#the world is full of monsters yet sam prays every night

[deanwinchesterpregnant]

s1-3 are truly the platonic ideal of supernatural i miss it so much…

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

[thisbisexualbrainrot]

15x20: Soft Epilogue

Here I go writing fix it fic again. It’s almost 2am and I couldnt sleep until I posted it. I hope its enjoyable. Definitely fluff and a little angst thrown in as well. The soft epilogue with happy endings that Sam and Dean deserved. I didnt get a good place to mention this in the fic, but I believe Sam and Eileen would have rebuilt the American Men of Letters together. :)  _________________

Sunlight glinted against the black impala as she flew down the back country road. It was midday and the air was warm. Turns out when you are fighting for your life, you forget to pay attention to the seasons change. Sam was grateful they could pay attention to that now. 

He checked his phone again. No response yet. Where is she? 

“Hey um... Eileen hasn't called me yet and she's not answering. Do you think she didn't come back?” Sam asked, glancing over at Dean who was tapping his hand on the wheel. 

“Jack wouldn't do that, he would bring her back with everyone else. It's okay Sammy. She'll be there.” Dean assured him, he gave Sam a smirk and looked back at the road. “She probably just doesn't have a phone remember?” 

“Yeah, you're right.” Sam sighed, running his hand through his hair. She has to be there. Dean noticed Sam fidgeting and stepped on the gas.

In the backseat, Miracle barked in approval. 

Before Dean even had the car in park, Sam opened the passenger door and ran up to Eileen's door. Dean chuckled as he watched Sam bound up and the front door opened quickly. Eileen ran out to meet him and the two crashed into each other. Smiles, kisses, laughter. Good Dean thought Sammys happy. For the first time, Dean isn't worried about his little brother anymore. They changed the world, for good, and now Sam has a real chance for a real relationship. Eileen is good for him. 

Eventually Dean got out of the car, Eileen gave him a hug and signed while saying “Thank you.”

Dean looked at Sam, who hadn’t stopped grinning ear to ear, and smirked “Yeah well, now he's your problem.” “Yeah okay” Sam laughed. “I’ll call you later”. Eileen wrapped her arm around Sam’s waist and Dean was confident he wouldn’t be hearing from his brother for a while. 

“Yeah yeah” Dean smiled, “You kids have fun.” 

“I'm 37, Dean.” 

Dean gave them a shit eating grin and slid into the impala “I'm gonna go check on Jody and the girls. Apparently Claire is really pissed she got zapped and missed everything. She keeps texting me.” 

Dean put the car in reverse and he noticed Eileen jump into Sam's arms and kiss him as the car pulled away. Deans phone was laying on the passenger seat and it vibrated with another text from Claire: 

How is Cas? Is he with you? 

---

The lights flickered on in the bunker as Dean walked in with Miracle at his heels and he shut the heavy door behind them. The emptiness of it felt especially loud as he had spent the last few days sleeping on Jody’s couch in a house full of teenagers. 

He sighed as he remembered telling them about Cas. He couldn't meet Jody’s eye the entire time. He kept it simple, just told them what he had told Sam and Jack: 

Cas summoned the empty. 

Cas saved him. 

Cas was gone.  

Claire especially didn't take it well and the first night she fell asleep leaning on Dean's shoulder in front of the TV. Kaia came downstairs and Dean woke Claire up long enough for her to let Kaia lead her up to their room. 

Poor kid he thought as he picked up the decanter and filled his glass. He had gotten a text from Sam: 

Going on a trip with Eileen actually. We thought some time away might help us find normal again, if that's even possible. Call you later? 

Dean sent a short response telling Sam that was fine and tossed his phone on the library table.

What to do now? 

The whole world was open, skys the limit. For the first time he had no one to protect, no world to save, no monsters to hunt...just his own thoughts in an empty bunker. Well, except for his dog curled up next to his feet. It was terrifying and Dean found himself pounding down whiskey a lot faster than he intended. 

A few glasses in and he started praying. 

“Cas…” he whispered to the silence “Cas..I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” Dean felt his eyes fill with tears. “Cas...why didn't you tell me before...”

“Dean” 

Dean's head shot up. He must have really drank way too much because there was absolutely no way this was real. But there Jack was, standing in front of him with the same white jacket, same innocent smile on his face. 

“Hello” he said, raising his hand. “I'm here for your advice.” 

He said it so sincerely, Dean couldn't help but let out a sad, drunk laugh. His body relaxed a little and he looked up at him. “Man you can't just pop in- I mean you can it's just….Jack, I'm not in the place to be givin’ you advice anymore alright? Besides, I thought you were going to be all hands off?” 

“I am, mostly. I think. I don't really know, I'm still figuring it out. Amara is helping me.” Jack waited patiently while Dean’s intoxicated mind took in this information. 

“Alright” Dean stood up and leaned against the table, his arms crossed. Strangely, talking to Jack as whatever he was, was easier than he thought. He missed this. “What’s going on kid?”  

Jack nodded at Dean’s approval to ask. “I want to take Cas out of the empty but Amara said I should ask you.” 

Dean froze. His mouth went dry. Cas. “So you- you can get him out?”

“Yes, it seems quite possible. Chuck showed me how in his memories. He was able to pull Lucifer out and Amara told me it should work for Cas as well.” 

Dean's head was spinning. “I..um well, why are you asking me then?” 

“You are very important to him Dean.” Jack said with such firm resolve, “If you think this is a bad idea, I will respect that. Amara said it should be up to you.” 

Dean's heart leaped at the thought of seeing Cas again. Panic mixed with pure elation. He was terrified but of course the answer was obvious. “Yeah..” Dean whispered. “Yeah” he repeated louder, clearing his throat “Yeah, Bring him back.” Dean swallowed and looked at the floor. His mind desperately trying to understand that this was happening, this was real. Cas.

Jack smiled “That's what I told her you would say. Thank you Dean. Give me a moment.” and disappeared. The silence was deafening and then Dean heard his phone vibrate. He spun around and almost fell over a chair getting to where it laid abandoned on the table. “...Cas?” 

“No, Dean it's Sam. Are you okay?” “Sammy I um....” Dean couldn't find the words “Jack, he was here.” 

“What? Dean what's going on?” 

“He-...” And then Miracle started barking and Dean let his phone drop to the floor.

“Hello Dean”

He was standing a few feet away, this couldnt be real.  “...Cas I..” Dean started but he lost the ability to speak. He was really there. Rumpled trench coat, crooked tie, tousled hair and bright blue eyes. Dean tried to speak again. Why couldn't he say anything else? Too drunk, too stunned and too afraid to move. Damn it. “Cas...you’re here.”

“Yes” Cas smiled “I'm here.” Dean sensed a nervous caution in his voice. “It's good to see you Dean.” “Cas, what the hell were you thinking?” Dean’s voice was low and Cas furrowed his brow.

“I was protecting you.” 

Dean shook his head like he didn't want to hear it. Like he wouldn't accept that as a reason.

“Dean, BIllie would have killed us. You know that. The world needed you alive Dean. I needed you alive.” Cas paused and met Deans’ gaze again. “It was more important to make sure you were safe.” 

Dean pursed his lips and closed his eyes in frustration. “Im sorry, more important?” Dean looked at Cas again,  “No. You don't get to dip out. You should have told me about that deal! I could have helped you! I could have-... Damn it Cas!” Dean slammed the chair next to him and heard it clatter on the floor. 

“Dean I did what I needed to do. And I don’t regret any of it.” Cas let his voice raise a little in responsive anger but he chose his next words carefully, “I don't regret what I said and I don't regret saving your life.” Despite Dean's outward display of anger, Cas knew Dean was reacting out of love. This anger was misplaced guilt. “You owe me nothing Dean. None of this was your fault.” 

Dean was just drunk enough that he faltered, his voice breaking as he said “Cas, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry Cas..I didn't stop you...I couldn't tell you...” 

Cas moved toward him then, reaching a hand to wipe away the tears Dean didn't realize were falling down his face. Dean could feel his heart aching against his ribs. How did he tell him that images of that moment came back to him every night, swallowed up in black? Cas crying, Dean reaching, Cas disappearing. Over and over they haunted him.

Cas lifted his hand away but felt Deans rough fingers stop him, holding his hand in place. “Cas….Tell me again. What you said..please..”

“Dean...” 

“No I..” Dean breathed out “I need to hear it Cas. Please tell me again.” 

Cas brought his head closer to rest on Dean’s forehead, closing his eyes. Dean lowered their hands, still grasping on in desperation. Cas could feel Dean shaking as he moved closer to him. Dean let his eyes flutter closed when he felt Cas rest against him. After a moment of silence, Cas said in a quiet voice “I love you Dean.” 

Dean wasn't sure if it was the whiskey or the feeling of Cas’s skin, warm and real against his face.Maybe it was just the pure joy that Cas was here or the relief that he would never leave him again. But he needed more, he needed to feel Cas. He needed to touch him. He moved in slowly, brushing their noses together. Cas’s breath staggered as he let Dean make the decision. Dean grazed his lips along the angels mouth and everything felt warm. The kiss was soft and cautious. Dean moved his mouth slowly, carefully and Cas leaned in slightly, letting Dean set the pace. And then, realization. 

Oh. Oh.

The energy changed and Cas felt Dean’s kiss deepen, his hand reaching up to wind fingers into Cas’s hair. And it was then that Cas allowed himself to grab onto Dean, pulling him in by his flannel. He breathed in Dean's scent, pine mixed with bourbon and aftershave and Dean let his other hand up to rest on Cas’s neck. He could feel the angel’s pulse racing as he pulled back to look at him. “This is...okay right?” 

“Yes” Cas breathed, and immediately pulled Dean in again. 

---

When Sam walked into the bunker he noticed the lights were on and a chair was toppled over in the library. Deans phone on the floor. But he didn't see anyone. “Dean?” 

Eileen followed after him, calling out for Dean. Sam ran to Dean’s room and when Eileen followed, Sam stopped her before she called out for Dean again. He gestured into the room. “Look” he signed to her. 

Dean was sleeping, his head resting on Castiel’s chest. Miracle was curled up at the bottom of the bed, her head resting on Dean's leg. Sam noticed Cas, in nothing but boxers and a t-shirt, calmly placing his fingers on Dean's temple. A pale blue glow kept Dean’s dreams peaceful and Cas ran his fingers through short hair as his hunter slept soundly. 

 “Cas?” Sam whispered, in disbelief that the angel was alive. Cas gently slid out from under Dean and moved to the door, shutting it carefully behind him.

 Sam smiled “It's so good to see you Cas.” He pulled the angel into a hug. “I thought you were in the empty. How are you here?” 

“Jack,” Cas smiled “He brought me back” Cas looked back toward the bedroom.”Dean and I have been...catching up.” 

Sam smiled and let out a short laugh “Yeah I can see that.” 

“I love him Sam” 

“I know you do. I never wanted to push him but I knew.” Sam let out a breathy laugh and ran his hands through his hair. “Wow I cant believe Dean finally figured it out. I can't believe this is really happening. What are you going to do now?” 

“Whatever makes Dean happy.” Cas said, so matter of factly that Sam shook his head in pure amazement and laughed again.

---

It was a small outdoor ceremony, but Sam and Eileen couldn't have been happier. Dean beamed with pride standing next to Sam, his tux pressed and black shoes shined. They held the reception in Jody's backyard, string lights and cheap alcohol. It was perfect.

Cas walked into the kitchen, slightly intoxicated and saw Claire sitting on the counter rubbing her feet “I hate heels.” 

“They do look very uncomfortable,” Cas replied. “These suits are restricting as well. My neck is very itchy.” 

Claire beckoned Cas over and loosened his bowtie. “You don't really need it all the way on anymore. Ceremony is over.” She smiled, “Your boyfriend took his off hours ago I bet.” 

Cas never will be used to hearing Dean referred to in that way. “Where is he?” 

“I think he’s out front on the porch.” She said, jumping off the counter barefoot and walking back out into the yard to find Kaia for a dance. She popped her head back inside “Oh hey, tell him I can work that Sunday shift he asked about okay?” Cas nodded and Claire spun around and headed to the dance floor. 

Cas walked out onto the porch to find Dean. The night air was cool and crickets chirped loudly in the fields. As Claire had suspected, Dean’s tie was long gone. His dress shirt was unbuttoned enough to reveal the t-shirt underneath, and to see the necklace filled with Castiel’s grace glowing on his chest. He took another drink from his beer and looked up. “Heya Cas.”

“Hello Dean.” He paused and then remembered “Claire said she can work the Sunday shift.” 

“Ah, good. That kid is killing me. That's what I get for owning a bar, I guess. I’m a freakin boss now.” He laughed to himself, “It still feels weird to say it. Like I'm gonna mess it up.” 

“You’ve earned it, and you certainly are not messing it up.” Cas sat down next to him and smiled as Dean wrapped his arm around him, “How are you Dean?” 

“Eh, I'm fine.” Dean looked down, picking at the label of his beer. “Sammy seems happy, huh?”

“Yes, he does.” Cas reached out and pulled Dean’s hand away from his nervous movement, entwining their fingers together. “He's going to be fine.” 

“I know.” Dean says, squeezing Cas’s hand. “I just hate that he doesn't need me anymore.” 

“That's not true, he’ll always need you.” Cas reassured him. Dean leaned over and kissed Cas, gazing at him for a moment before saying “I love you, you know that right?” 

“I know,” Cas replied, “I love you too.” It didn't matter that they had been together for over a year, 6 months since Cas had made the choice to be human, it still made Cas shiver to hear Dean tell him he loved him.  

“You sure you don’t regret giving me this?” He holds up the glowing grace pendant. Cas shakes his head “No, not once.” and Dean pulls him in for another kiss. 

Jack watches from afar, a smile on his face. 

The sounds of the party last long into the night. 

[chocolateheart]

My life is gone

Title: My life is gone

Word count: 2518

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (friendship)

Summary: You lost him. Now you have to deal with pain, heartbreak and memories.

Warnings: angst, death, dead body, losing someone, losing faith and hope, suicidal thoughts, dealing with loss, a hint of depression, heartbreak, a mention of eating disorders and sleeping issues, in general - mental disorders caused by losing someone.

A/N: This is my one shot for @deanwanddamons 1k followers celebration. My prompt was "Though my heart is broken, it keeps breaking everyday." but I couldn't stop myself from using some other lyrics of the song. They are written in italics. I’m far away from being the angst queen or an amazing writer for that matter but I did my best! I hope you’ll like it :)

A/N: Thank you to my lovely beta and friend @winchest09 for taking a moment to look at this and assuring me that posting this won't be an insult on the angst. Love you, girl!

A/N: @talesmaniac89 thank you so so so much for those gorgeous dividers!

You didn’t know how long you’ve been sitting there. Maybe a few hours, maybe a few days. You didn’t really care. Nothing mattered anymore. 

Your body went numb from not moving, your chest was barely rising as you almost completely forgot that you have to breathe. Wet trails on your cheeks from streams of tears, eyes red and pinching, your eyelids heavy from a pulsing headache. You were feeling sick and you were sure that if you’d puke, it would burn your sore throat; you were screaming loud as indescribable pain was rending your chest. 

Your knees hurt after hours of being dug into the ground. Your spine was begging to be straightened, your cold skin was yelling for even a little bit of warmth. The clothes you were wearing got soaked and heavy from rain, wet hair stuck to your face and neck; thunder from another upcoming storm shook the earth. But you didn’t listen. The only sound you wanted to hear was his voice as that you would listen to; you would go to hell if this voice asked you to. 

Opening your eyes you knew what you were going to see; but it didn’t stop you. You blindly believed that it’s just some stupid nightmare and when you wake up he would smile at you and calm you down. But it didn’t happen. 

Dean’s cold body lay on the mudded ground, wet and dirty. Head limply turned to the side, eyes closed, lips parted slightly. You stared at his chest for a few agonizingly long seconds, waiting for it to rise up; for him to inhale. A pained grimace appeared on your face when you, once again, realised it wouldn’t happen; he won’t breathe. 

You lifted your head up to the dark sky and yelled from deep within your lungs as another painful wave went through your body. You punched the ground, kneeling next to him, splashing the mud; furious, mad and broken. Then you crowled to him weakly, taking his inert head in your hands, crying and whining. You brushed away his wet hair from his face, leaving dirty lines from your fingers. 

“Dean,” you choked yet again and rubbed your thumbs on his cheekbones. He felt so cold and hard, almost like it wasn’t him. “Baby, please,” you whimpered. “Talk to me…open your eyes.” You waited with stupid hope but again, nothing happened. Crying loudly you pulled him to your chest and hugged tight.

Those eyes. Those full of life, green orbs that would shimmer every time he saw you. They would shine in the sunlight, they were glistening in the evening when you sat together in front of the fireplace, darkening under the cover of the night when the two of you were making love, confessing how much you meant to each other. Green crystals which were the most valuable stones for you. Those eyes will never smile at you again.

Drowning in agony you started shaking, you felt your every cell shattering, falling into million pieces. You were bleeding inside, your heart was screaming, burning from anguish. Your hands fisted his jacket, you clawed to him like you were planning to never let go, like it was supposed to protect you from losing yourself completely. 

Protect you from darkness. 

Suddenly you got stiff. You pulled away, put his head back on the ground and touched his cheek. You tilted your head, your eyes flicking over those familiar features. Gold freckles shedded on his face, light scruff running along his jawline, long lashes you were so jealous of. He was your treasure. Your anchor, your shelter, your home and your safe harbor. He gave you strength, power, a will to wake up every morning, to fight with evil. He gave a sense to your life. 

Who were you without that?

An empty vessel ready to give up. 

Staring at his lifeless figure you turned off your brain; you turned off your whole system. You didn’t cry, scream, you closed yourself on this torture that was waiting to hit you. The only one thing you let get to you was Dean. Memories flashed in front of your eyes; every moment with him, bad or good, every time you shared your thoughts, dreams and plans, you held each other, protected the other; saving lifes, hunting things. 

You have been writing your book since you were twelve and he saved your life. Now you couldn’t save him. Was this supposed to be the last chapter?

“Y/N,” Sam’s broken voice was barely audible in the hum of a rainstorm you hadn’t noticed started. “It’s time.”

Your lower lip wobbled, you were not able to hold back tears and pained whimper as realisation of what comes next hit you. You bent down, closed your eyes and placed a small kiss on his forehead, putting your hand on his heart. For the last time you prayed to feel even the slightest beat under your fingers.

Nothing.

8 months later

"Hey…"

You jerked, detached from the dark world you had drowned in again when Sam spoke, leaning against the door frame.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to scare you,” you looked at him, noticing his worried expression. It wasn’t the first time he found you like this; sitting numbly on your bed, staring into the space. 

“That’s okay,” you said, sending him a small smile which he gave back.

“I left some pizza for you.” Just now you noticed the plate with a few pieces of italian food on it being offered to you by Sam .

Patting the bed you invited him to sit down next to you. You took the plate and stared at the food. You needed the fuel, you knew that; your stomach was sucking itself, grumbling every so often. You had lost a lot of weight, your skin was hanging on bones, your muscles were weak; but you didn’t care. Finding enough will to do something with yourself was impossible. Because, what was the point?

Your point of living was dead. And the only one reason you were still breathing, holding to this life with last strands, was this giant right in front of you. 

“Y/N, please,” Sam whispered and you looked up at him. His sad eyes were begging you to come back. “You have to eat.” You huffed a sad laugh.

“I can’t, Sam.” Putting the plate on the sheets you pulled your knees to the chest. “I can’t swallow anything.”

“It’s not good for you, Y/N/N.”

His voice was so sad and weak that for a second you felt like a bitch for doing this to him. But then you noticed the dark spots under his eyes, attenuate face, sharp cheekbones and glassy, heavy brown orbs. You weren’t the only broken person in this bunker. Not thinking much, you pulled him into a hug, wrapping your hands around his neck as he closed you in his. You both needed this as only you two understood the pain. 

“I’m worrying about you,” he murmured and you smiled.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He squeezed you harder but you pulled away. “But…” he looked at you, cupping your cheeks, checking your face; you knew it was pale and your eyes bloody. “Sam, there is no point to worry.”

“Y/N,” he started the defense, shaking his head.

“Listen to me,” you cut him off and looked in his eyes, feeling your own starting to tear up. “I’m dead, Sammy.” 

He flinched, because of both what you said and how you called him; nobody had used this nickname since that night.

“Stop talking like that,” he warned you but you just smiled.

“You miss him too, I know that. And I know that you suffer, but…” you searched for proper words. “Sam, I lost… that night took away everything from me. In two months it’ll be a year and every day I am losing another piece of what’s left inside.” You touched your chest. “I can’t sleep and when I do, I have nightmares. After I wake up, the fact that he’s not here kicks me again and again. I see him everywhere, he never leaves my mind and it hurts. So much of him is left behind. There are moments I even expect him to walk into the room. But he won’t.” You shook your head and sniffed, feeling tears on your cheeks. 

“But it doesn’t mean you have to be a zombie, Y/N.”

“It does, Sam… Because he was my life…” you felt another wave of pain slowly spreading all over you. “And my life is gone.”

There were not many reasons for you to get out of your room. Sometimes you were so hungry it was unbearable, so you would visit the kitchen, steal some fruit or some leftovers. Bathroom was a must, so was a bar full of whiskey; you were torturing yourself with its taste as it reminded you of Dean but it was also an escape.

You didn’t see the outside world for half a year, every 24 hours of the last six months you spent in the bunker. You weren’t sure if you remembered how to hunt. Sam reduced the amount of cases, he didn’t have much more strength than you. At the beginning you were going through books, papers and the internet, making calls, catching witches and every monster that could know something; just to find a way to bring Dean back. All you got was a collection of dead ends, so you quit and locked yourself in your room. You couldn’t do it anymore, not without him. 

After weeks of crying, screaming, falling apart and fighting with nightmares; yearning for him got so intense that only feeling him would stop you from suicide. So one night, in the middle of the panic attack, you rushed out of your room, stumbling and shaking. Inhaling shallowly, you hit his door before you opened it and dropped to your knees in his room. His scent surrounded you, deepening the wound in your heart but healing the longing at the same time. You struck the drawers, picked up his shirt and held it to your nose, inhaling deeply. That’s how Sam found you, clutching Dean’s shirt on the floor, crying silently. 

Since then you were doing this regularly, not sure why. You were floating around every place you ever walked and everywhere you talked. The Impala that stood unused since her owner didn’t come back. You could spend hours there, sitting in the corner of the passenger seat, staring at the place he used to sit in while you were driving down the road. His wide smile on his face while he sang along with old tapes...

The kitchen where you cooked together, the library table you occupied while cleaning weapons or doing research, or drinking. The map table you threw your bags on after coming back from hunt. Dean’s cave where hours of movies were watched and boxes of pizza were emptied. Your room, your bed where the two of you exchanged your love so many times you forgot the life before being with him. 

One day screaming and crying wasn’t enough. The burden was so heavy you needed to get this all out of you or you were sure the first bullet you’d shoot since that night will end your suffering. Finding a piece of paper and a pen you wrote down everything that what was biting you, addressing the letter to Dean. You didn’t finish it right away; from time to time you would add a new sentence or paragraph, writing letters that you’ll never send and he’ll never see. 

Every line was full of emotions, full of pain and memories. Feelings you wanted to reveal, all those words you wanted him to hear. Letters were your pain, tears were your dots. 

The agony went on and on, slowly killing you inside, leaving behind just a walking vessel. If not for Sam, you would have ended this a long time ago but he gave you this little, tiny kick to wake up the next day. But it didn’t mean the suffering was smaller. Actually, sometimes he made it worse. Watching Sam dealing with his brother's death, the death of the man who raised him, who was a home, a strength, a family - it was just another dagger stuck in your heart. Their bond was one of the most incredible, beautiful things you've seen in your life and now it was broken too. 

Finally, you even got to the point where you were laying on your bed, blankly staring at your phone. It didn’t make any sense and you knew it but you wanted to see his name on the screen so bad that your fingers started trembling. Entering any room in the bunker gave you this stupid, false hope he'd be there. You realised how this place was full of him, how wherever your eyes laid on, it reminded you of Dean. And just then you understood - no matter what you do or where you go, it will haunt you. The feeling of loss, of emptiness, of nonsense. The feeling of regret and guilt that you didn't save him, didn't bring him back. 

"I thought I was strong…" you muttered one day, sitting at the library table, bringing Sam's attention to you. He frowned and looked at you, slightly shaking his head. 

"What?" You tightened the grip on the mug with already cold tea inside and with the corner of your eye you noticed him standing up, then sitting on the chair right next to you. "Hey…" he put a hand on your thigh, assuring you it's okay to speak up.

"I thought I was strong, Sam. I thought I could deal with it, I was telling myself it's just a matter of time and it'll be okay, it'll be normal. Time heals the pain right?" you chuckled pitifully. "But…" you swallowed the lump in your throat. "But it's not better at all, Sammy," you whimpered and looked at him.

Tears in your eyes, worry and pain in his. You opened your mouth but before the right words came out, he managed to brush single drops away from your cheeks with his thumbs, giving you a sad smile. 

"Though my heart is broken… it keeps breaking everyday," you cried out and in a second Sam pulled you into his arms, closing in a tight hug. You clawed at his shirt and allowed yourself to ugly cry, wetting the material. He was shushing you, stroking your hair as you were shaking in his arms. "I can't… I can't take it anymore. I- I can't." 

"Shhh, Y/N… it's okay. We'll figure something out," he promised but you knew Sam himself had stopped believing in it. 

There was no more hope, no faith. You tried everything; there was no door left that you could try to walk through. It was the end. 

Your end. 

There was nothing left except the pain. And the only person who could take this pain away, was the one causing it.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it. Feel free to leave some feedback, every word from you is gold :) 

Tags: @deanwanddamons @katehuntington @jay-and-dean @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee​

If you want to be on my tag list, shoot me in asks or DMs!

[talesmaniac89]

The Classifieds

Pairing: Past Dean x Reader 

Summary: What lengths will Dean Winchester go to when he runs out of options to save the people he cares about? Is he willing to let go of a part of himself to save his family?

Triggers: Hurt, Coma, possible loss/death, open ending, no resolution, angst, No happy endings here guys. This is just angst for the sake of angst.

For sale: 1967 Chevrolet Impala

Lovingly restored black ‘67 Impala needs a new home. This 327 four-barrel beauty comes with a newly installed 502 Big Block 550 Horsepower Engine to give you that extra bit of push. Though it has a mileage of over 600,000 miles travelled, this beauty runs like new after several full fixups, constant servicing and a lot of TLC. Registration is up to date as of January this year. 

With its souped-up engine, new paint job and fresh set of tires, this baby looks like it just rolled off of the assembly line. Both the exterior and interior of the car have received a near perfect restoration with a few small exceptions; there’s a green army man toy stuck in the ashtray, a few Lego pieces are rattling in the vent when you turn on the heat, and there’s a small carving in the rear window sill. These are all minor interior flaws that can easily be fixed by the buyer.

I’ll share details like the VIN, classic car ID and answer any other questions directly to any prospective buyers.

She’s been with us since ‘73, and never let us down. Baby’s part of our family, and we’re sad to let her go, but I’m hoping the new owner will love her as much as I have.

Price: Best offer

---

Taking a shaky breath, Dean held back the tears that burned in his eyes, blurring his vision as he read through the classified ad one last time before motioning to hit send. His finger shook over the enter key as he squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice.

Baby meant a lot to him, of course she did. But she was only a car, and if he didn’t let her go, then he could end up losing so much more. Selling the Impala was his only choice.

He needed money. A lot of money. For (Y/N) and Sammy. Their last hunt in Chicago had landed them both in separate hospital beds after prolonged contact with a djinn, and they weren’t waking up. Even after Dean killed the fucking monster that had them trapped, they both remained unresponsive, and they were fading fast. Only kept alive by modern science and a team of hardworking doctors and nurses.

Still, Dean was in the business of saving people. And if ganking another monster of the week wasn’t gonna cut it, then he’d do whatever else he needed to do to fix this. He wouldn’t let his little brother, or the woman he loved more than life itself, die in that hospital. He couldn’t lose them, either of them.

But, their stay and continued treatment required money. More money than he had. More money than he could ever hope to get from his measly collection of fake credit cards, poker games and hustling some poor fool at the local dive bar.

Which was why he was balancing Sammy’s computer on his lap as he sat, defeated, on one of the uncomfortably hard waiting room chairs. One finger hovering over the enter button as he tried to breathe through the growing lump in his throat and the helpless panic lodged in his chest. Either way, he’d lose something. But this way he’d save his family; the only goddamn good thing left in his life.

Swallowing down the bitter defeat, he let his finger press into the enter key with a little more force than necessary. Sending his ad in to the classifieds with nothing more than a dry, low sob goodbye.

Dean would scrounge up every damned cent needed to keep his family alive. Even if it meant selling the only home the Winchester brothers had ever really had.

Because the Impala was their only real home, more so than the bunker could ever hope to be. Yet, what was a home without people to live in it? If he lost his family, then the bunker, the Impala, or any other place he tried to run away to would just be a coffin. Somewhere to lie broken, bruised and defeated as he waited for the world to catch up and realise his heart stopped beating the day that fucking djinn landed Sam and (Y/N) in that hospital bed.

“Goodbye Baby… I’m sorry,”

---

“…Winchester?”

Someone was calling his name, but Dean was too far gone to listen. His red rimmed eyes stayed laser focused on the online listing. Dry and burning after minutes spent staring unblinkingly at the picture of his Baby that topped the ad. The picture was just one of many, the first he could find without Sam or her in it, but it still meant so much to him.

In it he could see every single moment he’d spent behind the wheel of that car.

He could see nights spent by (Y/N)’s side, stargazing on Baby’s hood. His hand painting patterns on her bare arm as they just… Existed together, not talking or hunting, just living. Her head resting on his shoulder as he whispered promises of forever into her (Y/H/C) hair.

He relived every time she’d helped him fix his Baby back up, handing him his tools with that tempting sheen of moisture trapped against her neck and collarbone from the heat of the Kansas sun. Endless drives, with Sam calling shotgun; using his longer legs to his advantage and leaving the fiercest huntress Dean knew in the dust while she grumbled about deserving a front seat view for once.

He could feel the steady and safe vibration of the steering wheel under his fingers and heard her singing along to his mixtapes. Her head leaned back and (Y/H/C) hair moving slightly in the small breeze from the open window. (Y/E/C) eyes hidden behind closed eyelids and a small lazy smile, just barely visible through the rear-view mirror.

That one picture, topping the classifieds ad, held it all; every moment on the road so far. And there’d been many. More than he could ever hope to count.

From the desperate rushed rescue missions and races against the clock, to the lazier road trips after a fight well fought. The easy drives would always be his favourite moments. Just sunshine, warming the air around him as he drove his family back to the bunker. Safe in the knowledge that he’d kept them all out of harm’s way once more.

He’d spent so many long days on the road, he could picture it all perfectly. Even in the pixelated picture of an empty car. (Y/N) would be lounging in the backseat, humming along to his music. Stretched across the leather seats as Sam tried to talk both Dean and her into agreeing to change the classic rock music blaring through the speakers with a podcast or audio book. Giving his all to another convincing argument, fit for the former Stanford student, and still failing miserably every time.

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole,”

Dean flinched slightly at the sound of his own voice. He hadn’t meant to say the words out loud. Even the cracked, whispered version that left him. Yet, as soon as the words were out, he could nearly hear the echo of Sammy’s quipped “Jerk” in response to the golden rule. Barely catching the ghost of it with a trembling, empty smile before it was crushed under the louder sound of cold professionalism above him.

“Mr. Winchester?” The doctor repeated, sounding slightly annoyed at his lack of response and waving the papers in front of her as she waited for him to take them from her. The admission forms.

There were two of them. One for each of the two people he loved more than life itself. Lying in separate hospital rooms, only kept alive by machines and wires. Alive, but not really living, for as long as he had money to keep funding those fragile lifelines.

“Please fill in the fields for their insurance and the payment plan section. If there’s any issues…” The doctor said, voice free of judgement or blame as he lifted tear stained eyes to catch hers.

“No… You’ll have your money. Just… Save ‘em doc. They’re all I have,”

Dean didn’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for himself. He needed to get the money. He’d do anything to save his family. Hell, he’d have already sold his soul three times over if he had anything left to actually bargain with. And his baby, the Impala that had been their home, would never be the same again without Sam’s constant attempts to change his music or (Y/N) signing along from the backseat or making his baby brother roll his eyes at her bad jokes.

Though he’d yet to get an offer on the ad. And he needed money fast.

Cas had tried, but his weakened grace couldn’t help them, and there were no other last-minute interventions there to save the day. After all, saving the day was what the Winchesters did, and Dean was two soldiers short of a full team. 

No, he couldn’t sit around hoping someone would come rescue them and he couldn’t shoot or punch his way through this problem. All he could do was cling to his phone and hope someone offered to buy a piece of him. One he thought he’d never part with. Hell, at some point he’d even dreamed about handing the keys over to his own child one day, one with green eyes and (Y/H/C) hair, to let the Impala live on when he retired somewhere calm and quiet with (Y/N).

A dream he now realised was foolish to even hope for.

Keeping his eyes on the picture of his Baby on the laptop screen, Dean’s hand tightened around the papers. His voice shook as he prayed out loud, just as much to the classic car on the screen as to the doctor in front of him. 

“Please save my family,”

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[thecleverdame]

Gods of Twilight - 19

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking.  This chapter does contain some non-con elements.

Beta:  @ilikaicalie​

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

-

“Sam!” Dean bursts into the room, gasping in horror at the sight of your blood-covered naked body on the bed. Sam is laying beside you with tears in his eyes, and there’s a new born baby still on your chest. “Is she gone?”

“Yes,” Sam clears his throat, wiping his eyes with the heel of his palm. Giving your lifeless body one last look he places a kiss at your hairline and collects the squirming infant in his arms. “I can’t look at her like this. Have them clean her body. I’d prefer to say my goodbyes when she looks more like herself.”

“Sam,” Dean starts, looking from the tiny hand of his niece to his brother’s heartbroken face. “It didn’t have to be like this.”

“Don’t start, please. I can’t take another round right now.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” Dean’s at the end of his rope. “She wouldn’t have wanted this! To die before she knew her child! To leave you.”

“She was a gentle person,” Sam hisses, fresh tears springing to life along with his rising anger. “Even if she was able to survive the change she would have loathed being like us. I would never force this curse on her.”

“I don’t understand you.” Dean shakes his head, both arms folded across his chest. “Take the child and go. I’ll make sure she’s well taken care of.”

Dean stands alone in the room with your corpse. All the color has drained out of you but if you weren’t covered in gore it would be easy to think you’re only sleeping. He steps closer, coming around the side of the bed and taking a seat.

While he never trusted you, he knows of Sam’s unwavering love. This will break his brother, and he wishes he could have done something to prevent it. All he can do now is avenge your death and the other lives taken in recent hours.

The full moon is two nights away and his body has responded accordingly. All his senses are heightened. There’s a quiet thump and he hones in on the sound. He waits, counts to fifteen and then another gentle thump.

It’s your heart. The last beats as the final vestiges of life drain away.

“You’re still here?” he asks, inching back to the bed.

There’s a thought flickering to life, a treacherous idea that his brother may kill him for. Sam has never known what’s best for him and Dean has been doing their dirty work since they were children.

Thump.

He knows his brother, he’ll want a mother for his child and he’ll fill the void as best he can. Perhaps Ruby or some other doe-eyed girl who won’t ask questions. But he’ll always be broken. Losing you will change everything. Sam doesn’t handle loss well, he goes dark. Sam gets hard. That’s how he’s always been.

Thump.

“Forgive me,” Dean whispers.

He knees his way onto the bed, lifting up a limp arm and allowing the beast inside him to take over. With glowing eyes and knife-sharp fangs, he sinks his teeth into your arm and waits to see if he’s bitten you in time.

But as time goes by it’s clear he didn’t act fast enough. He should have swallowed his hesitation and done what your husband should have the moment he realized you were dying.

Shaking his head in earnest, Dean takes one last look and leaves the room.

-

Sam sits in a corner of the reading room, staring at the fire. Martha is huddled with a wet nurse who’s nursing his child at her breast. He can’t look at the baby for too long, she’s a beautiful little girl but his heart has been ripped in two. The love he feels for his daughter only serves to exacerbate the gut-wrenching loss of his wife.

You’re gone and Sam only has himself to blame. He told you long ago that bringing you here was the most selfish thing he’d ever done, but that’s no longer true. Allowing you to give him a child, to offer yourself up in the name of love was a far worse transgression. He wanted you beyond reason and now he’ll pay the price.

He didn’t deserve you and he certainly doesn’t deserve the perfect baby in the corner who will never know her mother.

“Would you like to hold her?” Martha asks inching closer with the babe in her arms.

“No,” Sam doesn’t look up, staring at the flames licking upward.

“I don’t mean to overstep my bounds, my king, but it would be good for you to have her close.”

Sam wants to throw Martha out, toss her into the hall and be done with any memory of what came before this terrible day. But his daughter’s small hand reaches upward and he can’t refuse her.

“Give her to me then.” He takes his daughter, settling back into the chair and Martha moves off to the side. The infant is tiny but alert, looking up at him with big, wide eyes. “She is a child with no name.”

“She doesn’t need one, not yet.” Martha scoffs.

“What sort of father am I that I can’t name my child?”

“A grieving one.”

Sam shifts, bringing the baby closer to inspect her face. You were so sure the baby was a boy and he was convinced there could be no better feeling in the world than having a son. But he was wrong yet again, because this small girl is enough to fill his heart ten times over.

There’s a timid knock at the door and Sam looks up as Golda slides inside. She wipes tears from her eyes, unable to look at him. She already thought him a monster, a wild brute of a man who assaulted his wife, but now he’s killed her mistress and friend as the grand finale.

“My lord,” her voice shakes. Wringing her hand together, more tears slide down her face. “Th-they’ve cleaned and prepared her. She’s been laid at rest in the Great Hall.”

Your body will be on display until the funeral. Many will come from far and wide to pay their respects, but he’ll be the first.

“Thank you.”

It’s well into the early hours of the next morning when Sam works up the wherewithal to say his goodbyes. He checks on his sleeping daughter and a snoring Martha in the rocking chair next to her before slipping out in the hall.

His personal guard is at the ready, following him to the Great Hall and waiting in silence as he closes the doors behind him.

Your body lies at the far end, on display in front of the tall, ornate fireplace.

“At least you won’t be cold anymore,” he mutters.

Taking a breath and closing his eyes he gives himself one last moment before looking directly at you. You’re beautiful as ever but unnaturally still. Arms carefully crossed over your belly and your hair has been washed and combed.

Sam thinks he may die here and now, the pain in his chest is too great and he falls to his knees, crying out in agony. He’s already lost more than his share of family, he’s not sure how he’ll bear this weight.

He’s still sobbing when quiet footsteps approach behind him.

“Leave me!” Sam shouts, wiping his cheek with his sleeve.

“No,” Dean’s voice replies. “I’ll stay with you. So you don’t have to do this alone.”

Sam nods, standing up and turning to his brother who embraces him with tight arms. It’s been years since Dean held him like this, perhaps since they were both children.

“I loved her,” Sam whispers.

“I know,” Dean pats his back. “And she loved you.”

Sam doesn't have the words to express the way his heart aches, so instead he holds your cold, stiff hands and kisses your knuckles, uttering barely whispered apologies and professions of love. With a kiss to the forehead, he touches you for the last time before stepping back next to his brother.

“Have you discovered who attacked her?”

“Not yet,” Dean hooks a thumb in the waistband of his trousers.

While they haven’t talked, Sam knows Dean’s been working diligently while he’s been drowning in grief.

“If she had not lost so much blood from the knife wound, she might have survived the birth.” Sam states calmly, rubbing his hands together as if trying to work himself up into action. “She was murdered, Dean.”

“Yes, she was. I’ll find out who and then you can decide how to deal with the culprits.”

“Gutted and hung in the town square should do just fine,” Sam spits, his blood rising. He’s not quick to violence but he’ll happily inflict pain and suffering on whoever is responsible. “Where do we start?”

“You should spend time with your child, take a day or two. Let me do the groundwork.”

“No,” Sam clasps a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “This is what I need now, a purpose, something to fill my head with thoughts of anything other than her face...it’s all I think about. The way she looked at me-”

“We can’t have you sitting around torturing yourself, now can we?” Dean slaps his brother in the ribs assuredly. “Ruby said they have a suspected poacher detained in the stables just outside the farm that sits near the southern border. I am going there now.”

“I’ll accompany you,” Sam confirms, grateful for a task to focus on. He’ll slaughter every last person who was involved with the attack if it’s the last thing he does.

Sam follows Dean through the winding halls of the castle, down and down, until they find the stables. He mounts his steed and grips the reigns, wishing nothing more than to put distance between himself and the death that lurks inside.

“My king!” A servant boy runs toward him at full speed. “My king, you must come right away!”

“What are you talking about?” Sam looks to Dean, his heart speeding up to a gallop.

“I don’t know, sir. The midwife has called you back. It’s urgent.”

He prays to God to protect his child. He’s suffered all he can and losing his daughter would be a lethal blow.

He pulls off his gloves as they sprint back through the wide halls, Dean and a fleet of guards trailing behind them. They’re headed toward his temporary bedchambers, when a cry can be heard from somewhere deep inside the castle.

“Not here, sir.” The boys leads them past the door where he left his sleeping daughter.

While it might not be loud enough for human ears, every wolf perks up at the sound of one of their own in distress. The blood-curdling screams get louder and louder, feral, ear-piercing cries that echo off the stone and reverberate along the halls.

Following the sound, the entire party enters the Great Hall to be met with a sight that Sam is unprepared for.

You’re laid out on a stone slab but your once dead body is now in motion, arching upwards at an angle that looks as if your spine may snap. Your neck is also snapped back and your fingers are curled up like the legs of a dead insect as you writhe and scream. Without warning your body falls limp and then almost immediately you begin to seize, entire body clutching and shuttering as white foam oozes from your lips. Open eyes reveal nothing but white as your eyeballs roll back into your skull and you grunt wildly, body jerking violently in terrible quakes.  

Sam is frozen in place, his mind not yet able to comprehend what’s happening.

“I don’t know what to do for her!” Martha screams, trying desperately to hold your shoulders in place. This declaration jolts Sam back to reality. “What is this? She’s risen from the dead! We should call a priest!”

A thousand thoughts click into place.

“I’m sorry brother-” Dean starts.

“What have you done?” Sam bellows, charging Dean, one hand on his collar, the other around his throat.

“What you couldn’t,” Dean sputters.

Sam’s eyes narrow and for a moment Dean thinks he may snap his neck. He instead growls and releases him.  

“Find Ellen,” the King points to a wide-eyed Philip.

Sam scoops you off the stone slab and moves toward the doors as you convulse his arms.

“What is happening?” Martha scampers beside him, skirts in hand.

“She’s been bitten. She’s turning.”

“Into what you are?” she hisses, looking back at the men following close behind.

“If she survives the change, yes.” He kicks open the doors to your bedchambers. “Find rope or whatever you can. We need to restrain her before she hurts herself. Her strength will build as the fever grows. She’ll be stronger than any of us at this stage, we need to make sure she’s immobile.”

-

There is no coherent thought. Only sensations.

The muscles in your neck are pulling your head side to side, shaking like the tremors of an elderly person, only quicker and more violent as your skull ratchets to and fro. You can’t open your eyes and it feels as if your body is tied down.

The heat of the fever inside your veins is all-consuming, a constant burn as if lava is coursing through your limbs. This must be what madness feels like, complete, consuming, agony-induced insanity devoid of thought and speech. Your body jerks and a single idea forms in your addled mind.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

A conscious you would be sure you were doused with accelerant and set aflame.

Your throat is the most painful of all, raw and open, head tipped back and the only sound is that of your beastial screams as pain consumes every last inch of your body and soul.

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary:  When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

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Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

X

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

X

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

X

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

X

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

X

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

X

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

X

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

X

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

X

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

X

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

X

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

X

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

X

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

X

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

X

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”                           

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.) 

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

X

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

X

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

X

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out. 

X

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

X

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

X

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

X

The next day he hit a dog.

X

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

X

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

X

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

X

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she 

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

X

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

X

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.” 

X

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

X

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

X

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

X

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

X

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

X

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

X

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

X

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

X

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

X

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

X

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

X

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

X

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

X

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

X

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

X

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

X

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

X

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

X

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x01 watching notes

RIP Kip, we hardly knew ye.

Well hey, returning friends and people who unwittingly clicked on this not knowing exactly what they're in for. Blowing off the dust and starting a new season of Dabb fuckery, which I spent way too long trying to think of a portmanteau for when I already have the episode downloaded

It's 5am, let's DO THIS.

-

So they start with Dean's Hi I Am A Cop On The Day Before I Retire speech re: hula girls and hawaiian t-shirts which is remarkably prescient of me to have been irrationally upset about that one detail after I binged most of season 13 last night to get me back in the mood. So now I have to elaborate on my one line textpost >.>

Because yes, that is the perfect note to start the season on: Dean thought the good times had rolled, allowed himself to hope, assembled himself a family with mom and step-pop (Bobby counts as a full father but AU Bobby is step-pop), brother, husband, kid... Said kid was promising A World Without Monsters aka Dabb's showrunning tagline for an endgame he teases them. And Lucifer was tucked safely away in an AU with the murderous Michael... And then in a series of events it all came crumbling down and with this amount of goodness in his grasp, he gave up what even when the real Michael was hounding him for it, he couldn't before.

Because in season 13 it is beyond obvious that Dean is tired, an Old Hunter, the best of his game but ready to bow out on that note, and yet for him it's not a matter of stepping back and letting someone else handle it because when Michael and Lucifer were involved, it was beyond personal. He and Sam only EXIST because Lucifer and realMichael wanted them to. And so there was no way this trouble would come to someone else's door, when it was the nasty angel on his shoulder and the devil on Sam's and we have Nougat as their collective responsibility who's the nexus of it all anyway.

-

Eeee the Road So Far text is glowy grace colour on a dark blue background. I'm JIZED for the title card.

-

Goodness, the Road So Far is a weird journey because we see Jack being all useful and magic and then callbacks to 13x01 and 2 where he was a messed up 2 day old and Dean just wanted to murder him.

I haven't outlined any expectations for this episode or even this recap but I suddenly realise that I should probably be wondering how much DeanCas we're gonna get in it, and this rage against Jack is subtextually motivated, for sure, but for me the first 6 episodes of Dean's grief arc were wonderful character stuff but removed from the main plot and therefore in my head I keep boxing them off like a bubble season, like 10x01-3 are, and I legit wasn't even expecting to SEE content from them in the recap, because brilliant as they are I sort of just forgot they were a part of this season despite watching them yesterday. The season for me became so much the Jack And Mary Search that this hiccup at the start didn't meet the requirements to be in season 13 :P

They're just That Time Dean Was Really Sad About Cas Then He Came Back And They Were Cowboys

-

Oh good there was "everybody we've lost" and then a recap of Cas dying and then - oh, we're recapping plot again? Er... everybody? Dean? Who else? DEAN?

this was the thinly veiled subtext of that line anyway since Dean waved off Mary and made it all about Cas anyways but. Yikes, editing team.

-

Jesus I watched season 13 yesterday and I forgot about Asmodeus. You know what, this is pre-coffee AND the 2 types of anti-brain fog medication I gobble in the morning.

But he's that much of a useless lump

Also too much Lucifer nipple on screen pre-coffee. Ick.

-

Nice recapping of Not The Levitating Fight.

-

NOW

Stock photo Nyoom of the season!! Hi Baby! You aren't in this episode because Eugenie said the car wasn't being used this season

-

Sam's got his Vengeance Eyes on but he's all scruffy and grown up so I trust him 10000% to get the job done.

-

OW. FUCK. OW. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. GOOD USE OF INTERSTITIAL MUSIC

Why were you even listening to Dean's tapes if they fuck you up that badly? IS THIS YOUR VENGEANCE PLAYLIST? I'VE BEEN WAITING 10 YEARS

Actually, I haven't, I binged 4-5-6 as one unit after thinking the show was cancelled during the writers' strike but the point is that Sam and his ipod in 4x01 is immediately in my head because he was listening to his own music and being a hipster douche, but now he is not on demon blood he has not installed an ipod dock because he's GETTING DEAN BACK, DAMMIT but at the same time he's also realising that this means a heavy toll that the only driving music in the car is Dean's stuff...

-

Oh no, this must be the guy from the SDCC clip we hadn't seen because Osric Chau is banned forever for illegally uploading them all for us in the past, and all I know is that Deanchael is going to Fuck Him Up and I feel very bad for him

*raises my mug to Osric* I'm sure you tried, dude. And thanks for the previous years.

-

Hi Deanchael. I noticed in a promo pic that his tie has that sacred geometry type pattern on it which is a detail I made a mental note to type out literally anywhere in the like month between there and here and did not so here it is at a hopefully appropriate place.

Based on every other scene setting detail I suspect that this faithful man is actually still within the USA because this is literally the cabin set they re-use for everything. The spoilers made it sound like Deanchael was globe trotting to raise his army but now I see what's around us... Yeah no he's as focused on the US as every other big bad before.

-

Anyway they really specifically chose this prayer to Allah because of how pointed it was about being only for Allah and how he was the best, so I'm assuming Deanchael is here to be like yo God's gone and I'm your last chance of faith

-

Like just ruin his day and he got up at like 4am or whatever the first prayer is to do it and all

-

I hope, like, no offence to any Muslim viewers or anything >.> They sure play fast and loose with a lot of this stuff because Christian cultures are full of bitter non-believers raised in the culture and looking to kick up at the big guy in the sky, which is not an impression I get that Islam is as used to cultural flippancy, regardless of personal beliefs of residents of predominately Muslim countries and cultures. I'm not 100% sure though, because the closest link I've got is my raised-Christian Iranian friend who applies Christian eye-rolling to the issues with being in Iran and heathen so I still get that perspective of middle fingers up at Organised Religion from our discussions about it all... anyway big diversion, still waiting for coffee to kick in :P I just swallowed the last of it so I can only get more jittery from here on out!

-

It's so fuckin weird to see Dean's face confidently reciting verse in Arabic

I mean you don't need the hat, sir. I get it. It's not you in there.

-

Well so far anyway he's playing on the fact that the guy does pray to god and his angels.

-

Lol @ this man guessing his way through God AND Gabe to Deanchael's annoyance that he's the 3rd guess and he has to clarify that he's the better one.

Man, Gabriel worked on his reputation. I wouldn't have been able to tell you who Michael was because there wasn't even a kid in my class with that name when I was age 4 busy portraying Gabriel in a nativity play with full impish glee that the real deal would have been proud of.

-

Uhoh things aren't looking good for Jamil D: Asking for peace and love is good, you funky little hippy.

Is Deanchael implying that the Syria insurgency is the route to peace? I honestly don't know enough about the American foreign policy politics to know what sort of stance this is though from a liberal leaning show (I mean come on Bobo is a card-carrying socialist, I've seen it on Twitter :P), though to an outside viewer well aware of how fucked up it all is should this have been said on a British program, this is a vast over-simplification.

But we know Michael's main traits are Likes War and then also Warmonger and of course, spoilin' for a fight. So this may be a personal judgement and as much as they're bringing politics into their show I'm just backing right on out and going with this :P That he thinks it is more honourable to stay and fight and that Jamil is a hypocrite for not sticking around to work for peace actively.

-

Oh Jamil hooked up with a woman called Darleen. He is FOR SURE in America.

-

It's so funny to me that Deanchael can fly anywhere and they could have set this anywhere but it still ends up being a wooden cabin in the US. This has to turn out to be a lead to follow with a news report about the poor guy or else this is just hysterical that they couldn't be arsed to mock up even a hint of another country :P

-

He knew all this about Jamil beforehand so I have to assume he's really just here to drag him.

-

Man, that throw was GOOD. I'm assuming they either spent all summer playing with wires and stunts or else they've gone back to the drawing board on all this flinging people around business.

-

"A better world" oh we are so on for this World Without Monsters malarky still. This lines up with the clip from Dean they opened on so well - the dark irony of he and Michael working on the same project but from different angles. Dean wants to sort out monsters and bad things so he can go on a beach, aka his version of paradise, and Mikey wants to smush all the sinners, and clean up the planet, which is HIS version of paradise.

-

HECKIN GOOD TITLE CARD

now photoshop those wings on everyone

-

I LIKE SCRUFFY BULLET MAKER FROM THE AU.

He's like so happy to be in a world where you just casually have resources.

Meanwhile poor Maggie has become the de facto nurse and hates it.

Ugh the Bunker is a place where people just show up who yell "Soup's on!"

In my redshirt betting pool, Soups On is the first guy who dies.

-

Promo sceeeeene

I'm so happy Sam and Mary are doing this together. Last season Sam was so upset that Dean got to have a relationship with her, and he had missed out, but without Dean around - no offence to him - Sam and Mary may be focused on FINDING him but this is the work they also need to do for their relationship to start to ground it in something real. It's taken this long with all the separations, but remember that Mary also worked through some of her issues about Sam only last season in the AU with 6 month old Jack. And if she needed that sort of reminder and relationship to warm her up for Sam, her suddenly-grown 6 month old, then there were still a LOT of underlying issues that dated back to the start for her to overcome. Hopefully this puts them on a level playing field, though there's a new conflict brewing for them, with Mary's determined optimism vs Sam's pessimism, born of that depression from last season that never really got treated or resolved, they just managed to power past its current main triggers. Of course now it all just shifts in a Deanward direction.

-

I love how Ketch has been punted to London, at Buckleming discretion to drag him back. This wasn't even Bobo punting him out the door, and he and Buckleming have a violent back and forth over favourite characters, started in 9x06 with Bobo's very first episode when he banished Professor Morrison forever.

-

MARY TRIES MOMMING SAM TO GO TO BED

THEN SCRUFFY GUN GUY IS LIKE "CHIEF"

Chieeeeeeef.

Sam runs the shooow here and I love it. He's their badass MoL hunter leader, a scruffy saviour from another world.

Given Sam is wearing the same shirt and jacket in the promo pics I'm guessing he does not sleep, though I hope he gets to eat the soup.

-

"Maggie can you hack the traffic cams?" "um. no."

I love and support Maggie. She is a normal person who happened to live in apocalypse world and she just wants to flirt with the guy from the Gas n Go who probably hasn't talked to her since that got blown up and Jack attacked him over her... I mean, this is better than the AU world but maybe she just wants to be normal? Did anyone ask Maggie what she wanted??

-

SAM. You can eat your soup and run things at the same time! Get back here and eat that soup!

-

"yes sir"

Goodness, this is wonderful. Sam's doing what he was born to do, and then not because that was leading a friggin demon army, but then yes because he's got inherent leadership traits that he defers to Dean all the time because, well, he's there, and he's big bro.

Look, sometimes you need big bro to murder Satan's ass for you forever, but you also should be calling the shots. There's a balance here, where Dean can be the older brother, but Sam can be the boss. Work/life balance. Dean's got your back but you command an army of hunters, like we've all been salivating over since like season 8 when they first said the MoL ran the Bunker as the hub of operations dictating stuff to trusted hunters and the like.

Of course, if Sam is the Bobby here, then who is the AUBobby? I hope we see what's up with that soon, I've been wanting them to bristle those beards in an alpha way at each other for months, because AUBobby was their leader before Sam because Sir Chief.

-

"Sam."

"i'm good"

*mothering intensifies*

"i'm GOOD"

*mothering intensifies*

"How's Jack"

You aren't used to being mothered and it's murdering me completely to my soul. Dean's got SO MUCH MOTHERING all through the show compared to you. He even sees Jody as a mom friend while you crush on her like crazy so you haven't even got that!!!!

Because Chief Sam is the boss of this lot but at the SAME TIME he's getting all these soft tender mom moments he's never got to have before. It's a wonderful balance of nuances to his current life. He's overworked but surrounded by a supportive care team that respects him, gives him soup, and holds his hand, literally in Mary's case. And yet he's the scruffy macho competent boss who knows how to call all these shots, deputise, set up missions, but still knows more than them, how to do traffic cams, I'm sure years of lore over most of these hunters who only learned to deal with what got thrown at them in the apocalypse by trial and error because when do they get lore books? Mary and Bobby and other pre-apocalypse hunters would be few and far between to offer competent training to a populace suddenly all turned hunter.

-

Oh, AUBobby is beating up Jack. Perfect.

-

AAAH DIRECTED BY TJW

WAS NOT ADEQUATELY HOLDING ONTO SEAT

WARN A GIRL

-

I love finally seeing the training room but I'm deeply conscious that this is where Put Up Your Dukes starts and I can't get that fan fic out my mind so I'm just like, Jack, don't lie on the floor, your dads have banged there.

-

I'm so happy that AUBobby is nurturing a grandson, because this is the difference between him and Bobby - that our Bobby had that with Sam n Dean, but AUBobby never did. Though he DID have Mary Campbell to crush on, I doubt it would have softened him and rounded out the harsh places in his soul the same way raising Sam and Dean did, because he had an unrequited love and she hadn't gotten over John, while this recently widowed Mary Winchester actually has made better progress just because of the circumstances of the loss. Anyways Jack has no preexisting history with Bobby so there's nothing weird about him and AUBobby stepping into a nurturing relationship, that Sam n Dean would find uncomfortable in a way, given their relationship with Bobby. And Jack gets yet another strong figure to teach and guide him.

AUBobby looks slim and stands tall compared to Bobby, which I'm largely putting down to posture, and not being drowned in layers. I like this difference - Bobby almost never voluntarily dressed in 1 layer, but AUBobby has a more military slant, and this training sergeant routine with Jack is a good fit to show a difference in his character, that isn't surly old Bobby behind his desk, that he's involved in teaching Jack to fight, rather than helping hunters with lore and swigging whiskey.

I'd assume given the lack of availability in his AU, he's considerably less alcohol dependant, so this is a very different character thing. If Bobby were doing this training, and nothing else was different, he'd be taking a breather to pour them both a whiskey as he imparts wisdom.

-

Demon in nice shoes and dark sunglasses at night to indicate that yes I am a demon I have black eyes :P I assume this is a demon anyway not just because of this detail but pre-season spoilers

-

Ah hearing Cas's name is enough to make my heart pick up. MY GUY!

But then, "Castiel, darling"

Stop trying to make Good Omens happen, it's not going to happen. You can't just "darling" up to an angel and expect that good good romance. Crowley took years to wear Cas down and Cas never actually LIKED him, down to their last real interaction where Cas was just "WTF???? LEAVE ME TO ROT AND DIE" when Crowley saved him in 12x12

-

God I miss that

-

"Oh god."

Same, buddy.

You do, however, realise this is your first words of the season gifset line, though?

Someone ought to write to Dabb and inform him that people make first and last word gifsets and to be more careful.

Especially if in the last episode at the end of the season, Cas's last word is "Dean"

-

Anyway Cas has said 1 line and I can tell he's on top form. Unlike 10x01 he's in a hipster hogroast joint.

-

This demon, with dark black sunglasses inside at night (douchebag) just ordered a coffee, black. WE GET IT, ENOBY DEMENTIA DARKNESS RAVEN WAY, YOU ARE GOFFIC AND IT'S AS BLACK AS YOUR SOUL

-

LOL Cas is sitting under the JACK'S sign.

Demon douche sits under Schultz, which is the death beer. And lemme tell you, TJW is well-versed in this. So well-versed in it he's sat Cas in front of a classic El Sol flyer with the subtle touch required to tell Dean that Cas is his dream girl. He knows his shit.

-

This seriously seems to be implying that the rise of hipster food joints is an effort from Hell to spread chaos on earth

-

Cas sitting with his back to the fire is such an interesting visual, but this is just a note to self for later to guess what it all means

-

THIS FUCKIN DEMON TOOK  HIS BLACK SUNGLASSES OFF TO SHOW OFF HIS BLACK EYES

Dabb is so good at incidental characters, and making me hate this guy for nuanced nonsensical reasons is amazing. This is... art...

-

This is a callback to 5x08 and Dean ranting about hating procedural cop shows then him and sam taking their sunglasses on and off at night every time they made  a pun and I'm 100% convinced since 12x01 and Cas busting through that Mystery Spot sign that Gabriel has been subtly influencing events

-

Okay so we know exactly what is written on demon bathroom walls. I'm taking that as a sideways confirmation that Cain knew full well that Dean had his Colette because he'd seen crude doodles of them doing it

Anyway douchedemon just outright told Cas that all the demons assume he and Dean in particular are banging. Not that Cas bangs Winchesters, as some have implied, without knowing all the details. They've narrowed this info down.

I assume this is also in the Winchester Dossier that Barthamus studied from before meeting them. I love that demons probably do have a filing cabinet somewhere of all the notable assholes they run into in their work, and the Winchesters take up a whole cabinent, but the refresher file summarising them in a paragraph if you don't have time is like, Sam: Lazy boyking, will stab you. Dean: fucking Castiel, will stab you.

-

Cas doesn't even move an eyebrow. Incredible.

-

Cas rarely gets hit with these compared to Dean in the history of the show, and Dean is full of bluster or anger or confusion or alarmed eyebrows. Cas is like... no. fuck you. i'm party!Cas, I have my shit in order.

Though this is from a demon. It's an entirely different thing when Heaven is involved, as they also have their dossier on the winchesters.

Sam: abomination. will banish you. Dean: fucking Castiel. Will stab you.

-

*loud coffee slurp* "what's in it for moi?

Cas, stab him. Stab him now. This is not worth the information. You can find another guy.

-

I'm starting to think Cas with his back to the flames is his unwitting danger from this hellish hogroast place.

-

They use Shultz beer containers to hold the sauces and menus on the table. DEEEEATH

-

Cas speaking slower and threatening to burn him to ash "right here and right now"

this is a gifset that will get a lot of notes from thirsty Cas fans

-

Whaaaaaaaa the entire joint turned out to be owned by and filled with demons who would ever have guessed based on one open fire and that metal hogs head from the promo pics :P

-

Stop hurting him!!!! Misha can't stage fight! This is really unfair!!

I wonder how the poor new awesome fight coordinator took to Misha

"let's just... um..." "hide him behind all these demons?" TJW suggests The fight guy nods sadly.

-

Aww Sister Jo got back to work. Good for her.

-

Sister Jo has no fear and can stroll down a shady alley counting her money

*t-shirt meme* One fear: *flappy wing noises*

"Hey Jo."

-

GHOLY SHIT TRUE FORMS TYHUEOJDSHGFSH DS TRUE FORMS WE SEE WHAT ANGELS SEEE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD SCIENCE HAS CAUGH T UP TO THE DIVINE, SPN CAN FINALL Y SHOW US WHAT ANGELS SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

-

Holy shit I want the gif of this as my blog header. That's shitting amazing.

-

Burning HALO

ALL HIS CHI POINTS LIT UP EVEN WHEN IT MAKES IT LOOK SILLY TO HAVE HIS CALVES GLOWING

-

I wonder if this is what Danneel sees when she looks at Jensen all the time

-

"Why would he say yes to you?"

"Love"

I'm dying and I am dead. I gather that Dean is 100% absent from this episode, but that one comment puts him front and centre and I am in paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain. Everything happening around Michael and because of Michael is because Dean loves his peeps. From Sam staying up hacking traffic cams on vampires to Cas getting his ass handed to him by demons.

-

I bet Cas looks like that single glowstick he had on in the cave when angels look at him.

-

Party!Cas

-

I ruined the fun

-

Jensen gently touches Danneel's face and that's just rude because that's all his tenderness for his wife being turned into a scary villain move between Deanchael and Jo. Don't do this to them!!!

-

Oooof Deanchael pulls from Dean's memory of Anael about what she was like, describing her in the most Cas-like terms, then cuts through her hilarious bull about wanting handbags (this is so meta about sticking middle fingers in the faces of people who think she's a well-paid beard) and then starts telling her she wants love and a family.

Deanchael has used the word "love" twice in a scene and it's horrifying to see the word come out of his face, when Dean is so guarded. Now Deanchael is just looking through Sister Jo and analysing what she wants - and she's playing this game very well but this move of his might still beat her. Because ow. Telling her she wants belonging and family. When she's very much established as a Cas mirror by the reminder she ran away from Heaven and doesn't want to play by their rules.

"It's very, very human of you. And so disappointing." Did all those times Lucifer sucked her grace bring her close to feeling it? To the point of permanent damage? I only ask because I know another guy this might apply to.

-

I wonder how much Deanchael is projecting based on conjectures because he knows Cas through Dean's eyes.

-

"But if they're all these sad, lost, fallen things..." Ya, that's Cas too for suresies

-

SAM AND JACK SAM AND JACK

Jack sitting quietly in meditation, clearly unsettled. A parallel to 13x23 when Dean came rushing in to him having a nightmare, now Sam is having a crack at parenting the boy.

-

Jack lying about how things were fine. Nougat. Hon. You're human now. But not that good at being human. Sam knows your tells :P

-

Sam interrupted mid pep-talk by Mary with some nonsense.

Jack is always so ugh... accepting and kinda flippant. He knows parental figures can be disappointing and get dragged away mid peptalk by some business.

Which he's apparently not involved in. I guess after we see him going on hunts with them in 13x23, he's grounded until he goes through basic training so not only is he useless to help with his powers to find Dean, but he can't even do the easy hunter stuff because he's just a kid.

-

Aww my poor baby Nougat :( He's so angsty. He's a TEEN. Lookit him! All growed up!

-

Uuugh I guess this is Nick. "I didn't talk to him. I can barely look at him."

What I'm getting from this sequence mainly is the sound of Triss's rage at the Bunker layout.

-

*Mary pats Sam's shoulder supportively and walks off*

You're on your own, Chief.

-

Ugh I am not ready for this bull if it's Nick but I have to keep watching to be sure :P

-

Ew it is. EW. What does Mark P HAVE on you all.

At least TJW is shooting the heck out of this to show us how gross Sam finds this all.

Sam's shadow falling over Nick.

I really want to know how this bullshit happened. And yet. No, not really.

-

Oh gross AND they're making Mark P take off his shirt. The nipple I didn't want to see in the Road So Far was not warning enough.

Pre-season ugh speculation was that whatever Crowley did to Nick made him stronger and more permanent apparently even than Lucifer being stabbed out of him.

-

So yeah anyway I guess Jack is in part also sulking about this and I'm with him, because Sam being pulled away from their pep talk time to deal with Gross Man Associated With My Father But Not Actually Him Because Biologically I Am The Son Of A Non-Historical President...

-

Making Sam the one who has to care for Nick is utterly cruel. He has so many deputies. Maybe this is just his personal fear that Nick's still a bit Lucifery. Maybe he just sees this as a gross burden, a manifestation of the ongoing trauma from Lucifer, that even when he's dead he lingers.

-

Plus, it's giving us some reassurance that an angel can be ousted from a vessel without killing them, to throw some options into the Deanchael pot.

-

Still. Nick. Really.

-

I bet Jack is sulking because some little cosmic part of him regenerating deep down in his core, that one lil gold glowy chi point in his big toe, knows that Eugenie forgot his name at SDCC and called him "Nick" and this shit from your creator just weighs on you. Jack is an entity beyond Buckleming and yet born from them, and this is what they beget: forgetting their own child in favour of this old carcass.

-

bitter? moi? *sips coffee noisily*

-

Actually, that's not true but I need some tea because I'm sulky so I'm taking this ragebreak to go make some and then I will sip it noisily in Nick's direction. :P

-

Everything henceforth is under the jurisdiction of hot drink no.2

-

"I don't understand how Lucifer could die and I could live"

I hate you

Eurgh, I bet you anything Dabb pulled a Buckleming and just took the post-it note they gave him when he asked, er, HOW does this happen? and transliterated it into dialogue because 1: all the writers shade Buckleming all the time because I can literally see it ooze out of Perez and Yockey and Bobo's writing but this is the showrunner, guyses. 2: it's such a dumbass convoluted explanation that it only burns out the archangel but if you non-fatally stab it then the guy is fine.

Which begs the question of how the fuck is Gabriel because if we get anything good from this, that fucker is in one hell of an interesting vessel situation compared to Old Nick.

-

PS: I am not sure how culturally saturated this is so we are all clear that Old Nick is a historically used name for Satan and his name has been a joke since 5x01 thanks to Kripke, and now we have to actually deal with that.

-

And then Nick is actually sympathetic to how Sam feels looking at him. I guess Mark P really wants us to feel sympathetic to his new dude.

-

"And Michael... did he tell Lucifer anything about his plan?"

Listen, we NEED acknowledgement that for a month or so Lucifer and AUMichael roadtripped together to assemble from their AU the key of solomon, the fruit of the tree of life, and the blood of a most holy man.

There was a lengthy downtime while people settled in and Dean was allowed to think the Good Times were rolling, and all that time, the weirdest brother roadtrip show ever was going on in the AU, mad enough that I would actually find it hilarious to watch despite enduring Mark P as a result of it.

-

SAM DOES NOT DESERVE THIS

He's not allowed to rest, ever.

-

I bet this is douchdemon phoning him from Cas's phone.

-

"Hello Sam!" says a perky voice down the phone. It's INCREDIBLE how unlikeable this demon is making himself. He's actually my favourite character now.

-

Oh no, Nougat is wearing a different grey shirt. He's really depressed. Someone help him.

-

"He just told you he was a demon?" "he seemed proud of it too"

Sam hates him as well. I can't wait for Sam to come scowl at him.

-

"What do we do?" Maggie asks, completely wide-eyed. Oh honey. Poor, innocent, sheltered Maggie. What were you doing all apocalypse until we caught up with you? You aren't hardened, you're adorable.

-

AUBobby and Rufus (his gun)

-

"I'm coming too!" YAY JACK. Your father is in trouble, he's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days, but what a different world all the rest is

-

"I'm not as strong, but I can help," he says, looking tiny beside Sam, bruised up from AUBobby's training, a single layer to make him look even smaller...

(we do not talk enough about how all these jackets are a sort of alpha being shoulder plumping thing like when you make yourself look huge to scare off a mountain lion but that's 100% what this is)

IT MADE JACK SMILE yey he's allowed to feel useful! Pop is allowing him to go on a mission to rescue Dad who was looking for Papa when this all went down.

Grandpapa is not so pleased, because AUBobby has been measuring how useful Jack is and I feel like lil Nougat bab is going to do something mildly heroic for Cas or else get pasted for his ongoing character development for the season...

-

"He needs this, Bobby."

-

Dear LORD does he not quit? We don't even know his name? "Are you sure I can't get you anything... hot... or black?" FUck OFF

No wonder by the promo pic Cas looked so utterly done. This is exhaustingly annoying for him. Cas's personal hell is just irritating people. A line of Crowleys and Lucifers and this jerkwad chattering at him.

-

And yet Dean runs his mouth all the time and Cas is in luuuurve

-

Oh lordy are we really doing this coffee metaphor now? "Coffee has no effect on me" (but he once acquired the taste, and it was a core part of him being human and learning to human in the opening shot of 9x06 for him as his metaphor for how he was learning)

"me either *sluuuurp* not any more. But it's like saltwater taffy or infants. I just like the taste."

-

"I'm just being a good host like mother would have wanted"

Cas stops mid eyeroll to eyeroll HARDER at meeting ANOTHER demon with mommy issues. Like, please. Don't. I like Rowena now but can we NOT.

-

Party!Cas of Dabb era is my favourite iteration of Cas by a country mile.

-

"Why are you using me as bait?" "it's kind of what you're for"

Oh Cas. Now he's just the damsel in distress, which I guess is a step up from being an attack dog, but still isn't that great for the ego stroking about his role and use within the Winchester family, an ongoing source of stress for him, this reminds us.

-

Cas's faith in Sam is wonderful. like, as soon as douchmon says he needs something from Sam, Cas just SMIRKS like, OH BUDDY. BUDDDYYY. No, I'm not gonna say it. I'm just - "you think he'd make a deal with you?" I'm ... I don't laugh as a rule but inside? Hilarious.

-

"Somebody asked me what it was that I wanted" You know, I think Deanchael is INCITING people. he's not killing any of them, just using the revelation of his appearance to motivate them - moving Sister Jo to do what she wants, which is to re-organise Heaven with the ideas she had as a button pushing functionary... visiting world leaders and holy men, and this douche...

To what end, though? Chaos? This is a roundabout way to make a better world.

-

"Destroying, Drinking, Defiling, you know, the 3 Ds" they absolutely have posters up in Hell with this on for the newbies to learn.

-

We've seen Heaven's staffroom, I DEMAND to see the break room in Hell, with all its lurid Destiel smut doodled on the walls and so on

-

Anyway it's a hell of a question, pun intended, because demons have no real purpose, even the named baddies have largely been slaves to someone else's will (Lucifer or Crowley) and Crowley could not have answered that question from the start of season 6 through to the moment he chose to sacrifice himself... I don't think any of TFW 2.0 or Bunker Squad could answer it fully. Cas can't, and that's the question that's been bugging him since 9x06 -

EPHRAIM Shh-shh-shhh. It'll be over soon. I'll take the pain away.

CASTIEL I want to live.

EPHRAIM But as what, Castiel? As an angel? or a man?

and it's what his entire crisis in season 10 was over... Who ARE you Castiel? What do you WANT?

-

Dean wants a Beach Vacation Ending. He figured it out and as narrative punishment, he's Deanchael. No one else has sorted it out, though, but Sam got close - he had his pizza dream and was immediately punished with being eaten by vampires and resurrected by Lucifer and all that drama... Sam's work isn't done. Though his growth has taken a huge leap, now he has to figure out what he wants in this NEW setting, and we're only just MEETING Chief Sam in this iteration, so he's got a lot of work to do.

-

"I gave it a good think and I worked out exactly what I wanted. Everything."

Deanchael definitely is planning for this, so watch out buddy.

-

SAM DRIVING, MOM IN SHOTGUN

RED ALERT

-

Uhoh Sam's snapped because of the optimism Mary exudes. Yep, he really was nearly at the last straw in their earlier convo when he scoffed at her attempts to cheer him up.

Look, she's trying to mom you with no experience except adopting Jack. Work with her.

-

Sam is spiralling with the depression, this time all the bad things that could have happened to Dean and how they're never going to find him, throwing these horrible scenarios at Mary to stop her trying to comfort him.

-

"I know. I know he's out there, scared and alone." She sees lil 4 year old Dean. Because, I mean, that is the soul Dean bears to her when they have moments sometimes. And her optimism is a wall against thinking of her toddler in this scenario.

"I know. I know he might not come back. Never think I don't know that. But I can't - I have to think about the good, Sam. Because if I don't, I will drown in the bad." I wonder who that directly relates to who is currently driving this car.

I really hope this is a bit of vindication for Mary - or redemption to the eyes of the people who don't like her - that she does care, and she's spelling out her approach to all this. In the start of season 12 when she was trying to keep afloat she used a lot of optimism and furious paddling on the surface, because she has been doing that her whole life. When she was being raised a hunter, when she was a housewife with no clue what she was doing, a mom but he marriage beginning to fall apart... And then thrust into the present day, and it's 360 degrees of combat and loss and sadness and a ill-advised hook up with Ketch... Furious doggy paddling on the surface.

"For Dean's sake, I can't do that. We can't do that." And she shows that she is prioritising Dean, that she's driven and motivated to keep going FOR him.

Come on, give her a chance.

-

Nyooom.

-

Meanwhile in the Jack and Bobby truck, Jack is the one angsting and Bobby is the one driving.

Jack is one years old and not legally old enough to drive.

-

Bobby peptalks him with the reminder that when Jack had his grace he did hero things for these people, which is why he can ride shotgun, and even if he feels useless now, they'll have his back, that he has earned this squad even if he can't be as awesome as he used to.

-

Maggie is like, I'm getting a reaction shot... Am I going to develop feelings for Jack? That would be super weird, he's one years old. I hope no one is implying this even though I'm in a bunch of scenes getting character focus.

-

Eeeeeeee Sam trusts Mary with the demon killing knife. I am sure they don't call it Ruby's knife to her and he has never, ever told her about that time that thing happened with Ruby.

-

This fucker had his back turned for Sam to enter just so he could turn around dramatically. God he's repellent.

-

An extra was hired to pat Sam down. What a job.

-

"The shoulders. The hair! You are my Beyonce!" I mean, same. Except. Cas is Agent Beyonce so this fuckhead has totally misread this situation.

This gives Sam a moment to look over at Cas and Cas silently says, yes I know he's a total fuckhead, I've been dealing with this all day. I'm so sorry bro, can you just stab him so we can go home and follow a different lead. I don't even care what this one knows, I can't handle him another minute.

-

"I'm more embarrassed than I am hurt" I understand this to my core, and I'm so sorry, Cas.

-

"Kipling. Kip for short."

"Cool. Kip. I'm here." Sam being exactly as "fuck you" as I wanted towards Kip.

Sam is now standing with his head in an El Sol sign. TJW what are you up to bud?

-

Oh no Jack and Maggie got caught skulking. Sam and Cas have the same "my boy!" reaction when they see Cas.

Maggie is here too, you monsters.

But Kip has missed Mary and AUBobby

-

"It's just late capitalism, you understand" Yeah, and fuck you Kip.

-

How is Kip so irritating that he can make tapping a stool somehow the most obnoxious thing a man could do? He's WONDERFULLY well-cast. I love this actor. He's chewing scenery and it's incredible.

-

"What do you want?" Ow, Sam being twisted into asking the same thing Deanchael asked Kip

-

"Ass-modeus Kentucky Fried" listen you are still the worst but that drew a sympathetic smile and I hate it and I hate you.

-

Oh, Sam just Sammed something from that side glance, random demon side-eye. Oooh. Oooooooh.

But yeah, Kip asking for the "Crowley Deal" as if it's a package that can be bought from the Winchesters, and not something that Crowley wormed his way into via much back and forth power plays and drama. The Winchester have always had a back and forth with Hell, and since Crowley there have been a lot of demons, like Bart, trying to figure out what exactly it WAS that they all had. But someone has to be in charge, and the Winchesters are the top dog destined hunters with their fingers  in all the world-saving pies, so clashes come naturally. Approaching them like this, first Bart, now this douchenozzle, is meta, presumptuous, overstepping what builds naturally... An attempt to leapfrog to the end where the equilibrium is established.

But Crowley had time to build a long game. These new pretenders are working in a world where the Winchesters' actions have devastated Heaven and Hell alike, and are, like Mary, just trying to keep afloat on the whole thing.

"We never gave Crowley that deal." Because yes, that's how it seemed to play out, and from outsider eyes that's how it may have looked... But each and every interaction came about naturally through the plot, there was no wrangling it. That's just how the Winchesters and Crowley ended up.

And that hole can't be filled by someone just leaping into the chair and asking for it.

Though it is nice if Motown Meats is the new seat of Hell on Earth instead of the outdated exterior asylum interior castle dungeon look Crowley set up.

-

"You're no Crowley. I know that. So do they." I think that was what Sam Sammed out of the demons, and also true, and ALSO is this the boyking accidentally exerting himself, knowing what's good for Hell? I always get a lil tingle in my thumbs when Sam gets too involved in knowing what's up with Hell.

-

Holy shit Kipling was a Mongolian warlord who rode with Genghis Khan in life. PLEASE survive this episode, I want to hate you all season. PLEAAAASE I BEG YOU.

-

Oh my god this insecure whinging asshole, chowing down on the scenery like there's no tomorrow. "I'D EAT YOUR HEART" *turns to weepy and quiet* "before I show you who I really am..."

This is Eddie Redmayne in Jupiter Ascending levels of scenery eating. He's gonna pick up a barstool and take a bite out of it now.

-

Sam is doing this all unarmed, which is something to remember, because this is the fucker who talked his way into killing the Alpha Vamp while MOSTLY unarmed for a majority of that chat.

-

Sam Fucking Winchester.

-

AUBOBBY AND RUFUS!!!!

Also mary.

-

But AUBobby gets a slow mo for Rufus shooting demons.

-

HOLY SHIT MARY'S SLOW MO

I am pregnant

-

MARY THROWING SAM THE KNIFE

-

TJW was like this fight is too fast, my guy. We need to slow it down.  You're so good at your job no one's gonna see what happened unless we go slow mo.

he and the fight guy high five

-

"Aw, balls."

Hey, Nougat tried. He's got a squishy hero centre.

Looks like he weighs nothing and now he's human he goes down in one punch. Owie.

-

"Here take this. You know how to use it?" "Uh! Stab them with the pointy end!?" "pretty much"

Maggie you precious girl why are you HERE. Why is Soups On or Gnarly Gun Guy not here?

-

Cas you fucking damsel in distress

-

Fight guy is like "uuuuh do I have to"

Misha is like "I'm good here, tbh"

-

SAM FUCKING WINCHESTER

(Aw, Kip's dead, he was fun)

-

"ENOUGH"

YES SIR

-

"There will be NO NEW KING OF HELL"

You are gonna get demon minions like fucking ducklings you ass

-

"Not ever. And if anyone wants the job, you can come through me" Sam is technically immortal so long as Rowena is alive and vice versa you know. Also, how long is he planning on defending Hell? Ever?

I'm stalling from how much I have to scream about how badass Sam was throwing down that declaration that he's now essentially the trial a pretender to the throne has to pass to take the job.

Because if I was a demon... FUCK NO would I want to tangle with this fucker.

-

Sam's file, updated: Current King Of Hell. Will Kill You. AVOID.

-

Sam is fucking terrifying. I love it. He scared demons out of their meatsuits. Sam walking into a room is now a reason to eject and abort mission. God. This guy.

-

Remember in season 1 when demons were scary? Oo er this isn't our sort of thing... halp.

Now Sam looks them in the eye and is like, fuck off. I'm scarier than any of you.

-

"That's what I thought"

Cas is literally giving you the reverse look of in 4x16 when you marched in and fried Alastair's brain.

-

SAM GOT A NEW SHIRT thank god.

I should amend: he did all this wearing blue plaid with orange stripes.

Sam Fucking Winchester.

The BMoL definitely didn't have the right birth certificate because that's his legal middle name.

-

Sam n Caaaaas my GUYS. I hope this is the 10x01 convo but, like, not. Flip flip flip those pancakes, Dabb my guy.

-

Cas, hon, you're still so beat up you have blood trails coming out of your nose. There's not really caring about your meatsuit because it heals eventually, but there's also washing your fucking face, because Sam's had time to change his shirt and get a beer so what were you doing?

-

Probably staring at a picture of Dean on his phone and sighing.

-

Anyway he's here to ask how Sam is, rather than care about himself. Symbolism.

"I've been better. And worse." Worse is 10x01.

Or 4x10's flashbacks. For sure those are the worstest.

Though, this time you are the king of hell and you're wearing a dark shirt and I don't think you have thought this through.

-

The most well-meaning accidental king of hell ever.

-

Sam and Cas share the "to find Dean I'd do anything" look. Be CAREFUL. Cas is literally choosing to wear hubris on his face because he feels bad about his fuck up with going to Kip.

-

Mary! Casual Mary chilling in the kitchen!!

Although, with everyone in the bunker, these rooms are taking on different meanings. The people are chasing out the heavy shadows and ghosts of all the oppressive silences Sam and Dean have filled these corners with.

-

Aw it's Mary and AUBobby. I was half-hoping we'd have her giving beer to Jack, but I guess we need to set up the forward momentum on their relationship for this season.

"Not bad today, old man." "you too, Sunshine."

You do realise that Mary is sitting in the exact same spot as where Dean was when he called Cas "Sunshine" You do know that right I mean you KNOW? This is TJW, he knows. He's a Destiel Shipper of the highest order.

-

Cas pops in on Jack, staring at his busted up face in a mirror, now filling more Winchester angst tropes to make up for lost time. "I'm fine," he says without being asked.  Because 10x01 or 10x02 was where Cas defined "fine" for Hannah and explained to her it's what humans say when things are really not fine but they can't admit it.

-

"You did well." "All I did was get punched. In the face."

I love snarky teen Jack.

"To be fair, we all got punched in the face," Cas says, still covered in hubris.

He has a POINT. He has full right to pull the "I should feel more useless than you" card on Jack.

-

Jack doing the "i'm useless" thing that Cas had to go through when he lost his grace, and Jack was allowed to stay in the Bunker. Is this how Cas would have felt had he not been kicked out?

-

Jack says Michael's out there and he still feels responsible to stop him. There's a very, very very very ver very weird Hamlet vibe from Jack, being forced into a position of emotional responsibility to kill his uncle, but Cas is his once dead now back and not a ghost father, and Jack couldn't kill Michael and so Dean got possessed... I mean, it's not a neat overlay, but Jack wants to kill an uncle, an AUncle, and I feel like in terms of uncle-killing narratives, AU Michael making off with Dean fits about as well to Hamlet's uncle marrying his mom as we're gonna get... I'd love to see how this shapes out because these family narratives since season 11 are becoming deeply shakespearean in the amount of nonsense going on. This sort of supernatural drama is a modern world way to have this kind of heightened emotion and the stakes you find in Shakespearean tragedies, and to force the sorts of reflection on the world and self... I really really dig it. Watching season 13 yesterday really hit me with this feeling all over and I'm delighted that Jack has this arc because I'm so amused/interested to see where this weirdo Hamlet parallel goes for him.

-

"I don't have anything." "Oh Jack" thanks Cas that's what I said out loud "you have me. You have all of us. You have your family." *SHOULDER GRASP*

No hug. Fuck off Cas, with your reassuring shoulder grasps. I know that's the language you've been taught but Dabb era is hug era and you suck.

-

I love that with all of Sam and Mary's doubt and Jack's lack of self worth, it's down to CAS. CASTIEL. CASTIEL WINCHESTER. CASTIEL FUCKING WINCHESTER. PARTY!CAS. to give the actual pep talk of the episode which has ANY conviction behind it. Cas has been fuelled with something MAGNIFICENT since the Empty, and he's turned it up to 11 for Jack here :')

-

Jack makes the smallest smile, then turns back to his mirror.

-

Sam opening the door to his bedroom, framed in darkness. 10x01 parallels again - this shot as well as the demon dean one were repeated a few times through the 3 episode arc, and the demon dean one became iconic but Sam did it too, to Dean's room. Now he goes into his own... empties his pockets... he still has the fucking engraved money clip from Tall Tales because Gabriel is not only not dead but telling this entire story for us... He has the phone, that's off, because Dean is not there, not communicating with him, blah blah. And he has the keys to the Impala. Because he's the chief.

Well, the King of Hell. Damn, it took 14 years to get him there. Azazel is fucking spinning in his grave.

-

Ooh, phonecall! Is it Deanchael? "What do you want?"

Nope, it's Sister Jo! :D She's been standing there ALL NIGHT weighing her options and working out what she wants.

SPIN THAT CHAOS, DEANCHAEL.

-

Deanchael approaches a vampire, and it's that purity of Purgatory, that just wanna eat that fuelled so much of the badass stuff in season 7 with the Leviathan, everything Dean's struggled with when it comes to the black and white world of killing monsters no problem that dates back to Gordon in 2x03, that draws Deanchael to them. Because this is Dean's safe space with Benny, a real relationship based on a bond forged in pure, kill or be killed, eat or be eaten purgatory. Deanchael has the same inner machinery as Dean, because Michael is the worst version of Dean, engineered to be Dean but without love. Dean as a monster. And so it all leads here... D:

-

Well this will be fun :D

[shirtlesssammy]

1x12: Faith

Welcome to hellatus, guys! This summer we’ve decided to recap our favorite episodes from past seasons. We’ll be picking two per season. We’re starting off with Faith --because Dean’s faith and self-worth seem like a good start, and at least one recapper (Boris) hasn’t rewatched in a very long time.

Then:

On a dark, lonely highway, two brothers criss-cross the country hunting monsters while looking for their dad.

Now:

Sam and Dean are hunting a rawhead in the basement of very dark house (forewarning: Boris will maintain a running commentary on how dark this show is in the beginning for the foreseeable future.) While Sam gets the children to safety, Dean takes out the monster with electricity, but gets zapped in the process.

(If I’m going to suffer, you’re going to suffer)

Sam gets Dean to the hospital (Omg, Hannah!) but the doctor has bad news. Dean suffered a massive heart attack, and his heart is irreparably damaged. He only has a few weeks to live. Sam, in tears, heads to Dean’s room. He finds his brother, considerably worse for wear, channel surfing. “You ever watch daytime tv? It’s terrible.” (haha, Jensen is only a few years removed from Days at this point. Also, it’s SO something Dean loves.)

This is Dean’s episode, but I’m really feeling for Sam here. He just lost Jessica at this point. He isn’t close to John, but their dad is missing too. He is facing the reality that his brother is going to die. Welcome to the show of pain and loss and never ending heartache, Sam Winchester.

He jumps into full savior mode, researching everything about Dean’s condition, and even calls their father. Surprise! He doesn’t answer. There’s a knock at the door, and Dean’s there!

He checked himself out the of hospital. That’s ok though, because Sam has a lead on a specialist in Nebraska. He’s not letting Dean die on his watch!

The specialist is actually a faith healer in a tent. Dean is appalled. I’m appalled at the amount of mud everywhere. This is not ADA compliant. Throw some boards down for the sick and injured at least. As Sam and Dean enter the tent, they argue about faith and God. A young woman counters Dean’s argument, and hello flirty Dean. The woman is Layla. She wonders why Dean is even at the faith healer’s if he doesn’t believe. “Apparently, my brother here believes enough for both of us.” It’s like Sam took those words and internalized them for 13 years. Aside from his mental breakdown after Dean and Cas went to Purgatory, Sam’s always kept pushing and believing in something better.

Once the boys are seated inside the tent, Roy Le Grange starts his spiel. In a side whisper to Sam, Dean calls bullshit on the whole shebang. Roy, who’s blind, overhears him and asks him to come forward.

Dean does not want to go. Dean doesn’t think he deserves to be healed. Dean reiterates that he is not a believer. “You will be, son. You will be.” Hahahahaha, he only believes now because he’s seen it all. Roy asks the congregation to pray and he lays his hands on Dean. Dean falls to the ground. Sam rushes to his side. Dean looks around and sees someone behind Roy.

Back at the hospital, a doctor assures Dean that his heart is perfectly normal, like nothing was ever wrong with it. She also tells the boys that another young man died from a heart attack the day before. Coincidence? Dean thinks not.

The boys split up. Sam goes to learn about the heart attack victim and Dean heads to talk to the reverend. He tells Dean about going blind, cancer, a coma, and a miracle of waking up cancer free with the added bonus of healing thrown in for funsies. Dean wants to know why he was saved. DEAN. The reverend says he sees “a young man with an important purpose, a job to do, and it isn't finished.” Lol, he has AT LEAST 13 more years of work to do.

Sam learns that the man who died was running at the gym before he died. And the clock there hasn’t worked since.

Dean runs into Layla and her mother as he leaves the reverend’s. They’re turned away by the reverend’s wife. Layla’s mom lays into Dean, and Dean learns that Layla has a brain tumor. “Why do you deserve to live and not my daughter?” Whoa, harsh lady. One, he saves the world,  a lot. And B, angels are pretty much making it impossible for him to die.

Back at the motel room, Sam reveals all the research he’s been doing. For every healing that Roy has performed, someone else has died. Dean concludes that they’re dealing with a reaper.

Cue generic lame-o music montage if you’re watching Netflix. Cue super awesome, totally on the nose Blue Oyster Cult’s Don’t Fear the Reaper if you’re watching the DVD. Sigh. We see Roy heal people while a reaper takes a life.

Sam guesses that Roy is using dark magic to bind the reaper to do his bidding. Dean wants to kill him. Sam doesn’t want to kill another human. Then Dean says, “We can’t kill Death.” Lolololololol. Sam suggests breaking the black spell.

They head back to the tent where another dramatic healing service is about to begin. Dean stakes out the tent while Sam breaks into the preacher's house. He discovers a book hidden behind another. It's an old book with information about reapers and the coptic cross on the altar in the tent.

Also in the book? News clippings about people who have died...and one news article featuring the man campaigning against the faith healing. And so the next victim is revealed (In a Monty Python voice: He’s not dead yet!) Sam relays the info about the next victim to Dean.

Dean's mission in all of this is to stall the healing. But this show being what it is, the next person called up for healing is Layla. We want her to live but also...it's not the way to save her. Dean is clearly feeling the same quandary and he tries to tell her not to go up and be healed. Her mother calls her up to the altar and Layla goes. (And you can’t blame her. The word of some angsty dude over her desperate mother? No contest.)

Meanwhile out in the parking lot the next victim calls for help as the reaper pursues him through the parked cars. The preacher's about to heal Layla when Dean pulls the fire alarm – and by “pulls the fire alarm” I mean he just shouts that there's a fire. Uh. Subtle? People panic anyway and skedaddle. The preacher's handlers lead him out and the healing (and murderous reaper) is stopped.

Hooray! Problem solved! Except...no. The reaper reappears and grabs hold of the victim's head. The protester collapses slowly to the ground while Sam shouts at Dean through the phone to fix it. Dean spots the preacher's wife standing strangely off by herself. She's muttering an incantation and when Dean interrupts her, she stuffs an ornate necklace under her shirt before yelling for help. With her spell interrupted, the reaper recedes.

Dean and Layla have a chat about the failed healing. She wants to know why he interrupted her healing and when he doesn’t have an answer, she walks away disappointed. Dean heads back to the car muttering that she deserves life more than him. Ooooh Dean Bean.

Anyway, don't worry kids, because the preacher's gonna heal Layla in a private session! Or, worry readers, because someone's gonna die soon. I'll give you a hint. He's over six feet tall, has fanfiction green eyes, and channels his immense daddy issues into hunting.

Back at the motel, Sam explains the book he purloined from the preacher’s house. It was written by a “priest gone darkside” who learned how to trap a reaper. They theorize that the preacher's wife first trapped it to keep it from taking her terminally ill husband, and later decided to use it to kill people she found immoral. Gross. Since the preacher is healing Layla that night, they head out to either destroy her necklace or the altar, or possibly both since they’re not sure what’s controlling it.

Dean muses about the value of his life yet again on their way to the revival camp. I suppose this is one of the reasons I find this episode so compelling. I’m endlessly drawn to Dean and his deep well of self loathing and sacrifice. I feel like this episode epitomizes much of that for me, and sets up so much of the conversation about faith and purpose later on.

Anyway. Roy's about to start healing but his wife isn't there. She must be lurking elsewhere to do the reaper spell. Sam heads to the house to find her while Dean leads the local cops on a merry chase through the encampment. Sam finds a cellar and heads inside. At last he's found the altar! He finds a picture of Dean on the super messy black altar. (If you're going to do a black altar, at least do it with some style, lady.)

The wife shows up. “I gave your brother life and I can take it away.” Yeah...NO. Sam trashes the altar and races for her. She locks him in the cellar but Sam is resourceful and starts bashing his way out while the preacher’s wife heads to the tent to pray Dean dead.

Dean, meanwhile, gets a happy visit from our friend the reaper. He starts to die, eyes graying out and color bleeding from his face, when Sam appears by the reaper’s wife and destroys her necklace. Sam got free! Now the reaper is free! The reaper immediately turns away from Dean and heads for the preacher's wife. She's toast in moments - her life for her husband, apparently.

Sam meets up with Dean and they head back to the hotel. Dean mopes about what happened when Layla stops by. (Sam called her and told her to stop by. Sam, you dork.) Sam gives Dean a stupid grin and hightails it out of there. We get the recap: Layla's still terminally ill. The preacher's suffering after the death of his wife and collapse of his healing business.

Layla tells Dean that she's okay with everything that went down. “If you're gonna have faith, you can't just have it when the miracles happen. You have to have it when they don't.” (Accurate!) She bids Dean farewell.

He tells her, “I'm not much of a praying type. But I'm gonna pray for you.”

“Well,” she replies. “There's a miracle right there.” (Accurate.)

Ya Gotta Have Quotes:

We can't work miracles

I'm not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren't even hot

I bet you she could work in some mysterious ways

I looked into your heart and you just stood out from all the rest

We can't kill death

God save us from half the people who think they're doing god's work

You said it yourself, Dean. You can't play god

That fabric softener teddy bear. Oh, I'm gonna hunt that little bitch down.

Why me?

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[fleur-de-violette]

Until I fall asleep

Supernatural fanfiction

A3O

This is set after the season 8 and AU from there, but the angels didn’t fell (reason is explained). 

Enjoy

“You want me to call Amelia?”

Sam looked up dubiously. Of all the things Dean might have said, he wasn’t expecting that one. Reading his brother face, the oldest hunter made an apologetic gesture.

“I don’t know man, her, or whoever you want.”

Sam broke eye contact, looking down. Whoever he wanted, hum? He knew his brother was desperate. He overheard the doctor telling him all they could was helping him go away without pain. That is was a matter of days and that they should call his friends and relatives to say goodbye. He also knew the only reason Dean wasn’t destroying everything in the hospital out of frustration was because he was too busy trying to hide his distress from his little brother.

He was dying. There were no alternatives. Cas hadn’t shown any sign of being alive since he left for heaven to ask Metatron the truth, and the state of heaven was unknow. If Dean had prayed, no angel had answered. He was dying, he was leaving his brother alone, and it was so stupid, because if he was dying anyway, he might as well have closed hell for good.

God, he was so tired.

As much as he wanted to sleep, he feared doing so. Ever since he was a kid, he was afraid nightmares would hunt him, he was afraid a monster would attack him. Now, he was afraid he wouldn’t wake up.

He wanted to say goodbye. He didn’t want to die like Jess, like his dad, like Bobby. He wanted to die having said everything he wanted to tell his brother. He wanted to die having said his goodbyes. But not to Amelia. Amelia didn’t need to know the man she lived with had barely made it to 30. He preferred her to think he had made his life somewhere else. He preferred her to remember the broken but trying to heal man he had been, instead of the dying mess he was. He didn’t want her to see him. He didn’t want anyone to see him. He just wanted to rest.

But he couldn’t leave Dean alone. Not now. Not after all this time. Because he knew for a fact that being left alone with no one in the world was unbearable. Dean had to have someone with him when he would disappear. And since Castiel wasn’t there…

“Charlie…”

Was that even his voice? Instead of the strong request he wanted to make, the name had come out as a whimper, without a full sentence.

Dean’s hand lost itself in his hairs, gently pushing it of his face.

“Ok kiddo, ok…” his voice was calm, but shivering, and somehow gratefulness that there was something he could do. “Ok, I’m gonna call her…”

But the older hunter made no move. Because taking his phone would have required him to get his hands out of where they were: comforting his brother. Sam’s eyes closed, his body relaxing into the touch.

Before reopening quickly. He took a deep, strangled breath. He couldn’t sleep. Not now. Not yet.

Dean sighed, as his hand continued its smoothing move.

“You can rest. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Sam felt his eyes watering. He knew his brother wouldn’t leave him. He was the one how abandoned his family on a daily basis.

His last thought before he gave up to slumber was that he had failed Dean again.

Opening his eyes was hard. It was hard since the second trial, if he was honest with himself, but it seemed like it was harder and harder every time he woke up. One more reasons he didn’t want to sleep.

He probably hadn’t been unconscious for long, maybe for twenty or thirty minutes, which meant his next painkiller dose wasn’t due until a few hours, and yet every part of his body started to hurt again, breathing becoming difficult despite the nasal canula.

But he could hear Dean’s voice, so Dean was here, and there was no way he would abandon his brother again, so he opened his eyes. He gathered all his willpower and opened his eyes.

Dean was apparently on the phone with someone, one of his hands still on Sam’s, and the light that appeared in his eyes as he saw his brother awake was worth all the pain Sam went in to wake up.

“Hey, look who is there…” Dean was speaking too fast, too low. His eyes were red. In less than half an hour, he had considered the option that his brother would stay asleep forever. If he hadn’t wanted to scare Sam, he had failed. He tried to act cool but even drugged and tiered, his brother knew otherwise. Hell, even a stranger wouldn’t buy his show right now. He showed the phone “That’s Charlie. You want to talk to her?”

Sam slowly nodded and within seconds, the phone was near his ear.

“Hi Sam,” Charlie’s voice was hesitant, like she didn’t know exactly what to said. Sam couldn’t blame her, because who would? “I heard you weren’t doing so well”

If his friend hadn’t sounded so close to cry, Sam would have sneered at that.

“I’m…” She took a deep breath “I’m pretty far from you right now, but I can be there in a day, two tops. Just… hang in there until I arrive ok.”

“I…” Sam’s voice was hoarse and talking hurt “I’m counting on you.”

He heard what sounded like a muffled sob on the other side of the line, and somehow it warmed his heart. Someone would cry him. He knew Dean would probably cry, but Dean would cry his little brother. The kid he raised. Charlie would cry him as an adult, as he was with his broken soul and the weight of his mistakes on his shoulders. He knew it was selfish, and the reason he needed her was to prevent Dean for doing anything stupid, but the idea of having someone crying for him was comforting.

“I’ll be there. Don’t worry, I’ll be…” she answered, before letting an uncomfortable silence settle in.

Sam didn’t really know what to said. He just settled for a weak “Thank you” hopping she would understand without telling her that she would have to take care of Dean.

After another silence, she spoke again. “I’ll definitely see you tomorrow, okay?” And then repeated, when she obtained no answer “okay Sam?”

The man sighed an “okay”, already exhausted, before letting the phone fall back in Dean’s hand. If his brother kept talking with their friend afterwards, he hadn’t the energy to understand it.

When he focused again, the phone was on the nightstand and Dean was gently rubbing his left palm, where was left the scar of a wound that helped him staying put in reality two years prior. He was talking in a soothing voice, remembering or inventing stories from their childhood.

“Dad was hunting a Ghoul, and we were alone for a week, and the motel office lady kept treating us almond paste angels, saying that it will make us good boys. At some point we had so much that we started sealing them at school.”    

Angels… he didn’t remember that, but he could only think of one thing when it came to angels.

“Any news on Cas?”

He really should stop talking if his brother made that face every time he heard his voice. But Dean seemed somehow relived that he was coherent.

“Don’t worry about Cas okay? Worry about getting better.”            

Sam knew he wouldn’t get better. He also knew his brother was as worried as he was about Castiel. But he couldn’t say any of that. So instead he just let his head fall back with a pained sigh.

“Why don’t you try and get some more sleep?”

Sam closed his eyes against the light. He didn’t want to sleep. He had never liked sleep. Sleep was scary, and it was a moment where he couldn’t react to anything. It was like being dead. And he didn’t want to be dead. Not now, not yet, not ever.

He was dying, and he was scared.

“I don’t want to…”

Like when he was a kid, when his brother and father left him behind and he spent all night reading with a flashlight, because he didn’t want to sleep alone. Because what if something happened to his family and he was needed? Because who would patch them up if they came home wounded? Who would patch Dean up after a hard hunt if he died today? How would back up his brother in case of need, and who would protect him from other and himself?

He vaguely heard the sound of the heart monitor speeding, and Dean whispering calming worlds to him. But all he could think about was the fact that he was letting him down, abandoning him, again. All he could think about was that he was going to die and leave his brother alone, that he was going to die and be alone.  

“I’m sorry…”

A hand was on his hairs again.

“Hey, no… what are you sorry for?”

Sam laughed at that. A strangled, sobbing laugh that put him in a world of pain, but he laughed. Because wasn’t Dean the one who told him exactly what he should be sorry for not one day before?

Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to purgatory…

His greatest sin. Abandoning his brother. And he was going to do it again. After everything he was going to do it again. There were no number of apologies that could ever wash it down.

Where do I start, to even look for forgiveness?

He had given Crowley an answer, but if he was honest with himself, he didn’t know.

How about starting with not dying useless, scared and pitiful?

There were thousands of things he still needed to tell his brother. There were thousand of things he needed to fix, or at least try to fix.

But what came out of his mouth was a weak “I don’t wanna die…” and that was not what he wanted to say.

Not what he should have said.

Because the hand in his went away, and he heard the sound of the door closing, someone yelling and something crashing in the distance.

And then something crashing really really close.

Like, in his bed close.  

And when he opened his eyes, he saw Dean by the door, who had entered the room in a hurry, and Castiel, as well as another, smaller guy in a Weiner Hut outfit Sam could swear he had seen before, half tangled in the wires that were supposed to keep him alive and free of pain, half on him.

“Cas? Alfie?”

Alfie? Wasn’t him the angel they met when trying to get back the demon tablet, and they failed to save from Crowley? Sam felt like he was supposed to be dead, but before he could assess the situation, Castiel, having untangled himself and now standing in the room, started talking very quickly.

“We don’t have much time, Naomi is dead, Metatron is after us, he lied about the angels’ trials, now he needs my grace in order to cast angels out of heaven. I don’t know why he wants to do such a thing, but I know I need to prevent that at all cost. Dean, Sam, you two are the only one I can trust with that. Do you know a safe place?”

Sam waited until he heard Dean’s voice articulate “Wait, what?” to realize his mouth was opening and closing frenetically, like a fish out of water. His older brother continued:

“First of all, what is Alfie doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be dead?”

The younger angel looked at him.

“I don’t know how I’m alive, I don’t know why me. All I know is that I woke up with the knowledge that I couldn’t let Metatron get his hands on Castiel. I think… I think dad has something to do with this. And my name is Samandriel by the way.”

The oldest angel put himself in front of his brother.

“Samandriel saved me, and I trust him. Dean please, I can explain everything, but we need to go to somewhere warded. We don’t have much time.”

Dean sighed “Ok, no, we can’t. We won’t. Sammy can barely move, I’m not risking transporting him to the bunker.”    

Sam looked at him. He knew his brother was right. He couldn’t go to the bunker, and they couldn’t let the two angels go hopping Kevin would know how to let them enter and ward the place back. But Dean could go. Dean could make the way to the bunker and back. He didn’t want to be left alone, but he couldn’t be demanding, considering the situation. Besides, they owed Cas that much.  He was about to say something, but before he could open his mouth, Dean cut him:

“I know what you’re thinking and no. I’m not leaving you, I won’t make the same mistake twice in a day.”

The younger brother sighed.

“Dean, I won’t move or do anything stupid. You know I won’t. The doctor said I’ll be alright for a couple of day, we have time. And Charlie is on her way.”

The doctor hadn’t exactly said that, but he hoped his brother got the general idea.

“Couple of days? Your human doctor said that?”

Two pair of eyes turned to Samandriel, who just talked. Castiel kept his gaze on Sam, like he was examining him. The smaller angel explained himself.

“I mean, I’m surprised that you’re even awake in the state you are in. Your internals organs are a mess, it would be a miracle if you’re still alive in two hours, let alone coherent. It’s practically a miracle that you are now.”

Seeing Dean’s killer’s eyes on him, he added “I’m sorry, I really am. You seemed like a good human being, Sam Winchester, and I’m saddened to see you that way. But there is nothing we can do.”

The lump in Sam’s throat had nothing to do with the after effects of the trials. When he talked, his voice was barely a whisper.

“So? That doesn’t change anything. If anything, Dean should go with you quicker to avoid being suspicious to the hospital staff.”

If looks could kill, his brother’s would have shortened his two hours. Dean turned toward him, and was ready to explode any moment when Castiel, who had stayed silent the entire time, shortened the distance between them and put two fingers on his forehead. Sam immediately sensed his friend’s grace flowing trough him. The warm, healing and familiar feeling covered his body and momentarily covered his pain. Then, like water on a flat surface, it went away, leaving him the exact same. The angel looked at him curiously.

“Does it help?”

“A little I guess.” Sam lied.  

The look in his friend eyes told him the angel didn’t believe him. Castiel seemed to be thinking for a while, before talking again.

“There might be a way. There is nothing we can do from the outside, but I might be able to heal him from the inside.”

Before Sam could proceed, Samandriel and Dean talked at the same time.

“That could work.”

“What do you mean?”

Castiel got up, looking at both Winchester brother.

“It means I might be able to heal Sam if I possess him. He’s a powerful vessel, my grace won’t hurt him, but I will be able to access to the part of his body that are damaged.”

Something that was gone from Dean’s eyes started shining again.

“That’s wonderful, Cas, can you do that? I mean, save him?”

The angel didn’t answer, focusing again on the younger hunter.

“Sam? Be sure that I will regain Jimmy Novak as soon as you are out of danger.”        

Sam closed his eyes. Every part of him wanted to say no. He didn’t want to be possessed by any entity. Not again. Never again. He didn’t want to live the horror he remembered from the time he was controlled by Meg, then Lucifer.

But Castiel wasn’t Meg, nor Lucifer. Castiel was their friend. Castiel would never hurt him.

Except it was the same Castiel who broke his wall. It was the same Castiel who lied to them and betrayed them.

And Sam knew the angel had redeemed himself since. He knew Cas had done everything he could to be forgiven, sacrificing his own mental health. He whished with all his heart that he could trust Castiel. And he could. He could trust his angel friend with his life. He just didn’t know if he could trust him with the complete control of his body.

But then he opened his eyes and looked at his brother. He looked at the man he had abandoned the trials for. He looked at him, and he saw hope in his eyes. And he didn’t want to break that. He looked at his brother, and understood that he needed to live, whatever the cost was. If anything, for Dean.

The first “ok” that got out of his mouth was barely above a murmur, but, after a shiver, the second “Yes. Yes, Cas, you can… You can possess me.” Was much stronger. He was still scared. He was still afraid. He was still disgusted by the shear thought of someone possessing him. But the look on Dean’s face told him he was doing the right thing. He could do it. For Dean.

Castiel took his hand, and his voice was soft when he told him:

“Thank you for trusting me, Sam.”

And everything was lost in brightness.

Jimmy Novak once told them that being possessed by an angel was like being pinned on a comet. Sam couldn’t help but agree. Being possessed by Lucifer was like fighting inside a waterspout, except the water was burning cold, and he was naked. Castiel was different, especially because he knew he didn’t have to fight, but no less overwhelming. Everything was too loud, and he felt like taken in a crown movement. Hands were touching him, invading his privacy, going inside his mouth and restricting his airway. He couldn’t moan or cry.

He didn’t want this.

This was too much.

He couldn’t.

It was too much like him, like the cage and he just couldn’t. Dean would have to understand, to forgive him, because he just couldn’t.

He wanted Cas to go away. He needed Cas to go away.  

And just as he formulated the through, he found himself kneeling on the hospital floor.

He couldn’t breath any easier.

He was disconnected from the machines, he realized, but he had underestimated how bad he was hurt. He was burning, like he had been thrown in a liquid nitrogen bath, and he knew what it felt like. When he opened his mouth, something wet and thick leaked down his chin. Dean was on his side in a second, and he couldn’t tell his brother not to touch him, that he will only make things worse. He vaguely heard voices above him.

“What happened?”

“He rejected me. He forced me out.”

“Sam? Why would you do that? Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps the procedure was too hard to handle. It’s usually not, especially on strong vessels but with Lucifer, the cage, and the fact his body was used without a soul for more than a year, not to mention the effect of the trials…”

“I don’t care. Is there a way you can help him!? Sam? Hey, stay with me, you hear?”

The comforting answer he wanted to give to his brother died in a strangled breath, before he heard Samandriel closing by.

“Maybe I can put him asleep. That would make the grace insertion easier.”

Sam didn’t want to sleep. He knew it was irrational but something inside him told him that sleep was bad. Sleep was the end and he couldn’t sleep.    

“Then do it!” Dean yelled, frightening his brother even if Sam knew the anger wasn’t dedicated at him. “Hell, why didn’t you do it in the first place?”

Castiel was suddenly close to him again, his blue eyes scanning him.

“Sam, can you say yes again? We’ll make sure to make it easier on you.”

The hunter shacked his head weakly. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be possessed. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t know what he wanted. He turned toward his brother.

In case of doubt, refer to Dean. That was what a childhood as a hunter and half a year of Lucifer hallucinations had taught him. So he turned toward Dean. And he saw pleading eyes and desperate tears.

The “Sammy please” that got out of his brother’s mouth destroyed what was left of his fear.

He was too weak to say “yes” but apparently Castiel didn’t need a verbal invitation, as long as he got an invitation at all.

The angel put a hand and his face and smiled. In a second, the bright light was there again, and Sam braced himself for the atrocity he knew was coming.

But two of Samandriel’s finger touched his forehead, and, despite every part of his body telling him that sleep was wrong, he mercifully blacked out.  

Sam woke up on the backseat of the Impala. Or on what looked like the backseat of the Impala. Castiel was sitting next to him, in his Jimmy Novak vessel, and he still had room for lying, which should have been impossible. When he looked at the front seat he saw it empty, even though the car was moving along a nameless road. He quickly seated and looked around him, confused. The constant pain he had grown familiar with in the past mouths was gone, leaving a feeling of emptiness. The first thought that came to his mind was that he had failed. He had fell asleep and abandoned his brother. He turned toward Cas.

“Am I dead?”

He knew that if he was, he would probably see a reaper, and not his angel friend, but a reaper could take a lot of forms and he wasn’t sure of anything. Castiel smiled.

“No. Your body is on the front seat of the Impala, under Dean’s care. We are going to the man of letters ‘bunker. I made sure all your organs are functioning enough to keep you alive, but you’re not ready to wake up yet.”

Sam absorbed the information and sighed. He wasn’t dead, and he would eventually be able to go back to Dean. He could do with that. He seated more comfortably on the leather.

“Where are we?”

His logic told him they were in some kind of imaginary world, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“We’re in the depts of your mind. I wanted you to wake up somewhere where you would be comfortable, so I asked your soul were “home” was. You took me here.”

The hunter tilted his head. That sounded about right. The car has always been his home and he knew deep down that he cherished her as much as, if not somehow more than Dean. He closed his eyes for a moment, there was no music, but he could hear the familiar hum of the motor and the Legos hitting each other in the vents. He could also hear another noise, abnormal, who screamed to him to stop there and call Dean.

“There is something wrong with the engine.”

The angel nodded.

“Yes. It seems that this is the way your mind has symbolized the effect of the trials on your body. I need to fix it, to fix you before you’ll be able to drive on your own.”

“So, I’m the Impala?” The analogy made Sam smile. He remembered the time the trickster-Gabriel had changed him into the car. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience back then but sometimes Dean and he laughed about it. His brother had once told him in one of his soft moment that it was like fusing the two things he would protect at all cost and trust blindly. Sam didn’t know at witch extent this was true, but he was pretty sure the analogy stopped there. He wasn’t as obedient as the Impala, nor as reliable.

Castiel just smiled at him.

“Yes, in some way, you are.”

They sat in silence for a while after that, the car still rolling on a road that would never lead them anywhere. At some point, Cas talked again, his voice hesitant.

“Sam.”

The younger Winchester turned toward him.

“I’m going to have to take control, now. Perhaps you should try and sleep for a while.”

Sam shook his head.

“No I’m not… I’m good. I don’t need to sleep.”

The angel sighed in a slightly exasperate way.

“Considering what happened when I first tried to possess you, I think it would be better for you to be asleep, or at least relaxed when I’ll start working on your body.”

When the only reply he got was another shook of Sam’s head, Castiel tried again.

“Sam. I can assure you that you’ll see everything I do with your body, and that if you want the control back, you’ll just have to ask. I just need to start working. I don’t know how much longer I can keep you breathing.”

The hunter shook his head one more time, so the angel tried another approach.

“Is it because of Lucifer?”

Sam shook his head instinctively before thinking better.

“I don’t know.”

Nothing was really not about Lucifer since he got back from the cage. Even before that, he had the feeling that anything in his life has always been, and would always about Lucifer, like the devil had once told him.

All those times you ran away you weren’t running from them, you were running toward me.

“Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Castiel’s voice distracted him from his dark thought, and he shook his head, repeating “I don’t know”, like a mantra.                      

The angel tilted his head.

“Can I hug you? Would it help?”

The hunter let out a dry laugh. Castiel was more human than when they first met him, but he still had a lot to work on before he could pass as a perfect specimen of humankind. Sam opened his arms.

“Come here.”

Before he knew it, Sam had his head buried in his friend’s neck. They must look stupid, two grown up men hugging in the backseat of the Impala, but he didn’t care. He felt arms patting his back, and something went around him, protecting him, like a large coat in winter.

Two huge black wings.

The wings weren’t like anything he ever saw before, and that was saying a lot.

They were also damaged. Feather were missing at some parts, large pale scars tainting the uniformly black purity.

“It’s okay. You’re not the only one who’ve been used until you broke. You’re not alone.”

Sam put his head up, suddenly remembering something important.

“You’re not alone either, Cas, you got us. You know that, right?”

The angel gently put his head back in his neck.

“I know. Thank you, Sam Winchester.”

Sam mumbled something even he didn’t know what was supposed to mean. Castiel’s voice were soothing. He felt good. The angel didn’t have any body odor, and he just smelled the clean fabric of his clothes.

He felt clean.

Pure.

And for the first time since what seemed like forever, Sam peacefully let his eyes close.  

Thank you for reading. I don’t know if there will be another part of this story or not (I got a few ideas).  

[sammy-moo]

Trapped in Hell

Characters: Sam x Reader, Dean, Bobby, tid bits of Naomi and Crowley

Words: 2,981

Warnings: Angst, mentions of character deaths, mentions of torture, hell

A/N: This is written for @impala-dreamer‘s OP4A Sam Challenge. The prompt will be in bold! Gif brought to you by Google!

As soon as Sam heard the words “shut hell’s gates” he knew it’s what he wanted to do. It didn’t matter if the trials would essentially feel like he was being torn apart and put back together again. Any pain or difficulties he would go through wouldn’t matter.

What mattered to Sam was that there would no longer be any demons roaming the earth. He would protect people from losing their souls and further prevent what happened to him; it would even make the place safer. And any chance Sam got to make the world safer for everyone in it, he was on board.

Another incentive might have also been you.

The two of you separated a few months back. Unlike Sam you weren’t a hunter. You picked up a few things here and there being with him, but the time you managed to get hurt during a hunt sent Sam into a panic mode. It took him months to even let you into that part of his life. At first he wasn’t going to let you into it at all, but when he realized he loved you he had to let you in.

Whenever you got hurt, it reminded Sam of the exact reason you couldn’t be in his life. So Sam had to make one of the hardest decisions he’s ever made and let you go.

There would be no chance of ever being with him again- he refused.

It killed him to walk away and burn the bridges of what could be, but it needed to be done. Sam would rather lose you and know you were still alive out there with another man, than end up in hell on the rack because of him or send you to heaven sooner than what was planned.

And when the night came of the first trial, Sam was the one successful. It took Sam convincing Dean to let him continue on with it. But every word Sam laid out was true.

Dean didn’t believe in a future; but Sam did. He saw a future for him and Dean even if he didn’t know what it quite was.

Sam laid his faith on the line and soon the time came for the second trial.

Rescue a soul from hell.

It couldn’t be easy- and it wouldn’t be easy.

Ever since the boys went to check on Kevin they’ve been hunting down information. Of course it started with a crossroads demon thanks to Dean’s idea. It then lead them to driving to meet up with a rogue reaper, hoping they would help get Sam to hell and back with a soul to save- if there was an innocent soul to save.

Once the two came across Ajay they began to have hope of actually being able to do the trial. The three discussed terms before learning that he was the reaper who took Bobby to hell.

The two were baffled by the information, not wanting to believe it. They were fully convinced Bobby was in heaven until Crowley was brought up in the conversation, thus springing them into action.

Sam made his way through purgatory completely on edge. He’d often check behind his back, his eyes darting around frantically as his ears kicked into overdrive. He could hear his heart beating, the water running, and his feet moving quickly. If anything or anyone else moved for that matter, he would’ve heard them. He clutched onto his lifeline desperately at the handle. And if a monster came gearing towards him, he’d swing it with brutal force, decapitating the thing before it could reach him.

By the time he reached the rock he was panting, but there was no time to waste in catching a breath. He discarded the weapon he found moments earlier on his travels. The handmade weapon thudded against the ground before he moved onto pulling the rock. The rock landed with a much louder sound, but it was barely audible for those that might be near. In fact, if anything was near it was more like to feel the vibrations from the impact.

Wind practically swirled out, gasping to pull something in.

Sam couldn’t see into the door, all he saw was pitch black as he let out a final huff. “It’s a rabbit hole,” he told no one in particular. With a deep breath he stepped in, the door practically helping him in.

He gulped thickly as he looked around the dimly lit area. It was completely nuts.

His eyes darted around quickly, hoping no demon would see him. He knew the chances of being seen were high, but he didn’t want to face one so early on; at least not yet anyway.

With a few moments to compose himself, Sam found himself looking through hell just like he did in purgatory.

He hadn’t been here since the cage, and even then he only experienced the cage. Just being here terrified him as he kept glancing back to keep an eye on what happened behind him. He was alone and without Dean to watch his back, he was on high alert.

Everything he ever learned and every instinct was kicked in.

As he rounded the corner he heard thousands of voices screaming and begging. Each room he passed people claimed innocence or begged to be free.

His eyes began to water as he looked at all the souls around him in agony. He wanted to save them but he knew deep down that they probably belonged here; but even though it was the case he still wanted them to find a sort of light.

Sam shook his head slightly. He had to move on.

He looked around until he finally came to the right door. It creaked and whined as he opened it, stepping into the cell.

“Bobby,” Sam asked. When he didn’t answer he stepped further in trying one more time. “Bobby?”

Bobby turned, completely pale and worn from the years in hell.

Sam could see it all over his face and it pained him even more than the other souls he came across. Unlike the other souls that rested in their cages, Bobby wasn’t meant to be here. He was meant to be in heaven living the best afterlife as much as possible. He shouldn’t have been down here getting torn apart; mind drifting to a happy place to keep him through what was going on only for it to get ripped away with his flesh.

Sam searched Bobby’s face for any kind of response, but all he was met with was a dead look in his eyes that once shone full of life even through all the difficult things he’d been through.

Every ounce of effort and any kind of emotion that Bobby could feel, he mustered up to put it all into the punch he laid on Sam’s face.

His knuckles connected into the nose, sending him stumbling back and holding onto his face.

Sam pulled his hand away to check for blood to happily find no drops spilling out.

“Get the hell out of here, you black eyed son of a bitch,” Bobby spat out, malicious coating every word.

Sam’s brows knitted together, “What? Bobby, it’s Sam!”

“Yeah? And I’m Elvis. Move your ass!”

“Bobby--”

“Get out,” Bobby interrupted, his voice full of hate.

“It’s me,” argued Sam. He threw his arms around in frustration as he spoke before letting out a sigh. He glanced out to make sure no one was coming before looking back to Bobby. “Okay, damn it…. If it’s not Sam… Then how do I know about you and Tori Spelling?” Sam watched as Bobby questioned it. “You’re a fan… Yeah? Or- or uh, okay. What about your free pedicure at the Mall of America? You told Dean to never tell another living soul about how it changed your life.” Sam relied on every word he conveyed to convince him. Sam’s panic softened as Bobby’s anger melted into an expression of confusion.

“Sam?”

Sam chortled, giving Bobby a quick smile before the two hugged tightly.

As Bobby pulled away he apologized for his actions, informing Sam he wasn’t the only Sam he had seen that day. The number of Sam’s had been well over the two hundreds. Bobby practically began to lose count of all the Sam’s and Dean’s he saw in his years of hell, those always being the faces they wore as they tortured him.

But the more Bobby spoke, the more it dawned on him. “Wait what are you doing here? Please don’t tell me it’s what I think it is.”

“No, no, Bobby I’m good. I’m here to get you. You don’t belong here. We’re getting you out,” he said handing Bobby a knife to protect himself.

Sam began leading Bobby the way he came, however it seemed that one of the paths Sam lead Bobby down was one he didn’t take earlier. Thankfully, Sam knew it would lead them to the door. It was one of the paths he looked down but didn’t dare check it.

Souls begged them as they walked by, but when one of the souls cried out Sam froze.

Sam’s blood ran cold as he prayed that the voice didn’t belong to who he thought it did. He turned to look at the cell, to be met with the once bright eyes that he stared into often. The person they belonged to could make any motel or car feel like home, but today he felt like he was in a nightmare version of his own home.

The person was worn down and frazzled just like Bobby was. You were beaten and tired from all the suffering you endured- and he had no idea how long you had been down here.

It couldn’t have been long, two or three months maybe? But three months ago you were perfectly fine. You were looking for jobs and living in an apartment using the money you earned hustling.

But that was three months ago.

He stopped checking after the first month. He realized that if he truly wanted to keep you safe, then he had to leave your life completely; which meant he couldn’t check on you. He worried that if he kept coming back, it would only keep you in the line of danger.

But what Sam didn’t know was that you knew. You knew he was checking on you for the first month. But as the weeks wore on it became sporadic. You preemptively made plans, gathering the materials you would need. To Sam it looked like a perfectly normal life, but you were actually starting to collect guns and other sorts of weapons. You used all the skills you learned from hunting with them, applying them into a name change.

You knew the hunters you would come in contact with would gossip, so you came up with a false name and dyed your hair; that way if Sam and Dean heard of you they thought it was someone else.

But you only knew so much and before you knew it, you were far too deep to ask for help. By the time it even crossed your mind it was too late.

When you came to, you found yourself in hell. You thought when you died you’d be in heaven but damn were you wrong.

Sam gulped thickly as tears filled his eyes. He grabbed onto the bars desperately, hoping he could get the cell open.

“Go away you evil bastard.”

All the hope that filled your voice moments ago vanished when you realized who was walking around. It wasn’t someone that was going to save you. All you thought was it was a demon coming to torture you.

“Wh- what? N- no…. Y/N, Baby it’s me… It’s Sam….”

“That’s what they all say.”

Sam tried to cup your face through the bars but you pulled away, practically backing yourself more into the cold area.

“But it really is me. The time I got sick and we didn’t have a can opener, you stabbed the can with a butter knife until you could manage a big enough hole to pour it out….. Whenever we did research and you were bored you would draw little doodles on the paper or write whatever came to your mind. If Dean or I tried checking your notes you’d hide them up while you pretended that they were notes for what was going on.” Sam grew hopeful as more things came to mind that he would only know. The words began flying from his mouth at an optimistic speed.

“When you joined us, you went out and bought a small plushed animal. You named it just like you did any plush you bought. Whenever there was nights I wasn’t around, you would clutch onto it tightly as you fell asleep. One morning when we were getting dressed, you pulled on my pants thinking they were your’s and when you tried walking off, they fell down your legs and you tripped. I started laughing cause you let out the cutest noise, and you said if I told anyone you’d kill me in my sleep. I couldn’t stop laughing and you were so grouchy. I lifted you from the floor and kissed practically every inch of your face. That was one of the few things that no matter how angry or upset you were, it would always manage to pull a smile to your face no matter how big or small….”

Sam gulped thickly as his eyes searched your’s for any kind of sign.

You stepped forward into his hands, the tears that you thought you could no longer cry rained down your face.

“Sam?”

Sam’s hand slid from your cheek to the back of your head, pulling you closer to the bars so he could try to rest his forehead against yours.

“How? How did you get here?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt the moment, but we really need to get outta here before they find us.”

Sam glanced to Bobby and back to you, “Right.”

Just as Sam tried getting your cage open, demons appeared. The two began fighting them off, leaving Bobby to guess between the two Sams.

Thankfully for Sam he guessed the right one.

“We gotta go. Now.”

Sam gulped thickly and looked to your cell in a panic. He knew that he couldn’t waste anymore time otherwise more demons would show up.

Sam moved to try to get your cell open, but Bobby stopped him.

“We have to go.”

Sam knew Bobby was right. It would take awhile to open your cell, and by the time he’d get it open they’d be surrounded.

Bobby pulled Sam in the direction they were headed.

The two started that way, but as Sam made his getaway he called out to you.

“I’m sorry…. I’ll be back I promise!”

You gulped, fighting off the growing lump in your throat, croaking out your words as you called back. “I promise, I won’t let go.”

Sam and Bobby made it to the door, getting back into purgatory. The two faced some difficulties as they tried to get topside.

When Sam got free he found his brother in the woods, the two sharing a quick hug. Sam then took the time to inform Dean about what happened with Benny, and how Bobby was doing since Bobby wouldn’t get to tell him himself.

Of course, being topside again there were more obstacles to face. Just as Sam freed Bobby, Crowley came in stopping their progress as he trapped Bobby’s soul. He pinned the boys to the nearest trees, preventing them from stopping him.

There was no way Crowley was letting Bobby into heaven for all the destruction he caused to demonkind.

But stopping Crowley was useless when they were stuck to the trees.

Just as the two begin to think the trial was a bust, Naomi swooped in to free Bobby’s soul. The two fell back to the ground, watching as Bobby’s soul went up into heaven.

“I told you you could trust me,” she said with a smile on her face before flying off.

Dean swore to tell him later so Sam could finish up the trial.

Sam read off what he needed to as his hand began glowing. He dropped to the ground in pain, gasping and groaning. However, Sam swore that he was okay.

Dean stood by, watching as his brother shook, saying he was fine and that it was done.

Once Sam was good, the two made their way to the car.

Dean glanced to his brother, knowing something was different. He couldn’t tell if it was the trial, being in hell for the first time since the cage, or something else. Whatever it was, it was eating at him slowly.

“Before the third trial, I need to go back into hell….”

“What? No! Sam you saw how much trouble that was! We are not doing that again!”

Sam’s eyes began to water as he looked to his brother, the non-agreement in his mind. “But Y/N is in hell right now Dean! I’m going to do what it takes to bring her back! She’s one of the reasons why I’m doing this. I wanted to make the world a safer place for her and I left thinking it’d protect her. If I finish these trials before she’s free, I might not ever get her back Dean….. So please, help me find a way to get her free….”

Dean sighed, glancing to his younger brother seeing the tears in his eyes. Dean knew if he was in the same position he’d do what it would take. Hell, he even let Cas wash Lisa’s memories of him away to keep her safe.

“Fine. But you’re not making a deal for a demon with your soul, got it?”

Sam nodded, “Got it.”  

Tagging:  @sleepywinchester, @hay-yo-its-jo, @timeforsmut, @goldenangelbloodcastiel, @because-imma-lady-assface, @growningupgeek, @abbessolute, @keelzy2, @wideawakeandwriting, @super-not-naturall, @babypieandwhiskey, @wi-deangirl77, @ilsawasanacrobat, @becs-bunker, @inlovewithbja, @squirrel--moose--giraffe–, @mistressofallthingsgeeky, @petrovadixon, @theoutlinez, @samwinjarpad

[kingsjareth]

for @marvelousdean pairing: destiel rating: G tags: cas pov, alternate canon (kinda-ish)

The conception of Dean Winchester was something that the angels of Heaven knew was coming since the beginning of everything. From the moment of creation, the angels knew that when the first egg of Mary Winchester attached itself to the linings of her uterus, the sword of Michael was forging. What Castiel didn’t expect was the brightness of Dean Winchester’s soul.

When humans breach the womb of their mothers, their soul forms to their bodies, and their destinies are assigned. No one dared screw up the assignment of Dean Winchester’s soul. Knowing that Castiel was going to be the one to restore his soul later on in life, the angels tasked him with granting this new born with one of the most burdened destinies in all of creation.

At the time, Castiel did not think anything of it. There was no thought processes in his mind while he was tethering the soul to the fibers of the infants being. And once the soul clicked in, the infant Dean Winchester wailed his arrival to the world.

Amazement filled his being every time he glanced that the intensity of the soul the infant carried within itself. I was one of the brightest Castiel had ever been honored to witness, outshining even that of Jesus Christ and the previous Prophets. Castiel concedes that must be because Dean Winchester’s burden will be a far heavier cross to bear.

Castiel is there for his first steps. When Dean Winchester starts to talk, he babbles over his shoulder at Castiel when Castiel visits. Castiel always chuckles and talks back, knowing that Dean Winchester will not be able to handle the visage of angels once he reaches the age of one year, not if he isn’t very special. He takes his time getting to know the soul that he will be leading in the very near future.

He knows that getting attached would only end in disaster, given the fate Dean Winchester must live. And yet, as time goes on, Castiel can’t find the energy within his grace to care.

Castiel is there when Azazel burns down the Winchester family home. He settles a hand over Dean Winchester’s shoulder knowing that his destiny has just begun. Dean can no longer feel the presence of angels, much to Castiel’s dismay. Perhaps when he reaches the age of eighteen, he will develop the ability once more, as psychics do. Castiel casts a sidelong look at John Winchester and prays that he will not be cruel to either Sam or Dean given his history.

Castiel is there when Dean Winchester struggles to care for Sam under the absent space of their father. He witnesses Dean Winchester lying and stealing and committing sins for the good of taking care of his younger brother. There are a few times during their childhood that Castiel grants himself a visit and performs a small miracle for the boys. A few times he adds an extra box of cereal when they are out of food, or he slips in a couple more coins to their cups when they get the luxury of finding an arcade. Castiel even steps foot between them and whatever monster John has hunted down on occasion.

It’s not until Dean reaches his adulthood that Castiel realizes what is happening. Castiel starts to notice how his grace aches when Dean Winchester is in pain. Castiel starts to notice the burn of jealousy when Dean Winchester starts to date. Castiel starts to notice the pain in his being when Dean Winchester prays to heaven, and gets no answer. Castiel longs to answer him, but his orders have been clear. And for the first time, Castiel wants to disobey. That is a dangerous thought.

When Dean Winchester falls in love with Cassie Robinson at the age of eighteen, Castiel can’t help but take solace in knowing that her soul does not intertwine with his in the correct way. He does no take pride in knowing that Dean Winchester will hurt as Cassie breaks up with him, but there is a heaviness in his grace that is lifted when Dean Winchester moves on.

The night Sam Winchester leaves for Stanford University, Castiel makes his first direct visit to earth since Dean was a toddler. He rushes to the aid of Dean as he blocks a blow his father swings at him in a drunken rage. Castiel lifts the carpet on which John Winchester stands and tugs just so that the man topples to the floor. Dean had taken that opportunity to rush outside and drive away, no to return for a couple of day after.

Castiel knows that the foreign feeling in his grace starts to get heavier the longer he spends time watching Dean Winchester, and his superiors began to notice as well, so when Dean Winchester joins back up with his brother and they return to hunting together, Castiel is forbidden from interfering at all. There is nothing that he can do to stop or sooth Dean Winchester’s pain as his destiny starts to play out.

If his grace could  bleed, he would have bled dry as Dean Winchester sold his soul for the return of his brother. The dramatic irony that courses through his being burns like fire. And the situational irony of knowing that he is falling for the soul of a human he knows is going to end in tragedy.

It’s not until Castiel is tasked with the restoration of Dean Winchester’s soul once again that he realizes the gravity of his mistake. It is not unknown to him of angels who fall in love with humans, but Castiel has never heard of it being like this. There is nothing that he wouldn’t put in front of Dean Winchester. As he sews up the soul that he once held within his grace so many years ago, Castiel understands that this must be kept a secret.

Jimmy Novak’s ears are open and when Castiel is granted his consent, he measures his admiration for his vessel to his acknowledged emotions for Dean Winchester. He finds they are so full heartedly different.

When the first spray of shot gun shells spread over his chest, Castiel nearly dissolves as the soul he held so tightly within his grace, the soul he knows better than himself, the soul that he daresay within the compounds of only his mind that he loves, stand right before him as strong and defiant as ever.

Castiel is truly fucked.

[rainygalaxynerd]

Brave New World - Chapter 55

Warnings: None

Summary: Planning, plotting, burning.

Word count: App 2200

A/N: Oh, look, more plot, still too many characters to keep track of. Maybe I should kill some of them off. (just kidding. Or am I? Of course. Maybe. Who knows :P )

This is part of a chapter story. Link to mobile friendly master list here.

Tagging: @littlegreenplasticsoldier  @twenty-onepages  @jotink78 @fangirling-instead-of-working @winchesterprincessbride @kbrand0 @deandoesthingstome @mrsjohnsmith @vibou25 @jencharlan

Dean bit his tongue to keep from arguing how wrong being considerate to a demon was. Sam stood impassively next to him and when Dean chanced a look at him, he was bleeding from his ear again. When he looked back at the trap, it was empty.

Chapter 55 - Revenge of the Techies

WE KNOW HOW TO TAKE OUT DICK - LET’S FIND A WAY TO GET YOU BACK TO NORMAL.

“No. You have no idea how much knowledge I have ready access to right now, Dean. Faster than the Internet and so much more powerful. Not being able to hear is a tiny price to pay, okay?”

WE DON’T KNOW IF THAT’S THE ONLY PRICE. BITCH.

Sam chuckled. “True. But fuck, Dean, even if the price is my life, it’s worth it.”

Dean stood and ran a hand over his mouth. He shook his head. “No, dammit. Nothing is worth that. He took in the stubborn set of Sam’s mouth and sighed. He raised a finger at his little brother. “This discussion is not over.”

Sam met Dean’s glare with a stony expression. “Whatever you just said, this discussion is over. You can help me get back to normal the day I’ve transferred this knowledge to a database and not a second sooner.”

Dean threw his arms up and left, slamming the door behind him.

Outside in the hallway, he could hear the chatter from Sam’s room. Unprepared to face Caitlin’s worry, the tech girls’ geekspeak, and Morgan’s likely questions about what to do next, Dean went outside to the parking lot.

He kicked the tires of the piece of shit car they had driven in. He got behind the wheel and pulled out Bobby’s old flask. Instead of drinking, he put it on the passenger seat. “Are you really okay with us melting that thing and sending you topward?”

Bobby showed up in the seat next to him. Dean rubbed his hands together against the cold.

“I ain’t gonna lie, I’d feel better ‘bout it if we could undo whatever Sam did first. But yeah, I’m okay with it.”

“He won’t listen to me.”

“You’re the only one he’ll ever listen to. He’ll come ‘round, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything. He had his hands on the wheel as if driving, fingers drumming unconsciously against the hard plastic. He glanced sideways at Bobby, colorless and more transparent than ever in the sunlight.

“I’ll miss you.”

Bobby snorted. “Son, I’m already dead. I can’t whack your head for being an idjit, anyway.”

Dean nodded his agreement and swallowed hard. “Right. Bobby, I…”

“I’m gonna stop ya right there before you go ‘n embarrass us both. C’mon, kid, you know ya don’t hafta say it.”

Dean met Bobby’s eyes and nodded again. “Thanks.”

“Now git, son. I believe you have an old friend waiting to be avenged.” Bobby disappeared.

Still, it was a while before Dean moved.

Caitlin watched Dean sitting in the car. She didn’t like how lost he looked. They had a plan, had everything they needed to set it in motion. Why wasn’t he in here, yelling at them to get moving?

The door to the room opened to reveal Sam. He stood in the doorway, regarding every person in the room for long seconds. “We’ve got everything,” he finally said. “We should get started.”

Sam pointed at Charlie and Garcia. “You two, work your magic, get Dick Roman out in the open sometime tomorrow, okay?”

The girls nodded silently.

Sam looked at Morgan. “I know nonhuman monsters aren’t your forte but I trust you to have their backs, got it?”

Morgan gave a curt nod.

“Caitlin you can stay with the others or come with us. But I warn you. Dean’s gonna be a mess and he probably won’t want you to see.”

Caitlin looked out the window. Dean was resting his forehead against the steering wheel. “I’ll come with you but I’ll stay in the car while you work.”

Sam nodded as if he’d understood and left. Caitlin scrambled to follow, waving a quick goodbye to the others.

They had built the fire unnecessarily high. It wasn’t a matter of practicality, of course.

As the flask turned liquid, one of the three men watching was consumed by the flames.

The other two continued to sharpen one end of the bone they had brought, determined and silent. They dipped it in Cas’ blood first and then Megs. Then they pulled the pot with liquid silver out of the fire and took their time, submerging the tip of the weapon into the molten silver and letting it cool until they had to reheat the remaining silver and continue.

After it was done, they were both sweaty and squinting against the heat and firelight and it was easy to pretend that was the sole reason for their wet faces and red eyes. Caitlin, huddled under a blanket in the car against the increasing cold, exchanging regular updates with Charlie, didn’t call them on it when they finally returned to the car.

It was dark when they drove back to the motel and during the entire drive, no one said a single word. Somehow, the car was emptier than it had been when they drove the other way.

“Okay, you’re both grinning like cats eating canaries. Or in this case, canaries eating cats. What did you do?” Dean crossed his arms and pinned Charlie and Garcia with an expectant look.

“Us? Not much.” Charlie kept grinning, though.

“We might have leaked all Frank’s evidence and speculations on mind controlling food additives and pointed out that Roman Enterprise’s recently acquired ownership of SucroCorp.” Garcia snickered. “The vegans and GMO haters are livid, planning to meet up in front of SucroCorp at noon tomorrow for a bigass protest.”

Dean clenched his fists. “We can’t let that happen.” His voice rose. “What the hell were you thinking? It’s too damn dangerous and those people have no idea what they’re risking.”

Instead of looking chastised and contrite, Charlie continued to smirk. “What people?”

Garcia giggled and clapped Charlie’s back. “See, the information is not really out there for everyone to see. But if your IP-address happens to belong to Roman Enterprise, it’s a different story. Then you can access a bogus blog, fake news articles, read posts shared millions of times on facebook, petitions, protest plans, and comments from hundreds of thousands of people ready to fight for their right to undrugged food.”

Charlie nodded. “It’s all an elaborate virtual reality just for Roman’s people. Google ads will help make sure they see it. They’ll be expecting an angry mob, use extra manpower on security, and Dick will want to talk to the press and try to clear things up.”

“Okay.” Dean breathed easier and relaxed his hands. “I still don’t see how that makes him accessible to us. They know what we look like. It’s not like we can ask him for an interview.”

“You’re right,” Charlie said. “The fake protest is a diversion, a way to stretch his resources. On the way to SucroCorp, he will receive a message from a hospital a few hours away, that the Winchesters have been killed in a car crash. We’ll time it so it looks like you were going to the protest, they'll think you leaked the info and planned to do something at the event. He’ll be close by. He’ll think you had the tablet you stole from him with you and he’ll go to the crash site to retrieve it. He’ll have a driver and a couple of bodyguards. You pick the battleground, you set up traps, you take the extras out quickly.”

Dean thought it through. There was a lot of maybes and what ifs. Well, that’s the Winchester way, right? He nodded at the girls. “Okay, ladies. Keep grinning all you want. I’m gonna wait until Dick’s dead.” Their smiles fell at that. Dean shuffled his feet a bit before adding: “You did really good. I had no idea it was possible to filter information that way. It’s clever.”

Sam watched Dean talk to the others. His ears were full of strange words of power, softly spoken in a golden timbre, quiet as falling snow and roaring as a hurricane, all at once, drowning out everything else.

There was pressure behind his eyelids, an ache in his skull.

Sometimes, he would forget when and where he was and drift, his awareness untethered from his body, through countless worlds, time ever changing and always the same, his mind battered by concepts as eternal, infinite, omnipotence.

I am Sam Winchester. I need to stop the Leviathan creatures from taking over the earth, 2007 AD. I am Sam Winchester. He couldn’t even hear his inner voice inside his head, as he tried to anchor himself. Dean. Dean worries too much.

The room fell away and became a dark night sky, tiny lights far away coming closer at great speed. Burning giants dancing their intricate dance, sometimes exploding, sometimes growing masses igniting from the press and heat of bazillions of tiny particles. Sam gasped and blinked furiously, returning to the room. Maybe not too much.

“Hey, Sammy. You okay?”

Sam didn’t need to hear to know what Dean was asking him. He nodded as convincingly as he could. I just have to hold on until tomorrow, at least. When Roman’s gone, maybe, I’ll think about severing the link.

Dean held up the notebook, explaining the plan.

“We should make some explosives. Preferably something that spreads borax,” Sam suggested.

Dean nodded and wrote something.

MOLOTOVS, CALTROPS, GRENADE LAUNCHER

Sam couldn’t help it, he threw back his head and laughed. How long had Dean wanted a grenade launcher? How many times had he suggested they use one? Well, last year they had gotten their hands on one but they hadn’t had a reason to use it yet.

“Sounds fair,” Sam said, wiping tears from his eyes and shaking his head fondly at Dean’s excited grin.

Sam didn’t have to pray to call Castiel. He could sense him, sense God’s grace, thousands of unique specs of divinity spread across the earth, resting and scheming in Heaven. All he had to do was reach out with his own essence and tap Castiel’s ephemeral shoulder.

Wings rustled, loud enough that Sam could hear. No one else reacted, though.

“Sam?” There was a subservient tint to Cas’ tone and posture.

“Cas, I thought I’d keep you updated on our plans. Maybe you have something to add to them.”

They all ate together at a restaurant downtown. After reluctantly approving their plan of attack for the next day, Cas had put the same illusion on Sam as Dean. The FBI were still in town and once it was time to go after Roman, they couldn’t risk Sam being recognized as a wanted criminal.

Being deaf meant that Sam couldn’t follow the conversation and missed Dean and Morgan's 'make the most horrible pun-war', Cas’ clueless questions, Charlie and Garcia’s geeky arsenal of dry wit and science humor. He could, however, watch their smiles, the way they all shook with laughter. He saw Caitlin, sitting next to Dean, eyes shining with warmth as she watched him eat. Dean eating. Sam smirked to himself. She’s a keeper, brother mine.

Dean stuffed another slice of pie in his face. This place was more expensive than what they normally treated themselves to and for once, the pie was actually worth the extra five dollars.

Charlie raised her glass and cleared her throat. “On behalf of my peers and just this once, on behalf of everyone else, I propose a toast to Dick. I mean to slay Dick.”

Garcia sputtered and coughed as she started laughing while sipping her frilly drink.

Caitlin smiled. “You’re a savage, Charlie.”

Charlie grinned back at her. “Like you wouldn’t be on my side if Mr. Bad Boy With A Heart Of Gold hadn’t gotten to you first.” She winked at Caitlin and licked her lips, slow and deliberate.

“Okay, you’ve had enough. Morgan, cut her off the good stuff,” Caitlin said, cheeks heating up. She risked a sideways glance at Dean, surprised to find him looking at her, lips pursed, a worry wrinkle on his forehead.

The general conversation around the table continued but Dean kept his eyes on Caitlin’s. “Do you want to come for a ride, later?”

“Where to?” Caitlin bit her lip to keep from saying “On you? Sure.” That’s it. I’m cutting myself off, right now.

“Tomorrow’s D-day. I don’t wanna go into the final big boss battle without my Baby.”

At Caitlin’s confused expression, Dean sighed. “My car. My actual, real car.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe how long you’ve known us and you haven’t even seen Baby.”

Dean pulled out the notebook and scribbled:

WE’RE DRIVING BABY TOMORROW!

Sam read it and his eyes widened. A slow genuine smile spread across his face. “Yeah. That feels right.”

CAITLIN AND I WILL GET HER LATER. DO YOU WANT TO COME TOO?

Sam arched his eyebrows at Dean. “Christo.”

Dean merely scowled at him.

“Dean, I’m fine. Not dying, not seeing Satan. I’ll stop feeling like I’ve been thrown into a parallel dimension as soon as you stop babying me and act like my pain-in-the-ass big brother. Just go get some quiet time with your girl.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Sam continued unperturbed: “I know you’re dying to show her off. You’re gonna touch her everywhere, aren’t you? Like the time you got her back from the pound after Bela had her towed.”

“Sam, I swear to God, the next time you go three days straight without bleeding from your ears Imma smack your head so hard you’ll think the visions are back, you hear?”

“Sorry, bro, can’t hear you.” Sam guffawed at Dean’s look of utter outrage and frustration.

Eventually, the tension slipped out of Dean. The corners of his mouth twitched and soon he was laughing along with Sam.

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/angel-question-supernatural-1209-first-blood-review/

The Angel Question: 'Supernatural' 1209, First Blood Review

“Supernatural” Episode 250. Way to emphasize the number with a great episode. It’s pretty dark, emotional and has lots of that creepy, gloomy ambiance many fans have been looking for. Not sure if it’s my eyes or the tones of the backgrounds reflected earlier seasons. Fans wanted dark woods; we got dark woods. We wanted that gloomy almost rainy atmosphere reminiscent of Twilight where vamps can roam freely in the daytime, we got it, and we’re looking forward to more. Now if you haven’t watched this episode yet and don’t want to get spoiled, stop now, or hold your peace and keep reading.

Episode 250 also gives us probably two of the greatest Supernatural quotes of all time with its powerful script; one from Dean Winchester and one from Castiel.

“You know this world, this sad, doomed little world, it needs you. It needs every last Winchester it could get and I will not let you die. I won’t let any of you die. And I won’t let you sacrifice yourselves. You mean too much to me, to everything. Yeah, you made a deal. You made a stupid deal, and I broke it… You’re welcome.”

            — Castiel

Now that was pretty powerful especially if you watched the episode in full and watched most of the series. Castiel and Crowley are part of the family now and won’t go away anytime soon. Cas has been around since season four, and unlike Game of Thrones, a fan favorite in this show cannot die unless he/she really, really, really, really has to. Bobby and Charlie, we miss you. Cas/Misha has an untold number of fans among the SPN Family. Not that we’re saying we want Castiel gone, the angel/demon business has yet to come to a final conclusion with Lucifer getting put back in the cage and the Nephilim issue getting resolved. Plus, that ominous cosmic scale consequence of Castiel breaking a Winchester deal. More on that later.

This episode also tried to answer the biggest critique of the previous episode, LOTUS. That was when Castiel left the boys to their own devices leading to their capture by presidential security. Of course, Cas was told to take Kelly to a safe place, only to stupidly lose her in the end of the episode. Cas apologized to Mary for the misstep and got grilled for it. Him not being able to help the Winchesters immediately can be explained but losing Kelly and not being able to find her is strange. Not to mention easily getting pummeled by Ms. Watt. Cas has his mojo back. He’s a somewhat depowered angel but how far does his powers go? Misha’s probably been asked this question by fans at various cons already. One can imagine his answer would be, is how the writers want him to be.

In Marvel, Doctor Strange reached the level where he can probably solve most of the world’s problems and mystically solve big threats with an incantation or two like that time when he made the world forget the Sentry existed because the Sentry’s his evil side Void almost destroyed the Earth. That’s some very high level of magic right there that worked for decades. But if Doctor Strange can do such things, we wouldn’t need the Avengers now would we? So writers have to carefully craft stories involving him so people wouldn’t need to ask that question.

As for Castiel, he couldn’t find the Winchesters for weeks because of that brand he put on the brothers way back so that they won’t be detectable by any angel including himself. How Gadreel found Dean in Season 9 when he was in prayer is a minor plot hole, or maybe angels can find them when invoked through prayer. That then introduces a major hole in this episode because both brothers haven’t considered praying to Cas. But one can always argue that Cas is too broken to hear any prayers. As for the Kelly and her Nephilim, the other angels may not be too forthcoming as to the Nephilim’s location or that a Nephilim is not detectable to ordinary angels.

Maybe we can leave it at that for a while but hopefully, the writers can be more consistent with how they handle this broken angel. And speaking of broken, why didn’t God set him straight? Again, because Cas cannot be the show’s deus-ex-machina for all the Winchester problems.

Speaking of Winchester problems, that Winchester deal Cas broke was when Dean made a blood pact with the reaper Billie which supposedly shouldn’t be broken because of cosmic consequences. Billie helped the brothers out of the Site 94 (according to the BMOL) facility by temporarily killing them in exchange for one Winchester at the stroke of midnight. Always Keep Fighting Jared Padalecki says, even if there’s only one brother left. The deal says one Winchester, so Mary offers herself for her boys. But before Mary could kill herself, Cas kills Billie with his angel blade leading him to say one of his more dramatic quotes above. Breaking this deal could lead to another major consequence for the brothers and the world as far as any messed up Winchester deal goes.

Speaking of quotes, there’s a reason the show was titled First Blood. If I’m correct, this is kind of an homage to the first Rambo film where the hunters become the hunted.

“What we have here is a failure to communicate… ‘Cause were not trapped here with you; you’re trapped out here with us.”

                    — Dean Winchester

The Winchesters deal with monsters of the night with supernatural powers like superhuman strength, increased senses and agility so specially trained soldiers aren’t much of a problem. Another cool quote is when they leave the injured and unarmed government team who asked them who they were.

“We’re the guys that saved the world.”

                    — Sam Winchester

Leaving the team alive opens the brothers to another loose end with the government which is thankfully resolved thanks to Mr. Ketch, the BMOL’s one-man cleanup crew. It’s a tragedy really but it had to be done. That step really showed the sinister side of the British Men of Letters. Overall, the episode was quite great and worthy of its milestone of 250.

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