with the cool hilt of your pistol. You were on high alert, searching for the source of the sound. Then came other to your right. And then behind you.

You were surrounded.

You didn’t know where to direct your attention, whipping around to find your best course of action. But whoever or whatever was tailing you was smart and clearly outnumbered you.

Someone tackled you from the side, forcing you to the ground with a sickening thud. You screamed, startled. Delivering an upwards kick, you tried to throw the woman off of you, but her grip was firm as she rolled on top of you, pinning your wrists above your head and straddling your waist. There was another pair of hands working a rope around your feet and other around your hands. You tried to squirm, kick and scream, but a harsh slap left you disorientated as a gag was forced around your mouth.

~

Sam came to a halt at the rendezvous point. He was a few minutes late and was met with an antsy looking Dean, who was pacing and constantly glancing at the time displayed on his phone screen. Sam could see the gun he had loosely planted in his jean pocket.

Dean turned at the sound of footsteps approaching, but he was in no way revived. In fact the sight made his chest constrict. Sam was alone.

“Where is she?” Dean demanded, crossing the space between him and his younger brother in two large strides.

Sam furrowed his brow. “I thought she was with you?”

“No.” Dean fumbled in his pocket to bring up your contact number. “She texted me. She said she had found you and that she was gonna…”

Dean trailed off when Sam flashed up his screen to reveal an identical message. They had been played.

“Son of a bitch.”

“You think she did this?” Sam asked. It wasn’t something entirely out of character for you. You would often trick your brothers into getting what you wanted, or simply just for some peace and quiet.

“I-“

All ideas were cut short at the sound of a shrill scream, that caused both brother’s hearts to falter. Your scream. They would recognise your voice in a crowd of a thousand. Neither of them wasted any time as they darted towards the sound.

~

You had managed to make out three of them as they began to drag you through the woods over bumps. The pine needles gathered in your hair and clung to your clothes to poke at your skin. You knew that your brothers would realise quickly that something was wrong. It was hardwired into them. But one of them was doing something with your phone which you could only assume she had managed to snatch from your pocket somewhere along your trek.

You could only watch as they dragged you into a clearing. You were grateful when the upturned roots morphed into grass. The lake glistened under the moonlight and the start sky. It was the type of serene scene that you and your brothers would pull up at and sit on the roof of the Impala just to revel in the quiet. The thought only made the situation seem even sicker. When the women hauled you onto a dock, you sensed two more people lingering nearby. One of them held a weighted book and the other a set of chains fastened to what looked like some sort of anchor.

Your eyes flew open when the realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. They were witches. And you were part of their spell. You tried to dig the heels of your boots into the wooden slats and scrabble away, but one of them landed a kick to your stomach and dragged you closer again, hauling you up onto your feet and holding you tightly in their grasp.

One raised your hand, biting into it with a silver dagger and then squeezing it into a chalice. You’re screamed and bit into the gag. Then they began to chant. Old, foreign words that rang throughout your ears. But nothing stayed. Your mind was too hazy as your blood dribbled out of the wound. After the final word had been spoken, one of the male witches snatched you away and pushed you towards the edge of the dock. The water was dark and endless below you and you tried to teeter away from the edge but you were in a vulnerable position and with one wicked smirk and another chorus of chanting, you were sent tumbling over the edge and into the water. But not before you hear the faintest whisper of your name carried across in the wind.

~

There’s something irresistably poetic about drowning. You weren’t sure if it was the way that time slows to nothing the moment your body it’s the icy water, or the way that it was so quiet under the surface, but there was something about it.

Well, that was until you watched the bubbles escape from your mouth and your nose, rising up to the surface and the dissipating. You tried to kick the binds way, flailing to gain some traction on the water and pull yourself up the the surface so that you could take a desperate gasp of air, but the binds rendered you powerless as the anchor dragged you down down down into inky nothingness. Your lungs burned as you struggled to retain what precious air you had left in your lungs, jerking and twisting to try and get free, but the struggling left you tired and soon the last of the air rose from your mouth. The water assaulted your eyes too, blurring your vision even through there wasn’t much to see besides the white light of the moon above.

Somewhere above your there was a loud splash as Dean delved deep into the water, scrambling after you. He had watched in horror as your body pummelled off the side. He didn’t think he could urge is legs to go any faster as he ran next to Sam who helped him make quick work of taking down the witches. Once the odds had been evened Dean took the plunge after you.

His body nearly went into shock against the stabbing of the cold, but he paid no mind to it as he watched your body sink at an alarming rate. Your hair drifted around you like a halo as he urged his body forwards to catch up with you.

Somehow he managed to wrap a calloused hand around yours. He pulled you to his chest, palling at your stillness, and fumbled to release you from the anchor. Once the heavy weight was gone, he gave one hard kick after pushing your body so that it could drift to the surface, following closely behind and ignoring the burn in his chest.

When his head broke the surface the took a huge, spluttering gulp of air, sucking it in greedily. But you didn’t move. You didn’t squirm to keep yourself afloat, your chest rise and fall, you didn’t even blink.

Dean was then paddling his way over you you, lifting your body so that Sam, who was clinging to the edge of the dock with an outstretched hand could pull you into land.

“Come on!” He urged, gripping you under the armpits and pulling you back onto try land. Dean was inches behind, silently praying that you would be okay. But your heart had stopped.

“No. No no no.” Dean cried at your stillness. “Come on y/n. You don’t get to do this to us.”

He hovered over you, locking his hands in place to begin CPR.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He pleaded, breathing into your mouth. He could feel the resistance in your lungs. His chest tightened further.

“Dean-“ Sam’s voice wavered as he laid a hand on his shoulders.

“No. Shut up Sammy.” He shook his head and blinked away the tears and he pressed harder against your chest, winching at the sound of them splintering beneath the force of his compressions. “She’s fine. She’s fine.”

“Dean…”

You sat up abruptly, heaving a wet cough as you keeled over expelled the water from your lungs. Dean patted your back to help. Everything hurt, your head, your joints, your lungs.

“That’s it, kid. Let it all out.”

“They… they-“ you tried to speak, but your voice was horse and scared so it came out more like a whimper. You took in deep breaths.

Dean cradled you to his chest, rocking you back and fourth in his arms as you sobbed, shivering from the cold and the shock.

“You’re okay, kid.” Sam tried to reassure you.

“We’re here y/n. We will always protect you, no matter what. And as long as you are here, we will always keep you safe. I promise.”

<- DAY 23 ⛤ DAY 25 ->

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Taglist:

@deans-spinster-witch

@senjoritanana

@amaryllis23

[agirlwithdemonblood]

Through the Shadows: Chapter 9 - Vulnerabilities

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Series Summary: A hunter's Journey through despair and recovery is guided by Dean Winchester's unwavering love, leading her to reclaim her strength, voice and hope for their shared future.

Chapter Summary: Navigating feelings is extremely difficult, especially when there is somebody like Dean prying open your heart.

Warnings: Mentions of depression, anxiety, hard stuff.

Series Masterlist here!! & Main masterlist here!

Days stretched into weeks, and Y/N found herself retreating more into isolation, battling the relentless assault of anxiety and depression. Despite Dean's unwavering support and care, she couldn't shake the feeling of being a burden-an anchor weighing everyone around her down.

She spent hours in her room, swallowing pain pills to numb the ache in her leg and the chaos in her mind. Dean's concern grew with each passing day, his worry etched in the furrow of his brow as he watched Y/N withdraw further away from him.

One afternoon, Dean decided to reach out to her again. He gently woke her from a deep slumber, his voice soft with concern. "Hey, Y/N," he murmured, sitting on the edge of her bed. "Would you like to go for a drive? Get some fresh air?"

Y/N hesitated, exhaustion and uncertainty battling within her. She knew she couldn't keep hiding, couldn't let her demons win. With a small nod, she agreed, mustering the strength to get up despite the pain.

Dean offered his hand, but Y/N insisted on managing herself. She struggled, leaning heavily on her crutches, but she made it to the car. They drove in silence for a while until they reached their familiar spot-a quiet overlook with a view that stretched for miles.

Dean parked the car and turned to Y/N, concern engraved in his features. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his voice tinged with worry.

Y/N shook her head slightly, tears pricking at her eyes. "I appreciate everything you're doing," she began softly, her voice trembling with every word. "But I feel so useless lately. My depression... it's getting bad."

Dean's heart broke at her words, his own emotions raw and unguarded. "Y/N," he whispered, reaching out to gently touch her hand. "You're not useless. You're incredibly strong, and you're fighting through this. You don't have to do it alone."

She managed a weak laugh, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Stop being so fucking amazing," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

Dean blushed slightly at her words, a mix of humility and affection in his gaze. "I won't hover so much," he promised quietly, squeezing her hand reassuringly. "But I'm here for you, okay? Always."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the weight of their shared vulnerabilities hanging between them. Eventually, the conversation drifted to lighter topics, and Dean found himself sharing stories of his first love-a brief, intense romance that had left a lasting impact on him.

Curious, he turned to Y/N. "What about you?" he asked gently. "Do you have a first love?"

Y/N flushed with embarrassment, averting her gaze. "I... um" she stammered, feeling exposed. "I've never been in love."

Dean's surpise was evident, but he quickly masked it with understanding. "That's okay." he reassured her, his voice warm and supportive. "Everyone experiences love differently."

She let out a bitter laugh, taking a sip of her drink. "Never had a first kiss, a first time... nothing," she admitted, her tone self-deprecating. "Pretty attractive, right?"

Dean's heart clenched at her words. Without hesitation, he reached for her hand, his touch gentle yet firm. "There's nothing wrong with that," he insisted, his voice unwavering. "It's completely normal. You'll find your way, Y/N. And when you do, it'll be worth it."

Y/N blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his sincerity and kindness. She changed the subject quickly, deflecting from a deeper truth she kept hidden-that she had promised herself never to fall in love, fearing that the weight of her disorders would crush any chance at happiness.

She had no clue what love felt like, or looked like but she couldn't help but wonder if that's what this was, sitting on the roof of a car with your best friend, feeling the warm tingly feelings inside of your chest.

Dean sensed her need for quiet, and respected her boundaries even as his concern lingered. They sat together in quiet companionship, the sun settling on the horizon as they both thought about what this friendship really meant.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Chapter 10 coming soon stay tuned!

Like, comment, and reblog, feedback is my fuel 💕

[athenodora-sulpicia-writer]

Hush Little Baby- Lady Lesso

In my world Tedros is not the oldest son of Arthur and this one-shot kind of remains outside of the movie and books plot.

Oh and Archer is King Arthur's son and if you've watched the show Merlin then do enjoy the comedy. _______________________

Lesso was sat in her office doing her favourite thing in the world, marking and paperwork, what a joy. After a long day of teaching and trying her absolute best to teach her students everything they could possibly need to know, she comes back to her office and has to do marking.

Lesso had been working her way through the stack of papers for about an hour or so now and still she had another to many more assessments to mark, the glamorous life of a teacher and Dean. 

Mid way through reading one of the assessments Lesso was taken out of her thoughts by the loud bang of her office door being swung open. No knocking, God these students become more impudent by the hour, Lesso thought as she got ready to throw the disturbance of a child out of her office, well that was until she looked up and saw who it was.

"Y/n?" Lesso's voice was slightly breathy as she held back the shouting speech she had prepared, soon the stack of student assessments were forgotten as Lesso walked over to her daughter who had made quite the entrance.

Lesso was going to scold her 15 year old for her lack of manners when entering her office but as the red headed Dean walked over to her daughter she heard the sound of sobs coming from her little girl.

Lesso was now quickly over to her daughter's side panicked as to what could be wrong and whether she was indeed crying or Lesso was just simply hearing things. Grasping her daughters chin under her palm she raised y/n head and saw that she was indeed crying and suddenly, the maternal instincts that Lesso both loved and hated began to kick in.

"What's wrong my little Love?" Lesso asked her daughter who continued to cry as y/n looked up at her mother with her sea blue green eyes welling up with tears.

Lesso began to bring her daughter into a tight embrace as she waited for her to answer and because y/n was yet to inherit her mother's height she stood significantly smaller, her head only reaching up to her mother's chest.

"It's Archer.... He..... He broke up with me," y/n attempted to form a sentence between her sobs but by voicing what had made her so upset had only caused her heart to break that little bit more.

Y/n and Archer had been dating for about a year now and it was safe to say that Lady Lesso did not approve in the slightest, not just because he was a Prince but because he was the son of that twit King Arthur and there were very few people Lesso despised more than that Dolophead of a king.

"I'm going to kill that arsehole," to say lesso was angry was an understatement, she was seething and all that was now on her mind was making that boy suffer every pain imaginable for hurting her little girl, if it weren't for y/n's next actions Lesso would have stormed out her office and made the tedious walk to the School for Good even with her bad leg.

"No mummy please don't!" Upon hearing her mother's words y/n spoke quickly knowing exactly what she was thinking and not wanting her to kill the Prince she had loved, "Please don't."

Lesso heard her daughters pleads but the fury within her was a hard flame to burn out and it was becoming to late to change her mind, she had already began to go through all the different ways she could torture that boy.

She could have him dangle from the Bridge connecting the two schools, wait no she could send a pack of rabid wolves after him or she could leave him dangling by his thumbs in the doom room. Oh decisions decisions but which one to choose.

"Mummy please stop plotting to kill him," Y/n grabbed onto her mother's hands to bring Lesso's attention back to her. She was heartbroken that he'd left her like that but she didn't want him to die for it, it wasn't worth it.

"I wasn't plotting to kill him," Lesso said but still the sly smile she wore on her face spoke volumes of what her mind was thinking, "I was only plotting to maim or seriously injure him," she then said with a shrug of her shoulders.

"Mummy just stay with me please, it hurts to think about it all," Lesso could never refuse her daughter anything and even at the age that she was it still warmed her heart that y/n never stopped calling her mummy.

"Alright sweetheart," lesso's voice was gentle and soothing as she stroked her daughter's soft red locks and brought her over to her desk and sat down with y/n curled up on her lap. "I always did say he looked like a toad, even when you said he would turn into a handsome Prince, I knew no magic could ever make that happen."

Y/n still continued to have tears falling from her cheeks but at her mother's sarcastic comment she couldn't help but chuckle at her words.

"There, there," Lesso continued to soothe her daughter who remained curled up on her lap.

"Hush little baby."

[quietwingsinthesky]

oh goddamnit. fine. old man yaoi.

They are two men out of time, and Samuel doesn’t even bother to look at him when he enters a room.

Henry is used to hierarchy. He’s spent his life working up the ranks, and he’s still- He was still lagging behind, not let in on the greatest secrets the Men of Letters kept within their walls. (All these and more are open to him now. He’s still working through the decades of knowledge stored in here with Sam. It’s the only way he can think of to bond with his grandson.)

Samuel sets off those old nervous tendencies in him to shut up and stand at attention for orders. It’s aggravating. He’s nothing more than a hunter, a prolific one with a base of knowledge that leaves Henry reluctantly impressed, but still as bullheaded and violent as the rest of them.

It hurts Henry that sometimes he sees more of Samuel’s face in his grandsons than his own. Even John’s features always took more after his mother than him. It catches him off-guard in awful ways, Millie’s words in their mouths, the way she used to let certain vowels melt into the same sound until he teased her for it. He can’t say a thing about Sam and Dean doing the same thing, only stand there pale as if he’d seen a ghost and leave the room quickly.

A humanizing quirk of Samuel: sometimes Henry looks up from a book to see his something other than stubborn indifference behind his eyes, his gaze falling on those boys in quiet grief and what Henry recognizes all too well now as horror.

None of them discuss why it is Sam and Dean don’t talk to Samuel like he’s anything more than a business partner, but Henry knows how betrayal roots itself. The Men of Letters require terrible things of those who prove themselves worthy.

Some nights (most nights) they get all to themselves. There’s a lot of old bottles stored in the Bunker. Antiques that Samuel cracks open and Henry doesn’t say a word so long as he gets a glass. They make Henry tolerable or Samuel less ill-tempered, or both too focused on remembering what they won’t get back to care.

“Tell me about Mary,” Henry asks, one night. He’s bold enough, or maybe drunk, or both. The way Samuel’s expression falls almost reels him back to sobriety, but then there’s pride there, too, and a fierce love Henry understands more than anyone else could. Samuel talks about Mary very differently than John chronicled her memory. She’s a hunter herself first, in Samuel’s eyes, and brash and stubborn as he is, but strong, head screwed on right despite it all, despite him, and sometimes, Samuel wishes he’d held on a little less tight. He’s lying, and Henry can tell, but he doesn’t say a word. His last memory of John is a bedtime promise he broke. He’d tear the whole world open if it meant going back for even one more hug.

And so, guiltily, he asks about John, too. There are so many parts of his son he never got to have. Even Samuel’s dim view of him is a welcome one.

For once, Samuel tempers his words. “He was good,” he says, and doesn’t add not good enough for Mary, but Henry smiles at it anyway. He imagines he’d be the same, if he’d been blessed with a daughter rather than a son. (He could have had a daughter-in-law, at least. The world could have been kind enough to give him that.) “Came back from the war whole, took care of his mother and worked hard. A good man.”

“Without me,” Henry says. “Despite me.” His chair seems unsteady. The world is spinning. Samuel catches his arm as he tries to stand and puts him back in his place.

“Too busy reading to learn how to hold your liquor?” It’s not kind, but it’s not cruel. Henry will take it.

“We valued sharp minds at any hour. No time for this kind of indulgence.” Now, their grandsons fight the war, and Henry’s bones are too old for his skin. Samuel looks the part he plays, aged fine and strong.

Henry looks at him too long some nights.

Wonders if Samuel misses his wife the same way Henry does his.

“Don’t throw up,” Samuel tells him. Henry tilts his head back. His world is moving too fast.

“And I could still have been sharper,” Henry mourns. “I never was a man for spellwork.”

“We get psychics to do it for us nowadays. The odd witch you don’t shoot in the back of the head,” Samuel comments, “or do after they give you the goods, if you’re hoping to live longer.”

“You would have made a terrible Man of Letters,” Henry says. What would those he worked with have said about the state of this place now, manned by two barely-legacies, a failure, and a hunter who didn’t bother with his own magic? The upside of them all being dead is that there’s no one left to disappoint.

“And you’re a shit hunter,” Samuel says, like they’re perfectly equivalent. Henry snorts. In this new future, he’s lost enough that they might as well be.

At least there are hunters out here fighting the good fight.

And it must be a good fight, to ask for so much and spit them out broken at the end with nothing in return.

“You’re going to need me to walk you to your bed, aren’t you?” Samuel grumbles. Henry tilts his head towards him. Samuel talks to him, and he talks to Samuel, and both of those boys walk on eggshells around them like they’re hoping to come back to the Bunker one day and find them gone.

Samuel’s right about the drink. Henry can’t hold it. He’s overfull with the details of lives he never saw led.

“I’d appreciate it,” he whispers. With the same strength he shoved him down with, Samuel hauls him up. Henry leans on him. Samuel stinks of gun oil, a compulsive habit of weapons cleaning for hunts he’s never asked on. Perhaps Henry should scan the newspapers (or that internet thing) for a case of his own. It’d do him good to get him out of the house. He could take Henry with him and let him escape this tomb for a week. If he didn’t end up kicking Henry to the side of the road in annoyance, maybe it would even be enjoyable.

“You let yourself get as bad as Deanna used to before she had Mary,” Samuel says. He does more of the walking than Henry does.

“And Millie would drink you under the table.” Henry’s chest aches, loneliness watered well until it chokes him.

He stumbles. Samuel steadies him easily. He has dark brown eyes that might have been warm in a kinder face. Instead, they set the handsome firmness of him in place, from his hard jaw to the top of his head. Henry swallows, trying and failing to keep an old sickness down.

Samuel could push him back first. He doesn’t.

He tastes like whiskey. Henry probably does, too. If the dead look after the living, he hopes they give their blessings. Samuel might not wear his wedding ring, but Henry couldn’t part with his yet. Samuel’s hand fits warm against the side of his face.

“That another thing your organization liked to keep quiet about?” he asks, when Henry’s only pulled back far enough that Samuel’s breath blasts hot across his mouth.

“We worked long nights,” Henry answers, “and if no one admitted to it, it never happened.”

“Funny,” Samuel says, and for the first time that he remembers, Henry sees him smile. It’s a hard and starved beast, and it might try to eat Henry alive. “I’ve known a lot of hunters who’d say the same thing.” Samuel drags him in, and Henry, ever a credit to his lost cause, does not go down easily. Samuel bruises him with reckless abandon. Henry strikes back in ways that make his head toss and groans rumble out of his chest. They make it back to Henry’s bedroom, eventually.

It’s a good thing the boys won’t be back for a while.

[wilsonthemoose]

It's Still The Same Old Story

They have five years, he doesn't know it.

She's unravelling, he can't help.

He still brings her flowers every few days. Bunches of wildflowers sometimes, a handful of the neighbours' heartsease once, roses usually. No occassion, just you look beautiful today. She puts them in a vase, serves dinner. His smile is warm, hers is frozen. She is pregnant, he doesn't know it. They have five years, he doesn't know it.

She hears him later, in the kitchen on the phone, it sounds like trouble at work but next evening when he hangs up his jacket and she asks how his day went, he smiles and says it was good. The shop he's working at goes under and she hears from the neighbours.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks and he presents it like gallantry.

"I didn't want you to worry." And that's the only way he ever meant it too.

He kisses her, helps her clear the tables, leans back in the lawn chair when she's hanging up laundry, looks at her, sun in his hair and at this distance, with the clothesline and the yard between them, they can pretend they are still the same people they were outside the movie-house.

They pretend to fight over who gets to pick the music, her mellow Beatles and Dylan, his Zeppelin. They hang up faded photos of their parents on the walls and he breaks a toe dropping a hammer on it. She drives him to the hospital, he bitches about how she's going to burn the clutch plates going like that.

He sometimes manages to get her coffee the way she likes it, she never gets his breakfast right but he gets used to it.

He doesn't quite buy it when she says she keeps the guns because they were her fathers' and she can't let them go. Sentimentality doesn't explain why there's one under the bed that he found flipping the mattress, one behind the dresser that he found looking for the mouse, two in the hall (checking for termites), and one in the kitchen (making stew). He's generous that way, does these things for her, and lets her get away with all the little lies about her childhood and family. And the big one, "It was a mugger, hit you in the back of the head and killed my Dad."

She's grateful.

He starts letting things go unasked when he's not looking to start a fight.

She wants to name their son Dean and he leans over the bundle in her arms and whispers Dean with a smile. He is generous, he lets her have these things. He plants a kiss on her forehead and lets the baby hold his finger for hours. He takes two weeks off and hovers around her like a shadow, senses he's unwanted, and takes to sitting on the stiff hall chair outside their room, within whispering distance, almost, and she hates herself for how strongly she feels that they don't belong together.

But then he's there, tossing Dean up and laughing when he shrieks, and she loves him, achingly, unthinkingly, more than her mother, her father, and any possible future, she loves him. For him, anything.

Sometimes she thinks she is seeing things. The yellow eyes watching them through the window, glinting in the dark. She can't stop staring, feels his hand on her knee, and hears the attempted lightness in "It's just a cat," but he's too worried about her to be laughing. His hand moves to her shoulder, shakes gently, "Mary?" He does laugh now, faking it bravely, "Come on, you can flatten a soldier. You're not scared of a little cat?" And when she doesn't stop staring he stands, "I'll go look, ok?"

She doesn't let him and slams the windows shut.

Every night, putting him to bed, she tells Dean angels are watching over him. It becomes a mantra she repeats through the day.

She's so so scared.

He doesn't understand, rubs circles on her back, helps her clear the dish she broke in her shaky grip, and promises her he'll help more around the house and with the kids.

She startles at every loud sound and feels like she's drowning.

She puts Sammy in the rocker, two feet from her when she goes to shower and tells Dean to stick close in the next room, door slightly ajar so she can hear him.

He thinks she's losing her mind and he's almost right. He begs her not to have guns on her when she's around the kids. It's another fight in a long litany of fights but this one means something.

He doesn't understand.

It's on the tip of her tongue every moment but he reads fairy tales to Dean and whistles As Time Goes By to Sam when he's teething and just won't fall asleep. She doesn't know how to love him in a way that leaves room for hurting him or scaring him.

With two children under their roof, she can still say it: for him, anything.

She wishes she had killed herself instead.

She hasn't slept well in months, jerks awake in the middle of the night, and haunts her own house, checking each room and lock and latch.

He takes to sleeping on the couch, stops saying he wants a daughter.

She's reading too much into things, she tells herself, half-hearted. The mutilated goat that choose their yard to die in was pure, ugly coincidence. This is Kansas. These things happen.

She's so so scared.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Everybody Hates Hitler: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon angst and violence

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated.

Dean is up early, so he left to get coffees for everyone while you stayed downstairs with Joanna and had some breakfast that Aaron was kind enough to cook for you.

Dean comes back thirty minutes later with coffee for everyone. Sam and Aaron are reading on the couch with the Golem watching over them while you and Joanna eat. Dean passes out the coffee and takes a seat in the main room with Sam and Aaron.

"What'd you find out?"

"I think this is a log-book from a Nazi compound in Belarus. It was run by the Thule."

"This is the red ledger," Aaron says, holding up another book. "It was lost in the fire that destroyed the compound, but my grandfather was convinced it had been found after the war."

"Well, it describes the horrible experiments performed on the camp's population. Magical experiments."

"More horrible than words," the Golem says.

"You were there, weren't you? At the camp?" you ask and get up to join them in the living room.

Joanna didn't want to be alone, so she gets up and runs over to you and Dean.

"I was made in the ghetto of Vitsyebsk to tear that hell down. I broke its walls and its men. The commandant burnt the place to ash around me."

"Okay, um, w-what does it mean when you tell Aaron to take charge?" Sam stutters.

"The boy would know if he could consult the pages."

"Pages? What pages?" you ask.

"When I was bar mitzvahed, my grandfather gave me this little old book. It was in Hebrew. It was like an owner's manual for a Golem."

"You didn't want to read it? Go get it."

"I can't, exactly. When I went to high school, I sort of... drifted. I started getting off the academic track, and I kind of smoked it."

"The boy smoked the pages," the Golem growls.

"They were these thin, vellum-y pages. I mean, it was perfect for rolling. Look, they were driving instructions for a clay man. Okay? It was nonsense. Look, I'm sorry, okay? Why can't you just tell me what I don't know?!"

"It's not my place to guide the rabbi, to teach the teacher! It's not my place! Yifalchunbee!" the Golem yells, slamming his hands on the table.

Joanna jumps and gets tears in her eyes, but you pull her close as a way to say that she is safe. The Golem sees the look on her face and leaves the room to not scare her further.

"That's not super-comforting, got to say."

"So, as far as I can tell, these Thule were murdering Jews and gypsies--just about anybody and everybody, then trying to magically reanimate them. They were trying to figure out a way to bring their own dead back to life, which I'm guessing they figured out because of this. This last page is a roster of every dead Thule member who was reanimated."

Sam shows the book where the names are located.

"This is why they killed my grandfather?"

"Sounds like it. Anything in there on how to kill it?"

"Apparently, they experimented with that, too. It's with a headshot, but if you don't burn the body within twelve hours, it reanimates again."

"Nazi bastards," you roll your eyes. "Let me call Garth and see if he knows anything about it." You take out your phone and call Garth, and as soon as he picks up, he is cheerful to hear from you. "Garth, it's good to hear from you, too. Listen, I need you to look up something for me."

"Yeah, anything you need."

"I need you to look up the Thule Society."

"Got it. The tool society."

"No, Garth. Thule. T-H-U-L-E. Call me back when you have something."

"Will do!"

"Garth will call me when he has something. I doubt he'll get anything because nobody on the circuit's ever even heard of the Thule Society. Whoever these people are, they've been flying beneath the hunter radar. Anything?" you ask the brothers.

Aaron seems to be in another room, so it gives you time to talk to each other without Aaron here.

"Nothing solid. I mean, the lore is all over the place. According to one legend, it can be shut down if you erase one of the letters off its forehead."

"I didn't see any letters on Clayface," Dean comments.

"Exactly. We can scratch that idea. Another one is that some have a scroll in their mouth you're supposed to rip out."

"Wouldn't that give him some sort of a lisp or something?"

"Well, classically, they're not even supposed to speak. We do know that he took on an entire camp full of heavily armed German soldiers and Thule necromancers and won. We just don't know how to put it back in the box."

"Great," you sigh.

"So, that's your plan? Taking out my Golem?" Aaron asks, having heard everything.

"It's not a plan. We would just feel a lot better if we knew how. That's all."

"What makes you think you have any right to make that decision?"

"Believe me, if we need the right, we will take it," Dean glares at him.

"Look, he may be a pain in the ass, but he's my responsibility."

"The Golem was built to go to war. You're not trained for that. How are you gonna take that on?" you ask.

"I don't know," Aaron sighs.

Suddenly, someone kicks down the front door, and you physically show your discomfort about doing more work. Still, you're going to protect your family. You grab Joanna and hold her to you while everyone else gets in their fighting stance. Sam quickly hides the red ledger under a leather bag in the corner of the room so that these people don't steal it.

More than one man enters the house with the intent to kill. Dean tries to grab his gun from his duffel bag, but one of the men punches Dean and sends him flying to the ground. Another man points his gun at Sam which renders both brothers useless. A third man hauls Aaron up by his clothing, causing the Golem to charge at him angrily.

He overturns the table and grabs the man by his throat, choking him aggressively. You turn Joanna so that she is facing your legs so she doesn't see this.

"Enough! There you are, you grim piece of work after all these years," another man says.

A fourth man walks into the house and approaches the Golem, grinning up at him.

"Eckhart," the Golem says the man's name.

Eckhart says something in Latin, and the Golem stiffens up. His shoulders sag and he stares at the front door without any regards to anyone else in the room. Eckhart pats the Golem on the shoulders before addressing the rest of the room. Dean is on the floor from where he was thrown, but he stays still since the guy is pointing a gun at him. Sam holds his hands up and slides against the wall to the ground in defeat. The third man holds Aaron so he doesn't move.

Eckhart walks over to the Golem who is still motionless.

"I command you by the covenant of your makers, Clay of Adam, surrender your bond onto me!" The Golem opens his mouth and a small scroll falls into Eckhart's hand. "So, you are the Golem's rabbi? You woke him but you didn't take possession of him. You write your name on the scroll, boy. That's how you... Yifalchunbee."

"I didn't know what he meant," Aaron sighs.

"Knowledge is power, isn't it?" Eckhart slaps Aaron across the face which sends him falling back against the wall. "Now, which of you is going to tell me where I can find a certain red ledger?"

One of the men looks through a chest to find the red book that Sam hid, but he has no luck.

"How about you fuck yourself, Nazi bastard?" Sam glares.

"Could we put the Nazi thing aside for the moment and just talk about this like--"

"Nazi necromancer dicks? Pass," Dean cuts him off.

"So, I take it you're the commandant? The one that authorized all those experiments?"

"Invented those experiments, thank you," Eckhart corrects.

"So, what about you?" you ask. "I mean, you're not undead. So, what did you do? Did you cast a 'forever 21' spell on yourself, like your little friend at the library?"

"His name was Torvald, and you will suffer for that, pregnant or not."

The same man who was searching for the book found it where Sam had hidden it. The man hands over the ledger to Eckhart, and resumes his spot with his gun pointed at Sam.

"Let me tell you what I see. A magic Jew at my feet, not a master in sight, and finally, our secrets once again. Which reminds me of a story. 'A Jew, two gentiles, a pregnant woman, a child, and a Golem walk into a bar', and it doesn't end with them coming out."

You've had enough of this, and you're going to make sure every one of them is dead. Your magic shoots out from all sides of you, slowing down the effects of time. You're holding Joanna, so she is allowed to move about with you while everyone else is still frozen.

"Joanna, go to Daddy. Stay right there and cover your ears."

"Okay."

She runs over to Dean and sits in his lap. Since she wasn't the one who casted the frozen time spell, she can touch anything and it will still be frozen. You have the power right now, and you're going to try your hardest not to touch anything. Joanna doesn't question what's going on because she trusts you when you tell her to do something.

You walk over to the man pointing a gun at Sam. You shed your jacket and use that to move the gun so that it's pointed at the man instead of Sam. By having something covering your hands, you're not resuming time or making him immune to your effects. It's like a barrier that you're grateful to have. You use his finger and press the trigger so that when you resume time, the gun will go off and kill him.

You do the same to the man who has his gun trained on Dean. No one threatens your family and gets away with it. As you move over to the man who has the red ledger book in his hands, you're humming a happy tune to showcase your true emotions. You stand in front of the man with the book and your eyes glow bright blue with vengeance.

You raise your right hand and place it right above his forehead with the intent on killing him. Time resumes and you place your glowing hand on the man's forehead. Light shines from his eyes and mouth, and he falls to the ground dead. The two guns go off, killing both men instantly. Dean jumps at the sudden sound, and he looks down at Joanna with a confused face.

"Hi, Daddy," she grins.

The last man sees he is outmatched, so he takes off running. The Golem is still standing with his mouth wide open, so he is of no use to anyone. Sam and Dean scramble to get up, and Aaron opens his eyes when it's safe to do so.

"Go, I'll stay here."

Joanna runs over to you and grabs your hand while the three men run out of the house to chase after the man. It's not long until they come back, and you're thankful that they didn't take long since the standstill Golem was creeping you out.

"How did it go?" you ask and stand up.

"Well, now we know that paper beats Golem, and fire beats undead Nazi zombie freaks," Dean pants.

"What do you say, Aaron? I mean, we got a place where we can keep him."

"No. I mean, Eckhart might be dead, but you heard him. The Thule are still out there somewhere." Aaron takes the bloody scroll and unwinds it to see the list of names on it. The last name is his grandfather's name. "That's my grandfather. He left me something important. Something only I can do."

Aaron takes out a pen and writes his name underneath his grandfather's, allowing full possession of the Golem. He rolls the scroll back up and places it back into the Golem's mouth. The Golem breathes deep and straightens his shoulders, turning to face Aaron.

"It looks like I'm the Judah Initiative now."

"Well, I'm ready for a nap," you announce. "The Golem has a new owner, the bad guys are dead, and this pregnant woman is about to cry if she doesn't get sleep and some food in her."

Aaron is right, the Thule is still out there, but with the Golem rightfully on his side, you know he can take them down without you. You have enough on your plate to worry about. You can't be adding more shit to it when you haven't even figured out your own.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[viewjaded]

(Chloe Grace Moretz) [THE FALLEN]. Please welcome [LEONA MARSH (SHE/HER)] to Huntsville, WV. They are an [27]-year-old [VISITOR] who lives in [TOWN]. You may see them around working as a [5TH GRADE TEACHER AT HUNTSVILLE ELEMENTARY]. Poor unfortunate soul. We’ll see if they survive.  ( hunter / gatherer )

full name: leona marsh 

nicknames: n/a

age/birthday: 27, march 28th

gender: cis woman, she/her

height: 5'3"

orientation: questioning

relationship: married (separated) 

residence: town, small apartment with very basic furnishings. 

title: the despondent

face claim: chloe grace moretz

key traits: untrusting, defensive, closed-off, quiet, secretive

physical: on the shorter side, stronger than she looks to be. wavy blonde hair just past her shoulders and blue-green eyes. often looks to be deep in thought. smells citrusy and woody, and sweeter than you would expect. (has a real southern belle type accent just as a note)

mbti: isfp

me and my husband // mitski

and i am the idiot with the painted face in the corner, taking up space, but when he walks in, i am loved, i am loved

instagram // dean

it’s the same love song, but it doesn’t touch me, in my night, there are too many thoughts

(cw: domestic violence, alcoholism mentions )

she’d always dreamed about her wedding day.  she dreamed about a marriage greater than her parents,  about running away from her home and never looking back,  about finding a love so great that the sting of her father leaving or her mother turning to the bottle would fade into the distance.  and boy,  did she find it.  he was beautiful,  swept her right off of her feet and they were married within months. 

there were signs,  of course,  but she thought if she ignored them,  loved him hard enough that maybe they’d fade away with the home she’d run away from,  until one day he laid his hands on her and things changed.  she pretended for years that things were normal,  hid from the world the best she could until finally she broke and couldn’t take it anymore.

with him knocked out cold on the ground it was hard to focus on the ringing pain rattling through her body or the blood seeping from her nose.  she’d fought back.  she’d done it,   but at what cost?  panicked,  leona packed a small bag and ran,  never staying in one place for too long,  at the same time learning how to defend herself in case he was trailing right behind her,  eventually coming across huntsville.  she’s attempted to settle in,  though the fear that he might somehow find her and she might not be able to escape keeps her constantly looking over her shoulder.

— golden hour: one way or another, these two became a family. leona sees this person as a confidant. — 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣

* chemistry a must, definitely something that would need to be discussed & we can see where it goes

— moonlight, sunrise: the anxiety of being alone at night often gets to leona, often keeping her up all through the night. these two muses realized that they had that in common, and have resolved to be there for each other. — 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣

— general ideas: coworkers let's discuss dynamics, casual friends ( but remember she is quiet / wary of others ) , + we can discuss and flesh these out further. — 𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙣

[saiacross]

Bonds Unveiled

Supernatural FanFic : 3348 Words : First Work : OC

Chapter 3.5

Mystery Man

The Bunker, nestled deep underground, emanated a sense of familiarity and comfort as Sam, Dean, and Saia returned home after their encounter with the Soulweaver. Castiel had opted to return to his previous unnamed task, promising to keep in better touch.

Saia’s eyes still reflecting the weariness of recent events, found solace in the Bunker's familiar surroundings. She breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the respite from the constant onslaught of supernatural threats. The weight of the past hunt seemed to momentarily lift from her shoulders, allowing her to find a moment of peace.

Days turned into nights within the walls of the Bunker, blending seamlessly as the routine of hunter life seemed to settle. Activity in the world of the supernatural had quieted aside from the small cases and disturbances that still cropped up, but they were manageable, mere blips on their radar. Dean and Sam would swiftly dispatched the threats that dared to intrude upon their territory with in a single night if not a few hours.

Saia, feeling the weight of recent events, had chosen to take a break from the never-ending hunt. She embraced the calm, allowing herself time to heal and process the emotions that had been stirred within her. The Bunker became her sanctuary, a space to find solace and regain her strength.

In the dimly lit library of the Bunker, Sam and Dean sat at the table, their brows furrowed in concern. Saia was in the adjacent room, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

Sam broke the silence, his voice filled with worry. "Dean, I’m worried about Saia. She's been distant and quiet lately, almost like she's withdrawn from everything."

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I've noticed it too, Sammy. But we have to remember what she went through. Reliving her mother's death multiple times... that messes with a person's head. It's gonna take time for her to recover."

Sam nodded, understanding Dean's point. "I know, Dean. But I can't shake this feeling that she needs more than just time. We should talk to her, make sure she knows we're here for her or something."

“Just leave her be Sammy.” Dean would instruct his brother as he continue to do whatever it was on his laptop; Dean was never the touchy-feely type so dealing with issues on ones own is how he excepted others to move on as well.

“Saia, hey! Could you come here for a second?” Sam called out, his voice unsure of his own doing.

Saia, who was walking past the library, turned at Sam's call. She hesitated for a moment but then walked over to where Sam and Dean were seated. “What's up, guys?”

Sam looked kind of nervous as he began to speaking, mentally thinking to himself that he hadn’t planned this far ahead. “We were just talking, and we noticed that you've been pretty quiet lately. We wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Is everything alright?”

Saia paused, considering her response “Yeah, I mean, I guess. I've just got lot to take in, you know?”

“We understand.” Sam would motion to Dean as he spoke. “It was a traumatic experience, and it's normal to need some time to process it. But if there's anything on your mind that you want to talk about, we're here to listen.” Sam would offer.

Dean, sitting nearby, chimes in “Yeah, what Sammy said. We may not be the best with the touchy-feely stuff, but we care about you, Saia. If you ever need to vent or just talk, we're all ears.” Dean would offer but never really looked up fro his latop.

“Fine, let's do this.” Saia pulls out a chair and sits down, preparing herself to share her story. Dean finally glances up from his laptop and exchanges a questioning look with Sam, silently asking if they're really diving into this sensitive topic. Sam responds with a shrug, indicating that they should proceed.

“Umm Alright, Saia. We're here to listen. I know this might be difficult, so how about we start with something simple. How old were you when everything happened?”

Saia takes a deep breath, composing herself before answering. “I was 3 when… when everything you saw took place.”

Dean finally looks up from his laptop, sensing the weight of the conversation. He glances at Sam.

Sam returned Dean glace before looking back to Saia. “Who was the man we saw chasing you?”

Saia hesitates, her gaze fixed on the table in front of her. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. “He is... my father. He was the one who killed my mother. He was constantly after us. My mother told me is was because we were different; I guess she hid what we were from him and he found out when I was born. He had been after us since.” Saia’s voice was calmer then she expected it to be as she pondered her past.

Sam's eyes widen in shock upon hearing Saia's revelation. Grappling with the weight of Saia's traumatic past, his jaw would tense, his nostrils would flex, and the corners of his lips would pull as he tried to find the right words.  “Saia, I... I had no idea. I'm so sorry.”

Dean would scoff as he shook his head “Dad's, am I right? Always finding new ways to screw things up.” Following up with a swig of his beer.

Sam shoots Dean a disapproving glance, silently urging him to show more sensitivity.  “Dean, it's not the time for jokes. Saia went through something horrible.”

“Oh come on Sammy, lighten up! This just brings us that much closer doesn’t it? Our dad sucked, her dad sucked; I mean what better way to bond right?” Chuckled at his own sarcastic words.

Sam on the other hand didn’t find the same humor in the situation his frustration escalating, raises his voice in an attempt to get through to Dean. “This is not about making things easier, Dean! Saia has been through a traumatic experience, and she deserves our support, not your jokes!”

Saia, feeling overwhelmed and hurt by the argument, remains silent, regretting opening up in the first place. With a heavy sigh, she slowly rises from her seat, the weight of the conversation burdening her. “I... I think I’m going to step out.”

Sam, desperate to prevent her from leaving, pleads with her. “Saia, please, don't go. We didn't mean for it to turn out like this. We want to be here for you.”

But Saia, feeling the weight of the tension, doesn't respond to Sam's plea. She walks out of the room, leaving behind a heavy silence.

Sam’s frustration boiling over, directs his anger at Dean. “You're such a jackass, Dean! Can't you see how much damage your insensitivity caused? We just pushed her away when she needed us the most!”

Dean, silent for a moment, sighs in regret realizing the gravity of the situation.

Sam, still upset, takes a moment to collect himself before responding.  “This time you went too far, Dean. We need to find Saia and apologize.”

Dean downing the rest of his beer. “Alright, Sammy, I messed up. This is on me. I'll go find Saia and fix this.” He said as he got up from his seat and begins searching the familiar spots within the bunker, growing increasingly worried as he fails to find Saia.

“Sam, I can't find her anywhere. Have you seen her?” Dean would ask Sam as he entered the library once again.

“No, Dean. I haven't seen her since she walked off. Did you check her room?”

“Yeah, I did. She's not there. I'm starting to think she's not even in the bunker.”

“Maybe she went for a walk to clear her head. Let me try calling her cellphone.” Sam takes out his phone and dials Saia's number, anxiously waiting for a response. After a few rings, it goes to voicemail.

“ It went to voicemail. She's not answering.” Sam’s voice was filled with concern.

“Damn it. Where she go now?” Dean questioned as he ran his hand drown his face, rubbing his chin a bit.

The local bar buzzes with activity as the sounds of pool being played, music blasting from the speakers overhead, and the laughter of patrons fill the air. A thick haze of smoke hangs in the dimly lit room, adding to the atmosphere. Saia sits alone at the bar, nursing her drink, lost in her thoughts.

As she takes a sip, a man sidles up to the bar next to her, catching her attention. She discreetly glances at him from the corner of her eye, her heightened senses pick up on faint scent of gunpowder lingering around him. Her eyes note the presence of dog tags, briefly revealed before he tucks them back into his shirt. Saia's curiosity is piqued as she silently considers possible military.

Saia finishes her drink in one swift motion and taps the rim of her glass, signaling the bartender for a refill. The man beside her notices her action and decides to strike up a conversation.

“Mind if I join you?” He asked as he leaning inward towards her.

“Suit yourself.” Saia’s voice plain and indifferent.

The bartender refills Saia's glass, and she takes a moment to size up the man before her. His leather attire suggest he rode in on a motorcycle, his boots and hair cut further imply military, and the air of mystery surrounding him intrigues her. Saia decides to engage in conversation, partly out of curiosity and partly to distract herself from her own thoughts.

“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods?” Saia ask curiously.

The man smirks “Just passing through, looking for a little respite from the chaos of life. What about you?”

“Taking a break, I suppose. Needed some time to myself.”

The man nods, understanding the need for a temporary escape. He takes a sip of his drink, his eyes briefly scanning the room before settling back on Saia. “So, you seem like you've got a story to tell. Mind if I ask what's on your mind?”

Saia sighs before answering. “It's a long story. Let's just say I've been dealing with some complicated family issues lately.”

The man nodding sympathetically. “Ah, family troubles. I know how that goes. Sometimes it helps to talk about it, even to a stranger.”

Saia contemplates his words, weighing the idea of sharing her burden with someone who doesn't know her past. As the noise of the bar surrounds them, she takes a moment to decide whether to open up or keep her secrets hidden.

The scene intensifies as Saia considers opening up to the stranger, her mind filled with conflicting thoughts. However, before she can utter a word, a sudden impact jolts her forward, causing her to spill the rest of her drink onto herself. Annoyed, she turns to confront the person responsible for the collision.

“Watch where you're going!” Saia almost growls irritated.

As she prepares to give the person a piece of her mind, she realizes that he's… checking her out? However suspicion creeps into her mind, sensing that something is amiss. In the midst of his feigned charm, the man's black eyes briefly flash, revealing his true demonic nature. Saia's instincts kick in, and she becomes instantly guarded.

“Look, I'm not in the mood today. So leave.” Saia offered him a way out.

The demon smirks, his fellow demons lurking nearby, reveling in the unfolding situation. Their laughter fills the air, creating an unsettling atmosphere in the bar.

“Oh, feisty one, aren't you? Just thought I'd have a little fun with you.” He would tease.

Saia's gaze narrows, her Kitsune instincts sharpening as she realizes that he is not alone and they knows who she is, likely having been keeping tabs on her. She maintains a defiant stance, refusing to back down.

“I'm warning you. Walk away, or things will get ugly.” She warns, her fingers twitching.

The demon's laughter intensifies, joined by the malicious chuckles of his companions. They revel in the prospect of provoking Saia, taunting her with their presence.

“You think you're tough, little girl? We've seen what you can do, and trust me, it won't be enough to stop us.” The demons words were dripping with malice.

Saia's anger simmers beneath the surface, her eyes flashing red momentarily before she regains her composer, knowing that engaging in a physical confrontation here would only escalate the situation. She keeps her focus on the demons, ready to defend herself if necessary.

“I may be outnumbered, but I assure you, I can hold my own. If you know what's good for you, you'll leave now.” Her words come out as a hiss between her teeth.

The scene erupts into chaos as the demons, done with their taunting, launch a coordinated attack on Saia. With lightning-fast reflexes, Saia blocks and defends herself against their onslaught, showcasing her agility and combat skills. The other non-demon patrons in the bar, sensing danger, scramble for the exits, seeking safety outside. However, one man remains unfazed, the same man who was sitting and chatting with Saia moments ago.

As the fight intensifies, more demons join in, outnumbering Saia and overwhelming her with their combined assault. Despite her best efforts, some of their attacks manage to land, leaving visible wounds on her body. Her lip is busted, and her face bears scratches from the skirmish. Determined to turn the tide, Saia decides it's time to take a more aggressive approach.

With a swift, fluid motion, Saia unsheathes her hidden angel blade, revealing her intention to fight back with lethal force. As the eight demons continue their onslaught, she manages to stab and kill two of them, though not quite shifting the odds in her favor. However, just as the situation seems dire, the man she had been conversing with earlier decides to join the fray.

The incessant noise and chaos of the battle had been causing disturbances for the man, particularly affecting his drink. Frustrated by the commotion, he stands up, drawing a pistol from his side holster concealed beneath his leather jacket. The bullets he fires are not ordinary; they possess devil traps engraved on their tips, incapacitating the demons temporarily, providing Saia with openings to strike with her angel blade.

The unexpected alliance between Saia and the man proves to be a formidable force. Their coordinated efforts quickly dispatch the remaining demons within the bar, leaving only destruction and silence in their wake. Saia and the man, now the only ones left standing amidst the wreckage, lock eyes, a mixture of adrenaline and uncertainty filling the air.

They take a moment to catch their breath, the weight of the battle hanging heavy upon them. Their expressions reveal a mix of surprise, curiosity, and a newfound respect for one another. It is clear that their paths have intertwined under extraordinary circumstances, and now they stand as allies in the aftermath of the demonic brawl.

Saia breathing heavily as she catches her breath. “Thanks for the backup. I owe you one.”

The man, holstering his pistol, offers a nod of acknowledgment. “No problem. Seemed like you could use a hand. Names Leon, by the way.”

“Saia.” She nods back. “Sorry you got involved.” She offers

“Nah, I have a knack for stumbling into trouble myself. Lucky for us both, right?” He would laugh, shooting her a smile.

“Yeah I guess so.” She would laugh lightly. “Hey listen, you better get out of here before the cops show up.” Saia warns Leon as she heads for the door, and Leon follows closely behind. The two of them navigate through the debris, making their way out of the destroyed bar.

Once outside, Saia spots her 1995 purple Stingray Corvette parked nearby. She heads straight for it, unlocking the door and sliding into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life as she starts the car, ready to make a swift getaway. Meanwhile, Leon walks over to his 2000 Olive Green Kawasaki Vulcan motorcycle, straddling it with a confident stance.

Saia glances over at Leon, raising an eyebrow. "You sure you'll be alright on that thing?"

Leon chuckles and revs the engine, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Don't worry about me. I can handle myself just fine."

With a nod of understanding, Saia shifts into gear and peels out of the parking lot, leaving a trail of smoke behind her. Leon follows suit, his motorcycle roaring to life as he takes off in a different direction.

Back at the Bunker, Dean and Sam sit anxiously in the main room, their concern evident on their faces. They wonder where Saia ran off to, hoping she's safe and sound. Suddenly, the sound of the steel bunker door opening interrupts their thoughts. They exchange a glance before leaping from their seats, eager to greet the new arrival.

As Saia descends down the steps into the heart of the bunker, she notices Sam and Dean eagerly rounding the corner to meet her. Confusion crosses her face as she asks, "Hey, what's going on? Is everything alright?"

Dean, his anger simmering beneath the surface, interrupts before Sam can respond. "Where the hell have you been? And why didn't you answer your damn phone?"

Before Saia can answer, Sam's concern takes precedence. He notices her banged-up appearance and asks with genuine worry in his voice, "Are you okay? What happened?"

Saia takes a deep breath and begins to explain, recounting the encounter with the demons at the bar and how she ran into this guy who ended up helping her. Her voice carries a mix of relief and exhaustion as she relays the events to her worried friends.

“So, his name was Leon? I don't think we've ever heard of him before.” Sam looked to Dean.

“Are you sure his shots were stunning the demons?" Dean’s voice carried doubt.

“I saw it with my own eyes, Dean. Those bullets definitely had some kind of effect on the demons. I think he's another hunter.” Saia was confident in what she saw.

“Well that would explain the uses specialized ammunition.” Sam nodded his head.

Processing this information came with a moment of silence. In this moment of silence came the prefect opportunity which cause Sam to elbow Dean, giving him a look. “Just say it, Dean.” Sam would whisper.

Dean cleared his throat. “Saia... I, uh... I wanted to apologize for earlier. I shouldn't have been sarcastic about your situation. I know it was a sensitive topic, and I should have been more understanding. We're here for you, no matter what, okay? If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to ask.”

Saia smiled softly. “Thank you, Dean. I appreciate that. It means a lot.”

Dean would nods his head to Saia and then look to Sam and nod again with a confident smile as though he were patting himself on the back for a job well done. Sam just rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Listen I’m going to hit the showers and get cleaned up. I haven’t eaten yet so if yall give me a bit we can go grab some food.” Saia would suggest before leaving the two brothers in their seats.

“Sounds like a plan, take your time.”Dean would holler after her, watching til she was gone before turning to Sam again.  “See, Sammy? We handled that pretty well, didn't we?”

Sam rolled his eyes again. “Yeah, Dean. You're a regular expert in apologizing now.”

“Hey, I do what I can. It's all about making things right, right?” Dean was grinning.

Sam would just scoff with a smile of his own, unable to believe his brother.

As the day draws to a close, the tension that had lingered between Sam, Dean, and Saia seems to have finally dissipated. The three of them find solace in their shared space, the familiar walls of the Bunker providing a sense of comfort and safety.

End Chapter.

[vaida-talks-about-everything]

Kailman Legacy || 29: The 1st Place Winner and The Potential Opening Act

The first equestrian competition would be underway soon, so as Emerson warmed up, he was happy to have the distraction from who'd been on his mind lately. He and Louisa hadn't discussed the "almost kiss" from several nights ago and, frankly, hadn't said much else outside preparing for the competition. Would the bit of distance solidify the decision they both made to avoid romance at all costs or make the heart grow fonder?

Instead of thinking too long about that question, Louisa eagerly welcomed her parents' surprise visit that morning and checked in on the little sister, who was almost ready to arrive.

"How've things been?" Asked her dad, Allen. "Good! Noah's been training the ranch hand and he's about to compete with Gold Rush here in a few hours." "Ah, yes, the farm boy. I've heard a lot about him. He hasn't been too much of a bother, has he?" "No, quite the opposite. He's very polite and respectful. We, uh, don't see a lot of each other anyway." "Good. I've heard good things though, so, should he do something with his life, I'll consider it." "Oh, well, uh-" "-And you need to get established yourself. Summer won't last forever. Is everything for school done?" "Yes, of course."

Their brief catchup wrapped up soon after, and Louisa thought of the dorm she was due to tour, the roommates she would come to meet once the summer came to a close. At summer's start, she couldn't wait for the season to end so she could start preparing for her career. Thinking of it had a pang of sadness, as a pair of sea-moss blue eyes wouldn't say good morning every day, and she wouldn't laugh at his jokes when the two rode the horses together.

Despite only beginning his journey into equestrian sports, Emerson found himself the 1st place winner of the beginner-level competitions. Emerson couldn't be happier, especially with so much of his family there to support him. This was only the beginning of his dreams coming true, and he beamed as he and Gold Rush received their prizes. After freshening up, Emerson and everyone went out for lunch.

Louisa charmed the Kailmans within moments, sitting with them while Emerson sat with his parents and oldest sister, Dayla Ann, who couldn't stop telling him how proud she was.

"You're just such a natural, I can't get over it." Dayla Ann beamed. "Thank you, thank you." Emerson smiled back. "It's just the first level though, I have plenty more to learn." "Looks like Mr. James is teachin' you a lot then, huh?" Asked Dalton. "Oh, absolutely." "Good, I'm happy to hear that. I knew the moment I met him that he'd be the type of man I'd want you to learn from. I couldn't be happier." Emma remarked, smiling at her son.

Speaking of Noah John, he and an old friend caught up in a cozier corner. Dirk Dreamer, his former college roommate, had clearly made a name for himself in the entertainment world but managed to keep a minimal ego and pristine reputation.

After seeing Edith Dean perform, Noah John considered doing her a solid and introducing them, especially after the recent drama surrounding her. It'd calmed down since it first broke, but a girl with that much raw talent deserved someone to teach her the ropes so that similar scandals wouldn't repeat. Plus, Dirk was in quite the pickle himself. His country duo act was due to start their tour in a matter of weeks, and their opener had to drop out at the last minute. While he got some help for half the set, he wanted an up-and-comer to take the spot and get their name out there. Would this plucky redhead with a dream prove herself ready for such an opportunity?

[waywardnerd67]

Midnight in Austin

Title: Midnight In Austin Summary: Loving her was the only constant he had in life, but was it enough to drag her down in the mess of a life he lived. Main Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Rating: M - Mature Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Implied Smut Word Count: 1854 A/N: I’m currently obsessed with “Rock and a Hard Place” by Bailey Zimmerman and Dean has been on my mind a lot. Lyrics are bold. 

Strong hands tightened around the steering wheel as another mile marker passed by. The stars were shining bright with the full moon in the night sky. The only other lights were from the headlights on his Baby. Dean had crossed over the Texas state line an hour ago and still had a couple of hours until he reached his destination. His tape deck was broken leaving only the local stations for noise. Apparently everything station knew what kind of mood he was in because every sad, crooning, country song played one after another.

He could feel his eyelids slipping down under the weight of exhaustion. He smacked the side of his face a few times to wake himself up.

“Damn, I could use my Zeppelin mixtape right now.” He reached over into the green cooler riding shotgun and pulled out a soda to get some caffeine in him.

He needed to get to Austin, no matter how tired he was. If he could get to Austin then everything would be alright. He could make everything right. He had to or else everything was meaningless. Chugging the soda down and letting out a loud carbonated blech, Dean pressed on the accelerator launching Baby faster down the empty highway.

As soon as he was within the city limits of Austin, his heart settled to a steady beat. Only one other place had brought him the comfort and peace that Austin did. The city was not particularly the reason but the person who resided there. Cruising on auto pilot, the memory of his last visit filled his mind.

One Year Earlier

Dean sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the beautiful woman sleeping peacefully. To this day, she could take his breath away. His heart raced in her presence and his body demanded to be pressed against her in any way it could be. However, his mind always reminded him that they could never truly be together the way they had always talked about.  

He stood, turning from her to walk away when her soft hand grabbed his, “Don’t leave.”

“You know I have to.” His heart cracked saying it out loud.

(Y/N) stood up grabbing one of his many shirts that always seemed to be left behind. She pulled up her panties and laced her hands on her hips. She was gearing up for a fight and Dean did not know if he had it in him to do this again.

“We've been swingin' and missin'. It ain't broke yet, but damn, it needs fixin'. Been a while since your kiss felt like kissin'. It's just different.”

Another crack echoed in his chest, “(Y/N)... I can’t do this…”

She went to say something, but he continued before she could.

“We've been talkin' 'bout forever since we've been together. Somethin' 'bout a ring makes you think we're better off with all this but we're caught in between a rock and a hard place. Red wine and mistakes. Tears rollin' down your face. When I walked out that door.”

“Then don’t go, Dean!” She yelled, fresh tears falling down her cheeks, “We’ve been together since we were twenty-six. I stuck around when you ran off to get your brother from college and work for your dad. I was there when you lost him and cried all night in my arms. I was there when you were gone for four months without a word and no explanation. What else do I need to do to prove to you that I’m in this for the long run?”

Every word sliced through him like a knife. She had no clue about his life, his real job and all the ugly shit he dealt with. She still could see a light at the end of this tunnel. She could still feel hope for the world around them. He would be damned if he would tarnish that with all the darkness that surrounded him.

“That’s the problem, (Y/N). No matter what, no matter what I would tell you… you would stay. I can’t bring this shit home to you. I won’t bring it home to you.” He let out a shaky breath, “For the record, shit… Throwin' in the towel takes some effort. So I'd rather ride it out for better weather. Together, but I can’t.”

Dean turned on his heel heading for the door quickly. He tried to block out her calling out his name and begging for him to stay.

“Dean! What the hell's this all for? Dean, answer me! Is this where it mends or it breaks? Damn it, for once just talk to me! How much more of this can we take? Dean! DEAN!”

He made it through the front door slamming it behind him as an agonizing sob ripped out of (Y/N)’s mouth. A final crack snapped his heart into two, the pieces crushing his lungs making it difficult to breathe. He got into Baby and drove like a bat out of hell not looking back at (Y/N) or Austin.

Present Day

Dean sat in Baby a few houses down from (Y/N)’s. She still had her beat up Jeep that he spent hours and hours fixing for her. Parked next to it was a newer Ford sedan he did not recognize. He had not been delusional enough to think that in a year, (Y/N) had not moved on, but he did not have to like it.

A beam of light came from her door as a man walked out to the car. For the first time in a year, his eyes landed on (Y/N) and immediately his body, mind, soul was desperate to be beside her. She leaned against the door watching as the car drove down the street. When the car passed by Dean, he watched as her body went rigid as her eyes landed on Baby.

Dean looked up to the rearview to see the taillights disappearing before driving down to her driveway. The front door was still opened as he walked up.

“Hello Dean.”

“Hi (Y/N)...” He paused for a moment before the question burning in his mind popped out, “Who was the guy?”

Her beautiful (Y/C/E) eyes rolled, “Really? You ran out over a year ago and think you can ask me that?”

“When I walked out that door and that's when I lost it. A midnight in Austin between a rock and a hard place.”

(Y/N) scoffed, “That was your choice, Dean. You could have stayed… we could have worked things out. You left… and I had to pick up the pieces you broke and move on.”

The void in his chest throbbed, “So, you have moved on?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but…” She let the moment of agonizing silence linger, “No. He’s a friend that I’m designing a website for. He was anxious to get home to his husband.”

Relief rushed over him, “Ah…” Dean looked around her house seeing it mostly unchanged from a year ago.

“Dean, why are you here?”

He watched her walk over to her liquor cabinet and pull out a bottle of whiskey. She spun the cap off on the table and took a long drink straight from the bottle.

“I want to make things right. I want to tell you everything.”

She handed him the bottle, “Well then, may I offer you some liquid courage?”

He took the bottle and let the burn run its course over his body. His eyes never left hers as they traveled down his body. A familiar spark ignited deep within him watching her eyes darken. Dean walked slowly towards her, backing her toward the nearest wall sitting the bottle on the table next to them.

“D-Dean…” She whispered.

“I’m going to kiss you. I promise I’ll explain everything, but only after I kiss you.”

The moment his lips pressed against hers, everything in his world was set right. Scooping down, he picked her up and wrapped her legs around him. Moaning into her mouth as her hands went up into his hair. His heart was racing and his body ached in wonderful need to feel (Y/N)’s bare body against his as soon as possible. As they entered her room and tumbled onto the mattress in a fit of giggles and chuckles he paused for a moment.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to do anything you don’t.” He asked, hovering over her.

She began to chuckle as her hands ran down his body stopping at his belt, “If you can’t tell that I want this then it has been too long since you’ve gotten any.” Her hand slipped into his pants stroking him slowly.

“I’ve only ever wanted to love you.”

Her hand stopped bringing forth a whimper from his lips as she spoke, “Then get naked and make love to me.”

When Dean opened his eyes, he saw midnight flashing on (Y/N)’s clock. Looking down, he found (Y/N) peacefully sleeping on his chest. Running his fingers down her bare back, grateful to have her in his arms again.

“You’ve kissed me… and various spots on my body,” He chuckled as she continued, “Now start talking.”

“We were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Red wine and mistakes. Tears rollin' down your face. When I walked out that door and that's when I lost it. A midnight in Austin and damn, I was exhausted.”

She sighed, resting her chin on her hands looking up at him, “I remember… I was there.”

Dean tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear, “I nearly ran back inside when I heard you crying on the other side of the door.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Such a simple question had a complicated answer and for the first time in his life, Dean held nothing back. Who he and his brother were, what they did, all the family business came out of his mouth.

“So that’s everything. I left that night, because I had to go fight God with my brother and our kid. Now the world is safe… kind of. There are still people who need saving and things that have to be hunted. The family business continues, but Sam and I agreed to live our lives as much as possible.”

Dean sat up resting his back against the headboard as (Y/N) curled into his side, “What does that mean for the Winchester boys?”

Dean smiled, “Well Sam is currently at one of our friends, Bobby’s cabin with who will hopefully one day be my badass sister-in-law. As for me, well…”

He lifted (Y/N) up to straddle his waist. His hands drifted up her body to the sides of her face bringing her lips to his.

“We've been talkin' 'bout forever since we've been together. No better time than right now for us to start a life together. Just know, I’ll have to leave from time to time to head back to the Bunker. For now, I want to spend my midnights in Austin.”

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[winchester-girl67]

Christmas Alone With You (Part 5) - Gingerbread House

Summary: It's Christmas eve and they decide to put the baking supplies the reader bought to good use. At the end of the night she has somewhere she needs to be and asks Dean for a favour. Later, he makes a confession and she helps set up a small surprise for Christmas morning. 

Masterlist

Pairing: single parent!Dean x Photographer!reader 

Square: Build a Gingerbread House @spnchristmasbingo

Word Count: 3,257

Warnings: a little angst, visiting a cemetery on xmas eve, mentions of car accident (drunk driver)/death, sad!reader, self-depreciation, Dean being sweet, pregnancy (not reader), pining, confessions of love, kissing, slow burn, fluff 

A/N: Series written for @spnchristmasbingo​

_____

“Shhh,” Dean shushed, meeting Sam and Jess at the front door early Christmas eve morning. You were still asleep on the couch and he had gone through great lengths to ensure you didn’t wake up when he slid out from under you to meet them at the door. 

“Here’s your package,” Sam said, handing Dean a large cardboard box that had been delivered to their house. Dean beamed with a smile that made Sam curious, “So... what’s in the box?!” He whisper shouted, chuckling at the glare he got from Dean. “What? You're the only one who can make pop-culture references?” He shrugged, him and Jess following Dean into the kitchen. “Last minute Christmas present for Mary?” 

“Actually, it’s a surprise for Y/N. It’s just a little something to make her feel like more of a part of the family. I ordered it a few days ago to your place ‘cuz I didn’t want her asking questions and ruining the surprise. Besides, I didn’t want her feeling obligated to go out and spend her savings on Christmas presents.” Dean explained, cutting open the box and running the contents upstairs to stow in his room for the time being. 

_____

You were feeling better when you woke up, both physically and emotionally rested. Having taken the time to recuperate after nearly turning into an icicle the night before last and clearing the air with Dean. You felt reassured that your presence was wanted within the family; though, whether it be long term or not, you weren’t sure. You were still confused on that front and cuddling with Dean on the couch only intensified the feeling. 

You’d been so caught up in your own world crumbling, you didn’t stop to think that you might not have been the only one struggling through the holidays. The way Dean broke down last night broke your heart and you realized that he was scared too. He was terrified of people leaving him and rightfully so after everything he told you about Mary’s mother. 

But there was something more in the way he looked at you and the feeling he hid within those gentle touches and kisses that heated your skin, it spoke wonders and you couldn’t ignore the way those intimate moments made you feel anymore. Of course, you still had your doubts; maybe, he was feeling guilty or maybe, he just didn’t want to upset his daughter the day before Christmas. 

You made up your mind though, you'd give them one last chance and if you got hurt because of it, at least you could say you tried. They were worth it, Dean was worth it. Your parents’ would’ve wanted that and they’d be proud of you for finally opening yourself up to someone after so long. After the holidays, you would still need to find a place of your own, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t stay in your life; that was all you wanted, even if things didn’t work out romantically with Dean. 

You and Dean needed to go to work for a few hours before you could settle in for Christmas celebrations. Sam and Jess were watching over Mary and the mall was closing early so you were thankful you wouldn’t get stuck there all day. 

The house smelt of fresh gingerbread when you and Dean got home. You were surprised to see Sam in the kitchen baking with Mary while Jess instructed them from the kitchen table, where she sat and rested her swollen feet. 

“I hope you don’t mind, Y/N. Mary’s been talking our ears off about building a gingerbread house and I thought I’d whip up some cookies for us to make a couple when you guys got home.” Sam beamed, placing the cookies onto a cooling tray. 

“By all means, knock yourself out, Sammy. Everybody knows that decorating the gingerbread house is where it’s at.” You chuckled, “just give us a chance to change out of our costumes first?" And for the last time thankfully, you were tired of panty hose and plastic elf ears. 

“Y/N?” Dean knocked on your bedroom door a minute or two later, pursing his lips together when you opened the door. 

“What’s up?” You tugged down the hem of your maroon sweater. 

“Everything okay with you?” He asked and you nodded, scrunching up your forehead. For the life of you, you didn’t know what he was talking about. “I noticed you looked a little sad after the last family today and I think it might have something to do with you missing your family. I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever feel like talking.” 

“Thank you, Dean. Maybe some other time.” You shrugged and he nodded. He was finally getting to know when to push you to open up and when to let you come to him. For now you just wanted to have some fun with the family downstairs and forget everything else. 

_____

“Ugh!” Dean groaned, slapping some more frosting from the tub onto the piece of gingerbread. He struggled with the simple task of building the base layer for his gingerbread house. “Why won’t these fudging things stand up.” 

You were in the middle of a gingerbread house building contest and so far, you and Sam were leagues ahead. Jess was currently passed out on the couch in the other room, taking a much needed rest after complaining she’d been pretty sore all morning and Dean and Mary’s house had collapsed many times to the point that it looked like a pile of cookies and goop. But they were having a blast, which was exactly what you had hoped for when you picked up the supplies from the grocery store and you were glad you could share this moment with them. 

The winner of the contest got to choose where to order dinner from, since it was Christmas eve and nobody felt like cooking. Most of Christmas day would be spent in the kitchen slaving over the stove anyways, so today was all about spending time with family and having a laugh. 

“‘Cuz you’re not supposed to use buttercream frosting between the cookies, Dean.” You laughed, watching him lick the frosting from his fingertips. Mary copying her dad, wiggling her fingers into the tub of icing and sticking them in her mouth. 

“It tastes better, though.” He shrugged, laughing and beaming at his daughter, who was very messy at this point; somehow, she’d gotten green frosting all over her cheeks. 

“Yeah, but it doesn’t stick.” You smirked, rolling your eyes and running a cloth under the tap. You rang it out and wiped the mess from Mary’s face and hands. 

“At least our house won’t have raw egg in it like with your royal icing,” he taunted, tossing one of the decorative candies in the air and catching it in his mouth. 

“Yeah, salmon-ella.” Mary giggled, repeating something her father had said earlier. You couldn’t help but think how cute they were together when they were carefree and having fun in the moment like this. 

“Y/N, what do you think... shutters too much?” Sam asked, sticking a couple of rectangular cookie pieces next to the window on the gingerbread house and glancing over to you. You shook your head, admiring his attention to detail. You and Sam’s house already had cotton candy smoke coming out of the chimney and shredded wheat shingles. 

“Show-offs,” Dean muttered, taking a bite of the cookie meant to be their roof, snapping off a piece and handing it to Mary. 

“We clearly win,” you stated, smirking at Dean, he squinted back at you and bit off another piece of gingerbread. “So, what d’you want for supper, Sam?” 

“Jess has been craving spicy food lately and I could go for something hearty like a soup.” Sam said, putting the final touches on the gingerbread house. 

“Soup sounds good,” you agreed, “how about that place around the corner, Harvelle’s? They have a large selection, something for everybody.” You shrugged, you’d been there a few times in the past and knew they had options that Dean and Mary would appreciate. 

_____

"Dean." You said, a while after dinner. 

He had just come back downstairs after putting Mary to bed, so she wouldn't be too tired for Christmas morning. Sam and Jess were still over, lounging on the long couch and watching the end of some Hallmark movie. You were sitting on the love-seat next to them that you shared with Dean. 

"Can I ask you for a favour?" You asked, Dean plopping down in the seat next to you. 

"Of course, Y/N." Dean nodded. "Anything, sweetheart." 

"Can I borrow your car?" You questioned biting your lip and scrunching your forehead. "Since mine's still at Benny's." 

"I can drive you where you need to go." He said, he was still a little worried about you and didn't like the idea of you going off on your own in the dark on Christmas eve. Sam and Jess desperately tried to seem like their attention was on the TV screen, though it was obvious they were listening in. 

"That's alright, I can go by myself, it's not far." You shook your head. "Besides, it's Christmas eve, you should spend some time with your family." You gestured to the couple on the couch, Sam cuddling Jess back into his chest as they lounged, his hand rubbing over her swollen stomach gently. You hadn't meant anything untoward about the family comment, Dean had been trying extra hard all day to make you feel at home and it was working. 

"If it's not far, then you won't mind if I tag along," he shrugged, "besides, I will be with family. And I'm sure Sam and Jess won't mind watching Mary for an hour or two while we step out." He directed the last statement towards Jess, who glanced over and nodded without hesitation. 

"Dean, it's just something that I do every year, alone. I swear I'll be careful and I won't be gone long." You argued. 

"What's so important that I can't come with you?" He furrowed his brow. 

"Forget it, never mind." You stood up, but Dean caught your hand before you could leave. 

"Sweetheart, talk to me." He pleaded, gently pulling you back down to the love-seat. 

"I want to visit my family." 

"But, I thought they were-" he started but stopped when suddenly he realized what you were trying to say. "I'd like to meet them, it's only fair since you've met my crazy family." 

"De-" you sighed, staring at his hand in yours. Maybe the company wouldn't be so bad. "Fine, I guess you can come." 

_____

"It's nice to finally meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N. From what Y/N's told me, I really wish we could've met under better circumstances." Dean said, placing a small poinsettia at the foot of the large slab of marble. He insisted on picking one up at a gas station on your way there, even if it would probably freeze overnight in the cemetery. 

"I met your daughter a few weeks ago and I gotta give it to ya, she's something else. She's strong as hell, beautiful inside and out; and I guess, that's all because of you guys. You did an incredible job raising her and I can only hope that I can do the same with my own daughter. Maybe you could lend me a hand and help me convince Y/N to stick around for a while after the holidays. I think we'd all like that. Mary's at that age where she could use a female role model and your daughter could use that sense of family again; she gets that sad look in her eyes from time to time when things remind her of you guys and I don't want her to feel that way anymore. Don't get me wrong, I don't want her to forget, that's not what I'm saying, that wouldn't be any easier. I just want her memories to be happy, I want her to be able to share them with us without being reminded of her loss. I want her to feel again without the fear of losing something or someone she loves. That fear doesn't have to be a constant and I know it's what holds her back." 

Dean sighed, his breath visibly escaping between his lips. He read the tombstone for the umpteenth time; five years, you'd been coming here for five years, cold and alone and probably much worse off than you were now. He couldn't imagine it and he didn't want to. 

He glanced back towards the car, you had gone back to get a scarf and hadn't begun to make your way back over yet, so he knew he was still in the clear to continue spilling his guts to your parents. It was therapeutic almost, to get it all off of his chest. Somehow, it also made him feel closer to you; he understood now why you came here every year on the anniversary of their death. 

You told him everything that had happened that fateful night on the drive over. The drunk driver that crossed over into the wrong lane, the summer tires that were still on your parents' car because you were too busy with work to help change them over and the guilt you felt because of it. Dean told you that it wasn't your fault, but he could see that it was something you would always need to be reassured of. It wasn't something you could easily let go; maybe they would've been able to turn away a second sooner with winter tires or maybe not since you couldn't be sure if they even saw the car coming. 

"I screwed up big time a couple of days ago and I almost lost Y/N. She told me about your little reunion when she was half frozen and out of it and I know you must've played a part in bringing her back to me, so thank you for that. I want nothing more than for her to have her family back, but it's too soon. She still has so much to live for and I'm going to make sure of that. I love your daughter, I know it's ridiculously fast to say that, but I do. And I'm done fighting it. I know she won't hurt me like Mary's mother did and I was wrong to ever think that she would. So, for once, I'm going to be selfish and say that you can't have her back, not yet. Maybe in fifty or sixty years, but I'll be right there with her and you can give me hell then. I'll look forward to that." 

"Hey," you said, walking up behind Dean and making him jump. "Am I interrupting?" You hadn't heard much other than to know that Dean was talking to your parents. You felt a little jealous having never really been able to do that. Sure you talked to them all the time, but it was more like talking to yourself in a way. 

"No," he turned to you, wiping away a stray tear from his cheek, "I was just introducing myself." 

You felt a little awkward with Dean there, but you eventually got past it and talked to your parents until there was nothing new left to say. You told them how lucky you were to find Dean and his family and how they took you in when there was no place else for you to go. You told them about the good times and bad. And lastly, you told them how much you missed them. 

Dean wrapped you up in his arms after that, holding you into his side for warmth and comfort. The evening was getting later and colder and he was still worried about you, even though you remembered your coat this time. 

"This was nice, thank you for coming with me, Dean. I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with lately; this time of year is always a little rough for me." You sniffled and turned into his chest, returning the hug. 

"Hey, I wasn't exactly a saint either, but we're figuring it out together." He squeezed you in his arms. "Mary and I, we want you to know that your home is with us now. I'm never gonna ask you to leave again and I won’t let you go without a fight because you’re our family. And that’s what families do when they love each other. You’re not walking away from us and we aren’t turning our backs on you.” 

The next thirty seconds were a blur, driven by raw emotion. You reached up, arms locking around Dean's shoulders and pulling him down to you. You didn't think, you just felt and pressed your lips to his. 

It was messy, your cheeks were wet and his lips were chapped, but he didn't pull away. He followed your lead, his nose pressing into your cheek and his scruff scratching your skin as he kissed you back. His lips pushing and sliding against yours. 

"I'm sorry," you breathed, pulling away from him when your brain started working again. "I-I didn't mean to-" 

"Y/N, it's okay." His hand cupped your cheek and he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. "I need to tell you something..." 

_____

'...I've completely fallen for you, sweetheart.' His words echoed in your ears, even hours later as you laid in bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep would not easily come tonight. 

He could get anyone, he was sweet and understanding and generous. So, what did he want with you? You had too much baggage for even yourself and here he was ready to hitch his wagon to yours. You already lived together, if anything did happen, it would be quick and serious right off the bat. You didn't know if you were ready for that, but then again, the idea of it being him for you wasn't terrifying. It made you feel warm and tingly in a way that you had kept yourself from feeling for so long. Maybe it could work out between you two, maybe they would be your family after all. 

You couldn't stop your thoughts from spinning around in your mind, so you decided to get up. You made your way into the kitchen and pulled a carrot out of the fridge, finding the peeler in the drawer next to it and grabbing a plate from the shelf. 

"Couldn't sleep either, eh?" Dean chuckled when you jumped at the sound of his voice. "Easy, sweetheart. S'just me." 

There was a light-hearted tone to his voice and shimmer in his eye when he spoke to you, one that hadn't been there before. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he could be himself with you now. No more walls, no more guarding himself; everything was out in the open. 

"Are you doing that for Mary?" He asked, watching you nod and yawn as you continued shaving the carrot onto the plate until you were content with the size of the pile. "I've tried everything, Y/N. She just doesn't believe in Santa anymore. I'm afraid that ship has sailed." 

"She doesn't have to believe for it to be magical." You picked up the plate and headed towards the door. "You wanna help me spread these outside?" 

"Hell yeah, I do." He beamed, following you out the door. 

_________________________

A/N: Read Part 6

_________________________

Christmas Alone With You: @idkhowbutifoundyou​ @maralisa124

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278​ @laycblack​

[twdsunshine]

Broken: Pt. 1

Summary:  Mechanic!Daryl AU.  Tabitha Dean has returned to her hometown for the first time in years, fleeing a life that isn’t quite what she thought it would be.  When her car breaks down, the mechanic who comes to her rescue is none other than Daryl Dixon, the shy, strange boy that she remembers from her school days.  But a lot has changed since then, and, when Tabby’s life catches up with her, she finds herself in need of someone to fix her broken parts.  Is Daryl up to the job?

Pairing:  Daryl Dixon x OFC

Warnings:  None

Word Count:  2,405

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Author’s Note: Hello!  Welcome to my new Mechanic!Daryl AU with my new OFC, Tabby.  This was only gonna be a mini-series to start with, but I got a little carried away, so it’s now looking like it’ll run to about 10 chapters.  I’m having a lot of fun writing this one, so I really hope you enjoy reading it!  Thank you for taking the time to check it out!  (PS.  I know absolutely nothing about cars, so no judgement, please.  I’ve kept it vague for a reason!)

*****

The car’s engine coughed and sputtered as Tabitha steered it carefully off to the side of the road, straddling the sidewalk to make space for passing traffic should any come along.  It creaked as she applied the brake, then gave one last shuddering wheeze and cut out completely.  It had been on its last legs for a while now, and she’d put off the repairs, unwilling to dip into her savings when she was so close to having the safety net that she needed.  It seemed now that that decision had come back to bite her.  Frustration punched a deep groan from her lungs as she pounded her hands against the wheel, letting her head fall forward onto her forearms for a moment.  This was the last thing that she needed, but, of course, that only meant that she really should have expected it.  She’d learnt long ago that life didn’t have a habit of going her way, and she really should be used to that by now.  Especially now.

With a sigh, she reached for her phone, where it sat on the passenger seat, pulling up the web browser and searching for the nearest auto shop that might be able to come out and give her a tow.  It had been a long time since she’d last so much as passed through town, and she’d already figured out that there weren’t many places that she still remembered from when she’d called it her home.  Thumbing down the screen, she finally settled on one a couple of miles away that seemed to get decent reviews, hovering over the phone number for a moment before finally finding the confidence to dial.  She hated doing things like this - booking appointments, reaching out, asking for help - but there was nobody else to do it for her, not anymore.  That had been a small price to pay, but it felt far larger in that moment as the line rang, and she waited anxiously for it to connect.

“Grimes Auto,” came the Southern drawl that answered the call.  “How can I help you?”

“Oh, er, hi.”  Good start, she thought, swallowing hard and forcing herself to press on.  “Hi, sorry, I, er…  I’ve broken down, just out past the old lumberyard outside of town.  My car, I mean.   It broke down and, er, I was hoping- I mean, I thought you might be able to-”

“You need a tow?”  Obviously tired of her stammering, the voice on the end of the phone cut her off, and she nodded eagerly before remembering that he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah.  Yes, please, that would be great.  Thank you.”

The man at the shop took a few more details from her before hanging up with the promise that someone would be with her within the next half hour.  “If he can, he’ll get you on your way.  If not, he’ll tow you back here and we’ll see what needs doin’.”

With that done, Tabby tossed the phone back onto the seat beside her and pushed open her door, figuring she might as well wait outside and make it more obvious that she was stranded for when the truck came along.  It was a warm day, and her dark hair clung to her neck as she leaned back against the side of the hood, crossing her denim-clad legs at the ankles and wishing that she hadn’t only thought to bring her boots along when she’d packed in a hurry.  Digging into the back pocket of her jeans, she found an old hair tie and bundled her waves onto the top of her head, securing them up and out of the way, swiping the beads of sweat from her forehead.  Her shades protected her eyes from the glare of the sun against the asphalt, and she stared off into the distance, drumming her fingers against the metal behind her as she waited.

She was still standing there ten minutes later, watching the spot on the horizon where the road from town snaked into view, when the rumble of an approaching vehicle reached her ears, and, sure enough, if she squinted, she could just make out the mass of a large tow truck rounding the far corner.  It trundled along unhurriedly, the rays that bounced off the windshield making it impossible to pick out the driver, but Tabby raised her hand in greeting regardless, relieved that help had arrived and more quickly than she’d expected.  At this point, she was holding out for the small wins to get her through the day.  Her keys were in her ignition, where she’d left them, and she moved to retrieve them now, swinging them around her finger as she waited for the mechanic to jump down from his cab and come to her aid.

“Yer Tabitha?”  The man, when he appeared, didn’t glance up from the clipboard in his hand as he strode over to her, a broad figure clad in light blue overalls.  His brow was furrowed in concentration as he leafed through the paperwork before setting it down on the roof of her rundown ride.  

“That’s right.”

“Let’s see what we got then.”  He popped the hood with no trouble, already leaning over to inspect the engine when he cast over his shoulder, “Wanna tell me what happened?”

“She was making some weird noises,” Tabby explained, sliding her shades up onto the top of her head and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as she watched him fiddling about with thick, grease-stained fingers.  It probably didn’t seem like it, given the car’s current state, but she really did love it and hated to see it poked and prodded at.  “Seemed to be struggling, so I pulled her over, and she gave up as soon as I hit the brake.”

“Looks like she’s seen better days.”

“Yeah, well…  Haven’t we all?”

At that, he finally turned towards her, straightening up so that she could take in the height of him, towering over her small stature, and the dark hair that flopped across his eyes until he brushed it aside with the back of his hand, leaving a faint smear of oil behind.  Recognition sparked in her chest, and she frowned for a moment as she tried to place him, her mind working to erase the lines that creased his skin, but it wasn’t until she noticed the name tag stitched across his chest that she was finally able to figure it out.  Daryl.

“It- It’s Dixon, right?” she asked cautiously.  “Daryl Dixon?”

At first she thought she might have it wrong as he continued just to look at her, but a few seconds later he nodded, catching his chapped bottom lip between his teeth.  “Mmhmm.”

“It’s Tabitha.  Tabitha Dean,” she reminded him, though she was sure it was written on the paperwork he’d brought with him from his truck.  “Tabby.  From high school.”

“I remember.”  He ducked his head, pulling a rag from his back pocket to wipe off his fingers before reaching behind him to let the hood fall closed.  “Ya’ve had this car since ya was old enough to drive.”

“She was my dad’s.”

“I know.”  He trailed his fingertips over the dusty red metal, his gaze travelling along its length as if picturing it before Tabby had let it get into such a sorry state.  “1970 Mercury Cougar.  Always was a sweet ride.”  He cleared his throat, shaking his head slightly, and Tabby felt immediately guilty at her lack of care for the car.  It was just one of many things in her life that seemed to have gone so very wrong, just of late.  “Trouble is, s’not gonna be easy to get the parts for it.  We won’t have nothin’ in stock, that’s for sure.  Ya stickin’ round town for a while?”

“I, er… Yeah.”  She hadn’t really known, not until that moment, but it seemed that the situation had made her decision for her.  “Yeah, for a little while, I think.”

“S’good.”  Tucking the rag away, he retrieved his clipboard, taking a note of the vehicle’s licence plate and scribbling down a few notes.  “I’ll have to take it in.  Ya need a ride?”

“Oh, I…”  She tailed off.  The truth was, she had several bags of supplies in her back seat and no idea how she was going to get them to the hunting cabin where she was staying, but she was also painfully aware that it was in the opposite direction to town and the auto shop.  She supposed, if she hitched a ride back with Daryl, she could then try and find a cab to take her out into the depths of the forest.  “Yeah, that would be good, thanks.”

“Ya stayin’ at yer folks’ place?  I can drop ya off.”

“Oh, no, I-”

“The cabin then?”  Tabby was surprised that he even remembered her dad’s old cabin, buried deep in the woods that bordered the small town, but then he seemed to remember a lot from the way the conversation had gone so far.  It struck her as strange, somehow.  They’d often ended up seated together in class, just because their surnames were listed together on the register, but they'd never really been friends.  He'd been quiet and shy, but he’d obviously been paying attention.  “Come with me while I drop yer car off, then I’ll take ya out there.”

“No, Daryl, you don’t have to-”

“S’fine.”  He shut down her protests with a small smirk twisting his lips, and she could only nod.  She didn’t have the fight left in her to argue, and she didn’t really have any other option.

*****

Tabby waited in the truck while Daryl hitched her car up to be towed back to the auto shop.  The radio was tuned to an old country station, though the signal was bad, and it crackled over the songs that played.  The air in the cab was tinged with the smell of cigarettes, and she remembered seeing a younger version of the mechanic loitering at one corner of the school parking lot, smoking on his own during the lunch hour.  Obviously, it was a habit that had stuck.  Not that she minded it.  The scent, combined with the lingering traces of engine oil and diesel, was pleasant enough; unfamiliar, which was, in itself, a comfort to her these days.  Still, she wound down the window a little, letting fresh air drift in, leaving it open even when he’d climbed back behind the wheel and started the engine, ready to head back to the shop.

It wasn’t far, she knew, and she took the opportunity, whilst Daryl focused on the road, to study him, taking in the things that had changed about him since they’d both been kids and what had remained the same.  His eyes, she noticed, were still the same piercing blue that had glared icily at the bullies that would taunt him and call him names.  His mouth, when relaxed, still fell into the same tight-lipped scowl that she was sure he’d used as armour against the cruel taunts of the other kids.  His hair was a little longer than it used to be, a little darker too, but it suited him, she thought;  rounded off his harsh edges and made him look a little softer.  Where he’d used to be clean-shaven, or perhaps just too young to grow a beard before, he now had a coarse covering of scruff over his chin, tickling over his top lip, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, it carried just a tiny hint of silver in it, a sure sign that they were both getting older now.

Noticing him shifting uncomfortably under the weight of her attention, Tabby felt her cheeks flush with heat, casting around for something to say to break the silence.  “So, a mechanic, huh?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You been doing it long?”

“Since school, pretty much.”  He snuck a sideways glance at her, taking in the genuine interest on her face before continuing.  “Merle taught me a little.  Started pickin’ up some part-time work at a shop on the other side’a town.  Then, when Rick opened up, it just made sense, y’know?”

“And you enjoy it?”

“S’alright.”

It seemed that that was as much as she was going to get out of him, and it didn’t matter much as, a few moments later, he swung the truck into a large open yard with a sign standing beside the entrance: Grimes Auto.  There were a few parking spots marked out down one side of the lot, but Daryl passed them, pulling up directly in front of the enclosed workshops at the rear.  She could see two bays inside, where cars were being worked on, though it was quiet, with no other employees in sight, and Tabby guessed that they must be getting ready to close up for the day.

“I’mma go get your car booked in with Rick,” he told her as he cut the engine, swinging himself out of the cab, boots hitting the concrete with a dull thud.  “Should be able to take off then.”

“Great.”  She took her time slipping out of her seat, rounding the truck to the ramp at the back, where her car sat, looking even more sorry for itself as it waited to be attended to.  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, trailing a hand lovingly down its side.  “Should’ve been taking better care of you.  They’ll get you fixed up in no time.”

Trying the door and finding it unlocked, she pulled it open, pushing herself up on her tiptoes so that she could grab her cell from the passenger seat and then reach behind to tug out the bags of supplies that she’d stowed there.  She piled them at her feet, wondering how on earth she was going to get the final carrier that sat on the rear bench seat, only to find herself nudged aside.

“Ya tryn'a hurt yerself?” Daryl sniped, stretching up and snagging the handles of the bag, dragging it across the seat towards him before lifting it down.  “Could’a just waited.”

“Wasn’t sure how long you were gonna be,” she admitted.  “I just wanted to be ready to go when you were.”

“M’ready.”  He stooped to grab the other bags that she’d managed to retrieve herself, loading himself up with her supplies and leaving her standing uselessly as she watched him take off across the yard.  “Ya comin’?”

*****

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[deanstead]

Scared The Hell Out Of Me

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Request by @deandaydreaming​: Can I pleaaase request an angsty dean x reader one shot where they get separated during a hunt and when they finally find each other she gets stabbed in the back (just like what happened to Sam) and she's bleeding so much and he nearly loses her...can you pleaaase include all the details, that makes it easier to imagine the story! Thank you so much! Love you 💚

Warnings: mentions of injury/blood, angst, fluff

A/N: Hope you like how this turned out and what I did with it! Always love writing about protective dean so thank you for the request!! As always would appreciate to hear what you guys think so hit up my ask/replies or even tags when you reblog! Thanks for all the love!

---

The door creaked as you pushed it open with one foot.

Being alone in a potentially haunted abandoned building was not what you had in mind when you had agreed with Sam that three of you should take on this case.

You’d entered the building with Sam and Dean but had lost them in the labyrinth of a building about half an hour ago. Your cell wasn’t working either, probably because the spirit or spirits were interfering with the signal.

You raised your gun as you walked out of the room, hesitating a little before letting your voice travel a little tentatively down the corridor. “Dean?”

You were met with silence.

You gritted your teeth but treaded carefully, swiveling your head this way and that, straining your ears to hear the sound of footsteps.

That’s when you felt it, a slight gust of wind before the hairs on the back of your neck rose.

You spun around, finding yourself facing the spirit. You gave a yelp of surprise, but before you could even pull the trigger, you felt it throw you backwards.

You groaned as you felt yourself slam against the wall, the force of it knocking the breath out of you and you sank to the ground. You didn’t have time to hesitate. Staring at the spirit that was now holding a knife, you pulled your gun upwards and let out a shot, the salt pellet shooting out of your gun.

---

Dean’s head snapped up as he heard a gunshot ring out.

“Y/N.” He muttered as he ran towards the sound.

“Dean, wait!” Sam called and Dean spun around. “I’ll go down to the basement. If I’m right, I might be able to find the bones there.”

Dean hesitated.

“I’ll be fine.” Sam said, turning away. “Find her.” Sam stressed, running in the opposite direction.

Dean started running. He’d been looking for you since you had been separated. He didn’t like not knowing where you were, especially in the middle of a hunt – a hunt for a violent spirit that was taking place in a huge abandoned building.

Dean glanced at his phone, the no signal sign still flashing. Gritting his teeth, he picked up his pace, moving towards where he thought the gunshot had come from, hoping he was running in the right direction.

---

You groaned, your shoulder throbbing from the impact with the wall.

“Damn spirits.” You muttered, clambering to your feet and looking around again. You really hated hunting spirits, they were nasty and unless you knew where their remains were, it was almost impossible to fight them.

You hated spirits. But even more than that, you hated spirits that could freaking hold weapons.

The sound of footsteps made you turn your head again. Your gun still held protectively out in front of you as it got nearer and nearer.

“Dean.” You exhaled as you saw your favourite person in the world round the corner.

Dean’s expression echoed your feeling of relief – glad that he was safe and also feeling much better just being able to see his face again.

“Y/N.” Dean’s relief could be heard in his voice as he moved towards you, smiling, letting his hand which was gripping his gun fall to his side.

It happened in an instant. The hairs on the back of your neck rose and you saw Dean’s expression change. Then, you felt it – a sharp pain in your lower back as you felt the knife pierce your skin. You let out a strangled cry as you felt the knife twist.

“No! Y/N!” Dean yelled, pulling out his gun to shoot, aiming straight for the spirit that was behind you. Before he could even pull the trigger, the spirit gave a cry as it went out in flames. Sam had done it, he’d found the remains, salted and burned it. Just a few seconds too late

“Y/N!” Dean sprinted to you as you fell to your knees. It felt like your whole life force was being sucked out of you, you could almost feel the energy seeping out of you bit by bit.

Dean closed the gap between you, sliding the last few inches on his knees, taking you by your shoulders the moment you were within reach.

“D…”

“No, no, no…” Dean muttered, pulling you towards him. Your face fit snugly into his shoulder like it always did but this time, Dean didn’t like how motionless you were. He reached his hand around to your back, finding the penetration wound from the spirit’s attack, pressing his hand against it.

When Dean pulled away, his hand was stained with blood. Your blood. Enough blood that Dean was really worried. It didn’t look like something a little patching up would fix. Dean pressed down on your wound again.

Dean pulled you upwards. “Hey, hey, look at me.” He spoke, putting his free hand to your face.

Your eyes were fluttering shut. “No, no, sweetheart please.” Dean whispered. “Baby, don’t give up on me.”

“Dean, I can’t…” You muttered.

“No, no. Don’t give up on me, honey. You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.” Dean pleaded.

“Y/N?” Dean felt your body go limp in his arms.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled, his voice echoing against the walls.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice broke through Dean’s panic. He hadn’t even heard his brother’s footsteps. “Oh god.” Sam whispered.

“Dean!” Sam shouted, pulling Dean out of his paralyzing fear. “We have to get her out of here. I’ll get the car, come on.”

Dean pulled himself up, scooping your motionless body into his arms, one of his hands still pressed onto your back.

The empty building felt even larger than it had felt just now. Dean picked up his pace as quick as he could with you in his arms, running after Sam.

Dean held you close to him, laying you into the Impala and climbing into the backseat with you as Sam jumped into the car and started the engine.

Laying your head gently on his lap, Dean quickly shed his jacket, rolling it up into a ball and pushing it under you, pressing it against the wound.

“Sam, faster.” Dean said through gritted teeth as he looked down at you.

“You hang in there, you hear me?” Dean whispered, as Sam pressed harder on the accelerator, speeding towards the hospital.

---

Sam pulled up the hospital as Dean scrambled out, scooping you back into his arms and onto a stretcher the nurses had brought out.

Dean followed close behind as the nurses pushed you in, a doctor catching up to them and already starting to examine you.

“We have to take her into surgery.” The words echoed in Dean’s head while he stood frozen, staring past the doctor, his eyes focused on you lying motionless in the treatment room of the emergency department.

“Thank you.” Sam’s voice sounded from next to Dean, causing Dean to pull his eyes away from you for just a moment, nodding to the doctor.

It was only after you were wheeled into surgery that Dean noticed his hands were still shaking.

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder but he shrugged it off, choosing to pace up and down in the waiting room, looking down at his hands that were still stained with your blood. When Sam tried to coax him into washing off the blood, Dean gave his brother a furious look. “I’m not going anywhere.” Dean snapped.

It felt like hours before the surgeon finally stepped out.

“The injury was severe and she lost a lot of blood. The penetration nicked some of her internal organs and we found a massive internal bleed as well.” The doctor said.

Dean didn’t say anything, staring straight at the doctor.

“It wasn’t easy, but we managed to control the bleeding and repaired it. If you had come in any later, we might have lost her.” The doctor finally said, looking from Dean to Sam.

Dean let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Sam let out a sigh of relief as well.

“Can we see her?” Dean asked, keeping his voice steady.

The doctor nodded, “We’ll transfer her to recovery in a while. A nurse will be by to get you.”

“Thanks Doctor.” Sam responded.

---

The first thing you saw when you opened your eyes a few hours later was Dean’s face hovering above yours.

“Sight for sore… everything.” You muttered.

Dean sighed.

“You scared the hell out of me.” Dean said. You could see the thin stress lines in his forehead, the way his green eyes watched you carefully, as if afraid you would slip past him again.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Dean’s eyebrows twitched a little before he shook his head. “I could hear you, Dean.” You whispered. “I could hear you calling me, talking to me… I just couldn’t answer you. I couldn’t…” You paused. “That was scary as hell.”

Dean sighed, scooting a little closer to you. “You’re telling me. I thought I was going to lose you.”

You reached for his hand. “I’m sorry.” You whispered again.

Instead of answering you, Dean bent towards you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead before putting an arm around you, tucking you tightly into him as you closed your eyes, once again enveloped by the feeling of safety of Dean’s mere presence.

---

DEAN WINCHESTER TAGLIST

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[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.