#spnangstbingo

[waywardrose13]

Heart of Glass

Request from Anonymous: Hi I've been reading winchester sister stories for the past few weeks and I just wanted to say that you're one of my favorites :) I have a request if that's ok :) can I request a winchester!reader who has a heart problem please make tear jerking. I'm a sucker for angst stories. Thanks and have a nice day ❤

^^ You asked for angst... I delivered;)

Pairing: Winchesters x Sister!Reader

Summary: Y/N is Sam and Dean Winchester’s younger half sister. She kept her diagnosis a secret from her neglectful brothers for three years, until an unexpected event reveals the truth.

Warnings: Angst, language, neglectful siblings, Sam and Dean aren’t good brothers to the reader, heart condition, hospitals, medication, mentions of anxiety disorder, character death, sad!reader

Word Count: 3137

@spnangstbingo square: Heart Attack (sorta??)

A/N- Wassup, bitches? It’s me, again. I really liked how this turned out, and I hope you do, too! All mistakes are mine, this is unbetaed. As always, love y’all and hope you enjoy. Feedback is encouraged and incredibly appreciated:)

*Please excuse any and all mistakes. Thanks!*

The bottle weighed heavy in her hands. It wasn’t necessarily the pills themselves that were heavy in her palm, rolling around in the orange plastic bottle, but the lies and the secrets within them.

She had Long QT syndrome, a heart condition that can cause her heart to beat abnormally fast, leading to fainting spells or seizures. Diagnosed at fifteen, she had lived her life for three years, the secret of her diagnosis kept from her older brothers.

She was their half sister, the bastard of the family. They had found out about her ten years ago, taking her in only because they felt obligated to after her mother was killed by a demon. They never truly treated her like a Winchester, much less a sister. They didn’t know her, didn’t care to. Their father had decided to have a summer fling, producing a child that he didn’t want, so why should they? Dean always has had an ill outlook towards her. Sure, the brothers were civil to their younger sister. And as the years went on, they couldn’t help but warm up to her kind and caring nature. But she wasn’t their mother’s child, just another reminder that she was dead and John had moved on.

Not saying that the brothers don’t love her. Because they do, she’s their sister. But the bond they had between them had never stretched to her, and they had a hard time accepting her for a long time, still not truly thinking of her as a Winchester. She didn’t have full blood, and it was something that had made them skittish of her in the first place, skeptical. Not quite reaching out to her.

She knew it was true. She’d remember times she’d be hurt, or something exciting would happen at school, but they’d simply shrug her off, not to be bothered by her child’s talk. They’d forget her at bars sometimes, dragging her to them after hunts. They’d forget to pick her up from school, the library, accidently leave her at diners fifty miles behind them. When they’d leave for hunts, they sometimes would forget to leave her food money, let alone tell her that they were leaving.

So she kept the secret to herself. The condition could be fatal, but she didn’t think much of it. The case itself was rare, let alone people dying from it. It was easy to hide her fainting from her brothers. It wasn’t like they paid much attention to it anyway.

At eighteen, it was easier to get medications and a job. She no longer had to forge signatures or set up special cardiac appointments in her brothers’ names. As an adult, she had complete control over her medical issues and finalities.

And she also had the choice of staying with a family who never truly considered her theirs.

She sighed, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Tilting her head a bit, she raised her hand to her short cropped hair that hung just above her shoulders. It was a rich H/C, shiny and ironed straight. The color made her E/C eyes pop, long lashes laying on high cheeks, the lightest of freckles scattered across her S/C skin, a set of bow shaped lips making her look like the word innocent. She had grown into a beautiful young woman, having moved past the awkward teenage years. Her brothers, of course, rarely noticed the change. They’d make rude comments no matter how she looked.

“You almost done?” Dean’s fist banged on the door a few times, making her jump. She bit her lip, setting down the bottle.

“Uhm… Yeah,” She said. “Why don’t you guys head out? It’s right across the street. I’ll meet you there.”

The sound of the motel room door closing made her shoulders slump. They couldn’t have the decency to reply?

Opening the door, she walked out into the room, rummaging through her small bag for an even smaller one, plucking the floral designed pack from the neatly arranged clothes. She made her way back to the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. She scowled at the pills, opening it.

Downing a couple per the instructions on the bottle, she shoved it back into the floral designed bag, taking out an unopened tube of mascara. She held it up, inspecting the black and purple tube, biting her lip. Her eyes flashed up to her reflection again. She’s get noticed sometimes, but her brothers usually held off any potential suitors.

“Screw it.”

She lightly applied the black colored stuff to her lashes, blinking a few times when she was done, smirking a bit as she saw how it made her eyes bigger.

She ran a bit of red lip stain on her lips, coating them in a shimmery lip gloss afterwards. A little blush and eyeliner later, she was a bit more confident.

***

Her black heeled boots clicked a bit against the wet pavement. Fall was approaching, storms rolling through over the past few days, leaving the Earth damp and smelling of mud. She didn’t mind much. In fact, she loved weather like this. It helped clear her mind and replenish the Earth, not to mention how nice the air felt when it was cool.

She tugged a bit on the sleeves of her flannel as she pushed her way into the crowded bar. She had made herself a fake ID not long ago, and the makeup helped her look the part.

Her eyes glanced around for the brothers, but they were nowhere to be seen. Frowning, she decided to get a drink before continuing her search.

She ordered a beer, giving the bartender a few bucks and making her way through the light crowd. Her eyes scanned the place, but no luck.

“Hey there,” A voice said behind her. She jumped, spinning around. She winced as her vision began to dot, and she hoped to God she wouldn’t pass out.

She looked up, flushing as a tall brunet smiled down at her. His blue eyes were kind, a pearly white smile gracing his soft features.

“Uhm- hi,” She said smiling back.

“I just wanted to say that you automatically caught my attention when you walked in here,” he said, almost shyly. “You’re very beautiful.”

She felt her heart pick up speed a bit, swallowing down her fear. “Oh, uhm, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He shrugged, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “So uh, did you come here with anyone?”

She clicked her tongue. “Well, I was supposed to meet my brothers here but I don’t know where they are.”

“Does that mean you may be able to have a drink with me?” He asked sheepishly. She bit her lip.

“Sure.” She shrugged lightly. “Why the hell not?”

***

Brian, who she found out the stranger was named, turned out to be incredibly charming and awkward, which Y/N found adorable. There was still no sign of the Winchester brothers, but she didn’t really care at this point. They had never put in any effort to find her, let alone remember she was even with them. Why bother with them?

But all good times can’t last.

A hand grasped her arm, yanking her out of the chair. Her heart had already been acting up, that was just the icing on the cake.

She vaguely heard Dean yelling at her, Sam pushing Brian away. But she couldn’t focus, her vision spotting and head getting fuzzy. She fought it the best she could, but her heart lept in her chest, the beats skipping and beating too erratically. And before she knew it, her eyes had rolled back into her head, her whole body going limp as she slumped to the ground.

***

The ache in her temples was prominent.

Her body felt heavy, feeling almost as if it would sink into the bed underneath her. Fingers tingling, toes numb, everything buzzing, she knew it must have been bad this time. She hadn’t had felt like that in a while, not since her last bad fainting spell.

The low murmur of voices rang in her ears, the hum making her a bit agitated. When she finally had the strength to open her eyes, she cringed when she saw the hospital’s walls surrounding her.

“The hell do you mean? She’s our sister!” Dean shouted. The doctor sighed, raising a brow.

“She’s an adult now, Mr. Smith,” The doctor said impatiently. “We can not give unauthorized people any word on her current diagnosis’ or medications, nothing about her medical record. It is a strict violation of HIPPA. I’m sorry, but she’ll have to tell you herself if she wants.” With that, she turned and left, leaving the brothers stunned.

“How long was I out?” Y/N asked. The brothers’ heads whipped around, startled at the break in the silence.

“The fuck, Y/N?” Dean growled. Y/N flinched, sitting up in the bed.

“Look, there’s a reason I never told you about this,” She said.

“About what, exactly?” Sam asked. “And why the hell aren’t we authorized to see your shit or be told shit, huh?”

“Because you two wouldn’t give a crap,” Y/N said. “Honestly, if I had told you, would something different have happened? Or would the two of you still treat me like shit?”

“Watch your mouth,” Dean hissed. She scoffed.

“In case you haven’t realized, Dean,” Y/N said, narrowing her eyes. “I’m an adult now. I’ll say whatever the fuck I want. Now answer the question.”

“We don’t even know what it is exactly that you have,” Sam said. “How are we supposed to answer?”

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I have Long QT syndrome. Long story short, it causes my heart to erratically beat sometimes, making me have seizures and faint,” she said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Then why the hell is the doc all freaked out, huh?” Dean crossed his arms.

“I haven’t been out that long in a while. It’s just not a good sign. But I’m awake, which is,” she answered.

The brothers glanced at each other.

“We don’t treat you like shit,” Sam said. She rolled her eyes, turning in the small hospital bed.

“That’s what you take from what I told you?” She asked quietly. She let out a long breath, wrapping her arms around herself. “I don’t know why you two bothered with me in the first place. You obviously don’t see me as a sister. You don’t love me. Hell, you don’t even care. Just…” She sighed. “Just go. Please.”

The brothers stood there for a moment, contemplating. The beeps of the EKG meter began to beat a bit faster, the emotional stress beginning to take a toll on her weaker heart. Their eyes landed on it, watching the more rapid beats on the screen, their frown deepening.

“Look, Y/N-”

“Just go, dammit!” Y/N said, tears falling down her cheeks. “You two make two obvious that you don’t give a fuck so just let me be… please.”

They backed out of the room. Dean’s jaw was set in anger, his broad body stalking down the hall angrily, people quickly moving out of the way.

But Sam stayed, gazing longingly at the back of his sister’s head, stomach tightening as her quiet sobs shook her body. His hands tingle, wanting to go over and comfort her. But he wasn’t sure how. She was right, like always. He and Dean had been dicks since the moment they met her. He and Dean always had a grudge against her, even though she didn’t deserve it. And no matter what, even if he began being kind and brotherly to her, it wouldn’t make up for the neglect and cruelty he showed towards her.

“Sammy! Let’s go!” Dean’s voice echoed from down the hall, loud and orderly. He took one more look at his sister before trudging off to his brother.

No matter how guilty he was, he still would follow Dean in a heartbeat.

***

“Dean? Will you come to my recital?” The nine year old asked politely. Her wide smil would be hard to say no to for anyone else, but not to him. He scrunched up his face, raising a brow.

“I don’t think so, kid,” He said nicely. That was getting harder to do every day.

“Sam? Will you?” The twenty-four year old looked up, shaking his head.

“No. I’ve gotta… Uh… Do some stuff,” he lied. She frowned.

“Oh. Well, it ends at seven. Will you remember to pick me up?” She asked. Her eyes were so big, so innocent. Light radiated off the young girl, bringing happiness and pure smiles around everyone she met. All but her older siblings.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” Dean said, shaking her off. She sighed, walking over to her school bag, pulling out her costume that her teacher had given to her. She had been so proud of herself, landing the role of a mouse in the school’s recital. She had been so excited, hoping her brothers would give up their research for just an hour or two to come see her.

But even with the disappointment in the back of her mind, she still went up and performed, smiling brightly and dancing her tail off.

And when it ended, she sat on the curb outside, waiting. She glanced down at her small watch nearly a dozen times, Dean almost two hours late. It was cold, the clouds rolling in above her in the dark sky.

“Y/N!” Mrs. Davis said, running over to the young, shivering girl. “Are you alright? Where are your parents?”

She didn’t answer that question, she wasn’t sure how to. Instead, she bit her lip and looked up at her teacher. “D-do you mind g-giving me a ride, Mrs. Davis?”

“Oh, of course, sweetie,” Mrs. Davis said. She helped Y/N up, leading her to her car.

It was the first of many times the brothers had forgotten her somewhere.

***

“Sam, will you proof this essay for me?” Y/N asked. The fourteen year old sat cross legged on her motel bed, glancing over her paper for the fifth time. “I feel as though I did okay, but I’d like another pair of eyes.”

“I’m busy,” He grumbled. They no longer spared her any decency. The faked politeness had long gone away now, leaving two sour tempered attitudes towards her.

“Oh, ok.” She looked over to Dean. “Dean, will you look over it?”

“No.” He didn’t bother looking up from his laptop, the articles scrolling by as he lounged at the table.

She huffed to herself, frowning. “I guess it’s good enough.”

And it was. She smiled as she walked inside, holding her graded essay tightly in her hands.

“Guys! I got an A!” She exclaimed, holding the paper out to show her brothers. They glanced up at her for a moment, Dean’s face twisting.

“Can’t you see we’re talking?” He hissed. “And no one cares, just go do your homework or something.”

She hadn’t heard them as she walked in, but they turned towards each other, voices low.

She threw the essay in the rubbish bin as she walked to the bathroom.

***

It had been two and a half years since she was diagnosed. Even with the medications she took for her heart and anxiety, she pushed through her troubles, coming out as top of her class. Her valedictorian speech was all written up, her cap and gown on and ready to go. She had asked her brothers to come to her high school graduation, and they had told her they would. Dean especially wasn’t too thrilled of the idea, but they promised.

But as she walked across the stage, the small crowd applauding their classmate, she couldn’t find the familiar faces in the sea of heads. She hoped they were there, just lost in the crowd.

Her speech had gone smoothly, and it was time to get her diploma. Walking up, she shook the principal’s hand, taking the diploma from him with a wide smile. She had been so proud of herself. Despite the medical hardships and the hunting life her brothers had dragged her into, she had done it.

But at the end, she realized Sam and Dean had never shown up. She was left to walk back to the bunker alone, tears spilling down her cheeks.

It was then that she finally realized after ten years, she truly didn’t matter to them.

***

Sam and Dean made their way out of the hospital. The pristine, white walls were a bit unnerving, their perfecting making them unsettled. They both knew that the right thing to do would be to stay, but neither wanted to.

She’ll be fine, they told themselves as they walked further from her room and down the stairs.

Until nurses began running past them. Until the woman over the intercom frantically called for the resuscitation team to go to room 204.

They hadn’t turned around faster in their life.

They sprinted back down the hall, people’s stares not bothering them as they ran. Security and nurses held them back as the team worked over their sister, the doctor telling them what happened, but her voice was simply a buzz in their ears as they watched the girl get shocked again and again, barely hearing the leader say “no pulse” after each time.

“What the hell happened?” Dean growled loudly. “What did you do to my sister?”

“Sir, please, you need to calm down!” A blonde nurse in lavender scrubs said.

“Mr. Smith, your sister has gone through a ventricular fibrillation. Her heart had begun to beat too fast, causing the blood to stop pumping. We’re doing everything we can, but we may not have gotten here in time.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Dean shouted. “How did this happen?”

“Severe emotional or physical stress can cause it. I’m not sure if it was the fainting due to her condition or something emotional,” The doctor said.

The brothers looked at each other in horror. They had been the cause of this. If only they had been better brothers, maybe she wouldn’t be in this position, fighting for her life. Maybe she wouldn’t be so reserved and quiet. Maybe she would have been happy.

Tears trailed down their cheeks as they watched the leader of the team step back, all the members’ heads dropping. And then they heard the words that could have been prevented if only they had loved her enough. It was their fault, her body put under so much pressure, her heart couldn’t take it. And they never had the chance to make it right.

“Time of death, 12:36 p.m.”

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[sunlightdances]

just let me try

-- you get in a car accident not far from dean’s shop and go to him for help. mechanic!au. dean’s pov.

Title: Just Let Me Try Author: Katie @sunlightdances​ Genre/Rating/Warnings: Mentions of an injury. Angst. No real warnings. Square filled: Mechanic AU Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Dean Winchester. My fics aren’t to be reposted on any other site without my written permission. Author’s Note: This is an AU written for @spnangstbingo​!

Dean’s just getting ready to close the garage door when he sees her. The streetlights illuminate her hair, and he can tell she’s walking with a limp. His heart rate speeds up, and before he can stop himself, he’s jogging in her direction.

“What the hell happened?” He breathes when he gets a good look at her. She’s got a bruise on her temple, and there’s blood coming from somewhere near her left knee.

“Got rear-ended. Hit a tree. The driver took off.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean mutters. “Your car?”

“Down the road. I-- I didn’t know where else to go.” She says, meeting his eyes for the first time since she showed up.

“You didn’t feel like calling 911?” He grumbles, guiding her towards the front door.

“Can’t afford a hospital.” She says quietly, and his heart clenches again. “Can you just… can you just patch me up? Please, Dean.”

“You don’t have to ask,” he tells her, getting her inside, locking the door behind him. He takes her upstairs, up the narrow staircase that leads to his apartment, and is already making plans in his head to get her car towed and see if anything can be salvaged. “Make yourself comfortable,” he tells her. “I’m going to grab my first aid kit.”

He stops short in his bedroom on his way to the en suite, and tries not to think too hard about it when he grabs her one of his spare tshirts and a pair of sweatpants. He stops in the bathroom and grabs the small red bag with bandages, rubbing alcohol, and whatever else she might need before he heads back out to her.

She’s on the edge of the couch, her head in her hands, and he can see her shoulders shake as she cries.

“Hey, hey…” He soothes, abandoning the first aid kit and the clothes on his coffee table. He gets to his knees in front of her, brushing some of her hair gently out of her face and tucking it behind her ear. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she says, sniffling.

“You were in an accident. You’re allowed to cry.” He brushes a tear away with his thumb before reaching for the first aid kit. “Alright. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

A half hour later and she’s propped up on the couch dressed in Dean’s clothes, an ice pack on her left leg and a smattering of bandages on her legs and arms from where she was scratched with broken glass from the impact with the tree.

Dean’s got the TV on, but he’s really not able to tear his eyes away from her.

His eyes keep drifting back to the bruise on her temple, and he thinks about how much worse this could have been. How close he was to losing her.

“You’re staring.” She mutters, lifting her chin from where it was resting on her palm. “Do I look that bad?” She asks.

He snorts. “Just like you crashed your car into a tree.”

She frowns. “Dean--”

“I know.” He swallows. “Sorry. I just-- this is all a little too close for comfort.” He keeps thinking about how it’s going to be when he goes to tow her car tomorrow. How it’s going to feel when he sees the crunched metal and broken glass, and how he’s going to invision her there, in the driver’s seat, waiting for the other driver to come help her, only for the asshole to drive off, leaving her to walk an entire mile with a dislocated knee and a concussion.

“You know you’re the only one I trust with that car,” she says, a tiny smile tilting her lips upward. “Probably the only one I trust with me, too.” The last part is quieter. Almost like she didn’t mean for him to hear.

But he does hear her, and the words seep into his skin and curl around his heart, leaving him aching in a way he’s been trying to deny he’s felt for months.

There’s been hundreds of times over the last few months where he’s wanted to kiss her, but it’s never felt like it does now, like he’s going to go out of his mind if he can’t show her how he feels about her. If she wasn’t so banged up, he’d probably make a move right now, right here in his shitty apartment above his tiny little auto shop.

Still, circumstances. He waits.

.

.

Her car is basically totalled. It was in rough shape to begin with, but drivable, and he feels terrible that he can’t fix it. That’s what he does. He fixes things.

He drives her to the follow-up doctor’s appointment that he basically forces her to make, and stands propped up against the wall, arms crossed, as the doctor tells her that she’s going to have to do physical therapy and a litany of other things before he can clear her to go back to work.

He stays with her in the room after, holding her hand when she cries tears of frustration as she can’t pull herself to her feet on her own.

She’s tough and stubborn though, and refuses to let her injury keep her down for long. It reminds Dean of when they first met. She came into his shop demanding an oil change, and nothing else. “None of that other bullshit you try to sell to women because you think they don’t know when they’re being taken,” she had said, and he thinks he’d been well and truly gone for her right then and there.

He takes her to her first therapy session, and that’s when he notices that she’s starting to push him away.

Her eyes meet his less often, and she shakes off his guiding hand at the small of her back like she’s been struck by lightning. He tries not to take it personally, but he’s done this himself enough times to recognize it for what it is.

He’s working on her car one day when she calls him for a ride, and as he’s coming to get her he knows he needs to bring it up. He has feelings for her, yes. But beyond that, she’s one of the only friends he’s got in this town and he’s not going to let her shove him away. He can’t.

She slides into the passenger side much easier than she has been, and he feels a moment of pride when he realizes she doesn’t have her knee brace on anymore.

“How’d it go?” He asks as he checks the mirrors and pulls out into traffic.

“Fine.”

His fingers tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel. “Do you need anything from the store? We can stop on our way--”

“I just want to get home and rest, Dean.”

He grits his teeth. “Sure. Fine.”

The rest of the drive is silent. When he pulls in the driveway, he doesn’t immediately unlock the doors and tension starts to fill the air between them. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something.” He says quietly. She doesn’t look at him. “I just want to help you. That’s all.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

His brow furrows. “You came to me after your accident.”

“I had nowhere else to go.”

“Don’t do this.”

She scoffs. “I’m not doing anything. Dean, I don’t need you to fix me.”

Dean stares at her. “That’s not what I’m doing.”

“I’m broken right now, Dean. I am, and I don’t want to owe you--”

“You don’t owe me anything! I care about you, and I’m just--”

“This isn’t something you can analyze, order parts for, and fix, Dean!” She says heatedly. “Do you know that I have nightmares every single night? I relive the accident every night, and then every day I have to face the fact that I can’t do things I used to. I can’t work, I don’t have a car, and I can barely pay my rent. I can’t--” She takes a deep breath. “I can take care of myself to get back on my feet. I have to.”

Dean’s throat feels tight as he speaks. “If you need space… I’ll give that to you. I just-- I only ever wanted to help you.” He meets her eyes. “I’ve never thought you were broken. Never.” He’s hurt, yes. But in the end, he recognizes the look in her eyes because he’s seen it in the mirror dozens of times. It’s what has driven others away, what’s made him drive other people away. He sees himself when he looks at her, and that’s what hurts the most. He understands. He can’t even be angry at her. “Just… promise me you’ll call if you really need someone.”

She doesn’t speak, but she nods.

She’s out of the car and into her apartment before he can tell her he’s sorry, or ask her to change her mind.

.

.

It’s weeks before he sees her again. He busies himself with work, and drowns himself in liquor almost every night. He misses her more than he can stomach, so he pretends he doesn’t feel it. He pretends he doesn’t feel a damn thing.

He’s got the world’s worst hangover the next morning and has a full docket for the day. He’s elbow-deep in an engine when Benny comes to get him, telling him someone’s asking to see him.

“Can someone else handle it?” He asks, tongue poking through his teeth as he tries to focus on trying to find a leak. “I’m not really fit for customers.”

“You want to see this one.” Benny says, giving him a look before going back to his job.

Dean rolls his eyes, reaching for a rag as he glances out of the window from the shop into the waiting area. His heart stutters a little when he sees her. She’s fidgeting, biting her nails, and his feet move almost with a mind of their own.

“Hey.” He says, and she meets his gaze immediately, eyes wide and imploring.

“Dean. Hi.”

They just stare at each other for a second, and Dean would laugh if he wasn’t so damn nervous about what she’s here for. “Want a coffee?” He asks, voice gruff.

“That would be good.”

She follows him into his office, and he pulls out a chair for her before he sits on the edge of his desk, handing her a mug as they wait for the coffee to brew. “I…” He scratches the back of his neck. “You look good. Better, I mean.”

“I feel better.” She says, eyes on the coffee maker as it begins to percolate. “I know you’re busy, I’m sorry if--”

“Don’t be.” Dean chides gently. “I’ve been… I’ve wanted to come see you.” He admits. “I just didn’t know if you wanted me around.”

He’s surprised when he feels her hand cover his. “I’m so sorry, Dean.” She says, barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was emotional and frustrated, and--”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“Yes I do.” She squeezes his hand. “You’ve been such a good friend to me, Dean. You helped me without me ever having to ask for it, and I just hated feeling like you were doing it out of pity--”

“That’s not why I helped you. It’s not why we’re friends.”

She sends him a look he can’t decipher. Almost pleading. “Then why… why do you care about me so much, Dean?”

Dean feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff. He shakes his head. “God, we’ve both been so stupid.” He leans forward, taking her mug from her free hand and putting it on his desk. He grabs her now-free hand and tugs her to her feet until she’s inches away from him, almost standing between his legs as he leans against his desk. “I care about you because I’m falling in love with you if I’m not all the way there already, sweetheart.” He hears her breath catch, but he keeps going. “I was scared out of my mind when you showed up here hurt, and I wanted to do anything I could to help you. Even if that meant giving you space so you could figure things out.”

“I thought--” She swallows hard, “I thought you just felt bad for me. Or that you felt like you owed me something because I came to you after the accident. I didn’t-- Dean--”

“Hey, it’s okay.” He rubs his thumb over her knuckles. “Look-- this doesn’t… you don’t have to say anything. I just want to know that we’re okay. That it won’t be three weeks before I see you again.”

“Don’t be an idiot.” She says, and he almost wants to laugh, because it’s so much like the old her that he’s missed so much. “Dean, I’m in love with you, too.”

He has to look away to try to keep the grin off his face, but it doesn’t work. “Let me buy you a better cup of coffee than this one. Maybe dinner, too.”

“Sounds like a date.”

He smirks. “Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

He follows her out the door after telling Benny he’s leaving early, and watches as she still limps slightly. He doesn’t feel as helpless anymore though, knowing he can be there for her and that she’s going to let him this time.

[iwantthedean]

Separate Ways

Summary: Dean never expected a late-night call from the reader to be the last one he would get from her.  Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 1475 (without lyrics) Warnings: Trigger warning for implied suicide, mentions of blood and hospitals, canon typical violence.  Challenge: @coffee-obsessed-writer‘s Fics for Follows challenge. My prompt was Separate Ways by Journey.  Square Filled: @spngenrebingo Broken bone.  Square Filled: @spnangstbingo Suicide. 

If he ever hurts you True love won’t desert you You know I still love you Though we touched And went our separate ways

“Can you come get me?”

She was crying, Dean could hear it in her voice. Just above a whisper, she repeated her question, pleading with him when he didn’t answer her right away.

Dean snapped out of the surprise of hearing her voice again and grabbed his keys. “Where are you?”

Y/N gave him the location. Doing some quick thinking as he started the ignition in the Impala, he promised to be there within the hour. She promised to text him the address. 

He pushed the Impala to its limits driving to get her. Though they had gone their separate ways years ago, their paths had crossed every now and then, and he had promised that he would always be there when she needed something. 

Of course, the fact that she had called him at all after their last meeting was somewhat of a surprise to Dean. He had said some hurtful things to her when she decided to get involved with a werewolf. No matter how much that monster swore he only fed on animals, Dean didn’t trust him — and he made sure that Y/N knew that. Didn’t matter that the thing with the werewolf wasn’t romantic. Tracking down werewolves and getting them to give up human hearts wasn’t a safe game, especially with an actual werewolf calling the shots. 

‘You love me, Dean. You won’t turn your back on me.’ 

He hung his head. ‘You’re right. If you need something, I’m going to be there. But in the meantime — I can’t.’

That was it. No apology, just the sound of his boots hitting the pavement as he walked away, down that damp alley. He had sat in the Impala, watching until she came out of the alley and into her car safely, before pulling away from the curb. 

That had been more than a year ago. A year with no communication, save for updating each other on burner numbers. More than a year since he had held her, kissed her, and so many other things. There was no telling what kind of trouble she was in now. 

When Dean got close to the address, he coasted up to a curb, turned off the headlights, and then the ignition. He surveyed the area carefully before going for the trunk, loading his gun with silver bullets, and trekking up to the apartment building. 

The door was cracked open; Dean walked in, gun at the ready. He said her name softly, and heard his name, whimpered out in return. It was coming from the bathroom.

Dean pulled back the shower curtain to reveal her huddled in the tub, blood smeared across the walls, and Y/N’s scared, tearful eyes looking up at him. Her wrist was cocked at an unnatural angle, telling of only one of her many injuries. 

“He wanted to change me,” she told him as he lifted her from the tub, her voice warbled by the threat of tears. 

Dean shook his head. “We don’t have to talk about it right now. Let’s get you fixed up. Hospital?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, the idea bringing more tears to the brink of falling. “Yeah. Probably should.”

Dean carried her to the Impala, set her carefully in the passenger seat, and only then did he tuck his gun into the waistband of his jeans. Shooting and carrying her would have been awkward, but he wasn’t going to take chances. 

Things happened in a flurry at the hospital. She was taken in to the emergency room; while the doctors worked on her, Dean went back to the apartment. He was going to track down that good for nothing mutt monster so that Y/N would know she could leave the hospital safe. 

The dumbass had actually gone back to the apartment. Too easy, Dean thought to himself. He didn’t even ask questions as he snuck up behind the werewolf. When that creature turned to him with yellow eyes and claws reaching out for him, Dean aimed a bullet right into the creature’s heart. 

“That’s for Y/N,” Dean growled over the dying man’s body before leaving the apartment once and for all. 

Troubled times Caught between confusion and pain, pain, pain Distant eyes Promises we made were in vain, in vain, in vain

Back at the hospital, he asked for Y/N’s room. The nurse informed Dean that Y/N had been asking for him, so he wasted no time in getting to her room. 

Her arm was set and casted. An IV dripped pain medication and fluids into her veins. The cuts that had caused some of the blood in the bathroom were stitched and bandaged. Dean frowned; there had been much more blood in the bathroom than he would have thought these visible cuts would cause. 

“The wound on her leg will have to be monitored before it can be stitched,” a nurse told him. “It’s not a clean cut like the rest of them — more like whoever he was took a chunk out of her thigh.”

Dean’s heart fell; he nodded. Y/N opened her eyes, giving him a small smile. He did his best to smile back, but with the pieces of his heart shattering to smaller shards, it was a difficult feat. 

“How’re you feelin’, sweetheart?”

She sniffled. “Sore. All over. My leg is burning.”

Dean had expected that. “You don’t know how scared I was when I got your call. I didn’t know if you’d still be alive when I got there.”

“I just wanted to see you again.”

So she knew. She had called him because she knew that, one way or another, her days were numbered. “You were right, what you said in the alley that night. I do love you.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I love you, too. I was stupid — so stupid — to think that I could help them. I thought it was some sort of crusade. We do so much killing, Dean. So much. I just wanted to take the hunting and have something good come out of it.”

He cleared his throat of the lump that had formed there. “Something good did come from it. We found each other. We’ve saved lives, even having to end them.”

She nodded; her lids were drooping. The pain medicine was making her tired. “Did you kill him?”

“Yeah, I did. It was almost too easy. He went back to the apartment, and was there when I got there. Shot him in the heart.” He swallowed down the lump again. “He can’t hurt anyone else.”

“Good.” Y/N’s voice was firm this time, though new tears were staining her cheeks. “We have to do something, Dean, before I hurt anybody.”

He wiped at the sudden moisture on his face. “We can figure this out. I’ll call Cas. We’ll find out how to stop it from happening.”

“It’s too late,” she said. “The burning is spreading fast. It’s already happening. We have to stop it.”

Dean laced his fingers through hers and kissed the back of her hand. “I can’t. Don’t you know how much I’ve missed you? We can figure this out. It doesn’t have to be now.”

“It does,” she argued. “I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t want to hurt you, either. I don’t want to hurt anyone else. That same full moon that pulled him to do this is going to change me quick. If you can’t be here, I understand. But it has to end now.”

“Please,” Dean whispered, not sure what he was pleading for — or that he was even talking to her. 

“’S my own fault. Should have listened to you.”

Dean chuckled through his tears. “You always were a stubborn one.”

She smiled, too, a tired smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “You’re stalling.”

“Yeah, I am.” He took the gun from his waistband and set it on the bed next to her. “There’s still silver bullets in there. I only used one on him.”

Y/N nodded. “Okay. You can’t be here for this.”

“I can. You don’t wanna die alone.”

“Dean, if you’re here, I can’t do this,” she clarified. 

He supposed he wouldn’t have been able to do it either, if the situation were reversed. Nodding, he stood from his chair, leaned over to take her face in his hands, and kissed her the way he meant to kiss her the next time he saw her, after that time had passed after their fight. Too much time. 

“I love you,” Dean told her, one last time. 

Her forehead fall against his. “I love you, too.”

Taking a deep breath, Dean walked out of her hospital room. He knew that Y/N would give him time to leave before she did it, but he didn’t expect to still be in the lobby when the gunshot sounded. Staff and patients alike ran to hide or toward the source of the shot, but Dean just kept walking.

If you must go,  I wish you love You’ll never walk alone Take care, my love Miss you, love

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74 @jensen-jarpad @theplaidshirtmadness @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @smoothdogsgirl @melbrandes @xtina2191 @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @gabriels-trix @applesugar88 @rainflowermoon @deansgirl215 @thisismysecrethappyplace

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Too Late

Square: The One That Got Away

Pairing: Mark of Cain!Dean x reader

Word Count: 640

Warnings: angst

A/N: Written/created for @spnangstbingo

Dean knew exactly what he was doing back then. He knew you saw right through his plan too. So he let it happen naturally. He let his worry over the Mark fade away until he was slowing his walk into rooms, trying to remember what acting normal was. Even that eventually stopped and he knew you were building up your walls ever so carefully around him.  

He saw you force yourself not to ask certain questions, not bring up certain topics, to smile and pretend you were alright. Dean knew he should have felt bad about that. He knew his true self would have called you out on it, made you talk about it or at least give you that look that said he was there for you.

It was so damn hard to fake doing that the longer the Mark was on his arm though.

He gave hollow words and gestures and nothing more. No matter how strong he knew you were, he was chipping away at you, helping build that wall up between you. Faintly he remembered that was what he wanted all along.

But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why the Dean before the Mark, the Dean that could actually feel something for you, would want to hurt you. He didn’t care. He knew he was supposed to though and that one shred of compassion was all he could manage to hold onto.

Until Dean remembered carrying your bags out to your car, doing it with a smile because wasn’t he being helpful? Wasn’t that a nice thing to do and didn’t nice people smile? Your face was red but you showed no other sign of emotion, nothing at all as you slid into the drivers side and drove away, Dean not caring when you came back.

Two days, two weeks, two months went by and you didn’t return. Dean heard Sam talking to you on the phone on occasion. You weren’t dead so that was good, he figured. Or at least that’s what he thought would have been normal to say.

When the Mark was finally gone, he remembered everything that’d been pushed away so perfectly clear.

Standing over a battered, bruised, and confused but relieved Sammy...a giant sickle in his hands that Sam was still giving a nervous glance to...

Dean’d been good. He’d tried to save you the only way he knew how. You were nowhere to be found on that day and that brought a sliver of joy to the empty pit in his gut.

He saved you from himself. 

When he tracked you down not long after that, he thought about how you’d be able to fix everything that felt so wrong in him. One night, one talk, one more you’re not a monster...Dean knew he’d be okay if he could just talk to you again.

But you were in a house. You were playing with a dog in a front yard, teasing a man that was washing your car, giggling when he turned it in your direction and he started to chase you around. 

For a split second he thought about getting out of Baby anyways, running over and spewing out the apology he knew would never be enough. 

He left before he could do that though, vowing to leave you be and never come back for you, never again. 

Because that’s what he deserved in the end.

Dean was so focused on repeating that mantra over and over to himself as he drove off, he never even saw you in the rearview mirror, staring at the Impala.

He never realized the house was your friends. He never realized you were taking a break from hunting. He never realized you never gave up hope on him.

He never realized he was the one that left you.

@baconlover001 @emilymorgan1994 @jensenackesl @captainemwinchester @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @anokhi07 @akshi8278 @fandom--shipper @xxwinchester-22xx

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[thing-you-do-with-that-thing]

Back To Life

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Child abuse, domestic abuse, domestic rape, rape, cheating (none of it Dean and none of it is glorified or graphic - just mentions), character deaths.

Word Count: 1200ish

Square Filled: Hell Hounds for @spnangstbingo

A/N: This is written for @sis-tafics Musical Challenge and I choose the song All I Ask From Phantom of the Opera.

This is written in the first person pov which is not something I usually do or is even comfortable doing. I went with it because I felt it would be more effectful that way. I hope it turned out to be okay despite my lack of experience with this pov.

Betaed by: @blacktithe7 - thank you so much darling!

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

We grow up to associate love with what we learn it to be as kids. What we are taught is not always the truth, but even as adults, that can be hard to see. Even when I hit rock bottom I had trouble seeing the truth for what it was.

My parents were dead by then. Henry was all I had, and truth be told, that wasn’t much. I didn’t see that then, even at the very end he had been my world. I told myself that everytime he hit me it was because I deserved it. It was to help me be better, just like my parents had everytime the belt or cane had come out. I deserved it.

When I laid on the kitchen floor a few times a week with blood streaming from my nose or gashes on my body years after my parents were gone, I still believed Henry did what he did to help me. I was wicked and spoiled, just like my parents had told me. The only way to keep the darkness out of me was by removing it with force. I believed that. I believed that I was evil.

Maybe I was. Maybe it was the reason I took the deal when the red eyed woman had offered it to me, or maybe it was because I didn’t fully understand what was happening. I didn’t know that my deal was any less than what anyone else had gotten. I didn’t even know how she had found me that day when I had reached my breaking point.

Every night he touched me, and I tried to turn him away. Every night he had kept pushing, taking what he needed from me with little care to the injuries he had cause, and no concern for how I felt. I had told myself he did it because he loved me. I told myself it was because he needed me and couldn’t help himself. In my mind, it had been his way of showing me he still cared despite it all. Today, when I know how love truly feels, I know how wrong I was. I might even have known back then, but my mind wouldn’t let me see it. It was protecting me from what I felt had been out of my control.

The night I walked into his office and saw him with his secretary, I broke. I saw her fighting back. I saw him not caring, and I knew. None of what he had done to me had been about love. It was about him and his own sick, twisted needs being met. I should have helped her. Stopped him. I ran out, and to this day, I still blame myself for it.

What I’ll never regret though is taking that deal. Even if I had ended up giving my life five years later, when I was finally moving forward, when I was finally free and healing, I would still have done it. Not only did the deal I took keep me safe from him, it also kept every other women he might have hurt safe. He deserved what he got, and I knew that even if the hounds had dragged me off to my own damnation, he would be there too. He would be on the racks, having the torture he lashed out on others inflicted onto himself. He would burn for what he had done, even if I was going to burn with him.

When the hallucinations had started, I had been terrified, but I never regretted. I knew what was coming, but I would do it again. That’s what I told them, the two hunters, when they found me. I expected them to judge me and let the hounds drag me off. I never saw myself as someone deserving of someone else’s mercy or help. Nonetheless, that’s what I had gotten.

They listened. I saw the pain they felt for me in their eyes. Not pity or judgement, just pain and understanding. I had never met anyone like them before. I never felt safer then I did sitting in the black circle of goofer dust, crying against the older brother’s chest as he held me. I didn’t regret my actions. He didn’t judge me for them, but I was scared, terrified as the dogs barked and growled and tore at the door. I felt him stiffening as the door moved. I didn’t know why back then, but he was as scared of them as I was.

Fear hadn’t mattered to him. He never left me. He never stopped holding me or promising me I was getting through this. Dean Winchester didn’t break his promise. His faith in Sam had been justified and as quick as the noises and violent banging at the door had started, just as sudden had they stopped.

It was over, but Dean hadn’t let go. He still held me as he sat on the floor with me. That is my first memory of what love should feel like. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me. Still he made me feel safe and like I mattered. He and Sam took me in.

They invited me to come back to their home with them, a bunker in the middle of nowhere in Kansas. To everyone else that would have sounded insane, but not to me. Not then, and not now. I was getting by, but I was alone. The Winchesters were the first people I had trusted in forever. They were the first people that showed me kindness and love. They gave me a family, and Dean gave me so much more than that.

Every night I woke up screaming from a nightmare, he had came running to my room. He held me and listened. When I couldn’t fall back asleep, he had distracted me with stories of him and Sam’s prank wars or crazy hunts. His words had calmed me and his deep voice filled me with warmth. I knew I was safe with Dean and that he would never let anyone hurt me ever again.

The first five years that passed after Henry’s death, I was just surviving. With Dean, I was slowly coming back to life. He wasn’t just my shelter. He was my light and reason laughter and happiness entered my life for the first time. He was patient and kind, never once pushing or asking anything of me.

Slowly I started seeing myself through his eyes, and slowly I opened up and let him in. Every touch and kiss was a struggle at first, but he never pushed, always waiting and happy to take my lead.

Today, no one would believe the girl I once was if I told them. Today, I smile, and I laugh everyday. I know my daughter will never grow up to know the pain that I once knew. I know even with all the darkness in the world, the light still wins. Dean Winchester will make sure of it. He loves with all his heart, and I love him with all of mine. Our daughter will know what true love feels like, and she’ll never doubt it like I did. The love I share with Dean will surpass our lifetime. She will find a love as great as ours. That’s all I ask, because I already have all I’ll ever need.

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Dean Tag Team CLOSED

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[just-another-busy-fangirl-writes]

2018 SPN Angst Bingo

Here is my Masterlist for SPN Angst Bingo 2018!

Character x Reader Insert

Run - Being hunted - no pairing Often? - Free Space: Eating Disorder - Dean x Reader (ish) His House - Hospital AU - Sam x Reader Fall - Broken Neck - Dean x Reader Allergic - Bees - Sam x Reader Too Hot - Hyperthermia - Sam x Reader My Mom - Death of a Parent - Sam x Reader Too Late - Arriving Too Late - Sam x Reader Do More - Tsunami - Sam x Reader

Character Ship

Mine or No One’s - Jealousy gone bad - Destiel Lumber - Crushed by Construction Equipment - Destiel Noise Complaint - Cop AU - Destiel Memories - The one that got away - Sam x Sarah Trickster’s in Trouble - Trickster AU - Destiel

RPF x Reader Insert

Phobia - Snakes - Jared x Reader

General

Sixteenth Floor - Heights Too Late to Go Back - Decapitation - Wayward Bruised - Harassment - Wayward Too Good for This - Wood Chipper - Dean, Sam, Charlie Left - Insane Asylum AU - Winchester Sister!Reader Shelter - Zombie AU Waking - Nightmares Lady of the Lake - Urban Legends AU Mind versus Body - Heart Attack - Sam and Reader I Hate Halloween - Blood and Gore

[fandomoniumflurry]

Ferals, Intruders, and Winchesters

John, Dean, Sam Winchester x Reader

@spnpolybingo Square Filled: Dystopian AU

@spnangstbingo Square Filled: Alien Abduction

@spnaubingo Square Filled: Free Space

5.5k words warnings of angst, aliens, dehydration, malnutrition and death of a major character

Taggers: @keepcalmimthecupcake @becs-bunker @hunterswearingplaid @janai-mcgarrett @ambermei

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This earth used to be overrun by billions of human beings and millions of different species of animals. It was a thriving planet, green, bright and bursting with life. It was beautiful and blossoming, self sustaining and massive. Mankind took her for granted, didn’t take advantage of her beauty and instead they were greedy for her resources. They destroyed her land and cut down her trees, soiled her oceans and endangered her creatures. They polluted her air and trashed her without a care of what was to become of her.

Now that the Earth didn’t belong to them, humans began to wish that had appreciated her. Now that the planet was drying and dying, they yearned for the days when they had trees and running water. The sun was once loved and enjoyed, not it burnt up the ground and dried up the dew long ago. Man was once free to do as they pleased. Now they were slaves, bound to their dead planet and forced to suffer until there was none of their species left. Once, food was given on a silver platter, feeding them until their bellies were full. But now, they were lucky to only go a week without a meal.

Some people hid underground while others pitched tents and constantly roamed like listless nomads. Great cities once stood proudly along the horizons and now they were deep craters that even now smoked from time to time. Roads still marked the path across countries, but they were cracked and faded. Not that man needs roads since they had no means of transport besides their feet. Even majestic beasts were long gone, having died out much like humans would one day soon. Anything edible had been killed to extinction for the sustenance of the human species. Crop and grass were burnt up by the heat and the ground was no longer fertile to grow anything. Billions of people became handfuls scattered around the globe.

The only thriving and sustainable existence were the dark and metallic cities that hovered in the atmosphere. Giant ships that held thousands of the intruders that destroyed the planet. Earth was not the only planet in the solar system and was not the only planet inhabited by these creatures. This wasn’t the only galaxy they had overtaken and humans weren’t the only beings wiped out by the destructive aliens. They came through like a tsunami and wiped out all the biggest cities of the world.

This lead to panic and chaos and businesses and civilization failed. Every man for himself quickly dwindled commodities and it didn’t take long for man to turn toward animals and without the ability to breed or the time to repopulate, most creatures went extinct quickly. Due to plundering and scavenging, one couldn’t plant crops or wait for anything to grow and bloom. Man became feral and dangerous, doing anything it took to survive even to the point of cannibalism.

This planet was now full of human beings that survivors called the Feral and then there were those that tried to hold onto their humanity. The Feral were dangerous enough but there was also the aliens who seemed to take pets of the Ferals and used them for their own will. Life on Earth as a human was deadly and treacherous and not man survived past a certain age and if you were sick or injured, then your life was already over.

Though children were still being born, most didn’t survive for long enough to have a life and most parents chose to take their own child’s life, wishing their death to be quick instead of a long painful existence on the planet. John knew people like that, people that put a bullet in a child’s head and without blinking an eye, they took their own life. His neighbors had tried to kill his own sons, tried to tell him they’d be better off in the afterlife. But he wouldn’t allow it and he put the neighbors down instead and fled with his two young boys.

His wife had been one of the thousands that were taken during the invasion. He had tried to hold onto her but with Sam and Dean hanging onto him, he couldn’t hold onto her as well. She had let go and he watched her get sucked away into a bright light and was never seen again. He tried to wait for her, stayed in their house for as long as he could just in hopes that they would return her to him. But when survival became more important, he had no other choice but to escape with his children.

The Impala had worked for a good many years. He was able to keep it maintained due to scavenging and he cyphened enough gas to keep it running for a while. But just like all the other vehicles, it died. The gas ran out and the parts aged. As much as he wanted to hold onto the old hunk of junk, he didn’t have a choice but to leave her on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. He walked away with a bag on his back and a bag on his shoulder while Sam was resting against his other shoulder. Dean tried not to cry but John didn’t fault him because the Impala was just as much a part of the family. Though the boy had a bag full of toys and other things he had gathered from the car, it was still heartbreaking and John shed a few tears of his own.

The Winchesters never stopped. With no destination in mind, they wandered aimlessly, coming and going only to survive. The boys grew up hard, they had to. They were trained to be strong and learned to fight. The ex-marine had the skills to protect himself and he passed those skills onto his children. This wasn’t a world to be immature and childish. Only men could survive so the trail was rough and broken but they were alive and that was better than the alternative. If he was alone, he would probably survive longer and move quicker.

If he didn’t have to raise two kids, he would be better off. But none of that ever crossed John’s mind. He would give up his own life if it meant that Sam and Dean got to live. His wife would live through him and even in the midst of an apocalypse, he would do whatever he could for them. And even though it was difficult, he wouldn’t trade them for anything. Even though he was hard on them and made them grow up long before their time, he loved them and he made sure to show them that he did and this was the only way he knew how to do it.

Time passed and the boys became men, strong men, hard men that looked out for each other and kept each other sane and alive and that was harder than one may think. Groups of people had created communities and havens where everyone took care of each other but the Winchesters were a rogue pack of lone wolves. They didn’t have a good rep with other humans and it didn't take long for them to be on the aliens’ most wanted list either.

They were perceived as ruthless and cruel men, driven by rage and violence and for that they were feared and turned away by groups they came across. Though they were hard and murderous, they had overcome every obstacle placed before them and made it out alive so far. They cared for the weak and injured that they came across and took down plenty of the intruders for their leaders to take notice. They were cold but they were caring, rough but compassionate, homicidal but sympathetic. They hadn’t lost their humanity and did only what they had to to survive. The Earth was theirs and they would do anything to keep possession of it and make sure human beings survived. If that meant they were feared and shunned, then so be it but they were making a difference and sometimes being a hero meant traveling a long lonely road.

Even though the men all had their needs, the never took what wasn’t theirs or forced themselves on any person or community. They weren’t monsters out to please their lusts and hunger. But when it was offered to them and given willingly, they weren’t one to deny it and take advantage of someone else’s hospitality. Whether this be housing, food, bathing or the company of a woman, whatever it was, they could go weeks without the things that once were abundant and given away freely. In this world, you took what you could get and you didn’t have very high standards.

If you held out for fine dining and supermodels, you would waste away before you got very far. Sof if a plain Jane came along with a bowl of foul smelling mush, you didn’t dare turn her away in hopes something better would come along. There was no walk of shame these days, no regret or the morning after remorse because there was no time for inhibitions nowadays. You take what you get and you count your blessings because at any moment, you could be gone.

You had been born into this world, knowing nothing of the world that came before the invasion. You had spent your whole life fighting for survival. You grew up fast and never had time to be a child because children couldn’t survive here. Your father hadn’t been strong enough to handle it all and easily went feral, forcing you and your mother to flee when you were only ten years old. The two of you took care of each other for as long as you could but with no supplies and no training, she wasn’t able to take care of you. She had given you over to a wandering convoy and disappeared into the distance, never to be seen or heard from again.

The community never stopped for long and though you had your place, a specific job within the group, you never felt like you belonged or that anyone cared about you at all. They helped you survive and gave you protection but didn’t give you the family, the home that you longed for. For ten years, you traveled with them, a large caravan turning into a small handful of people in that time. It was only a matter of time before all of them would be wiped out. And when that day came, you had no choice but to run for your life, leaving your community without even looking back.

That was what left you here, alone and running on adrenaline and fear alone. You missed the safety of a large group and missed having someone to help you scavenge. Survival on your own was terrifying and you had gone so long without more than a can of fruit or ancient Spam to eat and a few drops of water to drink. Like this, you knew you wouldn’t survive very long and the moment you came in contact with a feral or heaven forbid ran into an intruder, you wouldn’t stand a chance. Your body was withering away and along with it, your strength and sanity. You had no weapon, nothing to your name but the clothes on your back, the backpack hanging on your shoulders and the measly amount of supplies within it.

The ruins you hid within would not be your shelter for long, too open and vulnerable for you to put up permanent residence. You had picked it clean even though it seemed to have been picked clean several times before you. The ground and the decaying brush didn’t make for a very pleasant bed but it was better than the brittle tree you had camped in the night before. Now that night had fallen, the chill of the darkness seeped into your bones and caused you to shiver violently. You hugged your legs to yourself in attempt to keep warm but without any kind of protection from the harsh winds, it would be an impossible task.

You wished more than anything that you could just die here, fall asleep and just never wake up. No existence was better than this existence. You were even too weak to take your own life and the universe was too cruel to just let you die. Like so many other nights, you began to cry, the sobs making your body tremble even more as the tears seemed to freeze your skin as they ran down your face. Food, drink, warmth, all hopeless thoughts of a dying dreamer at this point and you prayed to a god that you didn’t even believe in, that someone would come along and end your misery once and for all.

If you were lucky, the Intruders would just shoot you in the head instead of abducting you and do who knows what to you. Hopefully, the Feral would bash your head in with a rock instead of eating you alive. You also hoped that a group of survivors wouldn’t find you and have mercy on you, nurse you back to health. You just wanted to be done. You couldn’t do this anymore. You couldn’t lose anyone else. As you finally started to pass out, not really in slumber but just exhaustion, you started to think that finally this was it. Darkness that took over your vision made your body relax and you finally felt peace.

All too soon, that peace was taken from you, the blinding light of the morning sun waking you from dreamless nothingness. But when your eyes opened, it wasn’t the same decrepit ruins you had fallen asleep in. Above you was a leather tent, an opening in the front that worked as a door and where the light was flowing in. You were wrapped in a ragged leather jacket and you were laying on a bed of stained but still soft wool. You were hungrier than ever but your mouth wasn’t quite as dry, making you think that you had recently had water.

None of this made any sense and you started to think either you had finally gone mad or you were dreaming. Your bod was still so weak that getting up and steady on your feet took so much effort especially with the heavy coat still wrapped around you. The bed was actually a makeshift cot, obviously built at the last minute for their unexpected guest. The tent was small but it offered a sense of comfort and you held the jacket closer to your body. It smelled worn and musty but the scent was oddly satisfying and pleasant. Even though you were starved and feeble, this was the best you had felt in years. If this was the afterlife, you’d take it any day.

You squealed and jolted when the stillness was disrupted by someone pulling the door back to enter. The quick reaction caused your weak knees to give out and sent you hurtling toward the dirt floor, barely missing the cot’s cushioning. You groaned as the man quickly came to help you up, apologizing over and over, hazel orbs dazzling and swirling with sympathy. He was freakishly tall, your skeletal frame like David next to Goliath. The sight of him was intimidating and made you quiver but his soft expression told you that he was not going to hurt you in any way.

The excitement of the brief interaction made you lightheaded and he was there this time to catch you when you teetered on your feet. He held you against his chest as your eyes fluttered open and closed and you tried to calm yourself. You clung to him as best you could and breathed him in, finding that this seemed to sooth you well. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you and keep you steady while his hand combed through your hair languidly. This was far more peaceful than the dark emptiness.

He seemed to understand what you needed and his arms tightened around you. Never having met or even seen this man before in your life, it surprised you when you felt tears run down your cheeks. Usually sobs only came at night when you were alone but now in the warm embrace of a total stranger, you found yourself falling apart. So much so, he had to take a seat and cradle you in his lap to keep you both from collapsing to the floor. You had never felt so protected since you were a little child in the arms of your mother. And for the first time in a long time, life was bearable.

It wasn’t until the tent opened again, that your tears finally ebbed. Another man entered but didn’t say a word and yet there was still some kind of silent conversation passing between the two men. With wide eyes, you looked between them and suddenly felt embarrassed. The other man was older than the first by only a few years. His hair was far shorter than the young man’s moppy locks. This older man had the greenest of eyes, the wrinkles in the corners making them look even softer and more brilliant.

Both men were equally the most beautiful things you had ever laid your eyes on. Your mouth opened with intent to speak but what came out was a raspy attempt at hello. You coughed and wheezed to try and lubricate your parched and unused vocal chords but the men just smiled. The older man disappeared but only for a moment and when he returned, he sat down on the bed beside you. He offered you a crinkled old plastic bottle of murky water. Your eyes grew with wonder and excitement before you snatched the bottle and chugged down as much as you could of the valuable liquid, savoring every last drop.

“Slow down, sweetheart, or you might drown yourself.” A heavenly smile played on the older man’s lips and his chuckled as his hand lingered on the bottle to make sure you didn’t choke. When you started to sputter, he lowered the bottle and his smile sweetened as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. “Better?” He seemed pleased when you nodded and stood once again. “We got some food cookin’ too whenever you’re up for it.” They both smiled when your head nodded again and thanked them in a hoarse whisper.

“Sam!” The sudden yell from outside the ten made you jump. When had you gotten so jumpy? The voice sounded like an older male, more raw and gruff You started to think that maybe you should be worried, a frail young woman in the grasps of three men. And yet you couldn’t be more at ease.

The taller man gently lifted you off of his lap and onto the spot that the other man had vacated. They chuckled when you pouted and curled into the jacket that swallowed you whole. “We’ll be right outside. We got you some clothes. They may not fit you well but they will be more protective and warm.” The man outside yelled again, this time yelling two names. You figured out that the taller one was Sam and the older one must be Dean. “That’s our dad.” Sam explained before taking his leave. Dean offered you a charming smile before following at his brother’s heels.

Brothers and a father. Was it just the three of them or were there more? People like her, strays that they had picked up and helped along the way? Charity and kindness was rare in this day and age and it made you  cautious, untrusting of their sincerity and motives. You had nothing to give them. You had no supplies or belongings, no skills that would make her useful in a group. You were barely skin and bones. There was no reason for them to want to keep you around. When your mind drifted into dirtier places, your whole body warmed and blushed. You were a virgin, inexperienced and far too small for them to take what they wanted from you.

All these thoughts sent you into a spiral, making you lightheaded again. That might have been more due to the fact that you couldn’t breath. Great, you were hyperventilating. As if they could hear you struggling, the tent door flung open but it wasn’t Sam or Dean this time. This man was just as breathtaking as his sons, aged and rugged, salt and pepper hair and eyes that were just as genuine and soft as he rushed to your side. Two large hands rested on your shoulders, engulfing the expanse of your skin. When spots started to form in the corner of your eyes, the sound of his gruff voice pierced through the ringing in your ears.

“Breathe, sweetheart.” He then took in a breath and let it out slowly in example, doing it again to urge you to copy his actions. He kept his gaze locked with yours as your breathing fell in sync with his. When your breathing regulated, he smiled faintly and seemed to relax. “Thatta girl.” He praised and it brought a smile to your chapped lips. His hazel eyes twinkled, they weren’t as green as Dean’s or a kaleidoscopic as Sam’s but they were no less mystifying. “Get dressed and come get some grub before you have another panic attack, hmm?” His large hand patted your cheek as he tossed you a wink and just as fast as he entered, he had exited.

You didn’t waste any more time and tossed the leather coat aside and stood up, slowly this time so as not to get dizzy. Looking at your rags, your nose wrinkled and you couldn’t believe you had been wearing them so long without them just falling off. They were dirty and they reeked and you felt shame. Three gorgeous men had found you in this condition. It seemed like a weird thing to feel at the moment, the end of the world and you were worried about looking and smelling bad in the presence of men. It actually made you laugh to yourself and you toss your old clothes and dressed in the clothes provided. They were right in saying they wouldn’t fit too well but they were soft and warm and probably the best thing you had ever felt against your body. They were old and clearly used but what wasn’t nowadays? They were still in better shape than anything you had ever owned.

When you were done, you put the jacket back on and pushed the tent open slowly. The sun that you thought had been rising was actually setting and dusk was falling over the land. Your eyes widened and you had never stopped to look at a sunset. How a world so ugly and broken could ever deserve such a beautiful work of art like this, you would never understand.

“Ain’t that a pretty sight.” A voice broke you from your revelry and you smiled, nodding as you turned your head away from the view.

“I don’t think Dean meant the sunset.” Sam added with a crooked grin and a light chuckle. A blush warmed your face and your eyes dropped. You had never been timid, quiet yes but you were confident and bold usually. But for some reason, you felt so shy and small in the company of the brothers. You were surely not a pretty sight, not in comparison to them but the thought was nice.

The awkward moment thankfully didn’t last long for John declared that dinner was ready. You had noticed now that they had set up camp in the rubble you had passed out in the last night you remembered. It hid them well enough even though it was open and easily overcome. But they had used stones and the dried greenery to make a night little dining area complete with a campfire. Hanging from a branch over the fire was a dented and worn out old pot, half full of who knew what. It smelled awful and didn’t look much better but you couldn’t help but brighten at the sight of food.

You were starving and you had no doubt you could easily out eat all three of them tonight. They allowed you to go first, dipping a generous helping of the slop onto a flat rock and handing it to you. It was still hot when you dug your fingers into it and shoved it into your mouth like a ravenous animal. Instead of looking at you with judgement, John smiled, more pleased with the fact that you were eating than concerned about how you were eating it. The stuff didn’t taste as bad as it smelled but you weren’t about to ask what it was. Not that it would make a difference, you had once stolen a squishy colored mass from a skinny rat once. Whatever this was had to be better than that.

They ate slower and more civilized, picking at the mush with sticks and broken utensils. They carried on comfortable conversation with each other and you just listened as you ate. They told stories, passing tales back and forth and joining in laughter and jokes. It made you smile to see such a happy familial unit on the brink of the end of the world. It was almost like you were within four sturdy walls around a dining room table enjoying a fine holiday meal with loved ones instead of sitting in dimly lit ruins with complete strangers eating slop.

Their attention turned to you when you finally set your rock aside after licking every last molecule off of the rough surface. “Thank you.” You whispered meekly and John nodded in acknowledgement. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten.” You still didn’t trust your voice at full volume so you continued to whisper. In the wide open area, you were still heard clearly plus they were intently trained on you.

“Sleeping for three days will also do that to you.” Sam’s brow wrinkled with his sympathetic smile. Your eyes widened at the number of days he mentioned in absolute shock. You looked between the other two men as if to ask for confirmation. Dean’s shoulders shrugged and John nodded. A soft wow passed through your parted lips. “With how dehydrated you were plus the malnutrition, I don’t know how you’ve stayed alive this long. You’re really lucky…” He looked at you expectantly and it took you a moment to pick up on what he wanted.

“Y/N.” You finally croaked. “Y/N Y/L/N”

Another smile made his dimples deepen. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m sure you’re already figured out that I’m Sam, that’s my older brother, Dean.” His head turned slightly to look where his finger pointed and Dean waved. “And our dad, John.” The oldest man nodded in your direction with a smile. You returned the gesture, still blushing under their gazes, which seemed more intense than they were meant. “We’re the Winchesters.” His smile seemed to be one of pride at his surname but the smile dropped when he saw your expression.

You couldn’t say that you were happy to hear that name for all you knew of the Winchesters were the legends, the horrible stories that had been going through communities everywhere since the beginning of the end. Rising from your chair, they all stood to their feet, startling you even more.

“Y/N, look, we’re not who you think we are.” Dean tried to explain, a hand reaching out in front of him to try and placate you. “You can’t believe what people say about us. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

“Why should I trust you?” Your voice sounded so frail and frightened that you almost didn’t recognize it.

John took a step forward, his expression remaining calm and stoic but his eyes spoke nothing but compassion. “We could have left you here, left you to die, or worse. We didn’t have to bring you back to health or feed or clothe you. If we were the monsters people believe us to be, why would be stay here for three days to make sure you’re ok?” He spoke valid reasoning and you couldn’t help but trust them even though logic told you not to.

Looking into the eyes of each man one at a time, all you saw were humans fighting for survival and trying to hold onto their humanity just like you.  But all lies and legends have truth woven within so it made you think what they could have done to start the tales you had heart most of your life. And if they were so elusive, what were the odds they would find little old you in the middle of nowhere as you were on the edge of dying? How could the Winchesters of the myths be kind and sympathetic to you?

They all relaxed when your body visually calmed and the tension between the four of you lightened. Your head nodded though this was a sign of your resignation, you weren’t ready to take your seat among them again. Perhaps you needed time to process but you took your leave. Instead of going to the tent though, you curled up in the spot where they had found you and curled up in the big leather jacket.

You weren’t sure when you had drifted off into a dreamless sleep but you knew it couldn’t have been long before you were awoken by distant sounds. When a blue light flushed, you were quick on your feet. You knew what that light meant and it was about this time you would make a run for it. But you remembered the men that were in and around the tent not ten feet away. With as much speed as you could muster, you sprinted toward the tent and darted in, passing Sam and Dean sprawled out on the ground outside. John was in the cot and he jolts when you shake him gently. You shush him with a finger to your lips and a hand on his shoulder.

He saw the fear in your eyes and wasted no time tossing the blanket aside and jumped to feet. Putting a hand in front of you, he pushed you back behind him and grabbed what looked like a hand crafted stone sword. You were trembling with fear and wrapping your arms around his free hand, you followed close. He peeked his head out of the tent and the blue light had grown brighter, meaning it was getting closer. He cast a quick glance to his sons before backing into the tent and turning to you.

He spoke more with his eyes than he could with words and then he gave you a smile. You hoped it wasn’t the first time you would see it. He darted out after that, kicking his sons awake before beginning to pack what little belongings they had. They told you to wait in the tent until they come to get you. And even though you wanted to argue, the look Dean gave you made you keep silent. You could hear them moving around outside, talking in hushed whispers.

They seemed angry and frantic and when Sam came in to fetch you and the things in the tent, you could see that he was upset. Not in an enraged way but he seemed as if he was grieved. You surprised yourself when you paused and you put a hand on his cheek just in time to catch a few stray tears. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, not a sign of a cold hearted and feral killer like he was rumored to be.

Sam only allowed the soft moment for a quick second before he took your hand and pulled you from the tent. Dean already had a bag strapped to his back and his hands on pull bars of a two wheeled cart behind him. Sam lifted you off your feet without warning and set you in the wagon before he quickly took down the tent and covered you with it. You didn’t see John anywhere and you began to see why Sam had been distressed. You hoped you were wrong but something told you that all your worse case scenarios were probably right. It wasn’t long before you felt the cart jostling and bouncing along. Dean was running now, pulling you behind him.

You could hear Sam running beside you and when you lifted the leather just to have one last look at the light, you could see him moving at a brisk pace. In the distance, haloed by blue iridescence, the tall lean form of John Winchester shadowed the sky. He held his sword proudly but he would never use it. There was a loud scream and he was scattered throughout the light. The scream had been yours but the soft crying came from the two strong men who were now orphaned just like you.

You would take care of them. You had to.

[katymacsupernatural]

The Samulet

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 900 Words

Written For: @spngenrebingo and @spnangstbingo

Squares Filled: Samulet(Genre) and Flying (Angst)

Warnings: Angst!! Sad, Character Death, Memories

Cursing as you stubbed your toe on another big box, you hopped up and down on one foot. “Guess this means I better clean it out.” Pulling the offending box from the bottom of the closet, you tossed it onto the bed, before grabbing another, and another. Soon all that was left was your clothes, along with Dean’s flannels and a layer of dust bunnies in the back.

With the radio playing, you began going through the boxes, making a pile to take to the thrift store, another pile for the trash. Things you had long forgotten about brought a smile to your face. Like the tickets to the Rock Concert you and Dean had gone to last year. Or the picture of the three of you as you dragged them through a zoo. Reminders of happy times.

Once you were done with your boxes, you turned to Dean’s. He only had two, and they were covered in a thick layer of dust. Opening one box up, you saw it was full of old records, along with a scarred leather jacket. Picking up the buttery soft coat, you hugged it to your for a moment before sitting it off to the side.

Opening up the other box, you saw a mixture of things inside. Pictures and papers. Old knives and a gun, along with a couple of trophies. Picking up the wrestling one, you were surprised to see his name carved beside the number one. “I didn’t know you wrestled,” you whispered, setting it down and picking up the next one. This one was for soccer, and it had Sam’s name on it, from about the time he was seven years old.

Beside them lay a small purple ribbon, one that you remembered wearing when you had first met Dean. Reaching down to pick it up, you noticed a small necklace off to the side. The cord braided leather, a bronze amulet was tucked down underneath the trophies. Pulling it free, you recognized it from early pictures of Dean.

Closing your eyes for a moment, picturing Dean as the young, carefree man, you slipped the necklace over your head, feeling a little bit closer to Dean. Missing him, and wishing he was back at the bunker with you.

Taking a deep breath, the necklace somewhat calming, you left the mess behind to get a couple of garbage bags. Your bare feet quiet on the tiled floor, you crept into the library to see Sam with his head between his hands, sitting at one of the tables. “Sam, is everything okay?”

Sitting up quickly, knocking over a book in his haste, he stared at you, wide eyed. “Sure, of course? Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because we’ve had a couple of rough months,” You answered, sitting next to him. His hair was disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, and you wondered how much sleep he was actually getting. “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m the one that should be worried about you,” he argued. “After all, you’re...Wait! Where did you find that?”

It took you a moment to realize he was talking about the necklace. “Well, I decided to finally go through the things in the closet. I found it in one of Dean’s boxes. By your soccer trophy I might add. I saw him wearing it in a couple of pictures, and I felt closer to him.”

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Sam whispered, his eyes bleak as he toyed with the tip of the amulet. “I always thought he’d always be around.”

“Me too,” you answered, trying not to cry.

“I just can’t believe it was flying that did him in. After all these years, his fear finally came true,” Sam mumbled, brushing back a tear.

“I hate that it was because of me,” you admitted, finally letting the tears fall. “That he flew home in  that storm just because I wanted him home with me.”

“Y/N, you were giving birth! He was going to move mountains to make it back for the birth of his baby girl.”

“Well, he never did,” you sniffled. “But at least I have a couple of things to remember him by. Do you mind if I wear this? It makes me feel closer to him.”

“I don’t mind,” Sam told you. “Did he ever tell you how he ended up with that necklace?”

“No, he never talked about it,” you said, sitting down next to your best friend. Without Sam, you don’t think you would have survived these past few months. Losing your husband and gaining a baby had been extremely stressful. “But I’d like to hear about it. If you can’t, I understand.”

“No, I think he’d like you to know,” Sam said, brushing his hand over his mouth. “It all started around Christmas time in this cheasy hotel room. Dean was trying to make sure that I had a good Christmas, even though Dad wasn’t around that much.”

You settled in, watching as the tears dried up in Sam’s eyes while he told the story. Both of you using it to feel closer to Dean while your three month old daughter slept a couple of rooms away.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @anokhi07  @bebravekeeponfighting  @brindz30 @colette2537 @crusadedean @dean-winchesters-bacon  @haelyn @ikeneasul11 @imascio08 @its-not-a-tulpa @just-another-winchester @keikoraventeller @lauren-novak @librarygeekery @mlovesstories @msimpala67  @michirutenshi @pisces-cutie @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @shadowhunter7 @sizzlingbearpolice @sleep-silent-angel @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @thegrungequeer @thewinchestergirl1208 @torn-and-frayed @wonderfulworldofwinchester

Forever Tags(CLOSED): @16wiishes  @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andkatiethings @andreaaalove @angelsandwinchesters @anspgene @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @bemyqueenofdarkness @bohowitch @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @bumber-car-s @brooke-supernatural16  @brunettechick @camelotandastronauts @captainradicalpassion @chelsea072498 @clairese1980 @darthdeziewok @destiels-new-girl  @dont-you-dare-say-misha @dslocum89  @docharleythegeekqueen @emmazach @emilicious-7 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280 @essie1876 @generalgoldfishldrm @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heyitscam99 @highfunctioning-soiciopath @hms-fangirl @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @ichooseeternalplaces @imboredsueme @internationalmusicteacher @ithinkimadorable-67 @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busy-fangirl @justsomerandomarchangel @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @keelzy2 @leanbeankeane @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice @luciferslucille @maui137 @mellowlandrunaway @mogaruke @nanie5 @natashacamillaus @newtospnfandom  @offbeatwriting @percussiongirl2017 @pilaxia @pizzarollpatrol @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @rosegoldquintis @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @smoothdogsgirl @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @sunskittlex @starry-chaos @superbadassnatural @thebikiniinspector @theflameontheinside @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tina8009 @totallovelesson @tunadean @vvinch3st3r @walkslikesummeractslikerain @whimsicalrobots @wildlandfox @winchesterbrothers-inc @winchesterxtwo @winchester-writes @worldwidehansum @yourvoiceislikearose @zombiewerewolfqueen

[waywardrose13]

Rose’s Masterlist

Series

One-Shots

Drabbles/Imagines

My Challenges

[aiaranradnay]

Grief

A/N: this is for the spn angst bingo challenge hosted by @spnangstbingo ​ . I've finally begun this journey, and am really excited about it <3

Square filled: Free Space

Pairing : Dean x Reader

Warnings : Loads of Angst, canon typical violence, torture and tears. 

word count : almost 5k.

Inspiration : Scientist by Coldplay. also shoutout to @effie-w coz its that vintage clock of hers that got me in love with this song <3 

Betaed by @wingedcatninja who offered to help my rusty head. thank you so much<3 your support and guidance refined the fic a great deal. she’s also named the fic, so thank you<3

feedback is much appreciated :)

It had started out as a pretty decent morning – Sam just back from his morning run, Dean sifting through the newspaper pile looking for a case. He had been grouchy lately – ever since he had been stupid enough to drunk dial his ex at one in the morning. He had woken up the next day instantly regretting his actions. She had left him; it was not his fault.

No matter how many times he thought of it, he couldn’t help but blame himself for the end of that relationship. But that call, she had specifically told him that it wasn’t him, she had taken the blame; he should probably accept it.

But she sounded so broken ... was she hurting too, just like he was?

His head whirled around the same thoughts over and over as his eyes raked through the most recent paper, finding an article about a gruesome animal attack two towns over – nowhere close to the wild. An uneasy feeling crept into his gut, his mind repeating her last words; her voice sounding pained and forlorn – “Goodbye, Dean, take care.”

Then his phone rang out, your name flashing on the display as the guitar riff blared out.

“It’s Y/N,” he told Sam with a scowl of pure hatred, masking the tiny seed of hope that had blossomed in his chest.

Sam watched his brother answer the call with a gruff ‘hello’, his expression rapidly changing into one of shock and fear. His face got paler by the second as the person on the other side spoke.

Dean felt his eyes burn as he withheld the tears. The hand that held the newspaper trembled, the article now making sense. The officer at the other end of the call requested him to collect the body and ended the call.

The first tear rolled down his cheek and his world came crashing down as he looked back into Sam’s concerned eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” he whispered.

It took them a whole month to get done with your ‘funeral’ – to get your mangled remains and a handful of bloody photographs from the police, put you back together as best as they could and bury you; for Dean to begin coping with your death; for Sam to accept your absence; for them to start living like normal hunters again. Sam probably tried to get his closure, but neither one was over it yet. At least once every week, one of them would be at your grave, Dean wishing he could have prevented it all, wishing he could go back to where it all started.

The first week, he was a mess; it was supposed to be a short visit, but the nearer he got to your place of resting the more he shattered. The impala too had picked up his sombre mood; her purr sounded like mourning, her radio softly singing one of your favourite songs. He then clambered out and seated himself beside your grave, whispering apologies to you – for not being there, protecting you as he should have.

His mind flew back in time and stopped by the pool table at a dingy bar where he was hustling his daily quota from the other players. They were idiots, and he was taking complete advantage of that. Then you had sauntered in. You were a stranger looking for some fun time; at least that was what you said. Two rounds later, he had miserably lost his entire day’s income to you. While you gave him a victory smirk, he desperately tried convincing himself that it was not your skills but his distracted mind that got him losing. However, you split the money with him the moment the blokes left and the table was cleared. “For all the trouble we go through for these losers, I think we deserve the money”, you whispered showing him the anti-possession tattoo on your wrist.  A few beers later, you had traded hunting stories and he had, to his own surprise, offered you a place at the bunker.

His entire frame shook as he sobbed over the death of his best friend, his love, who was unfairly snatched away from him.

Two weeks later, when he returned, he was exhausted – both physically and emotionally. The case they had just finished had been rather gory; but it wasn’t the gore that affected him – it was the victims. They all had something that eerily reminded him of you – the hair colour, the age, the physique. Every time they had a body in the morgue, the boys couldn’t help but remember your mangled form that lay six feet under.  The third time, Dean refused to go, unable to stand the grief. That day, the reaper at the crime scene who had popped up to harvest the soul confirmed that your soul was somewhere deep in hell, in some maximum security cell, with the best torturers available. The exact location however was unknown.

Castiel had called in a few days later, only to let the boys know that he couldn’t get that deep in the pit. Crowley had been smart enough to stay away. Dean felt terribly helpless as he sat there by your grave, not knowing how to help you. The usual strings of self blame wove around his head as he thought of endless scenarios where it hadn’t ended this way, where he had managed to save you. What he wouldn’t give to make a deal and take your place... wait a moment.

He abruptly stood up, a plan formulating in his head. Hurrying to his car’s trunk he pulled out everything necessary. Half an hour later, he was ready. The traps and sigils were strategically placed, and the tiny box buried in the middle of the crossroads. The only thing missing now was the demon. Soon enough the putrid stench of sulphur filled the air and a young man in a dark suit popped up, his eyes blood red. At first, Dean bargained his own soul in exchange of yours. When that failed, he drew out the demon blade, threatening and torturing the dealer for information. However, his attempts were fruitless, and ended with the orange-red glow of a dying demon when Dean buried the knife into the monster’s chest in blind fury.

As the sun descended, the rays shone on his handsome face, making the splatter of demon blood glisten. The tips of his dirty blonde hair glowed like embers as he stormed towards his Baby, seething with rage.

When you had first joined their ranks, you had requested just one small thing. “Don’t ask me about my past,” you had said. Both boys had readily agreed; they respected your privacy, knowing firsthand that a hunter’s life never starts with a happy event.  

As time passed any kind of discomfort or doubts you had about each other had evaporated into thin air. You had found a family you never thought you’d get again. The boys found you filling in the void they never knew they had in their lives.

To Dean you were like his saviour. He often watched you as you fooled around the bunker, loving how you patiently sat through research with Sam, despite being utterly bored. He loved your enthusiasm when he asked you to accompany him to the bar. He loved how the two of you had fun at the bar, even helping each other get someone for the night. It was all jokes and stupidity, for neither of you took anyone home. Ever since you’d waltzed into his life, his one night stands had diminished in number, and replaced by actual blissful sleep.

Sure, he still got nightmares and woke up in a cold sweat; but somehow every time that happened, you’d be at the door with a look of concern. Neither of you exchanged words – you just walked in and wrapped your arms around him, calming him down with your mere presence. He’d often apologize for it, but you’d always brush it off with a ‘doesn’t matter... wasn’t really sleeping anyways’. You would then soothingly coax the bad dream out of his mind; and he’d simply pour out all his secrets, answer all your questions and then spend hours reminiscing about the early days of hunting when things weren’t this painful. You’d listen earnestly, commenting at some points and by the end of it, Dean would be snoring softly yet again, a part of his burden having disappeared.

Sam loved how you took care of his brother; he saw the love you had for each other, the love that neither of you were even aware of yet. You had now become his best friend, and he often had hinted that Dean and you would make a good couple, but you were ignorant of it. He knew for sure though, that someday it would all click into place. He simply couldn’t wait for the day when his best friend would officially be family, be his sister-in-law.

Now, with you gone the world seemed to have lost colour. The research work was too tedious, the bar nights too lonely and the nightmares more gory and terrifying. The boys no longer had that caring hand comforting them, or that soothing voice loving them. The bunker was too quiet with no sound of high pitched laughter bouncing off the walls, or the steady hum of a song being sung.

Your death had ripped open a huge hole in their lives, and they had nothing to patch it back up with.

By now, it had become a very common sight to have a Winchester mourning at your grave; the mornings were filled with Sam’s tired yet ever hopeful voice, and the evenings reserved for Dean’s pain. They never came together; never even told each other about the frequent visits.

The fourth week thus passed with them wondering why you’d never told them that you were dying.

Dean had always considered you to be his rock; maybe it was your constant support, or your everlasting optimism... to him you were invincible, a constant. So, that one day when he saw you break down he panicked. He had never seen you so broken... and now the memory of your voice, you crying, fallen crumpled in the middle of the road, haunted his mind. It was obvious that hunting was affecting you too and he didn’t like that. So he did the only thing he thought was sensible – he benched you. He gave a different reason every time but it always ended with ‘you’re not going Y/N’. You didn’t like it one bit. You were a full fledged hunter who’d given up on everything other than hunting; to be forbidden from doing the one job you knew didn’t sit well with you... and thus the fights started. Misunderstandings and arguments escalated. Moreover the two of you had just begun being ‘more than friends’, and it didn’t work well.

Your fights left Dean restless and as a result, the hunts often got botched up. Both your minds were losing peace, your lifestyle got more reckless and your relationship got rockier. Sam tried his best to calm the two of you and make you see sense, but you were stubborn and you butted heads ever so often. It finally took one hunt to sever whatever was left. You were benched but you broke protocol and followed them. Time wasn’t on your side, and you almost ruined it for all of them. Cas had turned up last minute and saved you all.

By the time you reached home, Dean was seething with rage. The usual argument turned heated, both your voices loud and bellowing, a volley of angry accusations tossing back and forth until you broke. “You know what?! I quit! I FUCKING QUIT!! I’ve had enough, Dean! It’s clearly not working. We’re over.” Minutes later, you were at the front door, a duffel bag hitched up your shoulder.

Time froze for a millisecond before Dean exploded. “Y/N, DON’T YOU DARE! You walk out that door, don’t you ever think of coming back! IF YOU LEAVE, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME! YOU GET THAT?” for a split second he sounded so much like his father, even Sam flinched at the turn of events – like history repeating itself.

Maybe Dean would hate himself for doing it if only he was thinking straight. Maybe he’d have noticed your tortured face, his comment hitting much closer than he could have possibly imagined. Maybe he’d have apologized and things would be okay. But at that moment, it was a game of egos. “That would be just perfect, wouldn’t it?” you hissed, before storming out, the door clanging shut behind you. The silence that followed was deafening.

The silence seemed to have seeped into the bunker to this date.

In the stifled whimpers of the older Winchester, living his nightmares on repeat.

In the slumped frame of Sam Winchester, aching with suppressed emotions.

In the hushed flutter of the angel wings, as Cas popped by your grave, his eyes sunken with helplessness.

In the quiet of your absence, your grave remained still.

A dull grey evening.

A broken black car, grey with soot and dust.

A lonely grey headstone in the middle of nowhere.

A  defeated young man with a pale grey face staring hopelessly at the grave, leaning against the car.

He doesn’t know how to bring you back; he doesn’t know how to move on. The world has stopped for him, it doesn’t even have a meaning.

Regrets. A billion regrets; it’s the same thing haunting him.

Realization... of how the two of you had wasted your time fighting; all the time that you could’ve spent together; if only...

Memories... flooding in – cheesy lines and flirting; hugs of comfort, of love; stolen kisses, fearing the risk; giving in to your feelings; the nights together, loving each other.

“Hey Dean?” you mumbled, your head resting against his shoulder as the two of you sat, leaning against a tree in a tiny meadow Dean had discovered. It was hidden in the woods, a tiny paradise for the two of you. “Yea?” he whispered, not wanting the moment to end.

“Tag. You’re it,” you squeaked, before dashing into the wilderness. It took him a second to process, before he got up and sprinted in your direction.  Peals of laughter echoed through the trees as you ran, Dean right at your tail. You knew he'd easily catch you, despite the headstart. “Gotcha,” he growled as he tackled you, holding you close as the two of you came crashing down onto the forest floor. You squirmed under him, giggling the whole while as he watched you in awe.

And suddenly, you looked him in the eye, and he saw pure fear in yours. “Dean!” you gasped out. Startled, Dean pulled back slightly. “Dean!!” you cried out.

A blink of his eyes; you were gone.

“Dean!!!” your voice called out... but you weren’t there.

Sheer panic filled in Dean’s heart as he looked around in vain. Where did you go?

“DEAN!!!!” your voice was right there... where was it coming from? Under the ground?

That just didn’t make any sense.... yet there it was. Right from the depths of the earth.

A voice of pain; a voice of fear.

“DEAN!!!”

A sharp pain burnt his cheek as Cas slapped him out of his stupor; eyes focusing as he came back to the real world, his gaze meeting the concerned looks of Sam and Castiel. No one uttered a word. They simply helped him into the car and drove home.

The skies turned dark; the grave, once again, lonely.

Another case was done and dusted; and here he was yet again. His legs folded beneath him, his shoulders hunched carrying immense grief. A single tear rolling off his cheek and many unshed ones held within. His hands trembled, as he clutched a scrapbook – your scrapbook – tightly.

You had called it a journal; an art journal. And you wrote nothing about monsters in there. Dean hadn’t got it then; now that he had gone through it, he understood it all; hell, now he knew every little thing that was in it. It started out from when you’d joined the boys and contained every happy event that had followed. There were a million photos, drawings and cute cut-out crafts woven into a beautiful tale of a lonely huntress who found the best family. Faces – his, Sammy’s, Castiel’s – were delicately drawn around the day’s events. He didn’t even know how you’d gotten so many photos and it made him smile as he went through over and over. Those tiny flip-book motion pictures of the boys peeked out here and there. His smile only widened when he reached the timeline where the two of you had gotten together. There weren’t many photos – “I can’t even think straight around him, much less take photos”, you’d written. There were drawings though, where you had tried to recreate the time spent together as best as you could... and it was magical; like a fairy tale dream where you’d made him the prince. His heartstrings tugged in grief at the few missing photos, because he knew they were the best ones. They weren’t lost; as a matter of fact they were right there in his hand – slightly frayed and caked with grime and the remnants of your blood from when you had held them while you got torn into ribbons. Why had you made that deal anyway?

His vision blurred as the tears took over, his body casting a long shadow of a broken man, as the sun slipped below the horizon.   

Almost the end of week ten; yet Dean hadn’t come to you. Sam however did.

He knew that you were gone, and probably wouldn’t hear what he had to say; but if you could – then you had to know.

The young man knelt by the headstone, a bunch of fresh flowers in his hand – your favourite ones. “He wanted to come... Dean I mean; he wanted to see you, even put up a fight... but I... I just couldn’t let him out; he isn’t well, you know. Mentally – he...he’s crumbling, Y/N/N. He’s hallucinating; he sees you everywhere, and he...he just keeps saying that it’s his fault. He’s drinking himself to sleep, he’s hurting himself... it’s like your break-up all over again; a million times worse this time.” His eyes clouded with unshed tears as he remembered your heated arguments; the way you two butted heads. It seemed all so trivial then; all couples tended to fight – he could see the intense love you had for each other despite all the bicker.  

But over the days, your fights simply intensified; almost as if you were doing it all on purpose. And finally one day, it erupted with a final,’it’s over’ and you had walked out, never to return.

This time when the sun set, it cast its final rays on the longer locks of your best friend. “He’s losing it, Y/N; the pain, its killing him. He couldn’t even stand straight today, but he was so persistent about meeting you,” he chuckled sadly, “I had to add a few sleep meds into his drink to knock him out... I know that he’ll hate me when he wakes up, but you do understand my intentions right?”

Sighing softly, he rose. “Y/N, if you can hear me, come back to us. We miss you... Dean needs you back; hell, I need you back. I miss my best friend,” his voice broke towards the end.

The darkness settled in as he drove away.

Week eleven and yet you were still dead; they hadn’t found anything that could get you back. It was a Thursday and would have been your birthday if you were still alive. Sam had visited in the morning, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand. He had sat there for quite a long while talking to you. He was suffering – it was even worse for him because he hadn’t just lost you but also his brother; no matter what show Dean put up every day, he knew that the older one was no more the same.

That evening as the sun set, loud screeching of tires burned away the thick silence around your grave. A car – sleek, black, classic from the 60’s – swerved violently before shuddering to a stop right where the dirt trail to get to your grave started. A man stumbled out; a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was drunk beyond measure, struggling to stand upright.

How many could he have possibly downed just so he could get to this stage?

He fell on his knees with a thud. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was going to celebrate your birthday you know? But you weren’t there,” his broad frame violently shook as the pent up grief and sorrow flowed out of him.

“Why’d you leave? We could have worked it out, why’d you just give up like that?”

The ‘angry young man out for revenge’ facade that he held all day had crumbled, leaving behind a broken shell.

The worst part of it was that you were helplessly seeing everything. Hell apparently had wonderful reception to watch the outside world. Ever since the traditional chop-chop techniques of torture had ceased to affect you, the demons had improvised their torture methods – mind games.

They started out with a regular dose – your family dying, all your best memories with them changing into horror flicks while you watched helplessly. Surprisingly it didn’t affect you; years of recurring nightmares, Dean’s reassuring arms telling you that it wasn’t real, Sam’s wise counselling and all the love you got from them, had finally let you find the closure you sought. You now had a new family.

Then the visions of your family were replaced by the boys – you betraying the two, them suffering, dying, asking you over and over “why, Y/N/N?”... But you survived those too, convincing yourself that it was just trickery and that the boys were safe; they were Winchesters.

And finally one day they just let you see what the world upstairs was up to. That was where you crumbled – at their mourning faces; at Dean’s reckless attempts to bring you back, at Sam’s silence and their frequent visits to your grave.  That week was the worst, both for you and Dean. He visited everyday and you watched helplessly as he blamed himself for your death. The boys hadn’t taken a case that week, yet Dean seemed to have injured himself – bruised knuckles, multiple cuts and burns on his arms; never anything serious enough to kill him, but immensely painful. You screamed and bled freely as they carved into your skin, knowing that you were slowly giving up.

The last day of that week or maybe it was the next (or so you assumed for time ran differently out there), the torture seemed way more intense, and though you put up your best fight, you felt your body collapse and black spots dancing around your eyes. The last thing you remember before blacking out being a blinding light encompassed in gigantic golden wings followed by a searing pain in your shoulder.

Four months since your death, three since your funeral and yet he was there every week, reminiscing the time you spent, wishing he could go back to where it had all started.  

Thirteen weeks since your funeral; yet he wasn’t over your death. He still found himself pining, wishing, praying, hell even begging for you to come back. This week too, when they returned from the hunt, his hand automatically sought Baby’s keys. Despite the exhaustion, and the desperate need for some booze, he had yet again driven straight to your burial site. Like every week, ever since the funeral, he flopped down on his knees with a soft thud, right beside your grave. His eyes all teary, his voice all hoarse, he repeated the same three words he always said.

“I’m so sorry.”

The sun crawled down towards the horizon, casting its glow on the grief stricken man who sat by the grave. Silent tears rolled down his cheek as they did every time. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, as always, before recounting the week’s events. Soft noises of the underground rodents scraping through and scampering filled the silence as the darkness crept in. The noises – they seemed louder today; not that it mattered to Dean.

Then, just as he rose to leave, the soil that marked your grave started caving inwards, forming a shallow ditch. A hand shot out, feebly pushing off the dirt. A head followed, coughing and spitting out mud. The man’s tired green eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips.

“Y/N.”  He breathed. 

@writingthingsisdifficult   @thing-you-do-with-that-thing   @petrovadixon   @the–blackdahlia   @peddlergirl   @eturtle2002  @laura160604  @super100012 @rosey-persephone  @theas-bedtime-stories  @firedhomearrow  @trollhunter94   @percywinchester27 @mrs-squirrel-chester ​

[revwinchester]

Worthy

Summary: After a bad day that makes her insecurities rear their ugly head, the reader stops at a motel on her way to meet the Winchesters on a hunt. Gabriel shows up and comforts her.

Created for @spnangstbingo; square filled body image issues Created for @spnfluffbingo; square filled bed sharing

Rating: teen and up Warnings: body image issues, hurt/comfort, lots of kissing, maybe a swear word or two, mention of boob grabbing, lots of ogling - both are passed by quickly but could still be triggering for some

Pairing: Gabriel x Reader

Word Count: 1891

A/N: this was a request a long time coming for @lilacprincessofrecovery. I hope you like it and that you’re feeling better!!

Requests are currently closed.

Worthy -

You hated this god forsaken day job. OK, it wasn’t all terrible. For the most part, you could still hunt. The job was part time and the schedule was very flexible, except for when it wasn’t and, right now, it was distinctly not flexible. So, of course, this was the week that a big hunt had come up and you were required to be at a meeting for literally 7 hours on Tuesday night. Dean and Sam had driven off in the Impala two days ago, inviting you to join them when you could, just as a heatwave had rolled into town. So off you went to your long ass meeting in a summery, cotton dress. Your outfit was modest and totally appropriate for the meeting and, yet, not even that stopped the older men in the organization from eyeing up your chest whenever any of them spoke to you. By the time the meeting was finished, you were hunched over with your arms crossed over your chest, trying to look as small as humanly possible and feeling pretty terrible about yourself.

As soon as you could, you scurried out the door and got into your car. You called in sick for the next day as you drove away, planning on driving until you either reached Sam and Dean or you physically could not stay awake any longer, whichever came first. Unfortunately, the meeting had taken more out of you than you had thought and only about 3 hours into your drive, your eyelids started to droop. It was nearing midnight as you weighed your options. You could stop now and catch a few hours of sleep, getting back on the road by 6 and making it to the Winchesters around lunch time or you could fill yourself with caffeine and press on through the night, arriving right around dawn. You knew which was the better option - getting some sleep would allow you to be alert and helpful on the job when you arrived the next day - but driving straight through had its appeal, too… less time alone with your thoughts meant less time for your brain pick apart every glance and smirk you’d received at the meeting.

Your rational side won out, though, and you exited the highway with a huge yawn, pulling into the first motel you came across. You entered the office to book a room and the clerk’s eyes roved your body, immediately making you feel uncomfortable in your own skin and regret your decision to stop driving. But you were tired and you were here so you sucked it up and grabbed the room key from the man.

You made the short walk to your room as quickly as possible and locked the deadbolt and the chain as soon as you were inside. You leaned against the now locked door, your eyes tightly shut as you pinched the bridge of your nose. You took a couple of deep inhales in an attempt to steady yourself and you could have sworn you smelled strawberries.

You opened your eyes and gasped, certain that there had been a mistake. The room you’d been assigned for the night was gorgeous and had no business being in a roadside motel. You scanned the room and suddenly began to cry, curling in on yourself as thoughts of the motel clerk and the men at work overwhelmed you. You didn’t deserve something this nice, you knew. Rooms like this were for pretty, skinny women, the type that men wanted to take on dates, not people who they stared at like a piece of meat, only worth the occasional pity fuck, if that. Your thoughts began to spiral out of control as tears poured down your cheeks.

You screwed your eyes shut and pressed the heels of your hands against your eyelids so hard that you could see spots in a vain attempt to block out the destructive thoughts that plagued your mind.

“Fatso!” “Piggy!” the voices in your head started off child like, reminding you of every name the neighborhood kids had called you. Children could be so cruel, especially to the new, pudgy kid who lived at the motel and whose parents never seemed to be around. No matter where your family traveled, it had always started anew with the names. As your mind recalled your childhood memories, the voices shifted, got a little older and sharper, but the nature of the taunts stayed the same.

“Are you sure you want to eat that? Aren’t you big enough already?” It was your grandmother’s voice this time and your body instinctively recoiled before she could grab one of your breasts, even though she wasn’t even alive anymore. “Your sister could be a model but you look like you don’t even care. Maybe you could model… as a heart attack victim.”

A sob wracked through your body at the memory.

“Hey beautiful, what’s wrong?” a voice asked.

That was a new one, the voice and the words, and you braced yourself for when the kindness in the tone turned to a cruel sneer and a sharp remark.

Instead, though, gentle hands were on your wrists, pulling your fists away from your face and then returning to wipe away the tears. “Y/N, talk to me.”

You slowly pried one of your eyes open and the sagged into the embrace the archangel in front of you was offering. Your sobs tapered off into hiccuping sounds as Gabriel’s arms and his grace enveloped you

“You hate the room upgrades I made that much?” Gabriel joked and you couldn’t help but crack a watery smile.

“You… you did this?” you asked quietly as you continued to fight off the tears that were threatening to fall again. “Why?”

Gabriel pulled back to look at you and cocked his head to the side, much like Cas would do when he was trying to figure out the nuance of a situation he didn’t fully understand. They really were brothers… After a moment his face morphed into an expression of sadness and understanding. “Because you deserve nice things and you don’t get to have them nearly enough living the life you do.”

You pulled out of his arms, scoffing at his reply. “I’m being serious, Gabe,” you told the archangel as you crossed the room and climbed into the plush, king sized bed. You rolled onto your side, turning your back on where the archangel was standing.

“So am I.”

You jumped when the reply came from in front of you. Gabriel had flown himself across the room and onto the bed beside you.

Of course he was there in bed with you. You closed your eyes as Gabriel reached out to you and, try as you might, you couldn't stop yourself from tensing when his hand connected with your hip. You hoped he hadn’t felt it but you knew he had.

“Look at me?” Gabriel asked.

It was a clear request. You knew that, if you kept your eyes shut, Gabriel wouldn’t say another word, he’d let you sleep and probably even be gone by morning. That knowledge alone - that he was asking, not expecting - was what got you to open your eyes. You expected to find a face full of pity but you were met by an expression that you couldn’t or, more accurately, wouldn’t name. Your eyes locked on his and their openness and earnest expression took your breath away.

Gabriel’s face inched closer to yours and you could feel your heart pick up pace. You licked your lips, though whether it was out of anticipation or nervousness you weren’t sure. He cupped your cheeks and leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead.

“You’re beautiful,” Gabriel whispered, so quietly that you nearly missed it. His lips connected with each of your cheeks and the tip of your nose, taking a moment to murmur affirmations between each kiss. His lips and nose dragged slowly down your jaw and neck, placing closed mouth kisses along his path as he moved. Gabriel didn’t stop until he had covered your entire body in soft kisses and affirmations - the swell of your breast, the crook of your elbow, your knees, calves, and feet - and it made you feel… special, cared for, loved even.

You pushed that last one aside, choosing instead to revel in the comfort you had found in the archangel’s presence, even when his hands and lips had roamed over the squishier bits of your body that you usually would attempt to hide away.

When he had finished showering you in affection, Gabriel returned to his original position, his eyes level with yours. “Can I kiss you?”

You laughed a little at the question. “What have you been doing for the past 10 minutes?”

Gabriel smiled and licked his lips, watching as you mirrored his actions. “I’ve been worshiping you.” His voice was sincere and held that emotion that you kept refusing to give credence. He was an archangel, afterall, and you were just a human, and an insecure one at that. But Gabriel didn’t seem to care. Once again his face was creeping closer to yours and this time, his eyes fluttered shut and his lips connected with yours.

As your mouths began to move against one another, you could feel everything that he was pouring into the kiss. His own insecurities coupled with his feelings and the words that he was too afraid to say out loud flooded into your system and you did your best to let him know everything in return. Gabriel’s tongue ran across your bottom lip and you gasped into the kiss, giving him access to your mouth. One of his hands cupped your face while the other roamed your back and side.

You tangled your hands into his hair and gave a gentle tug, causing the archangel to groan and pull back, leaving you with a few quick, closed mouth pecks on your lips before he opened his eyes again. “You need to get some sleep,” he reminded you.

You turned to your other side, expecting him to get up and go so it came as a surprise when an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his chest. You smiled as he nuzzled his nose against your neck, kissing you there, too, now that he could reach the spot. You drifted off into the most peaceful sleep you could ever remember having.

The next morning you woke up to the buzzing of your phone’s alarm clock, feeling like you had slept for 12 hours instead of just the 4 that you had the time for. You stretched out in the bed, and froze for a moment when you felt a body beside you. Memories of the night before flooded back into your mind and you rolled over to face Gabriel. His golden eyes were open and immediately locked onto your gaze.

“It’s creepy to watch a girl sleep, you know.” you snarked but there was no venom in your voice, just quiet contentment.

Gabriel disentangled himself from the sheets and your grasp before standing and crossing to your side of the bed where he held out a hand out to you. “Come on we gotta get you dressed and find some breakfast before we can go meet the Winchesters.”

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Getting Bit By A Shark

Pairing: Dean x reader

Square: Sharks

Word Count: 542

Warnings: shark attack

A/N: Written/Created for @spnangstbingo

You gritted your teeth when you saw what was on the TV. Dean rolled his eyes, patting the spot next to him. You took a seat, grumbling as you curled into his side and tried to ignore what was on the screen for the most part.

He was watching Shark week again, watching the same stupid story over and over again about how a person was out swimming and randomly got bit by a shark. He didn’t understand your fear considering you lived in the middle of farm country but he just didn’t get that it wasn’t where you lived that should make you any less afraid. You didn’t like sharks and no way in hell were you ever stepping foot in an ocean.

“Y/N, you’re the strongest swimmer out of all of us,” said Dean, cocking his head. “This is easy for you.”

“Let’s just go up the road,” you said. “Straight to the house. On dry land.”

“It’s all open terrain. We go that way and we’ll get ganked before we even get to the front door. You and me will go in this way and we’ll both live,” said Dean, forcing a smile on his face. “Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I’m not swimming in the ocean!” you said. Dean rubbed his temples, giving you that look that said you were tougher than this and to stop freaking out.

“We’ll be in the water for two minutes tops. Just hop in, swim across and we’re fine,” said Dean.

You groaned but knew it was no use. You had to go whether you liked it or not.

You were barely swimming before something rough brushed your leg. You spun around, expecting it to be Dean but he was farther back.

“Dean,” you whimpered, staring down at the black water. “Something touched me.”

“It was seaweed. Or a fish,” he said, swimming by your side. “Let’s keep-“

You didn’t hear the rest of the sentence as you were pulled under, sharp pain rippling across your calf. You punched at it, spotting black eyes and white teeth, you fists going for its nose.

You saw blood pool out into the water, the shark releasing you and swimming off. A strong hand pulled you up and broke the surface, wrapping an arm around you. You sucked in air as Dean swam the two of you back, pulling you onto the shore and dropping his bloody angel knife in the sand.

He took off his belt and wrapped it around your leg, your tear filled eyes glancing down, sighing in relief to see you still had a leg.

“D-Dean,” you said, Dean bending down to lift you up.

“Screw the hunt,” he said, jogging as fast as he could back towards Baby. “You’ll be okay.”

“I got bit by a shark,” you said, Dean wincing. “A shark!”

“I know. Try not to go into shock,” he said, shaking himself. “Fuck that thing was in the water with us.”

“We are never going in the ocean again,” you said.

“Agreed. Let’s get you to a hospital so they can fix you up now.”

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[impalaimagining]

Heroici

Pairing: Jensen x Reader, past Jared x Reader

Word Count: 3,174

Warnings: angst, character death, prolonged mourning/grief, smut

A/N: Written for @spnkinkbingo and for @spnangstbingo​. I’m so sorry.

Kink Square Filled: AU

Angst Square Filled: Military AU

Beta: @sixtysevenandwhiskey

SPN Kink Bingo Masterlist - SPN Angst Bingo Masterlist - Masterlist

The knock on your door echoed through your mind. No one knocked. No one ever knocked. You stood and stepped slowly toward the door as the blood drained from your face. You could see the uniforms through the window; two men stood on your doorstep in dress blues. The whoosh of your blood behind your eardrums combined with the violent thud of your heart deafened you to any other sounds. To this day, you don’t remember turning the knob and opening the door. 

“Hello?” Your voice was shaky. 

The man on the right handed you an envelope. Your hands trembled as tears fell onto the concrete step beneath your feet. You didn’t have to open the envelope - you knew what it said - but you opened it anyway. A sob shook your body as you read the words.

“We’re very sorry, ma’am. If there’s anything we can do for you, please, don’t hesitate to reach out.” The same man who gave you the envelope turned on his heel and proceeded back to the car awaiting both of them. 

You looked up, catching the back of his head before your eyes met those of the other man who’d been with him. His eyes were sad, but almost glowing green, and freckles were smattered across his face in the most perfect places. He didn’t look real; he looked like one of those guys you saw on the advertisements for joining the Army. They didn’t actually exist, they were just there to look pretty for the commercials.

“I’m very sorry.” His voice pulled you out of your head. 

You shook your head, cleared your throat, and swallowed. “Thank you.” You managed on a whisper. With a nod and another sympathetic look, he was gone.

It only took three days to pull the funeral together. You’d received the news on Tuesday, and the services were arranged to be held on Saturday. You found the knee-length, lacy but modest black dress that always did something unexplainable to your late husband. With a sad smile and a breath of a laugh, you pulled it on over your head and grabbed black heels to match. 

Your mom drove you to the funeral home. You never would’ve made it on your own. As you opened the car door, a hand caught yours, helping you to stand. You adjusted your dress and thanked the man with a small smile, not really looking at him until he’d let go. 

“Oh.” You breathed. It was the same green-eyed man from Tuesday. “Thank you.” You repeated.

The man remained silent, but nodded once and folded his hands together at his belt. You stepped inside, your eyes falling to the casket at the front of the room. You were the first to arrive.

Slowly, and on feeble legs, you ambled toward the pine box. You rested your hand on top, then let your head fall forward as you sobbed. The sounds echoed through the otherwise empty room, and fuck anyone who tried to come in and calm you down. 

It took almost an hour before your breathing regulated itself again, and by the time you were done hugging everyone there was to hug and were finally able to sit, you swore you didn’t have a single tear left to cry. You were wrong.

The preacher stood behind the podium. He thumbed through his bible until he found the verse about eternal life and rested his palm on the page. He looked up, eyes meeting yours for just a brief second, but it was long enough for him to give you that look - that damn look filled with so much pity that if you saw it from one more person, you swore you’d lose it. You didn’t want their pity, hell, you didn’t need it. You’d spent enough time wallowing in it over the days since you’d received the news. Pity party was practically your middle na-

“Family. Friends.” The preacher’s eyes scanned the room. “Today, we gather to celebrate the life of Jared Padalecki.”

Your throat closed and your heart pounded. This couldn’t be real.

“Jared was a son, a brother, a husband...” His eyes moved to you again. Your mind screamed fuck you and you knew you were going straight to hell for it. You didn’t care. “His time on earth was cut entirely too short.”

That was the last you heard. Nothing else mattered. None of what he was saying was relevant to Jared’s life anyway. It was a canned script. The preacher had gone so far as to ask you if Jared had any nicknames he could sprinkle into the service. God, no. Jared’s nicknames weren’t for some man - some stranger - to use to make himself feel better about the whole thing.

Jared’s mom sat on your left while your own mother sat behind you, her hand resting on your shoulder throughout the morning. The preacher opened the floor to anyone who had anything to say. You didn’t. You couldn’t. But after two of Jared’s high school friends had spoken - and cried - their way through their stories, your body moved on its own. You were standing, your legs carrying you to the front of that stuffy, overcrowded room like they were disconnected from the rest of you. 

You stood behind the wooden table and stared at the microphone, blinking slowly. Chancing a look at your mom, she pointed to herself, and then to you, a silent question of whether or not you wanted her beside you. You shook your head subtly and took a deep breath in through your nose. Pulling your lips into a thin line, you closed your eyes and opened them, only to find the gaze of the man with the green eyes. You focused on him. 

“I don’t actually know that many of you, but,” you huffed a laugh, “I know, just by looking at all of you, that Jared has changed every single one of your lives. He changed mine, that’s for sure. When I met Jared, I never expected to fall in love with him. We were drunk - God, we were so drunk.” That earned a low chuckle from the people in the seats. “But we hit it off, and I gave him my number, apparently. He texted me the next morning. The rest is kind of history. I loved - love - Jared with everything I have, and I would give anything to be able to live out the promise we made to grow old together.” You blinked back your tears and looked at the casket. “I love you, baby. I’ll see you soon.”

The steps back to your seat were numbing. You felt every eye on you, heard every sniffle, saw every flash of white as people raised tissues to wipe their eyes. As you sat down and heard the muffled sound of the preacher’s voice, you knew you had to stand again. You reached back for your mom’s hand and let her support you, unsure of whether it was actually for you, or if you were just appeasing her need to comfort you. 

Shots rang out through the cemetery. Your ears rang as you stared at the field of red and white stripes fanned out before you, then folded neatly into a little triangle. The fabric hit your hands, along with the gentle touch of a stark white glove. The brush of another person’s hand brought you from your daze. Looking up, you were shocked to find that the man with his hand still on the flag was the man who seemed to be following you - haunting you - everywhere you went. His kind, green eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled solemnly and stepped back into formation. 

The casket started its descent into the ground and you couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that there was nothing in it. No body, no possessions, nothing. Jared had died in battle, and they didn’t have time to recover his body. The thought made you sick to your stomach, bile bubbling in the back of your throat. You must’ve made a noise or something, because Jared’s dad passed you a bottle of water. You forced a smile and nodded a silent thanks in his direction before the trumpets behind you played the saddest fucking song you’d ever heard.

At the luncheon - the stupid, necessary luncheon - you were sitting at a table with your parents and Jared’s. They started talking about something - oh, grandkids - and you bolted for the bar. 

“Whiskey, double. Please.” You forced a smile for the bartender.

He sat the glass down and began pouring, catching the glint of the diamonds on your rings. “Lucky guy.” He gave you a smug grin. 

“What?” You accentuated the ‘t’.

“Your husband. He’s a lucky guy.” He shrugged, nodding toward your wedding band and flipping the whiskey bottle, stopping the pour.

“He’s fucking dead, asshole.” You snapped, loud enough to catch the attention of the tables closest to the bar. They turned and looked at you, and you could not have possibly cared any less. 

“Hey, whoa, okay.” Strong hands held your upper arms as you snatched your whiskey glass and were pulled away from the bar. “You think you really need that right now?”

You scoffed and threw back half the drink, shuddering before looking up to tell off the man who criticized you and dragged you from the confrontation. Son of a bitch. “Seriously?!” You looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You’re everywhere. Ever since you showed up at my house and told me that my husband isn’t coming ho-” Tears poured from your eyes before you could finish the statement. 

The man - the kinda creepy, a little bit shy, and a lotta bit handsome mystery man - pulled you into his arms. You didn’t care that you didn’t know him. You didn’t care that all of Jared’s friends and family were watching. You didn’t care. You needed someone like this, and this complete stranger knew that better than any of the people who claimed to be your family. 

“Shh, I’ve got ya.” His hand smoothed over your hair while you cried into his white button-down shirt. “I know. I know...” 

You pulled back and looked up at him, wiping at your tears quickly. “I’m sorry.” You wriggled out of his embrace.

He shook his head. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. I know what you’re goin’ through. It’s tough, but you’ve got people here for you, y’know?” You nodded as he extended his hand with a light chuckle. “I’m Jensen, by the way.”

It shouldn’t have felt right when you two met for coffee every Wednesday and Saturday. It shouldn’t have felt right when he kissed you, only a few months after Jared’s casket was covered and in the ground. It shouldn’t have felt right when he suggested the two of you live together. It shouldn’t have felt right the first time he made love to you. None of it should’ve been right, but it was... 

“Jensen!” You cried out into the darkness, clutching at his broad shoulders. 

Jensen rutted his hips against the insides of your thighs. His nose bumped yours gently as he kissed you. His fingers laced with yours on either side of your head and held you where you were. Jensen fucked down into you with almost his full weight, and the tingling in the tops of your legs told you you weren’t getting out of bed anytime soon after this round. You didn’t mind.

Your nails dug into the meat of Jensen’s back as one hand left yours to trail down your body. He squeezed your hip before grazing his thumb to the apex of your thighs. The pad of the thick digit brushed your clit softly and you bit at his bottom lip. Your nerve endings were alight with pure, primal need for Jensen to finish the job. Everything in your body screamed for Jensen, your throat sore from the loud moans of his name that had echoed off your bedroom walls all night. 

Jensen’s hips snapped forward, hard and deep, and you swore you felt him in your stomach. Every sensation hit you at once - his lips molded with yours, the weight of his body on you, the stretch of him between your legs, the rough skin of his thumb pressed against your most sensitive parts. You crumbled, your legs shaking around Jensen’s hips as he slowed his thrusts and found his own release.

After a few quiet minutes of lingering touches and soft, drawn out kisses, Jensen pulled himself from within you and laid beside you, pulling you onto his chest. His fingers drifted over the skin of your upper arm and shoulder while you nuzzled into the crook of his neck. You traced patterns onto his chest as your breathing evened out.

“I love you.” Jensen whispered. 

So much for even breaths. 

You looked up at him, surprised by his confession. “I mean it.” He assured you. “I love you. I really, really love you. I’m - I’m in love with you, and I don’t need you to say it back, I just had to-”

You cut him off, jumping at the chance to kiss him again. Jensen knew you didn’t need to say the words. Every ounce of everything you’d ever felt for him was flowing between the two of you as your lips connected.

You and Jensen spent months apart when he was called back to the base, and it killed you to be away from him, but the reunions. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before every time you saw him, and you swore he got better looking every time he came home.

One of his stays had you feeling particularly on edge, and you couldn’t pinpoint why. You woke up every morning feeling nauseous, but nothing ever came of it. You chalked it up to the anxiety of missing him and knowing what happened the last time the man you loved walked out of your house with his camouflage bag slung over his shoulder. Absentmindedly, you twirled your wedding band on your right ring finger and your stomach lurched. You ran for the toilet and lost the contents of your stomach into the bowl.

“Shit.” You groaned, looking down. Your eyes caught on your watch and you frowned at the date. “That can’t right.” Pulling out your phone, you double checked. After the clarification, the panic set in. You snagged your keys from the counter and ran to your car.

Jensen came home twelve days later, and you were beyond anxious for his arrival. He burst through the door and scooped you into a hug, crashing his lips to yours in a bruising kiss. You chewed your bottom lip nervously and watched as he hung his bag on the hook by the front door.

“I’m so fuckin’ happy to be home.” He sighed, getting ready to sit on the couch.

You couldn’t help yourself, the words fell from your lips before your mind’s filter could kick in. It surprised you almost as much as it surprised him.

“Jensen, I - I’m pregnant!” You stammered, watching his reaction carefully. When his eyebrows raised and the corners of his mouth turned up slightly, you knew it was okay to smile.

“Are you serious?” Jensen looked at you in awe as you nodded and pulled the pregnancy test from behind your back. “Oh my God!” He grabbed you around the waist, crushing you to his chest and spinning you in a circle. You giggled as tears lingered just out of the corners of your eye. “We’re gonna have a baby!” 

You nodded, your feet hitting the ground softly. Smiling, you reached up and laid your palm on his scruffy cheek as you whispered. “We’re having a baby.”

Jensen insisted on you quitting your job at the coffee shop as soon as you went to the doctor and got the “official” test done. Once the doctor confirmed the pregnancy, Jensen had you on strict orders to do the bare minimum. You swore you gained double the normal weight in your first trimester. 

You were showing by the time Jensen’s birthday came around, so you wrapped your stomach with a bow and a little tag that said, “Present within - do not open until June.” Jensen laughed at that, taking a picture before he unwrapped his gift fully, stripping you down and nosing at your neck while he reminded you how beautiful you were to him - no matter how your body looked.

A month and a half after Jensen’s birthday, the two of you packed up for the day and headed to the lake. Jensen pulled into the gravel lot and loaded himself up with the chairs and fishing poles while you grabbed the cooler. 

You spent the day sitting by the edge of the water, lines cast out, talking about what the next few months of your lives would bring. “You still have to build that crib, you know.” You teased him, earning a dismissive wave of his hand and a light roll of his eyes. 

“I’ve got time.” He shrugged. 

“You’ve got maybe eight weeks.” You pursed your lips and rested your hand on your baby bump, rubbing lightly as you talked to your unborn child. “Dad doesn’t wanna do stuff for you.” You glanced at Jensen, a coy smile on your lips. “You won’t even have a place to sleep if he keeps this up.”

“Hey, knock it off.” Jensen chuckled, laying his hand over yours. “I’ll do it when we get home today. Scout’s honor.” He held up three fingers and you giggled.

When you got home a few hours later, Jensen headed straight for what was going to be the nursery and opened the box with all the crib parts inside. He groaned when he saw all the legs and screws and parts. You giggled, standing in the doorway and watching him.

Jensen stood, brushing his hands together with a content sigh. “Not too bad, huh, Mama?” He pulled you into the room and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder while you smiled and shook your head.

“Not too bad at all.” You turned and kissed the tip of his nose. Jensen spun you around and kissed your lips deeply. As his hands slipped under the fabric of your shirt, holding your hips, the doorbell rang. Jensen groaned. “Let it go.” It rang again, and once more. You furrowed your brows and fixed your shirt, walking to the door with purpose.

Without peering through the blinds, without checking out the window, with no hesitation at all, you opened the door and your breath left your lungs. Your heart stopped and your knees buckled under your weight. Jensen’s arms caught you from behind before you could fall to the floor. As he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, he glanced up. 

Jensen’s breath caught in his throat and he choked on his words, clearing his throat and blinking slowly. “Jared?”

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[writingfromkitchenator]

You’re Not Real

SPN Angst Bingo

@spnangstbingo ~ I finally had more inspiration, but this one is pretty dark.

Square filled: Agateophobia (The fear of going insane)

Mentioned Gabriel X OC

Warnings:  Alluded to Non-Con, torture, Lucifer

Words: 2010

Feedback is greatly appreciated.

The sound of shattering glass had Sam and Dean on their feet in seconds, running through the safe house cabin they were staying in, heading to the kitchen.  They both froze instantly when they stepped through the doorway.

Grace stands there, breathing hard, gun raised to the doorway straight between them.

Dean holds up his hands. “Easy sis, you can put the gun down, it’s only us.”

She blinks a few times, green eyes flicking between the two of them a few times before back between them. Slowly, she lowers her gun, a bead of sweat running down from her temple, a slight shake in her hand.

Sam takes a cautious step forward, gently taking the gun off of her.  “Are you okay?”

Grace nods and practically collapses into the chair at the table, glancing over at the shatter bottle of beer in the corner and tutting.

The brothers share a look. “Grace, if you want to tell us something…”

“I’m fine.”  She said sternly, running a hand back through her short hair.  “Must have just been…I don’t know, I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

Lucifer sits next to her. “I wonder why that is.”

Sam and Dean watch as tension shoots down her back, but she doesn’t move from the table, staring at the chair opposite.

Lucifer smirks.  “Awe, isn’t that cute, you’re worrying them.”

Grace stands quickly and pushes her way past Sam and Dean.  “I’m going out for a bit.”

“I don’t think-” Dean doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, the door slamming behind her.  “Man, I know the roads been tough, but what’s gotten into her.”

“In all fairness Dean, we don’t really know what Cas has unleashed in her head.”  Sam said, placing her gun on the table.  “Who knows what she’s going through, and I’m sure losing Bobby hasn’t helped, among other things.”

Dean shakes his head and moves to clean up the glass.  “She could still talk to us man, we only want to help.”

Sam gives a sad smile. “We’re not exactly the best family for that, are we?”

“There’s still limits Sam, I mean, if she’s seeing shit,” He pauses.  “We need to know about it.”

“That’s what you think this is?”

“Who knows what Lucifer did to her in the cage,” Dean takes the glass over to the bin.  “Who knows what she’s remembering from being soulless. All I’m saying is that it could be a lot of shit at once catching up to her and, if that’s the case, she’s not going to be top of her game.”

Sam nods.  “I agree, but I also know that we can’t pressure her into telling us Dean, it’ll only push her away.”

“Yeah, she gets her stubbornness from Dad, sadly.”  Dean pulls two beers from the fridge and hands one to Sam.

“Well, she can join the club.”  Sam said.

 Grace’s heart races as she storms through the forest, not really caring in what direction she heads in or what she walks through, she just knows that she doesn’t want to stop.

Lucifer follows every step, looking around the forest as they walk.  “You know, I thought Winchester’s faced their problems head on.”

Her jaw clenches and she picks up the pace.

“Oh wait, this is a personal issue, right.”  He grins at her.  “All you know what to do is run from those.”

“Shut up.”  She snapped, not looking at him.

“Oh, finally going to properly acknowledge my existence, it’s about time really, I was getting bored.”

“I said shut up!”  She yells, stopping and turning to face him, her gaze burning with anger.  “You are not real!  You are securely locked away in the cage!”

Lucifer gives a steady smirk, unfazed.  “Really? So why are you seeing me Gracie?”

Grace’s face pales and she turns away, drawing in haggard breathes, clutching at the nearest tree to try and steady herself.

“Face it Gracie,” Lucifer drawls, leaning into her ear.  “You’re still locked away with me.  Didn’t I promise you that none of this was going to end quickly?”

She sinks against the tree, trying to fight tears, but as a sob breaks from her, there’s no stopping it, her cries filling the all but silent forest, where she sits alone.

 “Grace, stop.”

“I’m fine Dean.”

“No, you’re not, look can just-”

“No!”

Dean grabs her arm tightly, stopping her from going any further, causing Grace to turn and try and hit him, only for Sam to grab her too, halting any movement as she struggles against them.

“Let me go!”  She yells, drawing attention from others on the street.

“Grace, you need to stop this.” Dean said in a hushed voice.  “If you don’t stop and get some sleep then you are going to get yourself killed.”

“I don’t care!”  Grace manages to kick out at Dean, who lets her go to avoid the blow, and she swings her head back into Sam, hitting him on the nose which instantly breaks his grip.  “I’m dead anyway!”

She turns and bolts, shoving through the on lookers and Dean is quick to follow after her, leaving Sam to hold his bleeding nose.

“Grace!”

She doesn’t look back, can’t look back, letting her feet hit the pavement hard, not caring where she was going, just wanting to be away from everyone.

“Grace!”  Dean shouts after her again, falling behind a little more as she rounds a corner quickly.

Grace dodges several people and she fights back a wave of terror as she catches Lucifer out of the corner of her eye.  She catches sight another back alley and hurries for it, wanting to be alone, wanting not to see anything anymore.

Her footsteps echo loudly between the high brick walls, the noises of the street disappearing and she pumps her arms, pushing herself harder.

Lucifer appears in front of her and she screams, trying to stop but instead sliding hard to the ground hard, cutting up her pants and her hands as she stops just at Lucifer’s feet and begins to loudly sob, covering her head.

“Awww, is little Gracie scared?”  Lucifer tuts. “I didn’t think fear was a big thing for you lot, I thought you were too idiotic to feel it.”

“Stop.”  She whimpers.  “Please.”

“Gracie, Gracie, Gracie,” Lucifer sighs and crouches down next to her.  “After all the fun we’ve had?  You agreed to be mine, remember?  When you let me in?  Let me start the apocalypse?”

“We stopped it!”  She curls up tighter.  “We stopped it!  You’re not real!”

He nods.  “Yeah, you and those two dorks you call brothers stopped it and you got locked away with me, or doesn’t that ring a bell anymore? Maybe this will help.”

She feels flames licking at her skin, feels heat breaking through and burning her, the light flashing before her eyes as she begins to scream.

A pair of hands grab her and she fights back wildly, struggling with all her might to pull herself away, only getting a few steps before she collapses again.

Lucifer leans against the wall, watching her.  “Didn’t we have some fun times?  I’m sure it was more entertaining than whatever Gabriel could’ve done.”

Grace’s hands clench on the ground and she fights to push herself up, ignoring the tears, dirt and blood she’s covered.  “Don’t you dare mention him!”

He covers his mouth with a mock look of guilt.  “Oh, I’m sorry, did I hit a nerve?”

She screams and runs at him, but all Grace hits is the brick wall, her hand smashing into it, making her scream more as she holds it, her fingers broken.

“Just leave me alone!” She screams, her voice breaking.  “Get the fuck out of my head!”

Lucifer grins.  “What can I say Gracie, you let me be here.”

Grace collapses forward, only to be caught, but she has no strength left, just sobbing.

Dean keeps her up.  “Easy Grace, I’ve got you.”

“Make it stop,” She whimpers.  “Please make it stop.  I never wanted this.”

“I know sweetheart.” Dean looks up as Sam finally catches up, his face and shirt covered in blood.  “We want to help, but you’ve got to tell us what’s wrong.”

“Lucifer,” Her voice breaks. “Please stop.  I can’t keep doing this.  I don’t want to be crazy.”

“That’s who you’re seeing?” Dean asks.  “You’ve been seeing Lucifer?”

“Why did you have to kill Gabriel?”  She sobs, clutching at Dean.  “Why would you do that to him?!”

Sam joins Dean and they manoeuvre her between them, trying to keep her steady as she sways dangerously. “We need to get her off the streets.”

Dean nods, his face grim. “I think she’s going to need more than that, but for now, it’s a start.”

Grace suddenly tries to struggle against them, but they hold her tight as she groans.  “No, you can’t, I can’t go to…to one of those places…I’m not…I’m crazy…you have to believe me.”

“We know that sis,” Dean said slowly.  “But until we can work out how to get that bastard out of your head, it’s going to be a lot safer.”

“They’ll…they’ll do things.” She whines, her head lolling down to her chest.  “He’ll do things if I’m alone.  I can’t…”

“Awww, poor Gracie,” Lucifer mocks, walking backwards facing them as Sam and Dean mostly carry her down a path.  “I thought we were having fun?  Maybe this will help.”

His forms shifts and he grins at her from Gabriel’s form as she struggles to keep her eyes open, openly sobbing, forcing her gaze to the ground and the unsteady steps of her feet.

“You can’t get me twice with that.”  She mumbles, her voice defiant and disgusted, even in its weak state.  “You…you have no power over me…”

“Judging by your state,” Lucifer returns to himself.  “I really don’t think you believe that.”

Grace’s heart races and she fights to breathe, making Sam and Dean stop, sharing a quick look before Dean takes her weight and Sam moves in front of her, trying to get her to look at him.

“Come on Grace, focus on me.”  He said gently.  “It’s Sam. Can you hear me?”

Her eyes were blurred, but for a moment, they focused.  “Sammy?”

Sam smiles sadly.  “Yeah, do you think you can focus on me and Dean? We won’t stop talking to you, okay? Is that going to help?”

Tears slipped down her cheeks.  “He’s an obnoxious prick, Sammy.”

Both brothers give a small laugh, sharing a look before Sam returns to her.  “Yeah, but he’s not really here, okay?  You’re with us.  You’re safe.”

She gives a half attempt at a nod before her head falls forward again, completely slumping in Dean’s arms, Sam quickly grabbing her other one to keep her up.

“This is not good Sam.” Dean said as they started walking again. “We can’t have her out of action.”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice Dean.”  Sam said. “If she’s seeing Lucifer, it’s going to be far too dangerous to have her with us, let alone…”  He swallows.  “If these get worse, it could lead her to bad things Dean, not to mention driving her insane.”

Grace whimpers between them.

Dean licks his lips.  “It going to be okay sweetheart, I promise. We’ll get this sorted and you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

“Dean…”  Sam glances at him and Dean shakes his head.

“We’re not just going to give up on her Sammy, there’s got to be something that we can do.”  Dean keeps his gaze locked ahead.  “I mean…shit, there’s got to be someone we can talk to.”

“Gabriel…”  Grace whimpers, Sam and Dean hardly hearing her. “Why…”

“Let’s just…get her out here first.”  Sam said quietly as they both glance at her.  “Then we can work out what to do next.”

Dean nods grimly, both of them carrying her back out into the street, making their way over to the Impala and carefully getting her in the back before driving off.

[supersleepygoat]

Better for Everyone: Part 1

Parings: Platonic Sam x Reader, Platonic John x Reader, Platonic Dean x Reader (this will change in subsequent chapters)

Warnings: Angst. Some more angst. Minor violence.

Word Count: 2,799

Square Filled: Black Cat

Summary: the Reader spent most of her life with the Winchesters. She loves them like family but doesn’t feel like the feeling is mutual. When she is essentially kicked out of the Winchester clan she is left physically and emotionally vulnerable to dangerous situations.

A/N: This is my first submission for @spnangstbingo – also my first attempt at writing fanfiction! So here goes nothing! Feel free to let me know what you think… I’d love to hear how you think I could improve!

Series Masterlist

The motel door flew open and Dean threw his blood caked machete onto the wobbling table.  Sam came in close behind rolling his eyes at Dean who had flopped down on the kitchen chair and started picking at the superficial wound he had on his neck. Right before Sam could chastise Dean for his gross behaviour, he was interrupted by the motel door slamming shut.

Looking toward the sound, Sam saw Y/N with her head cast downward staring at her hands with great interest. John was coming in from behind her and threw his duffle bag on the table next to Dean’s discarded weapon.

Dean glances up at his father face and notices John’s eyes are closed as he takes a deep breath. Getting up from his seat, Dean knows he does not want to be between his father and the current object of his frustration, Y/N.

Sam silently calls dibs on the first shower, hoping to avoid being pulled into in yet another argument with his father and his adoptive sister.

John rounds on Y/N who is still fascinated by the dirt under her fingernails. Looming over her, Y/N peaks up at John from beneath her eyelashes then quickly averts her gaze when she notices the sneer cemented on his face.

Too tired to deal with his father’s power play, Dean attempts to intervene, “Dad, relax everyone is alive. No one got hurt too badly... just the usual bumps and brui-”

“That is the exact problem Dean!” John interrupted. “These ‘usual bumps and bruises’ happen way too fucking often because she can never follow orders,” John continued, never taking his gaze off of you.

“John, I’m sorry but he was going to -“ you tried to interject but were cut off.

“Don’t apologize to me, girly.” John chuckled without an ounce of humour. “Dean is the one who nearly got a chunk taken out of his neck by that vampire bitch while he was trying to save your ass, again.”

“Dad -” Dean tried to offer you an escape but was quickly silenced by the levelling stare he got from his father.

Turning back to face you, John silently waited for your excuses to start flowing. He waited for the tears, the apologies and the promises to be better. You have had this argument so often that by now it has a predictable script that each player follows.

To John’s surprise you raise your head to look him in the eyes. He did not see the usual unshed tears or crestfallen eyes he expected. Instead, you looked at him with an emptiness that made his breath hitch in is throat. He quickly regained his steely demeanour and simply continued waiting for you to play your part.

Instead of speaking, you walked around John to find your duffle bag that was stashed beside the stained couch you had been using as a bed during the hunt.

“What the hell are you doing? I’m not done with you yet,” John roared when he felt ignored.

“Yes, you are,” you replied flatly. “You’ve been done with me for years. Pretty much since the day you took me in. You all have.” You looked back at Dean and Sam, who had emerged from the bathroom without you noticing. “I was never supposed to be a permanent addition to your family. You made that clear with all the times you tried pawning me off to other hunters or joked about how you would’ve left me at a fire station had you not thought I would wander off and get hit by a car.”

“Come on, Y/N. You know that’s just a stupid joke I make when I’m drunk and worrying about all these mouths I have to feed and keep safe,” John tried to justify.

“Yeah, Y/N/N. You know you’re family.” Sam tried to offer a reassuring smile to match his words but it had no effect on you. You had lived the truth far too long to be convinced otherwise.

“Do I?” You questioned emotionlessly. “When you took me in after my parents were killed by the poltergeist, I was only five. But, I still remember parts of my old life. I remember the warmth. I remember knowing with all my heart that I had love and support. I remember trusting them not to hurt me.”

“You don’t trust us?” Dean questioned in a stern and cold tone.

“I trust you, all of you, with my life but I don’t trust that you actually care if I live or die?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Dean just literally put his neck on the line to save you,” John all but boomed.

“You guys risk your life every day for complete strangers; but your world always keeps turning even if you lose them. I feel like I fall into that camp. Your lives will go on with or without me. And lately, I seem to be more trouble than I’m worth”.

As the last word left your lips you silently hoped they would all jump in to contradict you all at once. But, you knew better.

After a few seconds of silence, that felt more like years to you, you reached down for your duffle bag again. Sam was the first one to be awoken out of his stunned state of silence. “Y/N/N, you have to know that’s not true! You’re like a sister to Dean and me. And Dad -“ Sam gestures in the direction of his father but all John does is narrow his eyes and tighten his jaw.

“I’m just a damsel of the week that you’ve never been able to get rid of. I’m 22 now, Sammy. I’m not your responsibility.” You quickly interject to prevent John from saying something in return that would forever break your heart. You’ve always loved him as a father, despite knowing he could never love you as one of his own.

You walk over to Dean who refuses to look you in the eyes. “Dean, I’m so sorry I put you in danger tonight. You are the last pers-“

“Let her go, Sammy.” Dean interrupted without even acknowledging you were standing in front of him trying to apologize. “She wants to go off and find something or someone better, then see ya later, sweetheart.” Dean was annoyed with your reckless behaviour on the hunt but hearing you say you don’t trust him with all your heart after everything he had done for you, for your entire life, made his blood boil.

“What? I wasn’t - you want me to leave?“ You tried to swallow the lump in your throat but it felt as though it was already blocking your airway. You were simply just going to go stay in another room for the night. You were going to give everyone the chance to calm down and sleep it off. But, now Dean is suggesting he doesn’t want you to come back.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” you heard John’s cold voice from behind you breath out.

Your pride was telling you to just turn and leave and never let them see you cry. But, you couldn’t stop the broken words from leaving your lips “Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?”

“Like you said sweetheart, you’re not our responsibly. Go do whatever the hell you want,” Dean answers with daggered words.

“De-“ Sam, always the voice of reason, tried to intervene but Dean has already turned his back to you. Tears pricked your eyes and you lost what little composure you had left.

“What did I ever do to you?” You thought your words would come out strangled with sadness but instead, they came out in a hurtful rage. You took a step forward to try and reach for Dean’s arm, to force him to look at you for the first time tonight. But the second you touched him, he whipped around and pushed your hand off him.

“What about what I have done for you, Y/N?” Dean sneered as he took a step toward you in anger. You refused to back down because you knew he would never actually hurt you. “I fucking raised you! Your whole goddamn life, I’ve protected you! I never asked for you, another mouth to feed, another kid to worry about and shield from the fucking nightmare we call a life. Sammy was and always will be my responsibility. You on the other hand...“ Dean finally looked into your eyes. “You were just a burden I was forced to take on. But like you said, sweetheart… you walk out that door and my world will keep turning. I don’t need you.”

You could only blink at Dean in response, causing a few stray tears to fall down your face. You opened your mouth to speak but the words had been knocked out of you. Your worst nightmare has become a reality. The man you admire most in this world thinks so little of you, resents you, to the point of wanting to be rid of you so bad he would condemn you to live on your own; a death sentence for anyone associated with the Winchesters.

You heard the motel door open and you turned to see John standing there with his head hung in tired defeat. “Kid, I think we’ve all had enough for the night. I’ll call you in morning and we’ll... we’ll go from there. But for now…” he nods his head to gesture toward outside. “This is better for everyone.”

You nod absentmindedly, picking up your duffle and clutching it to your chest as you walk past the patriarch. You are looking, hoping, for a sign of regret but you are only met with a tired expression.

In the cold nighttime air, you flinch at the sound of the door closing behind you. Unsure of what to do, you look to see the ’No Vacancy’ sign lit up in neon red. You fumble with your bag, getting ready to simply walk to the nearest 24-hour diner. Then, you hear the door open again behind you.

Sam emerges from the room with wide eyes that fall sorrowful once he meets your tear stained face. “Y/N/N, I don’t know…” Sam trailed off not sure what to say to you. He knew he wanted to come after you, but didn’t know what to say once he’d found you.

You simply nod your head and give him a weak smile to reassure him that there is nothing he needs to say.

“Where are you going to go?”

Glancing back to the ’No Vacancy’ sign, you shrug and reply “I’ll stay close by. We’ll talk in the morning and go from there”.

“Y/N, it may take more than a good night’s sleep to get over what was said. Dean is pretty pis- we’re all hurt by what just happened. This wasn’t a heat of the moment argument. It seems we’ve all been keeping things in for a long time. I wouldn’t get your hopes up that everything will go back to normal when the sun comes up.”

You try and meet Sam’s gaze to read what he’s trying to tell you as gently as possible. But, he now staring at the undone laces of his boots.

“Do you... are you telling me stay away for a while? Do you want me to stay gone too?” You try to steady your voice but the hurt spills out unintentionally.

“I think everyone needs to take a minute. I mean you're obviously not happy with us-“

“That’s not -“

“Please, Y/N. It could be best for everyone,” Sam breathed out in a defeated tone. He was looking at you now, pleading with his eyes that you not make this any more difficult for him to say than it already is.

Hurting John and the boys was the last thing you ever wanted. You were disgusted with yourself for adding to their stress and burden.

You will a smile onto your face that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but hopefully it’s enough to ease the guilt that laces Sam’s voice. “I understand, Sammy. I’ll keep my distance. You guys deserve some uninterrupted family time for a while. You know how to reach me, you know... in case there is another apocalypse or something and you need an extra hand.” You try and joke but the corner of Sam’s mouth barely twitches upward as he nods in agreement.

“Be safe, Y/N. Please just don’t go hunting by yourself or do anything reckless. Take this time to find out what you really want.”

“I’ll try my best but you know how it is for us Winch-“ you quickly corrected yourself before you mistakenly called yourself an honorary Winchester “You know me, trouble seems to find me.” You try to playfully shrug to cover up the tightening in your chest.

“Please, just try.”

“I will. You don’t have to worry about me anymore, Sammy. Well, I guess this is goodbye for now.” You stand before Sam waiting for the bear hug and kiss on the forehead he usually gives you when you’ve had a rough day. But, it never came.

Sam smiles sadly at you, reminding you again to stay safe while he hands you your knife that you had forgotten in the motel during your sudden departure. With a quick goodbye and a nod of his head, Sam disappears back into the motel room. Once again, leaving you alone in the cool August night.

After walking aimlessly toward the center of town you stumble upon a diner but suddenly the idea of food makes your stomach churn. So, you keep walking until you reach a park with a wooden bench overlooking a small pond and forested path.

Flopping down onto the bench, you expected tears to fall but they never came. You stared blankly into the water for minutes that felt like hours. You were roused from you numb state when something small jumps onto the bench beside you.

You look over and see a black cat sitting next to you, staring at you. You stare back and a faint smile plays on your lips. “Hiya, Cat.” You greet your new friend. The cat takes your words as an invitation and walks over to sit on your lap. You stare out into the water together.

A calm settles over you as you stroke the cat’s body and hear soft purrs in response. Within a few minutes, the cat darts off your lap in the direction of the forested area and you breathe out a laugh. “Figures” you sadly smile to yourself.  

From the bushes in which the cat had ran off to, you hear an angry hiss and deep meow that sets you on edge. You get up from the bench and walk toward the thick greenery. You have always loved animals and wanted to make sure the cat hadn’t gotten himself stuck in the branches.

Once a little deeper into the trees, you hear rustling that is too loud and disruptive to come from something as agile as a cat. You pull out your knife and turn around and are met with a fist colliding with your temple.

Disoriented, you try to pick up your fallen knife but your hand is crushed under the force of a steel toed boot. You wince but look up to see the face of your attacker. You are met with a crooked grin and a “Nighty night, sweetheart!” before his boot released your hand and came down over your face, leaving you in instant darkness.

Your assailant goes to collect your unconscious form off the ground when he hears tsking coming from behind him.

A tall man emerges from the shadows of the trees, so the moonlight can highlight his masculine features. He leans against one of the trees and is holding the black cat that had lured you into the forested covering. He looks at the cat with an almost warm admiration while he scratched the felines ears. “You’re a good little kitty, aren’t you?” the man all but cooed “I think I’m going to keep you.”  

With a dramatic turn of his head, the man holding the cat was now looking over at your body still sprawled out in the dirt. “Looks like I got two new pets tonight!” the man continued with a gleeful smirk, and more excitement in his voice than was probably necessary.

His smile instantly fades when he looks over to your attacker who is looking at him with slight fear in his eyes awaiting instruction.

“Don’t just fucking stand there. Get the girl and load her in the truck. Then, go get the shit she left over by the bench, especially her phone.” The man then starts to walk away mumbling something inaudible to the cat that was still curled up in his arms. His lackey scoops you up and starts carrying out his orders.

[fandomoniumflurry]

And the Thunder Rolls

for @spnpolybingo Square Filled: KaliSamGabriel

for @spnangstbingo Square Filled: Thunder

for @samwinchesterbingo Square Filled: Angst

Sam was the one man that could save mankind making him the most important being in existence. Gabriel vowed to stay out of the fight and watch from the sidelines. But when Kali threatened to take down one of Gabriel’s favorite humans, he is forced to choose between saving the world and killing the woman he once loved. In the Apocalypse, everyone is forced to make hard choices. He might have saved the Winchester but Gabriel didn’t come out unscathed. The wounds in his flesh were temporary but the pain in his heart would stay with him for the rest of eternity. It was this moment that Sam and Gabriel both realized that the fallen archangel truly had a heart and he had finally chosen a side.