#two hammer hits from dean

[chenouttachen]

starting to get concerned about the amount of blunt force trauma to the head babe is amassing

[motelsnleatherseats]

Sam's always been a little foggy when he wakes up, it always takes him a minute or two to be fully functional. When they were kids and they'd shared a bed, he'd usually be half-way on top of Dean, liking the warmth and the comfort of the rise and fall of his chest, and when Dean would try to rouse him, he'd always lift his head, eyes heavy with sleep and eyebrows pulled together in confusion, like he was teetering between consciousness and the dreamscape, not sure what was real. Dean would always afford him a few extra minutes of sleep as he'd crawl out of bed and get his cereal ready for him for breakfast.

When they're teens, Sammy's still drags his feet a little to get the day started and half the time he looks like he's sleep walking, a little disoriented, eyes fighting to stay awake, and Dean notices that he's exceptionally susceptible to taking direction without putting up a fight, so he'll ask him to do things like take care of the dirty clothes Dean had left in the bathroom the night before. He'd mumble in response, something like a grunt of understanding before he'd do it without question.

It's not just when he wakes up either, it's when he's exhausted from a hunt or he just hasn't been able to sleep so well so he's starting to doze but he hasn't even taken his shoes off, and Dean comes over, ruffles his hair some and coaxes him to sit up telling him he should change and get comfortable. And Sam takes the suggestion and haphazardly kicks off his shoes and fumbles with his pants before he leaves them a crumpled pile on the floor next to the bed before he flops back, clad in just his shirt and boxers, and almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, he falls asleep.

And Dean just watches him, finding a softness about his tired little brother laid out on the bed, one arm over his chest, the other laid next to his head against the pillow. He's peaceful, serene even, as his pretty bowed lips are slightly parted, exhaling warm breaths evenly. His lashes kiss his cheeks, and the warmed yellow light from the lamp on the bedside table catches his profile, and even Dean is surprised that the crap lighting doesn't take away from Sammy's nubility.

Dean's curiosity pushes him to see what else he can get away with and he leans over him, whispering a soft 'Sammy' to garner some attention, and even with eyes closed, Sam hums in response. He asks him to scoot over, closer to the wall so Dean can climb in next to him, positioning himself closer to the door than his brother, a protective quirk he'd long since picked up when they were younger. Sam does as he's told and Dean takes his place, reaching for his brother's hip to keep him close. 'Come here.' Another soft utterance and Sam shifts to diminish the space between them before Dean guides his arm over his chest and fits them together like when they were kids.

Dean indulges in these quiet, warm moments, finding comfort in the needs he had long since suppressed after being told he shouldn't coddle Sam anymore. He runs his fingers through his hair, feels the sleep-warmed skin at the nape of his neck and trails his finger tips along the boy's jawline, Sam turning his head up obediently in his stupor-like state. And Dean can't help himself as his heart hammers in his chest, his next request on the tip of his tongue. 'Kiss me'.

Sam does, no hesitation, with a lazy push forward of his chin, lips hardly poised for it, but they connect for a second and Dean is satisfied.

[ just a little drabble inspired by @wincestuous-psychos post about sleepy sammy ]

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Bugs | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: BUGS lol, canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 7012

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You and Dean decided that after your last job, you deserved a break. You went to a bar to play that eight-ball game you’d talked about back in Ankeny. The two of you were pretty evenly matched; you had to admit. He would win a game, then you would win a game, and that pattern continued for quite a bit. Then you’d swapped to nine-ball. The two of you walked away from the pool tables and found a table when you’d grown tired of playing with each other.

“I’ll admit, you’re pretty good, Winchester,” you told him.

“You too, sweetheart,” he responded, chuckling. 

“You’re never gonna stop calling me that, are you?” you asked.

“Nope.”

You pretended to be annoyed and rolled your eyes. “You suck.”

“You, too.”

You playfully glared at him. 

“You hustle?” he asked you.

“Duh,” you responded, taking a swig of your beer. 

He chuckled. “How ‘bout it? I’m low on cash after I paid off that morgue tech.”

“Hey, you did that on your own volition,” you joked back. “Nobody forced you to pay him off. And maybe you lost even more cash after you lost that poker game to me yesterday.”

He glared back at you. “I’ll get you next time.”

“Sure. So who’re you hustlin’?” you asked.

He scanned the room for a moment. “Them.” He subtly nodded in the direction of a group of guys who looked around your and Dean’s age. They seemed kind of douchey, and you’d love to watch Dean kick their asses if you were being honest. 

“Eight or nine ball?” you asked him.

“Nine.”

“Ooh, good luck,” you told him.

“I won’t need it,” he answered arrogantly and began heading over to the group. 

Your newfound friendship with Dean was slightly difficult for you due to your unbelievable attraction to him. The more you got to know him the more you began to like him for more than just his beautiful face. But you knew neither of you had the time for anything more than friendship, especially considering you knew you’d be hitting the road as soon as they found their dad. You chose not to focus on the finite amount of time you had with the Winchester boys and just enjoy it while it lasted. 

As much as you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t deny that watching him hustle pool made you even more attracted to him. 

“Cute,” you told Dean sarcastically when he walked back over to your table waving a wad of cash in the air. “But I betcha I can get us double the money.” You snatched his money out of his hands. 

“Hey!” he said. “I earned that.”

“And I’ll earn it back,” you smirked over your shoulder. 

He quirked a brow at you as you “drunkenly” walked away, watching you head over to a pool table surrounded by another group of young guys. 

You wore a black tank top that showed off your cleavage, and stuck Dean’s money in the top of your bra while you sauntered over to the pool table. A tall blonde guy holding a cue stick was surrounded by his frat-boy posse hollering about how good the blonde guy played. 

“Fifty dollars to play!” One of the boys yelled.

“I’ll play,” you piped up, looking down at the table set for nine-ball.

You pulled some cash out of the top of your bra and placed it on the rim of the pool table. 

“Uh, sweetheart,” the blond began, “That’s only twenty.”

“Oh, sorry,” you snorted out a laugh, putting thirty dollars on the table. 

“She’s hammered, dude,” one of the blond’s friends told him.

The blond waved him off, still looking over you. He handed you a pool cue with a smirk. 

“You break.”

You fumbled with the cue before lining up your shot. After you hit the cue ball, you allowed the wooden stick to slip clumsily out of your hands. The balls flew all over the table in different directions because you had struck them so hard. However, you had not managed to pocket a single one. 

The blond lined up his shot. Managing to keep the dopey look on your face, you mentally smirked at his amateur hand bridge. This guy would be easy to beat. With his friends cheering him on, he pocketed the yellow one-ball but missed the shot he took at the nine-ball. The nine-ball was in the perfect position for you to win on your next two shots, but you were not going for the big bucks just yet.

“Your turn, baby,” the blond told you. 

You resisted the urge to cringe at the nickname. You had never liked being called “baby.”

Instead, you gave him a wide smile, walking up to the cue ball. You went to aim for the four-ball, but the blond stopped you. 

“What are you doing?”

“Aiming for the pretty purple ball,” you replied innocently. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“You have to aim for the two-ball. You ever even played before?” he asked jokingly.

“No,” you smiled.

He was not expecting that answer to his jest, his face dropping out of the smile. “Then why are you playing for money?”

“I thought you were cute and wanted to play with you.” 

The blond smirked down at you. 

Before he could respond, you said, “C’mon! I wanna keep playing. This is fun.” You lined up and hit the two ball, knocking it only a little bit closer to the pocket than the blond had gotten it. 

He ended up sinking the two-ball and then the nine-ball after that, his friends cheering for him. He took the money off the table. “Maybe next time.”

“Ooh, can we play again? Please?” you whined. 

He looked around at his friends. They all shrugged. 

You took all of the money out of your bra, including fifty dollars of your own to compensate for the fifty you just lost. You did promise Dean you would double the amount he had earned, after all. 

The blond laughed nervously. “Uh, that’s a lot more than fifty dollars.”

“Is it?” you pretended you were surprised. “Oh, well. We’ll just play for whatever this is, then.”

One of the blond’s friends, a brunet, was already counting the money. “This is three-hundred dollars, man.”

“Look, you’re really drunk. That’s a lot of money,” the blond said. “Let’s just stop.”

“No,” you begged, “please? It’ll be fine!”

He finally conceded, collecting a total of three hundred dollars between himself and his friends. 

On the break, he hit the one-ball and the five-ball ended up falling into the left side pocket. However, on the shot he took at the nine-ball, he missed. 

You hit the two-ball, sank it, and clapped excitedly. You aimed for the three-ball next, hitting it between the right side and back pockets. The ball hit the wall and stopped only two inches off of it, giving the blond no shot at sinking it on his next turn. 

He ended up pushing the three-ball and the cue ball into the perfect position for you to hit the red ball into the hole. Once you sank the three-ball, you lined up the cue behind the cue ball and hit the nine-ball into one of the pockets. Blondie and his friends stood there slack-jawed. 

“I won!” you cheered, giggling. You gave Blondie a kiss on the cheek when you took your money. 

You walked back over to Dean with your hips swishing confidently. Smirking, you held up your winnings. 

He took them from your hands, counting the money. “Damn. I’m impressed.”

You feigned shock. “Dean Winchester? Impressed by something I did?”

“Can it, (Y/N).”

You walked outside of the bar with Dean at your side. You waved the money in your hand back and forth triumphantly as you approached the Impala that Sam sat atop flipping through newspapers. He looked disapproving. “Y’know, we could get day jobs once in a while.”

"Hunting's our day job,” you countered. 

“Yeah, and the pay is crap,” Dean added. 

“Amen.”

“Yeah, but hustling pool? Credit card scams? It's not the most honest thing in the world, guys,” the younger brother argued.

“Well, let's see, honest—” Dean began, and you held out one hand palm-up for “honest,” “—Fun and easy,” he finished.

You held out the other hand, representing a scale, tipping it to the side of “fun and easy.” 

“It's no contest,” you shrugged. 

“Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do,” Dean added.

Sam was still not convinced. “Yeah, well, how we were raised was jacked.”

“Yeah, says you,” sassed Dean. “We got a new gig or what?”

“Maybe. Oasis Plains, Oklahoma— not far from here. A gas company employee, Dustin Burwash, supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob.”

“Gesundheit,” you commented.

“Human mad cow disease.” Sam shot you a playful glare. 

“Mad cow. Wasn't that on Oprah?” Dean asked.

“You watch Oprah?” you responded.

The older brother looked embarrassed and couldn’t think of anything to say. He decided to change the subject. “So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?”

“Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less,” Sam stated.

You nodded slowly. “Oh-kay, that is weird.”

“Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be somethin' much nastier,” Sam told you.

“Alright. Oklahoma,” Dean said, beginning to get in the car. You and Sam followed suit. “Man. Work, work, work,” the older Winchester sighed. “No time to spend my money.”

“You mean our money,” you said, handing him three hundred. You kept the other three. 

“Right.” He put the money in his wallet and began driving off. 

***

Dean had driven you to the gas and power company the deceased had worked at. You approached a man with shaggy hair and a scruffy chin who you had learned from another employee was the man who discovered Dustin’s dead body.

“Travis Weaver?” Sam called.

“Yeah, that's right.” The man turned to you.

“Are you the Travis who worked with Uncle Dusty?” Dean asked.

“Dustin never mentioned nephews. Or a niece,” he responded.

“Really? Well, he sure mentioned you. He said you were the greatest.”

You nodded, affirming Dean’s lie.

Travis smiled sadly. “Oh, he did? Huh.”

“I hate to ask you, but… what exactly happened out there?” you asked.

“I'm not sure. He fell in a sinkhole, I went to the truck to get some rope, and, uh... by the time I got back…” he trailed off, face contorting in discomfort.

“What did you see?” Dean questioned.

Travis shook his head. “Nothin'. Just Dustin.”

“No wounds or anything?” Sam chimed in.

“Well, he was bleeding... from his eyes and his ears, his nose. But that's it.”

“So you think it could be this whole mad cow thing?” Dean asked.

“I don't know. That's what the doctors are sayin'.”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right to me,” you added. “Uncle Dusty just never acted like that to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if it was, he would’ve acted like he had dementia, a loss of motor control, you ever notice anything like that?” you asked.

“No. No way. But then again, if it wasn't some disease, what the hell was it?” 

“That's a good question,” Dean responded.

“You know, can you tell us where this happened?” Sam asked.

Travis nodded. He instructed Dean the path to follow in order to find the scene of the incident. Surrounding the sinkhole he had fallen in was police tape, but the neighborhood it was in seemed mostly uninhabited except for a few construction workers milling about.

“Huh.” Dean looked down into the hole. “What do you think?”

“I don't know. But if that guy, Travis, was right, it happened pretty damn fast,” Sam responded.

You ducked under the tape and looked down into the hole with a flashlight. 

“So, what? Some sort of creature chewed on his brain?” Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion. 

You shook your head. “No, there'd be an entry wound. Sounds like this thing worked from the inside.”

“Looks like there's only room for one,” Dean commented. “Hate to say it, sweetheart, you’re gonna have to get down there.”

You flinched back. “What? No. We have no idea what’s down there.”

He picked up a nearby coil of rope. “Alright, I'll go if you're scared. You scared?”

“No. Dick.” Your stubbornness would not let you back down despite the genuine fear clawing at your throat. When you were younger, your father would often starve you to ensure you could fit into small spaces such as the hole you were about to journey down. You had no doubt you would’ve grown taller than 5’6” had he not done this. Even still, you mustered your courage. “I'm going.”

“I said I'd go,” Dean argued.

“I'm going,” you pressed, taking the end of the rope from him. You tied it around your waist. “Don’t drop me.”

“I won’t.”

“Sam, don’t let him drop me.”

Sam chuckled.

“What?” Dean sounded offended. “You don’t trust me?”

“Nope,” you smiled, clambering down into the hole. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust, but when they did, you were surprised by what you’d found.

Dean drove, and Sam was examining the dead beetle you’d found in the sinkhole. Some bugs you could handle, but beetles were not one you could spend prolonged periods of time looking at. 

“So you found some beetles. In a hole, in the ground. That's shocking, (Y/N),” Dean quipped.

You shook your head. “Dude, no. There were no tunnels, no tracks, nothing. No evidence of any other creature down there.”

“You know,” Sam added, “some beetles do eat meat. Now, it's usually dead meat, but…”

“How many did you find down there?” Dean asked you.

“Ten.”

“It'd take a whole lot more than that to eat out some dude's brain, Sam.”

“Well, maybe there were more,” his brother argued.

“I don't know, it sounds like a stretch to me,” Dean responded.

“Well, we need more information on the area, the neighborhood. Whether something like this has ever happened before,” you added. A sign advertising an open house decorated with red balloons caught your eye.

Sam was looking back at you. “What?”

“There.” You pointed to the sign. 

You passed another that read, “Models Open. New Buyers' BBQ Today!"

“I'm kinda hungry for a little barbeque, how 'bout you?” Dean remarked.

Sam gave him a look.

“What, we can't talk to the locals?”

You snickered. “And the free food's got nothin' to do with it?”

“Of course not. I'm a professional.”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Right.”

Dean pulled over and the three of you got out of the car to walk toward the open house.

“Growin' up in a place like this would freak me out,” Dean remarked.

“Ditto,” you said.

“Why?” Sam looked at the two of you like you were crazy. 

“Manicured lawns, ‘How was your day, honey?’ I'd blow my brains out,” Dean chuckled.

“White picket fence,” you sing-songed, “private school, stay-at-home moms with three snotty children— no thanks.”

“There's nothing wrong with ‘normal,’ “ Sam rebutted.

“I'd take our family over normal any day,” the older Winchester said. He approached the house and knocked on the door. 

A man in a steamed collared shirt opened the door. “Welcome,” he said.

“This the barbeque?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, not the best weather,” he replied, referencing the gray sky, “but... I'm Larry Pike, the developer here. And you are... ?”

“Dean. This is Sam and (Y/N).” He shook Larry’s hand.

“Sam, Dean, (Y/N), good to meet you. So, you three are interested in Oasis Plains?”

“Yes, sir,” the older brother responded.

“Let me just say—” You had no idea where Larry was going with this— “we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

You realized what he was trying to say. “They’re brothers. I’m just a friend.”

Larry nodded and seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Our father is getting on in years,” Sam explained, “and we're just lookin' for a place for him.”

Larry laughed awkwardly “Great, great. Well, seniors are welcome, too. Come on in.” He guided you to the backyard where dozens of people were chatting and eating. “Eighteen months ago, I was walking this valley with my survey team. There was nothing here but scrub brush and squirrels. And you know what, we built such a nice place to live that I actually bought into it myself. This is our house. We're the first family in Oasis Plains.” He brought you over to a woman around his age. “This is my wife, Joanie.”

“Hi there,” she smiled.

Larry introduced the three of you to her before saying, “Tell them how much you love the place, honey. And lie if you have to because I need to sell some houses.”

She laughed. “Right.”

This painfully fake interaction you were having reeked of Middle America. It was making you sick. 

Larry left you alone with Joanie who said, “Don't let his salesman routine scare you. This really is a great place to live.”

A very energetic woman with bright, Ariel-red hair pulled back in a tight bun approached your group. “Hi, I'm Lynda Bloome, head of sales,” she grinned.

“And Lynda was second to move in,” Joanie went on. “She's a very noisy neighbor, though.”

Even Lynda’s laugh was obnoxious. “She's kidding, of course. I take it you three are interested in becoming homeowners.”

Before any of you could answer, she said, “Well, let me just say that we accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or... sexual orientation.”

Dean chuckled. “Right. Um... I'm gonna go talk to Larry.” Dean began walking away. “Okay, honeys?” He smacked you on your ass as he left.

You nearly yelped in surprise. The rest of your interaction with Lynda became very awkward. You were barely interested in what she was saying about the various features of the home. “Who can say "no" to a steam shower? I use mine everyday.”

You nodded, forcing a smile. “Sounds great.”

Sam noticed something just beyond her, saying, “Excuse me,” and pushing her out of the way. What he had picked up off the picnic table was a large tarantula. You noticed a snickering boy with shaggy brown hair a few feet behind where Lynda had been standing. 

Sam walked over to the boy. “Is this yours?”

The boy took the spider from him. “You gonna tell my dad?”

“I don't know. Who's your dad?”

The teen scoffed. “Yeah, Larry usually skips me in the family introductions.”

You sucked air in through your teeth. “Ouch. First name basis with your dad— sounds pretty grim.”

“Well, I'm not exactly brochure material,” the kid remarked.

“Well, hang in there. It gets better, all right? I promise,” Sam said.

The kid didn’t seem convinced. “When?”

You heard Larry call the name, “Matthew!” You turned to see the older man and Dean walking toward you.

“I am so sorry about my son and his... pet.”

‘Clearly there’s some issues there.’

You shook your head. “No big.”

“Excuse us.” Larry’s face was set and hardened, pulling his son away from you and the boys.

“Remind you of somebody?” Sam asked his brother. He was gesturing toward the arguing father and son. “Dad?”

“Dad never treated us like that,” Dean argued.

“Well, Dad never treated you like that. You were perfect. He was all over my case. You don't remember?”

“Well, maybe he had to raise his voice, but sometimes, you were out of line.”

Sam scoffed. “Right. Right, like when I said I'd rather play soccer than learn bowhunting.”

“Bowhunting's an important skill,” Dean replied. You agreed with him, but chose to say out of the brotherly debate.

“Whatever. How was your tour?” Sam asked.

Dean turned on the sarcasm. “Oh, it was excellent. I'm ready to buy. So you might be onto somethin'. Looks like Dustin Burwash wasn't the first strange death around here.”

“What happened?” you questioned.

“About a year ago, before they broke ground, one of Larry's surveyors dropped dead while on the job. Get this severe allergic reaction to bee stings.”

You nodded. “More bugs.”

***

Later that evening, Sam was driving you and Dean through the neighborhood. You put your head on Dean’s shoulder over the back of the front seat as he flipped through his father’s journal. He had looked at you strangely and tensed up when you’d first rested your head on him, but you just shrugged in response. To your surprise, he allowed you to stay there.

“You know, I've heard of killer bees, but killer beetles?” Dean shook his head. “What is it that could make different bugs attack?”

“Well, hauntings sometimes include bug manifestations,” Sam replied.

“Yeah, but I didn't see any evidence of ghost activity,” the older brother said, referring to his house tour.

“Me neither,” you added.

“Maybe they're being controlled somehow. You know, by something or someone,” Dean stated.

“You mean, like Willard?” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah, bugs instead of rats.”

“There are cases of psychic connections between people and animals - elementals, telepaths,” Sam continued.

“Yeah, that whole Lassie thing,” you commented. You were thoughtful for a moment. “Larry's kid— he's got bugs for pets.”

“Matt?” Sam seemed unconvinced. “He did try to scare the realtor with a tarantula.”

“You think he's our Willard?”

“I don't know. Anything's possible, I guess.”

Something caught Dean’s attention. “Ooh, hey. Pull over here.”

Your head perked up. 

Sam pulled into the empty driveway of one of the Oasis Plains homes. “What are we doing here?”

Dean got out of the car and began pulling the garage door up and open. “It's too late to talk to anybody else.”

Sam scoffed. “We're gonna squat in an empty house?”

“I wanna try the steam shower. Come on,” his brother responded simply.

Sam didn’t move. 

“Come on!” Dean urged.

Sam rolled his eyes but complied and pulled into the driveway. Dean closed it behind him.

To your surprise, the home was fully furnished. You assumed it was for staging house tours. You and the boys were thankful to find three beds within the home, avoiding the awkward task of deciding who was going to have to sleep with who. And for the first time in quite a while, you slept incredibly well on the soft mattress and plush pillows.

***

The next morning, you found Sam remaking the bed he had slept in down the hall from yours. He had the police scanner quietly droning on in the background.

“How’d you sleep?” you asked, yawning.

“How do you think,” he replied dryly.

“That’s what I was worried about.”

Sam sighed.

“Dude, we gotta get you right,” you told him. “You’re gonna end up really hurt.”

Before he could respond, the static of the police scanner coming alight with conversation caught your attention. Male voices spoke back and forth about a death that happened in what you recognized as the Oasis Plains area.

“You finish cleaning up; I’ll get Dean,” you told Sam, who nodded. Dean had been serious about indulging in the steam shower. He’d been in the guest bathroom since you woke up that morning.

“You ever comin' out of there?” you called through the door.

“What?” he responded.

You could still hear the water running. “A call came in on the scanner.”

“Hold on.”

“Someone was found dead three blocks from here. Come on.”

The door opened a bit to reveal Dean and his towel-wrapped head. Steam poured out into the hallway. “This shower is awesome,” he smiled.

You laughed in response. “Come on.” You walked away to finish helping Sam gather your things and hide the fact that someone had been here. 

When you arrived at the crime scene, a body bag was being wheeled out on a stretcher. You found out from a visibly upset Larry that the realtor, Lynda Bloome, had been the one to pass away. The three of you discovered about a dozen dead spiders underneath a towel near where the outline of her body had been mapped out, and decided to pay Matt a visit. 

It took a few hours, but you discovered where Matt went to school and followed his bus route. You watched when he got off the bus.

“Isn't his house that way?” Dean pointed in the opposite direction of where Matt was walking. 

You nodded. “Yup. So where’s he goin’?”

The three of you began following the teenager from a bit of a distance. Unfortunately for you, he headed into the woods. 

“Seriously, kid?” you muttered. “Always the fucking woods.”

Dean chuckled at your discomfort. 

“Shut up, asshole,” you quipped.

Sam approached Matt first. “Hey, Matt. Remember me?”

“What are you doin' out here?” he asked, surprised.

“Well, we wanna talk to you,” Dean responded.

“You're not here to buy a house, are you?”

You shook your head.

“W-wait. You're not serial killers?” Matt began backing away from you.

“No. I think you’re safe,” you smiled.

“So, Matt... you sure know a lot about insects,” Sam began.

“So?” he shrugged.

“Did you hear what happened to Lynda, the realtor?” Dean asked.

“I hear she died this morning,” Matt responded.

“Mm, that's right. Spider bites.”

“Matt... you tried to scare her with a spider.” Sam’s tone was accusatory without being harsh.

“Wait. You think I had something to do with that?”

“You tell us,” you responded.

Matt scoffed humorlessly. “That tarantula was a joke. Anyway, that wouldn't explain the bee attack or the gas company guy.”

“You know about those?” Now you were the one being accusatory.

“There is somethin' going on here. I don't know what... but something's happening with the insects. Let me show you something.” Matt shouldered his bag and led you deeper into the woods. You hoped he knew where the hell he was going and how the hell to get back.

“So, if you knew about all this bug stuff, why not tell your dad? Maybe he could clear everybody out,” Sam suggested.

“Believe me, I've tried. But, uh, Larry doesn't listen to me.”

“Why not?”

“Mostly? He's too disappointed in his freak son.”

Sam scoffed. “I hear you.”

Dean seemed surprised. “You do?”

Sam gave him a look before turning back to Matt. “Matt, how old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Well, don't sweat it, because in two years, something great's gonna happen.”

“What?”

“College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.”

Dean was upset. “What kind of advice is that? Kid should stick with his family.”

Sam sighed and glared at his brother. 

You tried to break the tension. “How much further, Matt?”

You knew Matt felt awkward, too. “We're close.”

Sam glared at Dean once more before continuing walking. Moments later, you reached a large clearing. As you’d been approaching, the sound of insects buzzing had gotten louder and louder. Hundreds of them flew about the clearing. 

“I've been keeping track of insect populations. It's, um, part of an AP science class,” the teen explained.

“You two are like peas in a pod,” Dean remarked.

Sam ignored him. “What's been happening?”

“A lot. I mean, from bees to earthworms, beetles... you name it. It's like they're congregating here,” Matt went on. 

“Why?” Dean’s brows knitted together. 

“I don't know,” he responded.

You caught sight of a dark, bumpy patch of grass a few feet away. “What’s that?”

Matt looked at you and seemed curious as well. He led you once more over to the pile. Your skin began to crawl at the sight of hundreds of wriggling earthworms. Dean accidently stepped on a pile of them and it sank into the ground. You pulled him back by the arm to avoid him falling, too. You let him go, and he crouched to the ground. He used a stick to poke around. He then dropped the stick and stuck his hand straight into the hole. When his hand came back up, he was holding a human skull covered in dirt and worms.

“Gnarley,” you said. 

***

Sam suggested bringing the remains to the department of anthropology at a local university. “So, a bunch of skeletons in an unmarked grave,” he said as you approached the building.

“Maybe it is a haunting,” you added. “Pissed off spirits? Unfinished business?”

“Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs? And why now?”

The older brother quipped, “That's two questions.”

Sam ignored him. 

Dean continued. “Yeah, so with that kid back there... why'd you tell him to just ditch his family like that?”

“Just, uh... I know what the kid's goin' through,” his brother shrugged.

“How 'bout tellin' him to respect his old man, how's that for advice?” Dean’s tone was sharp.

“Dean, come on.” Sam stopped walking, and you and Dean followed suit. “This isn't about his old man. You think I didn't respect Dad. That's what this is about.”

“Just forget it, all right? Sorry I brought it up.” Dean shook his head. 

“I respected him. But no matter what I did, it was never good enough.”

“So what are you sayin'? That Dad was disappointed in you?”

“Was? Is. Always has been,” Sam bit back.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I didn't wanna bowhunt or hustle pool— because I wanted to go to school and live my life, which, to our whacked-out family, made me the freak.”

“Yeah, you were kind of like the blonde chick in The Munsters,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you know what most dads are when their kids score a full ride? Proud. Most dads don't toss their kids out of the house.”

You were accustomed to their normal sibling spats, but this was different.

Dean kept pushing. “I remember that fight. In fact, I seem to recall a few choice phrases comin' out of your mouth.”

“You know, truth is, when we finally do find Dad... I don't know if he's even gonna wanna see me.” The brunet sounded sad.

“Sam, Dad was never disappointed in you. Never. He was scared.”

“What are you talkin' about?”

“He was afraid of what could've happened to you if he wasn't around. But even when you two weren't talkin'... he used to swing by Stanford whenever he could.”

Sam’s smirk faded.

“Keep an eye on you. Make sure you were safe,” Dean finished.

“What?” Sam’s puppy dog eyes were back.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell me any of that?” the younger brother asked.

“Well, it's a two-way street, dude. You could've picked up the phone.”

Sam stared at him sadly.

“Come on, we're gonna be late for our appointment,” Dean grumbled. 

***

The professor you’d gone to see at the college informed you of a Euchee tribe outside of Sapulpa that the bones Dean had found might have belonged to. The three of you now headed over to a diner one of the local Native Americans had directed you to. He had told you how to find Joe White tree, a bit of a patriarch of their group.

You found him playing cards at his table in the diner.

“Joe White Tree?” Sam asked.

The man nodded.

“We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's all right.”

Dean continued for his brother, saying, “We're students from the university—”

The man cut him off. “No, you're not. You're lying.”

Dean seemed taken aback. “Well, truth is—”

“You know who starts sentence with ‘truth is’? Liars,” Joe responded.

Dean looked at you and Sam strangely. 

“Have you heard of Oasis Plains?” you asked. “It's a housing development near the Atoka Valley.”

“I like her,” Joe told Dean. “She's not a liar.”

You smiled. 

Joe turned back to you. “I know the area.”

“What can you tell us about the history there?”

“Why do you wanna know?”

You considered for a moment. “Something bad is happening in Oasis Plains. I think it may have something to do with a Native American grave we found there.”

“I'll tell you what my grandfather told me, what his grandfather told him,” Joe began. “Two hundred years ago, a band of my ancestors lived in that valley. One day, the American cavalry came to relocate them. They were resistant, the cavalry impatient. As my grandfather put it, on the night the moon and the sun share the sky as equals, the cavalry first raided our village. They murdered, raped. The next day, the cavalry came again, and the next, and the next. And on the sixth night, the cavalry came one last time. And by the time the sun rose, every man, woman, and child still in the village was dead. They say on the sixth night, as the chief of the village lay dying, he whispered to the heavens that no white man would ever tarnish this land again. Nature would rise up and protect the valley. And it would bring as many days of misery and death to the white man as the cavalry had brought upon his people.”

“Insects. Sounds like nature to me. Six days,” Dean stated.

“And on the night of the sixth day, none would survive,” Joe finished his story.

Sam and Dean exchanged a worried look with you. 

“Thank you, sir,” you said. 

Joe nodded at you before you and the boys headed off. 

“When did the gas company man die?” Sam asked after you had made it outside.

“Uh, let's see, we got here Tuesday, so, Friday the twentieth,” Dean responded.

“March twentieth?” You thought for a moment. “That's the spring equinox.”

“The night the sun and the moon share the sky as equals,” Sam finished. “So, every year about this time, anybody in Oasis Plains is in danger. Larry built this neighborhood on cursed land.”

“And on the sixth night— that's tonight,” Dean finished.

“If we don't do something, Larry's family will be dead by sunrise. So how do we break the curse?” 

“You don't break a curse. You get out of its way. We've gotta get those people out now,” Dean said sharply. 

The three of you got in the car and sped away.

***

Dean drove while he spoke with Larry on the phone. “Yes, Mr. Pike, there's a mainline gas leak in your neighborhood… Well, it's fairly extensive. I don't want to alarm you, but we need your family out of the vicinity for at least twelve hours or so, just to be safe… Travis Weaver. I work for Oklahoma Gas and Power… Uh…” He panicked and quickly hung up.

Sam gestured for the phone. He learned from Matt that his backyard was crawling with cockroaches. He urged him to get his family out of the house, and Dean told him he needed to, under no circumstances, tell his father the truth about what was happening. 

When you arrived at the Pike residence, Larry rushed out of the house. “Get off my property before I call the cops.”

“Mr. Pike, listen,” Sam urged.

“Dad, they're just tryin' to help,” Matt pleaded from the doorway.

“Get in the house!” Larry ordered.

Matt addressed you and the boys. “I'm sorry. I told him the truth.”

“We had a plan, Matt, what happened to the plan?” Dean grunted through his teeth.

“Look, it's 12:00 AM. They are coming any minute now. You need to leave now, before it's too late,” you told Larry.

“Yeah, you mean before the biblical swarm,” he replied humorlessly.

“Larry, what do you think really happened to that realtor, huh? And the gas company guy? You don't think somethin' weird's goin' on here?” Dean questioned.

“Look, I don't know who you are, but you're crazy. You come near my boy or my family again, and we're gonna have a problem,” Larry told you.

“Well, I hate to be a downer, but we've got a problem right now,” the older brother responded.

“Dad, they're right, okay? We're in danger.” 

“Matt, get inside! Now!”

Matt stepped further out onto the porch. “No! Why won't you listen to me?!”

“Because this is crazy! It doesn't make any sense!” Larry yelled back.

“Look, this land is cursed! People have died here. Now, are you gonna really take that risk with your family?”

“Wait!” you shushed the group.

Everyone went silent.

“You hear it?”

From a distance away, there was a faint buzzing that got louder and louder rapidly.

“What the hell?” Larry muttered. 

The fluorescent bug light on the porch began overheating; killing several bugs at a time. The buzzing got even louder. Millions of bugs blanketed the sky, heading straight to you.

“Oh my God.” Your breath quickened. “Everybody in the house, now!”

You and Dean held up the rear of the group, and you felt his hand on your back guiding you inside. You locked the door behind Dean.

“Okay, is there anybody else in the neighborhood?” Sam asked Larry.

“No, it's just us.”

Joanie entered the room. “Honey, what's happening? What's that noise?”

“Call 911,” Larry instructed her. “Joanie!”

She seemed caught off-guard. “Okay.” She picked up the phone and began to dial. 

“I need towels,” Dean told Larry.

“Uh, in the closet.”

Sam and Matt went upstairs while you and Dean packed the base of the front door with the towels you found.

“Phones are dead,” Joanie informed you.

“They must have chewed through the phone lines.” Dean shook his head as the lights went out.

“And the power lines,” you grumbled.

Larry tried his cell phone only to get no signal.

“You won't get one. They're blanketing the house.” Dean looked towards the windows that were beginning to darken from the thousands of bugs collecting on them.

“So what do we do now?” Larry asked.

Sam had come back downstairs with Matt. “We try to outlast it. Hopefully, the curse will end at sunrise.”

“Hopefully?” Larry’s eyebrows raised in shock.

You looked to Dean. “You have your zippo lighter?” 

He seemed to catch on to what you were suggesting and nodded. The two of you broke off to the kitchen and found bug spray under one of the cabinets.

Joanie seemed unimpressed when you returned with the can.

“Just trust us,” you told her.

A creaking sound from the fireplace caught your attention.

“What is that?” Matt’s voice was higher pitched than normal.

“The flue,” Sam answered.

“Alright, I think everybody needs to get upstairs,” Dean ordered.

Suddenly, thousands of bugs poured into the living room from the fireplace, swarming all around you. Dean used his zippo to light the can of bug spray. “Alright, everybody upstairs! Now! Go, go, go!”

You covered your ears and ran upstairs to the attic with Sam and Dean close by you. You could hear bugs thumping against the attic hatch door; trying desperately to get in. There was only a few moments reprieve before you heard gnawing above you.

“Oh, God, what's that?” Joanie cried.

“Something's eating through the wood,” Dean replied.

“Termites,” Matt added.

Dean ordered the family to get back from the spot where sawdust was beginning to descend and bits of moonlight were coming through. Moments later, bugs began to fill the room through the chewed in spot. You and the boys frantically tried to patch the hole, swatting bugs away from you like a madwoman. You were able to shove a board of wood with another under it to hold it up, but that only worked for a second. Two other holes were chewed through the roof, raining bugs down on you. You covered your ear with one hand and swatted bugs away with the other. You and the boys backed up into the Pikes, who were huddled in the corner. Dean tried his best to light the bugs up, but nothing was working. Then, miraculously, the sun began to rise. Thankfully, all of the bugs began to fly out of the holes they’d chewed through the roof. You watched through the same holes as they flew up toward the sun. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

***

The next morning, you and the boys were about to head out of town but stopped by the Pike residence on the way. You approached the moving van that Larry was loading boxes into.

“What, no goodbye?” Dean joked.

“Good timing. Another hour and we'd have been gone,” Larry answered. He shook your hand.

“For good?” you asked.

“Yeah. The development's been put on hold while the government investigates those bones you found. But I'm gonna make damn sure no one lives here again,” Larry explained.

“You don't seem too upset about it.”

“Well, this has been the biggest financial disaster of my career, but…” He looked over to Matt, who was carrying a box in the garage. “...somehow, I really don't care.”

You smiled at him.

Sam walked over to Matt, who was throwing away all of his insect paraphernalia. You looked on fondly as the two smiled and laughed. You bid Larry goodbye and went over to the car with Dean. Seconds later, Sam joined you.

“I wanna find Dad,” the brunet said.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean nodded.

“Yeah, but I just... I want to apologize to him.”

“For what?”

“All the things I said to him. He was just doin' the best he could.”

“Well, don't worry, we'll find him. And then you'll apologize. And then within five minutes, you guys will be at each other's throats.”

You laughed. “I wanna find him, too.”

The boys looked at you strangely.

“I wanna kick his ass to hell and back for leaving you two alone.”

Dean shook his head. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”

“Well, whatever they are, they aren’t good enough,” you quipped. “And I wanna thank him. If it weren’t for him, I never would’ve met you two.”

Sam smiled at you fondly at y0u. Dean had a look on his face you couldn’t quite read.

“I thought we agreed on no chick flick moments, (Y/N),” Dean remarked. “C’mon, let’s hit the road.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian

[noicyleech]

Dean ignores his brother’s comment, spinning on his heel, ready to let himself sink back into the gorgeous blue of Castiel’s eyes. He hears a cry of pain. The frail illusion of victory falls apart in an instant at the sight in front of him. The angel’s wings are tense, arched into an unnatural position. Every feather quakes, shaking uncontrollably as Cas falls to his knees and brings his head down to rest on the floor. His hands shoot to his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. Another agonized sound rips out of him.

The dungeon’s door has slammed close once more. There’s a muffled shout coming from behind it. The worry coats every word Sam throws their way, but to Dean it all sounds like an incomprehensible slur. He’s rooted to the ground, his muscles strung so tight it hurts. He watches as two more sets of wings sprout from the angel’s back, seizing just as aggressively as the original pair. The dungeon lights up as the power Castiel can no longer contain builds up endlessly, slowly breaking free from its restraints. Cracks start to form on the exposed skin of his vessel, like he’s made of glass and someone is repeatedly beating him with a hammer in hopes of shattering him completely.

At first Dean thinks it’s blood that begins to seep through the fractures, but then it starts to glow. The grace - or the antichrist’s powers, its hard to tell - tears through his skin and casts a wine red light on every surface it can reach.

Feathers are falling, shaken loose by the restless movement of the appendages. They disintegrate as soon as they make contact with the floor. There is no way of telling where Castiel’s screams begin, nor where they end. The pain seems to go on for hours, seconds passing at a snail’s pace with no end in sight. Soon the light coming from Cas, the light that is breaking him to pieces, will be too blinding to look at. Still Dean can’t turn away, can’t close his eyes. So he prays.

He sends desperate prayers into the world in a last ditch attempt. ‘Please’

He’s not sure what or who he is praying to. He doesn’t care. He will take anything, welcome anyone who is willing to help him. He’d do anything. ‘I need him’

Tears are pestering the back of his eyes, so he lets them flow. They sting, burning the dry surface. He won’t close them. He’s lost Castiel’s figure to the light, but he knows exactly where the angel is. He can feel him. Cas is no longer screaming, probably because he can’t. There is a passing thought that maybe, maybe he can’t scream anymore because he’s already gone. ‘Please. This isn’t fair’

His vision turns spotty. Dean fights it for as long as he can but his body forces him to close his eyes on the instinct to survive. It’s barely a blink, but when he opens them the dungeon is cast in darkness. The previously blinding light is gone, and he is alone. Dean doesn’t feel it when his knees hit the floor, or when he shouts his throat raw. He doesn’t register when Sam rushes in and crouches in front of him. He can see Sam’s lips move but can’t make sense of what he’s saying, doesn’t fight it when he’s pulled to his feet and dragged out of the room. There’s only one thing he’s aware of; the constant string of ‘why’ torturing his mind. He isn’t ready- he will not accept Castiel is dead. Not again. He just got him back. But with Castiel’s body torn to pieces there isn’t much hope for a better ending. He might as well have exploded. Consumed completely by that cursed power, the burden he never asked to carry. It’s not fair.

[loversofthegrave]

teenage sammy grappling with his intolerable attachment to his big brother one shot<3

1998, South Carolina

Summer hits full on like a hammer, shrivelling the last spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. John has them situated this time in South Carolina in the middle of a buttfuck nowhere trailer park. Sam huffs out a whoosh wafting a strand of his shaggy, greasy hair and scuffs his knock-off beat up converse into the dry dirt, the path leading up into their new home for the next week or two.

John recites his customary speech, Dean nods, ‘Yes sir’ as Dean always does. He’s John more often than dad these days. John gave Sam a name when he was born then left, like a background actor in a movie, cut from the film roll. The rumble of the impala and he’s gone.

Spider plants hang from pots on the wide trailer porch. Chipped ceramic ornaments of butterflies and lizards were placed outside. Inside, the shabby floral wallpaper and checkered armchair. The tattered cotton curtains blowing gently, and the cross hung on the wall, wonky. It was like a polaroid from the 70s, all orange hues and clashing patterns.

“What a dump,” he said gritting his teeth.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean shrugs “Kinda cozy,”

Dean’s eyes like hawks observing their new home, finding quick exits, salting the windows and doors. Safety first, look out for Sammy, like the good toy solider that he is.

Sam knows Dean can’t help it, the urgency, the attentiveness, to keep safe, guard his little brother. Sam would be lying if he said he wouldn’t want it any other way, he hopes it’s a two-way street.

Truth is, being in each other's pocket is all they’ve ever known. Dean is Sam’s brother as much as he is his only friend, his father, his mother, all rolled into one. Dean's hands being a caress and a fumbling worry of a mother’s. Dean who changed Sam’s diapers, who soothed teething pains with nimble fingers, tender rocking's and forgiving scoldings. It was all him, not a woman with satin blonde hair and porcelain skin nor the man with the grief-stricken furrowed brows and whiskey sighs. No, it was the kid with the goofy grin and the shoulders weighed down heavy with more liability than a kid should ever know, now turned leather jackets and calloused hands, felon fingers, summers caress dotted upon the bridge of a nose. Summer has always been extra generous to him, he thought, kind of face that weighs heavy on a teenage boys heart.

Looking at Dean is like hallucinating like looking through the lenses of kaleidoscope, soft orange and pink hues from the sun dipping into the horizon of the late summer dusk framing his head like an angel but an angel in the flames. An angel that could be Gabriel but an angel that could be Lucifer too, like he would readily delve into the deep, dark hell as he would fly up to the lofty, illuminated places. And Dean would for Sam.

Dean was Sam’s first everything, and it’s no surprise Sam would want that forevermore.

Sam can’t help it, this craving, it’s insatiable, like an itch irritating him under new stretched teenage skin. If he itches and itches, scratches with blunt anxious bitten nails until he draws blood. But the blood he revels in, the curving, cutting and slaughtering himself to fit into the groove of Dean’s heart, he would do anything, and he knows Dean would do the same but not in the ways Sam yearns for. Sam knows, he knows it’s twisted, he knew as soon as he was enrolled in school and how not everyone else feels that way about brothers. But he doesn’t care, not when Dean is the only grace he was given in his world of destruction and ruin, his pure drop in an ocean of chaos. Damn it if the lord doesn’t forgive him, heaven and hell are just words to a hopeless boy like Sam. When his brother looks at him, he decides to wage holy war.

But Dean doesn’t know, not really, he knows Sam loves him but no more, no less, too frightful Sam would scare him fiercely, that he would leave Sam here, loose his grace, and what is Sam without his grace? Just an empty vessel, an angel damned from heaven, forever. Think he’s sick, corrupt, disgusting. Only Sam can be the one to know this about himself, swallow the key if he must. He tries his best to shelter away these parts from Dean, distancing ever so slightly, it just makes the craving worst, he thinks, withdrawal.

So, he lives with Dean, in his shadow. Watches him, envies him, wants to be him, wants to be with him, under him. Watches him waltzing around the kitchen with sultry hips after this week's easy fuck. Probably some white trash bimbo Sam thinks harshly, doesn’t know what it truly means to have him, a boy, a man, like Dean. He goes for anything with legs and a mouth in a 1-mile radius, puts it out to anything, anyone but Sam.

“You stink Dean,” Sam mumbles under his breath

“That’s the smell of champions Sammy” Dean grins, easy and careless, throwing a wink over his shoulder. Sam shoots daggers into his back.

This is their dance, Dad goes on a hunt for a couple of weeks, Dean and Sam are holed up in a shack and they pretend that this is their normal, habit, but it’s not, they we’re and forever born in motion. Dean enrols Sam into the local (another) high school, Dean gets a short-term job working with his hands to hold them over until Dad gets back, this time at the garage. They make small talk with strangers when necessarily and act according to their roles, relocates the suspicious eyes on Sam’s stitched up hand me down t-shirts and Deans violet blooming bruises from training and hunts, keeps social services off their back. But they fit in OK around this truckers town so Sam holds it rigid, this vexation, lewdness, this jealousy brimming. Puberty is fucked, Sam likes to blame it on that.

~

It’s Friday, the shutters of the trailer are open and wide. Sam’s in makeshift shorts that were once jeans that he cut at the knees one town ago. The radio is static, and The Mama’s & The Papa’s is being carried through the thick-cut air, ‘you've got everything I need, and nobody can please like you, you baby and who believes that my wildest dreams and my craziest schemes will come true?’

Sam’s growth spurt mixed with food stamp fed spindly legs are propped up on the coffee table barefoot, toes wiggling, as he shovels spoonfuls of store brand cornflake knock offs in his mouth. Dean comes in wafting of oil and summer sweat after being outside tinkering with the ford pick-up truck Dad sorted out with a local hunter before he briskly left. He slaps the bottom of Sam’s foot with his greasy rag. Sam grunts.

"Up and at 'em or you're gonna be late" Dean lectures, parenting.

Sam rucks on an old 1975 Black Sabbath tour shirt that used to be Dean's that used to be Dads, now faded grey and bobbling. Pokes his feet into socks with his right toe sticking out of the hole, laces up his shoes and climbs into the passenger seat of the pick-up. Dean drops Sam off at the Pine Springs High and told him he'd pick him up, told him to ‘give ‘em hell’.

Pine Springs High was full of scraggy kids, Beavis and Butt-head boys, girls busty and leggy. Sam befriends one friend, a skinny freckled boy with thick rimmed glasses. His name is Davey. They were sat next to each other in science, dissecting a frog. Sam figures cutting open this frog is harder than the ghouls they slaughter. What did this frog ever do to anyone? Davey was informing Sam on the anatomy, pointed out the chambers of the heart, the ventricle. He seemed interested in trying to impress Sam with how smart he was. "You know a lot," stated Sam.

He smiled. He was a boy who wanted to be seen. Sam suspects with certainty he’s not in these careless halls of teenagers reeking of hormones and wariness of social status.

High school is not as gentle with kids like Sam and Davey. But Sam can tackle it, give as good as he gets. That’s what he’s been trained to do, what their dad trained him to do, those sparring sessions with Dean every other day doesn’t go to waste, as much as Sam likes to grumble and whine. The decomposition ghost of a girl in a tatty white dress with fine needlepoint lace trimmings from the 1820’s has more oomph in her thump than any of these teenagers.

Even in a Gas-mart town like this one full of greasy kids with dirty fingernails Sam still is stared at by clusters of kids. Maybe it’s the adequate collection of bruising on his body from said sparring and Victorian decomposition, or maybe it’s the fact he’s an outsider (he’s always the outsider) but Sam doesn’t mind. Cleanliness and godliness are deceptive, he’d rather wear his wounds, his ugliness. No fooling, he was torn and stitched.

~

Dean picks Sam up, sees the mop of brown hair and downcast face amongst the sea of chattering high-spirited kids. It reminds Dean of when he encouraged him to go to a classmate's birthday party in kindergarten, timid little Sammy protested but Dean encouraged his little brother to go, nervy on all he was missing out growing up. When Dean went to pick him up at McDonald's he spotted him, dejected, eyes glazed over. Other children around him screaming and sliding into pits filled with coloured balls. It splintered Dean to his core.

When Sam is in arm reach Dean tousles Sam's hair, and he gets a whack of the hand and a gruff in response.

“How’d it go Sammy?” Dean asks, hefting himself up into the driver's seat.

“Fine.” Sam replies, quick, sharp. “And it’s Sam,” he stresses.

Dean doesn’t know what it is these days but there’s a slight ache, a gnawing. Sam used to look at Dean like he hung the stars just for him. That Dean was God’s own reflection but now there’s a distance, an interspace and he doesn’t quite know what to do with it. At first, he thought maybe it’s teenage hormones or pheromones or whatever the fuck, but Dean never remembers being that sulky as a teenager. Maybe he never got the chance. When he tries to touch Sam, he flinches, scurries away like he just spooked a rodent. Used to revel in it, they practically grew up in each other's arms. Was still sharing a bed in the motels until two years ago.

Dean would never admit it out loud to him, but he misses Sam. Misses that constant comfort of touch and affection.

They stop off at a local diner on their way back to the trailer park, Sam questions if they have enough money for the month to eat out, Dean tells him not to worry. All wooden panels, red and white checkered table clothes, a sign that reads, ‘lumber jack pancake special for $5.95!’ Dean eyes it up, breakfast at dinnertime, their lives never have rhythm or reason anyways. They slide into a booth of worn leather, Sam on one side, Dean on the other.

Sam orders a panini with ham and cheese and fries, Dean the lumber jack pancakes. When they arrive by a shy petite waitress with inky dark eyes and blushing blotted cheeks, Dean swipes a fry off Sam’s plate just to receive another swat. Any touch is better than no touch, bad attention better than none.

Sam doesn’t miss the way the waitresses' eyes linger on Dean’s profile. If he shoots a frosty glare her way Dean doesn’t have to know.

~

The sun with no forgiveness, a parched sky, the hillsides with purple wilting drifts of milkweed, dotting the cracks of the gas-station and garage. It was Saturday, Sam was at the garage while Dean worked. Tucked in a corner sheltered from the suns ruthless beat with his library copy of Catcher In The Rye he couldn’t return when John dragged them out of the motel inn at dawn a town back. Sam said he felt guilty, Dean told him to stop being such a law-abiding citizen.

He gazed at Dean, could smell his sweat, sharp and strong, a man, Sam’s brain applied helpfully. He was wearing overalls, wiping workman sweat from his forehead. Sam wanted to lick him, taste the salt and summer kissed skin. He knows he’s disgusting. At this rate Sam thinks he should stab his eyes out, so he can’t look. Burn his skin off, so he can’t touch.

~

The next Sunday, Sam sleeps in late. He finds Dean slouched on the floral couch, stretched out like a housecat watching TV. It’s always a rarity to see him in a relaxed stance, undisturbed, a recess to the constant chaos of their lives. It settles something steady and peaceful within Sam with just a hint of sadness. He mumbles a drowsy good morning and trudges to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

He pisses in the toilet, sluggish, holds himself up steady with a hand against the tiles. The splash of his piss hitting the water too loud in the quiet murmur of their trailer.

Washing his hands, he moseys around in the medicine cabinet above the sink. Inside, aimless trinkets left behind by previous owners. Tweezers with a single gemstone on them, antibiotic ointment, outdated eyedrops.

Sam finds a small capsule behind an empty bottle of aspirin. He reaches for it, revealing a lipstick, the cheap kind you pick-up at Walmart for $5.

He holds it in his hand, stares. Turns it in his palm, opens the lid with a subtle click and rotates the base.

The lipstick itself is a cherry red, obscene kind of red. The type he sees on hookers lingering around the corners at motels when he slips out at dusk to buy Dr Peppers from the vending machine with the quarters Dean made him pocket.

The garish fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, whirring like insects as he watches them showcasing their chests and unveiled legs. They always look cold, Sam thinks.

Sam looks up and scans his face in the mirror, holds the lipstick close to his nose, sniffs it. It smells like wax and chemicals, half suspected it to smell like strawberries and an angel's kiss or something, screws his nose up.

Without much reflection he smears the cherry red lipstick onto his lips, it's messy and askew not as neat as he sees on the girls in Dean's skin mags. He sets down the lipstick onto the sink and looks at himself, really looks.

The glaring red on such a boyish face like Sam's feels lewd and indecent. He feels slightly silly, embarrassed, his cheeks stain a weak scarlet. He wonders what others would think of him like this, Dean, his dad.

God, dad would probably be appalled, call him a sissy, punish him by making him do triple the training. Make him run for miles under the blazing sun.

But Dean, what would Dean think of his little brother like this? If Sam just waltzed right out of the bathroom now and stood dead in the line of Dean's vision. Would he stammer? Get all flustered and struck-dumb? Would he look at Sam and think of him as those girls he promenades to the impala, the motel room when he thinks Sam's asleep and not hanging onto every grunt and sigh coming from Dean's throat. Stores them in the hollow of his heart, imprinted on it just as sacred as the Holy Bible is to a priest.

Would he want to tenderly caress the shape of his mouth, smear the lipstick, make Sam looked wrecked? He inspects the long plains of his body, like scorched landscape, bronzed from June’s boldness.

Sam’s been trying to get used to it, his recasting body. Finally losing his baby fat, almost catching up to Dean in height much to Dean’s dismay. Just he doesn’t carry the newly stretched limbs well, feels like a puppet and someone else is yanking the strings. He hasn’t thought about it much, how others perceive him, how Dean perceives him.

Sure, Sam’s had his first kiss and fumbled under a girl's shirt in Indiana last year, let him touch her boobs. She wore lots of eyeliner, wore black bulky boots and liked Alice In Chains. Sam creamed his pants as soon as he got a soft plump handful, she didn’t seem to mind so he tried not to feel too embarrassed. He couldn’t wait to tell Dean (lied to a reasonable measure) for him to be proud of him. Dean let Sam have his first beer after he told him, “Since you’re a man now,” Dean announced, “Don’t tell Dad,” He winked. Sam never tells John their secrets.

But other than that, he’s a bit clueless, still bashful when girls look his way. Isn’t fabricated like Dean, heavied bottom lip into effortless grin that make’s girls drop and fractures their porcelain hearts, little unconsciously brutal but never intentional to be so. Sam would let Dean smash him into smithereens, shards of broken ceramic all over the tiles, if he’d wanted.

He thinks about the woman who supposedly left the lipstick here, he decides it’s an older woman, barefoot in a simple dress in the tail end of summer, her feet and the palms of her hands showed pale pink against her sunburnt skin, looked ornamental. He decided she had many lovers, wore it for them, wonders if Dean would be one. Wonders what she would think finding out a gawky teenage boy was trying on her bygone lipstick.

Wonders what it would be like to wear this for Dean, his lover.

Dean compulsive, gluttonous with the want of Sam, gushing his hands over the sides of his body, the pull of his rutting teenage hips. The neediness he sometimes gets in that platonic brotherly way bordering on hysteria whenever Sam’s hurt. All his senses submerged entirely by Dean Dean Dean, his touch, his smell, his hot breath.

Sam shoves a frantic hand down his pyjama pants and briefs, wrenches his dick with crazed tugs. Comes that exact same time there’s rough banging on the door, Dean shouting, “Come on Sam, you’ve been in there forever!” rattling the door with his presence.

Sam leaps, grimacing at the mess he made in his pants, swiping a towel and cleaning himself up in rapid motions. Rubs off the lipstick with the back of his hand, scouring his mouth.

“You jerking off in their little brother?” Dean calls out, muffled slightly through the thick wood of the bathroom door, amusement laced in his tone.

When Sam is sure he’s cleansed himself of any misdemeanours and removed all crucial evidence he swings the door open and shoulders past Dean muttering, “No Dean, I wasn’t jerking off.” How much of that Dean believes is out of his control. He pockets the lipstick.

[soullessjack]

"tell me on anon what you wouldn’t off anon"

i think dean was straight up abusive towards jack and while there is room for redemption to be explored, in canon, the show did not give him any sort of redemption. in other words in my eyes "canon" dean winchester is an abuser (but canon is unimportant anyways so whatever)

im scared of saying this and getting stoned to death

no need to comment you can just post this without saying anything if you want

- 🏴‍☠️

no no you’re right and you should say it, however I disagree that Dean was completely abusive and that there was never any canon redemption.

firstly I think there’s a slight difference in someone being abusive vs being an abuser;

abuse (or abusive behavior/tendencies) can happen accidentally, unintentionally, especially if it’s resulted from trauma (like Dean’s). you can be completely unaware that something you’ve done or said is abusive, especially because being abusive can be as simple as yelling or hitting someone, or treating them unfairly (like jack). people who have abusive tendencies or behaviors are capable of regretting it and wanting/trying to change…whereas an abuser is wholly aware, intentional and remorseless about their actions. they know what they are doing, they know it’s immoral/inhumane and they just don’t care—either because they feel entitled or justified in some way, or even if they don’t.

Dean has repeatedly shown plenty of regret, guilt and blatant self hatred for his abusive tendencies and how they affect the people around him. It’s one of the most important parts of his character, being the crux of his self worth and why he can’t accept that people (Cas) genuinely care about him or consider him a good person. When he refers to himself as “daddy’s blunt instrument” or “poison,” it isn’t just about being a hunter whose life constantly risks other peoples inescapably, it’s also about the violent nature that’s instilled into Dean constantly by John and how both of those things either isolates him from getting close to anyone else, or drives away people who do get close. That’s why there’s no light at the end of the tunnel for Dean, why he’s so resigned to dying bloody. It’s all he thinks he can ever have or really deserve.

When Jack is dying in 14x07, Dean physically cannot stand to see it. He’s angry that Jack is dying so young and so out of nowhere; he thinks it’s unfair and wrong, point blank. But above all else, (as Sam says) Dean canonically has never forgotten or forgiven himself for how he had treated Jack, even though by this point in time they’ve already had a good relationship for the past two years. He’s angry and upset that Jack is dying, but he’s also upset because he still thinks, after all this time, that he’s never been able to fully make up for what he did, and now he’s lost any chance to with Jack’s limited time. That’s why Dean decides to take him on the road trip; that’s why he says “Who would’ve thought being around me (the person who treated you terribly at one point) would make you (the person who didn’t deserve it) sentimental?”

When Dean leaves Jack’s room for the last time and wounds up being absent for his death, he’s even more upset about it, and later brings it up to take a dig at Sam for thinking he didn’t do enough for Jack because, by Dean’s own admission, Sam had always been the one to do more. “At least you were there for him [because I wasn’t, and I see that as another failure on top of everything else I did to him before].” And then, after the three of them get hammered in Jack’s memory, Dean turns to Cas and asks, “we did everything we could, right?” There’s a lot more in 14x07 but I’ll leave it alone for now, and move onto the redemption part of what you said.

I know I said I disagreed, but really it’s only partially; instead I believe that the show simply didn’t give enough time for a complete redemption (save me spn revival wish fulfillments, spn revival wish fulfillments save me). The end of S14 is basically the destruction of the Team Free Will 2.0 found family unit, not just between Dean and Cas, but also between Dean and Sam, and Jack and the three of them. And I think the reason there’s so much more emphasis on Dean’s relationship with Jack (+ why the family unit falling apart is specifically centered on it) is specifically because of how they started; Dean was initially the only one to be distrustful of Jack and mistreat him as a result, whereas Sam and Cas were willing to see Jack with more humanity and goodness, and when Jack proved that he was good that was the crux of Dean’s guilt going forward; his distrust was wrong and misguided, and the abuse he put Jack through because of it was even more wrong and undeserved.

But then after Mary’s death, the three of them have no idea what to think. They’re more reluctant than Bobby is to admit that Jack could have simply had his evil bone activated after losing his soul/eating Michael’s grace, but they aren’t excluding the idea either. The question up in the air now is: “Was Dean right all along? Were we wrong for trusting Jack and thinking he was good? Is all of this our fault?” (and going back to 14x07, the basic ‘framework’ of Dean’s dynamic with Jack is basically ‘I was wrong about you being evil and now that I love you I want to be keep being wrong about you being evil’ and ‘I want you to be wrong about me being evil too, especially now that you love me and I love you’).

Sam, Dean, Cas and Jack are all presented with the worst case scenario that had always been hanging over Jack’s entire existence. None of them want to believe it after growing so close to him (and vice versa), but they’re not given much else to consider. Mary’s death was one thing, one horrible tragic wound reopening, but they knew it was an accident and they knew Jack had tried to fix it. It isn’t until Duma got her claws into Jack and ordered him to kill nonbelievers that TFW finally decides they have to do something final about Jack, and Dean resumes his militant Kill All Monsters behavior. He’s dissociating into the blunt instrument mindset to protect himself from the grief of losing his mother and potentially losing his son. He can’t even bear to consider Jack his son anymore, both because of Mary and the task of killing him, so Jack becomes “just another monster,” in his dissociative mind. His son wouldn’t have killed Mary or tortured Nick or murdered people randomly because his son was a good person, and his son does not deserve to die, but whatever identical monster has inexplicably replaced Jack would certainly do that and certainly does deserve to die.

Dean’s “poison” is rooted in the fact that his coping mechanisms are intertwined with abusive tendencies and behaviors. He pushes people away if he thinks he doesn’t deserve their respect or love, and he buries any emotional attachment to them because he knows it’s his greatest weakness. That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to shoot Jack, regardless of the grief he felt for Mary or how much he tried to see Jack as a monster that wasn’t really his son. When Jack knelt down, said “I understand. I know what I’ve done. And you were right all along. I am a monster,” and then waited for the gun to go off, that’s what snapped Dean out of it. That’s what got him to see that this was still his son—that and the road trip from 14x07 flashing before his eyes. The grief he feels for Mary’s death is still painful and will be for a long time, but he won’t let it cloud him from seeing that his son is still there and still a good person who deserves the chance to make it right and be forgiven.

That militant dissociation comes back again following Jack’s death and Chuck’s retaliation/reveal that they’ve been nothing but a bunch of lowbrow Truman Burbanks to an unfeeling deity their entire lives. The most recent Destivorce is because Dean has constantly been pushing Cas away and severing their ties to cope with the situation. It’s bad throughout all of S15, but it’s especially worse towards the end when Dean is rampant on Jack’s suicide bomb plan happening for a chance at freedom. I’ve seen a LOT of people say that Dean’s love is conditional because of this, but it really…isn’t.

If Dean never cared about Jack, he’d never take time out of his life to spend some final moments with him, or share a specific father/son memory with him to indirectly communicate that he does see Jack as a son, but ultimately doesn’t feel like he deserves to be a father. If he truly felt that Jack “wasn’t family,” he wouldn’t have shown any of the concern for Jack that he did after Jack detonated in the Empty (frantically demanding to know if he’s alive and to bring him back); he wouldn’t have tried to apologize to Jack for hearing it, and he wouldn’t have *checks transcript* reacted in mild horror at Jack agreeing with what he said (and personally, if I’m insulting someone, I would want them to feel the same way that I feel).

Additionally, If Dean’s love is conditional, particularly on the basis of how useful someone is to him, then he wouldn’t have been expecting Jack to come back home with them or considering buying him actual gifts (a flat screen TV and a recliner, specifically for his room in the Bunker I might add) for saving the world.

Out of all the problems S15 had, I think the pacing was the absolute worst. Too many plots and one-off characters and plot devices squeezed into a short amount of episodes; too much focus put into filler instead of plot progression, etc etc. But what it absolutely missed out on was granting any of the characters any proper closure. I think that’s why Dean’s conflict with Jack feels so unresolved and unredeemed. Dean gets mean -> Dean feels bad -> Dean gets nice again, but that’s about it. For now I tend to view his dynamic with Jack as them being two sides of the same coin: Dean feels like he doesn’t deserve to be a father figure to Jack after everything he did, and Jack feels like he doesn’t deserve to be a part of their family as a son after everything he did.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Soul Survivor: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst

Summary: Sam begins the process of curing Dean while you sit back and watch Dean get worse before he gets better. One thing is for sure: you're going to have a lot of fun drowning his soul in pain.

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

A couple of hours go by with a couple of more dosages being put into Dean. You and Sam walk into the dungeon expecting to give Dean his last dosage when you halt by the entrance into the storage room. There in front of you is an empty chair. Dean is no longer tied up.

"Well, that's not good," you say.

"Come on," Sam whispers.

He has his demon knife to protect himself with while you have your gun with devil's trap bullets in the magazine. Dean is around here somewhere looking for you two but you're not going to become his next victim. As you and Sam roam the hallways, you can hear Dean opening and closing doors as he looks for you. Sam motions for you to follow him and you do so without a word.

He makes his way to the war room where there is a set of keys inside one of the drawers. He grabs them as quietly as he can but is startled by a noise he thinks is coming behind him.

"Scared much?" you chuckle.

"Shut up. Come on," he whispers and leaves the war room.

"Come on, Sammy!" Dean says, his voice echoing off the walls. "Don't you want to hang out with your big brother? Spend a little quality time?"

Thankfully you don't run into Dean on your way to the control room. Sam unlocks the door and shuts it quietly behind you. In the back is a gated area where all the controls are for the Bunker. You stay by the door while Sam walks into that gated area to mess with the controls. He flips the switch that locks down the place. Red lights flood the Bunker immediately. If Dean doesn't know where you are, he sure does now.

No one can get out. No one can come in. This is a cat-and-mouse game that will end in someone dying, for sure... and it's not going to be you.

"Smart, Sam! Locking the place down." Dean's voice echoes from where he is so you can hear him. "The doors won't open. I get it. Here's the thing: I don't want to leave! Not until I find you and Y/N!"

Dean is for sure making his way down to the control room to turn the power back on so if you leave, he will definitely see you. You and Sam hide behind one of the large computers that is big enough to fully conceal you. Sam looks at you in confusion when you duck down next to him.

"I thought you weren't on my side."

"I'm not but we have a common enemy, so there's that."

"Sammy! Y/N! You two are just making this worse for yourselves! By the way, you can blame yourself for me getting loose. All that blood you pumped into me to make me human made me less of a demon. The less of a demon I was, the less the the handcuffs worked. I just walked right across the devil's trap. It hurt like hell but it worked."

The door to the control room opens and you and Sam hold your breathing as if he can hear it. You two move away from him as he walks past the computers and makes his way to the controls. You and Sam sneak out of the control room just as Dean flips the switch back to normal. The red lights disappear and the Bunker returns to normal.

"Yeah, that's more like it."

Sam immediately pulls the door shut and uses the keys to lock Dean inside the control room.

"That's your big move?" Dean chuckles.

"I mean, it is kind of weak," you shrug.

"Shut up," Sam hisses at you. "Dean, listen to me. We were getting close, okay? I know you're still in there somewhere. Just let me finish the treatments." Nothing comes from inside the room. No response. No indication that Dean heard what he said. "Dean?"

All of a sudden, the wood on the door splinters as Dean rams a hammer into it. He hits the door again and this time, wood breaks off of it and flies across the room.

"You act like I want to be cured!" Dean hits the door until there is a hole big enough where Dean can look at you and Sam. "Personally, I like the disease."

"Dean, stop that! Look, I don't want to use this blade on you!" Sam yells.

"That sucks for you, doesn't it? Because you really mean that!"

Dean continues to hammer the door as more and more wood breaks off.

"Look, if you come out of that room, I won't have a choice!"

"Sure you will. I know which one you'll make. Isn't that right, Sammy? Here's the thing: I'm lucky. Oh, hell, I'm blessed because there's just enough demon left in me that killing you isn't a choice at all. I'm gonna start with him and I'm gonna end with you," Dean glares at you.

"We need to go," you say and slap Sam's arm.

Just as Dean breaks through, you and Sam run off in the opposite direction.

"Sammy? Y/N! Come out, come out, wherever you are!" You and Sam break off when there is a split in the hallway so that you go down one side and Sam goes down the other. "Come on! Let's have a beer and talk about it. I'm tired of playing. Let's finish this game!"

You turn your head to see if Dean is behind you but you end up crashing into someone's hard chest. Dean smirks at you, grabs your shoulders, turns you around, and pulls you flush against his back. Sam comes around the corner just in time to see Dean put a knife to your throat.

"No! Stop!" Sam gasps.

You're not scared at all. Dean can slit your throat without a second thought, so why would you be scared? He's not going to, not after what you two have been through for the past couple of months.

"Do it," you smirk and keep eye contact with Sam.

"No, Dean, don't do it!" Sam begs.

"Okay. Fine. You choose. It's you or her, and if you don't choose, I'm gonna kill you both."

Dean doesn't have a chance to do either because arms wrap around his shoulders. You're pushed away from him, and you turn to see Cas standing there trying to hold Dean back. He's using whatever strength he has to hold Dean back who is giving him a good fight.

"It's over, Dean," Cas says. His eyes glow blue with grace. "It's over."

With Cas here, he's able to get Dean back to the dungeon where they finish the treatments. You're standing outside the room with your back to the wall so that they can't see you. There's no way you're going to let you be the first thing Dean sees when he's cured. Sam administers the final dosage and pulls back from his brother who is slumped over in the chair. There are tons of needle marks on Dean's arm to signify just how many times Sam has poked his brother. 

"What the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, even after I gave him all that blood, he still said he didn't want to be cured. He doesn't want to be human."

"I see his point. Only humans can feel real joy but also such profound pain. Maybe that's what's happening to Y/N. This is easier."

Dean gasps awake with black eyes. The black dissipates so the only that's left over is Dean's forest green eyes. Sam grabs the holy water and unscrews the top to test if Dean is really cured. Dean groans in pain and cracks his neck to work out the kinks. Sam and Cas stare at him with uncertainty.

"You look worried, fellas," Dean chuckles.

Sam splashes Dean's face with the holy water but nothing happens. Sam smiles in relief and Dean smiles in worry. You roll your eyes knowing that Dean is back to his loving self. You kick off the wall and stalk to the library for a drink.

"Welcome back, Dean."

Once in the library, you grab a glass cup and pour a triple. Alcohol doesn't have any effect on you like it used to, so drinking this much doesn't concern you. Cas walks minutes later looking for a book. He hasn't noticed you yet so you sit down and watch him. He grabs a book on demonic possession as if that's going to help him. Sam walks in ten minutes later without Dean.

"Hey, how is he doing?" Cas asks.

"He's still a little out of it but better, I think. I think the whole blood cure really wrecked him."

"Yeah."

"On the plus side, he's hungry again so I'm just going to go pick him up a big ol' bag of shit food and stuff it in his face myself. Do you mind keeping an eye on him?"

"Yeah." Sam goes to leave but the angel stops him. "Wait, Sam, I'm happy he's no longer a demon but that's only one problem solved. He still has the Mark of Cain. Sooner or later, that's going to be an issue."

Yeah, you have the Mark as well. What's it going to do to you in your state?

"Listen, I'm beat, man. One battle at a time, you know? I'm just gonna go grab my brother some cholesterol, and then I'm gonna get drunk."

Sam leaves without another word, and you down the rest of your glass.

"Yay, Dean is cured," you say sarcastically. Cas jumps at hearing your voice and turns to you. You set the glass down on the table and get up. "What a shame. I'm gonna miss that demon. At least he wasn't so emotional and whiny."

"What happened to you?" Cas asks and walks over to you.

"The best thing ever. I don't care about anything. Every little thing that was weighing on my shoulders is no longer there. If it is, I couldn't care less about it."

"May I look inside of you?"

Cas raises one of his hands to touch your forehead but you grab his wrist tightly and quickly.

"If you touch me, I'll break this hand."

"What the hell has gotten into you?" Cas asks and yanks his hand back.

"What the hell's gotten into me? Shall I recap how shitty the past couple of years have been? First, Henry Winchester is responsible for bringing Abaddon into our lives. Second, my idiot of a husband dug her up when she was buried permanently to ask her a fucking question only to have her escape. That caused us to look for ways to kill her, leading us over to Cain and his fucking Mark which is what both Dean and I took.

"Not to mention the civil war that was happening in Hell at the same time a civil war was happening on Earth because of angels you shoved out of Heaven in the first fucking place. You let yourself get manipulated by Metatron who, don't get me started, is a complete egotistical dick. He forced the angels to take sides. They could either be with Metatron in hopes of returning home or be with a wannabe angel with stolen grace in hopes they overcome Metatron.

"Not only did a war begin that you fucking started in the first place, but it sent Metatron to destroy Dean because he knew the only thing that could stop him was that fucking mark and that fucking blade. If Metatron didn't want to kill Dean, there couldn't have been a mark. For there not to be a mark, Abaddon would have never shown up. If Abaddon was never here, Sam and Dean would have never needed her to figure out one of the trials. The trials that came from the demon tablet and gave us the knowledge of an angel tablet. The angel tablet that you used to aid Metatron in casting out all the angels from their home. The same Metatron who killed my husband.

"Somehow it all leads back to you. This is your fault. So, tell me, what the hell do I have to be happy for?" You take a step closer to Cas and glare up at him. "How about you do us all a favor and let whatever grace you've stolen die out. A least that will save us from whatever pain you bring us next."

With that, you leave him standing alone in the library with sad eyes and a heavy heart.

x

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

[alexsoenomel]

Having Scarlet Powers and living with The Winchesters would include:

THIS WAS A REQUEST SO HERE YA GO!

You killing demons, angels and other creatures like it’s child’s play

Always being one step ahead of the bad guys 

Dean constantly wanting to see you use your powers 

“What am I thinking?”

“Dean, you are a child!”

“No, but what am I thinking?”

“Pie, you are thinking about pie!”

“Awesome!”

Using your powers to throw stuff whenever you get mad at them 

“(Y/N) STOP!” 

“When he stops being an ass Sam!”

Making Dean shut his pie hole whenever he goes overboard with his shit 

Sam being forced to listen to you and Dean bickering every other day 

“You two are impossible.”

“She started it!”

“ME???!”

“SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU!” 

Constantly bickering with Dean because you’re too similar and short fused 

Always knowing what they are thinking because you can’t control your powers 

“She is impossible! I don’t know if I want to kill her or....crap she can hear me.”

“Or what Dean?”

“Nothing.”

Sabotaging his hookups with the waitresses just because he annoys you 

“(Y/N) WHAT DID YOU DO?”

“I made her see you as an old greasy man.” 

Sam laughing 

“I will kill you.”

“Love you too.” 

Pretty much only getting along when drunk 

“(Y/N) you gonna get alcohol poisoning!”

“No, I won’t Sam. I’m from Eastern Europe. We drink like it’s our last day, every day!”

Sam and Dean getting completely hammered 

You being a little tipsy  

“She is so beautiful!”

“And badass!”

“Dean?”

“What?”

Then it hit him

“Oh shit!”

“OOOOOOH YOU FINALLY CRACKED!”

“Shut up Sam!”

[v3nusxsky]

You're safe with me

*Authors note~ I'm deathly scared of thunderstorms so I relate to reader. Reader is also of legal age and in her last year of her education. My OC Isadora is mentioned in this*

Warnings~ bullying?

Prompt~ reader is terrified of thunderstorms and somehow reader is left out in the storm terrified and alone. Lesso comes to the rescue comforting fluff.

The rain is hammering down on you showing you absolutely no mercy. The sky dark blue sky with angry rainclouds, showing you this wouldn't be passing anytime soon. It was almost curfew when you decided to leave the safety of the cosy library. Candle light providing the perfect atmosphere, you were able to finally relax. Legs curled up underneath your form as you settled in to finish your book. The book itself is beautifully written plot twists and turns captivating you. Fresh Cut Roses was most certainly addictive. (This is an amazing FanFiction on AO3 go check it out honestly made me cry) so addictive in fact that you spent all of your evening curled up reading.

Miss Isadora, school librarian who had become a close friend of yours gave you a gentle nudge when curfew was approaching. Not wanting you to be caught out your dorm and effectively end up in a trip to the doom room. You reluctantly placed your book mark into the book before closing it and standing slowly. Your back was stiff from how long you'd been sat against the bookshelf, however you slowly but steadily made your way to the door of the library. Bidding Isa a goodbye with a small smile you set on your familiar journey to your dormitory, book safely clutched to your chest.

You walked the dark and dingy halls, lit with a small amount of candles causing shadows to twist and bend in an almost terrifying dance in front of you. It was almost comforting, you'd lived at the school for four years now so you knew the halls like the back of your hand. So when the world suddenly went black and you could feel your body falling backwards you couldn't help the scream of pure terror. Not the good kind of terror that every Never loves, no this was the gut sinking kind. You continued to struggle against whatever had you captive but it was no use. It was too strong. All you could do is allow it to happen in hopes that you would be okay in the end.

It was the signature laugh of Hester that gave you your hint on what was happening. Earlier in the day you had your class with the one and only dean of evil Leonora Lesso. In said class you were paired with each other and encourage to spar. Lesso knew all of your abilities well, so it was no surprise that she'd paired you and Hester. In a small dash of luck you'd managed to win the sparring contest, ultimately causing Hester to wage a war between you and herself. Not a war that you actively wanted to participate in. Only when you heard the thick heavy doors slamming open and the two other voices did you realise. You were outnumbered. Your captors, Hester and her two wing women had dragged you out into the unrelenting rain. The cold droplets hitting your skin as you were yanked on to the ground and shackles added to your wrists and ankles.

The excruciatingly loud boom of thunder roared above your heads, electing a panicked gasp from you. Tugging against the restraints you begged your captors to help. Let you go. You hated how pathetic and desperate you sounded. It was absolutely terrifying to be tied up in the storm. Especially when the lightning crackled in the near distance. Your desperation soaked into your pleading. Instead of releasing you, you were met with the harsh ugly cackles of the girls as they fled the scene. Leaving you alone, scared and immobile. Powerless as the storm continued to rage onwards. It was in this moment that you regretted forgoing a coat. Tears soaked your cheeks mingling with the raindrops trailing down your cheeks. Shivers racked your body a mix of absolute terror and freezing cold temperature that surrounded you. Struggling against the restraints, you lost track of the time. How long had you been here?

The storm still raging on, you could feel your body shutting down. A fear response which you knew all to well. Panic bubbling away under the surface, tears streaming freely your throat too horse from the cold and the fear to make any noise. You had definitely missed curfew now. Your book lost in the transporting of your body. A comfort item, all the comfort you had was gone. That alongside the storm and your sore tired wrists and ankles you couldn't help feeling absolutely exhausted and pathetic. You were an Never. This isn't how you were suppose to be. But you weren't quite an Ever either. A perfect mess and a misfit of the first degree.

The familiar clicking of Lesso's cane normally could never be missed by you. But now as the storm raged and the cold was seeping through your bones you didn't hear it. Fear had you stiller than a statue. It was only when her perfectly manicured hand reached out for you that you noticed her presence. You recoiled from her pulling at the iron shackles you were instantly fearing the worst. You're wrists were red raw from the pulling and the cold, eyes protesting all the fear you felt and rapidly blinking trying to focus on the form in front of you.

"Pl- p - ease d-d-d-ont h-h-hhrt m-m-me" your plea stumbling out broken. You knew how pathetic you sounded. Chained to the floor you cowered away like a petrified child.

"Hey, hey, hey, little one. I won't hurt you. You're safe with me." She stated while assessing the quickest and easiest way to free you from the restraints. You blinked rapidly through the haze of tears and rain "L-L-es-s-s-o?" You attempted to whisper as your teeth chattered.

"That's right little one, let's get you out of these hmm?" The caring tone that was never normally present, already starting to sooth your emotional state. Although she hated to show it Lesso had the biggest heart and would do anything to help any of her Nevers. Using her own magic, Lesso freed you from the shackles, rubbing gently soothing the sore points on your wrists. You let out a small hiss in pain as she gently stroked the abused skin. Now you were less restricted in movements, shivers racked over your tiny body.

"Little one, you're absolutely soaked darling let's get you inside hmm? Can you stand?" Her gaze refused to move from you watching as you tried to stand but your frozen body giving out before you could get upright. Thankfully the storm had moved over you now and was just noise in the distance. You tensed as Lesso helped you to your feet and guided you back into the school. You kept your gaze downwards from embarrassment and fear. The dean of evil herself saw you in such a weak and pathetic state. You'd heard the rumours on what happened to weak Nevers. Not something you wanted to experience. You caught sight of the familiar hard cover of your book and willingly dropped to the floor to get it back in your arms. Only when you reached it a strangled cry left your lips after discovering it had been damaged. Pages ripped from the spine, bent corners of its usually pristine condition.

"Little one? What's this ?" You could hear the curiosity in her voice.

"M-m-y b-b-o-oo-ok" you cried out into the otherwise empty halls, fresh tears leaking from your eyes. "I-I-ts r-ru-I-nd "

"Oh y/n it's okay. It's okay come let's go somewhere warmer. You're going to freeze to death here. Bring the book darling we will see what we can do okay?"commanded, her tone lacking its usual bite.

Together you both made your way to Lady Lesso's office. This is how you found yourself settled in front of her fire shivering as your body soaked in any heat the fire would give. Limbs stinging as the heat meat cold flesh. "Little one, what happened? Why were you out there ?" She queried. You explained everything you knew from leaving the library to the storm to now. You only paused to take breaths in attempts to calm yourself.

"Oh darling, your okay it's just a silly storm, I'll see to it those girls get the punishment don't you fret. Little dove can I touch you?" Her voiced wavered slightly as if she was debating if it was the right thing to do. You nodded and flung yourself into your normally cold hearted deans arms. Immediately feeling her hands stroking over your hair. The extra body heat further helping you warm up. The beating of her heart under your ear, allowing you to focus on calming down fully. It was only now that you could fully process the events that occurred. The storm. Your book. Your eyes drifted to the latter that was resting next to you. Unknowingly to you Lesso caught the expression of deep sadness that flashed over your face.

"Little one? Tell me about this book? It's clearly important to you. I'll see if I can source another for you tomorrow." She whispered out into your hair.

"There's a character who can manipulate and produce plants, she falls in love with a principle but something happens causing her to sacrifice herself for the principle in an act of love. I was just at that point before I left the library." You could hear the emotion creeping back into your voice as you recalled the last chapter and how you were left unknowing if the character had bled out into her death or if she'd been saved somehow. You heard a small chuckle escape the older women. "You're quite the emotional little thing hmm? I'll have to read it seems you speak so highly of it."

A flush adorned your cheeks as you nuzzled into the hug finally feeling some kind of contentment for the first time since leaving the library. Basking in the fiery glow of the intricate dance the flames were doing. Here in Lesso's arms you finally felt safe.

Word count ~ 1757

*Authors note~ this was so cute to write*

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Write Love on My Skin

Summary: Y/N's bored and wants to play a game with Dean. Who will win?

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Not much. Fluff, lots a fluff and silliness. Smidge of angst. Bit of kissing/making out, nothing too explicit. All fairly fluffy sexiness.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Y/N

Word Count: 2,233

A/N: So, my dear friend, @winchesterfanatic1967 has been feeling down and out lately, and having a really rough time of it. So, she made the following request for a fluffy/sexy Dean fic:

I've really been missing Supernatural and Dean lately and also been sort of down. If it's ok I would like to request some major Dean x reader fluff where he's tickling her and while doing so he discovers how ticklish underneath her arms are for the first time maybe while tickling her ribs and he gets too close? She's desperately trying to keep him from getting her there but fails and while holding her arms up she's begging him not to and he can't help but laugh along with her cause he's never heard her laugh or beg like that before while tickling her and he finds it super cute?

So, I've attempted to give her what she was looking for in this fic, and I hope you all enjoy it as well.

If you do enjoy it, please don't forget to Reblog and Comment. Means the world to us writers! ❤️

The beautiful divider below and at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89.

Main Masterlist || Tag Lists

Y/N looked up from the incredibly boring book she was reading and groaned towards Dean who was sitting on the other bed in their cheap motel room, methodically cleaning his weapons.

“I’m bore-duh!” She whined at her best friend.

Dean’s lips quirked up slightly as he pulled off the etched slide barrel of his silver, 1911 pistol, but otherwise he ignored her cry of distress and continued to pull apart his favorite gun.

Annoyed by his unwillingness to drop everything and make her boredom go away, Y/N tossed her book across the room, hitting him in the upper arm.

“What the fuck?” Dean grunted, turning to give Y/N an extremely offended look. He picked up the book and tossed it back onto her bed. “Did you just throw that at me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Oh, it’s a barely two hundred page paperback, you’ve taken worse.”

Dean scowled at her and Y/N let her face crumple in misery. “Deeeeeeeaaaan.” She whined again. “Entertain me.”

Dean scoffed and returned to the task in front of him. “What, you want me to do a song and dance for you?”

Y/N nodded, eyes bright. “Yes, please!” 

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, that ain’t gonna happen.” He said as he began rubbing his finger along the inside of the barrel with a soft cloth. Y/N tried not to notice just how nimble his thick finger was as he pushed it back and forth along the chamber.

Those fingers had skills.

She’d been best friends with Dean since they were kids, and there wasn’t a person in the world that she trusted more. They’d been through everything together, including a slightly inebriated night of sex and laughter nearly five years ago. When they’d woken the next morning, though, they’d both been slightly panicked that they were going to ruin the best thing in either of their lives, and neither of them were willing to risk it. So, they’d agreed to forget it happened, and worked at getting back to being buddies. 

There had been many weeks of awkward hunts and even more awkward rounds of drinks afterwards, but eventually things leveled out, and they got their easy, incredible friendship back. And Y/N was grateful.

But she also never truly forgot. 

She never forgot the way his mouth felt, hot and soft against her hammering pulse, or the way his body made her vibrate with pleasure as she skimmed her hands across it, or the way his strong fingers felt dimpling her skin and pushing into her body, strumming and plucking bliss from head to toe. 

She never forgot, but for fear of losing him, she pretended she did.

Now she shook her head and pushed the intrusive, dirty thoughts to the back of her mind and renewed her attempt to get him to solve her boredom.

“Come on, seriously. Clean your guns later, let’s play a game.”

“Okay,” Dean said, glancing at her, “let’s play the quiet game. First one to talk loses.”

Y/N shot him an unimpressed look. “Ha. Ha. I lose. Let’s play something else now, shall we? Pick a game!”

Dean pushed out his lips and closed one eye in concentration. “Hmm…strip poker?” 

Y/N felt her stomach dip and she answered instinctively. “Kay.”

Dean’s head whipped towards her. “Really?” 

Y/N affected a laugh. “No. Not really.”

“Cruel woman.” Dean pouted teasingly, but Y/N wondered at the real disappointment she could see in his gaze. 

But she ignored that too, and just smiled, picking up her phone. “I’m gonna Google us a game to play.”

Dean just shook his head and went back to his gun.

After a few minutes, Y/N found a game that she pretended was going to be perfectly innocent, and bounded over to Dean, forcing him to drop the pieces of his pistol back onto his bed, as she pulled him over to hers.

Dean was laughing in exasperation. “Jesus, Y/N you’re like a rambunctious toddler today.”

Y/N pushed him down on the side of the bed and climbed up to kneel behind him. “K, so the name of the game is, ‘Messages’. So, we each take turns tracing words onto each other's back, and the other person has to guess the message. It’s like Broken Telephone for two people.”

Dean shook his head, and sighed. “Wow, sounds like fun.” He said with unconvincing cheer.

“Shut up, it will be fun.”

Y/N thought about what she wanted to write first, and then began tracing it across the plaid flannel that stretched across Dean’s back.

“I’ll write one word at a time, and you try to guess after each word.”

Dean shrugged, playing along. “Fine.”

Y/N spelled out her word slowly, and Dean guessed. “Y/N?” 

“Uh huh.” She said and continued.

“…is…”

“…the…”

“...worried…?”

“No.” Y/N laughed. “Here, I’ll do that one again.” She said and spelled it out once more.

“...world…?”

“Close enough.” She allowed and continued with the next word.

“...best…”

As Y/N spelled out the last word, Dean snorted in disbelief, and turned to look at her. 

“Y/N is the world’s best hunter?”

Y/N beamed at him. “Why thank you, that’s very kind of you to admit.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, sweetheart, my turn.”

He lifted her up and set her on the floor in front of him, making her giggle at being tossed around like a sack of flour. He was tall enough that even with her standing, he could reach her back easily.

“This is a very simple phrase. Just two words. I’ll spell them both, see if you can guess.”

“You…wish.” Y/N recited and then spun around to punch him lightly in the shoulder. But Dean caught her fist before she could land it, and yanked her forward while he fell backward, pulling her down on top of him. 

Y/N was laughing breathlessly as she tried not to relish the feeling of Dean’s hard body beneath her own. They were behaving like children, and no doubt that was what Dean was thinking as he ran his hands up her ribs, though she was sure she saw a familiar kind of heat come into his expression just before he rolled her over and pinned her underneath him and began tickling her sides. 

Y/N laughed loudly as she writhed, pushing at Dean to get him to stop.  “You’re so mean!” She gasped out. But the corded muscles in his forearms easily withstood her attempts to stop him, and after a minute he slid his wiggling fingers up under her arms, tickling her mercilessly as she screamed in laughter and delight, even while losing her breath completely. 

Tiring of her pushing against his arms and shoulders, Dean grabbed up both her wrists in one hand and held them easily above her head, allowing his free hand to alternate from right side to left, as she bucked beneath him and cried tears of laughter. Before long, Dean was laughing hard too, enjoying Y/N’s simple joy and pure soul shining up at him.

Finally showing her some mercy, he stopped and let go of her wrists, shifting slightly so he straddled her hips, lifting his weight off of her, and digging his knees into the mattress on either side of her.

He ran his hands up and down her sides soothingly; Y/N closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure, and Dean groaned.

Y/N’s eyes popped back open, not sure she’d interpreted that groan correctly, but as she looked up at him there was no mistaking the heat in his gaze this time. His pupils were wide and his mouth slightly parted, his tongue pushing gently between his teeth. She had just a second to take it in before Dean’s lips were on hers. 

Her memory had served her poorly over the last five years. 

It was not vivid enough to properly capture the way her blood rushed from her head, leaving her woozy, or to remember the exact flavor of his tongue. She had forgotten too, how possessive he was when he kissed her, stamping her with his mouth, pulling the air from her lungs and feeding her his. 

She’d forgotten the precise timbre of his voice as he growled his pleasure into her ear, and how perfectly textured his callused fingers were as they scraped along her sensitive skin.

He moved his lips to the hinge of her jaw and his hands moved to cup her breasts and she was reminded of what it felt like to be worshiped by Dean Winchester. Every caress, every nip of his teeth and slide of his tongue along her skin felt like adoration, like love.

Ironically it was this feeling of being loved that made her freeze and whisper, “Wait, Dean.”

She wanted to cry when he stopped immediately and then practically vaulted himself off of her. She didn’t want him to stop, never wanted him to stop. But she knew she’d never survive another fun romp with him. She wanted too much out of it. Friends with benefits was never going to work for her. Tears swam in her eyes as the blinding truth slammed into her. 

She was madly in love with her best friend, and had been for a VERY long time, long before they’d ever slept together. 

Dean was shaking his head now. “Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry.” Before she could even formulate a response, he jumped up from the bed and slammed his way out of the room. 

She laid still on the bed, staring at the door he’d walked out of, before hearing the Impala’s engine roar to life and recede into the distance. All Y/N could concentrate on was the fact that she’d driven Dean out of the room unarmed. 

She should have just let him clean his guns in peace.

***

Hours later Dean still wasn’t back, and Y/N finally changed into pajamas and climbed into her bed, falling into a fitful sleep. She woke with a start when she felt the bed dip behind her as she lay on her side. She had no idea what time it was, but she recognized Dean’s scent, gunpowder and laundry soap, as he stretched out behind her.

“Dean…?” She said croakily, and started to turn towards him, but he put a hand on her shoulder, halting her.

“Please, sweetheart, don’t turn around. I…I want another chance at the game.”

“What?” Y/N asked, confused and not entirely sure she wasn’t still sleeping.

“I’m gonna write something on your skin, and if you don’t like what I write, you can just pretend you didn’t understand it, and we’ll both just move on.”

When she was quiet, he prompted her. “Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.” She said quietly.

She heard Dean take in a deep breath before she felt his callused forefinger begin tracing letters across her bare back above her tank top. She shivered slightly and then concentrated more than she ever had before, desperate to know what he was telling her.

“...Don’t…” She guessed the first word and Dean made a sound in the affirmative.

“...hate…”

“...me…”

As she guessed the last word she was shaking her head. “Dean, I could never -”

But Dean cut her off. “There’s more.”

He began again immediately.

“...But…

“...I…” She said when he stopped after a simple line down her back.

“...can’t…”

“...help…”

“...being…”

Y/N could feel her heart accelerating as the words continued.

“...in…”

“...lov-”

Y/N started the word and then gasped, missing the next word altogether and just catching the lowercase y-o-u Dean spelled onto her skin.

She twisted around to face him, and wanted to weep at the look of fear she could make out on Dean’s face. Her bold, brave, undaunted warrior was clearly terrified of what she was going to say, and Y/N wasn’t going to wait a second longer to put him out of his misery. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers, putting all her love into the embrace. Dean seemed surprised at first, but quickly wrapped his big hand around the back of her head and deepened the kiss, stealing all her breath and sense for the second time that day. 

As he pulled away, panting hard against her cheek, he frowned. “But, you wanted me to stop earlier, you didn’t want this.”

Y/N shook her head. “I’m in love with an idiot.” She said ruefully. “I wanted to stop cause I knew I wanted more than a fling, more than some sort of friends with benefits crap.”

Dean’s whole face lit up as she spoke, a wide, dopey grin settling on his face. “I’m the idiot, right? The idiot you’re in love with?”

Y/N giggled. “Yes, idiot.”

Dean whooped and rolled her over so that she was on top of him. Y/N laughed with sheer delight and Dean smiled up at her warmly, with just a hint of sadness.

“You’re too beautiful to love me, Y/N. But please don’t stop.”

Y/N pushed open Dean’s flannel and then slid up his t-shirt so she could write across his chest, over his heart.

N-E-V-E-R.

“Never.” She whispered.

“Never, never.” Dean agreed with a nod before pulling her down to seal their promise in kisses.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays. @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @impalaslytherin @maggiegirl17 @akshi8278 @candy-coated-misery0731 @nt-multi-fandom @deanswaywardgirl @slytherinlyn314 @globetrotter28 @jensensgirl @perpetualabsurdity @tristanrosspada-ackles @djs8891 @muhahaha303 @kayyay1219 @emily-winchester @recoveringpastaaddict @maximumkillshot @mimaria420 @sacriceria @envyaurora95

2 - Dean Winchester Fics Only. @saikosheadcanons @lgranger67 @carryonwaywardgirl

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.) @sunshineandwings86 @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @alexxavicry @nancymcl

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well) @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @awkward-and-indecisive @maliburenee @supernatural4life2022 @spn730015 @b3autyfuldisast3r @kickingitwithkirk @waywardbaby @foxyjwls007 @deanwanddamons @deandreamernp @deanwithscissors @myloversgone @snowlovespie @leigh70 @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @charred-angelwings @hopefuldreamers-world @mysherlock221b @jensensgotyoudean @stixnstripesworld @thoughts-and-funnies @magssteenkamp @norman1967 @princessmisery666 @eevvvaa @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy @b-i-t-c-h-i-e @twirpbunwarrior @mysweetlittledesire @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @bernasaurus @jensenslady79 @courtn92 @avanatural @ellie-andthemachine @this-is-me19 @roseblue373 @katbratsupernaturalwhore @fanfic-n-tabulous

[wilsonthemoose]

It's Still The Same Old Story

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

She's unravelling, he can't help.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's grateful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's so so scared.

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

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

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

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

He doesn't understand.

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

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

She wishes she had killed herself instead.

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

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

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

She's so so scared.

[pyramultimuse]

@lostxndbroken Batman!Dean and Harled Quinnzel

For over fifteen years Joker had been terrorizing Gotham along with other various villains. It was ten years ago that a hero rose up and began fighting these criminals, Batman would fight where the police would fail. Over the years bringing some to justice and sending them to Arkham Asylum where they wouldn't be able to hurt anyone and hopefully get the help they needed. Joker had been sent there twice and escaped, the mad house couldn't hold this menacing clown.

It was two years ago that Joker had taken on a sidekick of his own. Since Batman had Robin and then Nightwing, he needed his own partner in crime. Harley Quinn, a young man barely twenty standing at around 152cm with a slender to athletic physique, was the jester of genocide to the clown prince of crime that was Joker. Adorned in red and black harlequin garb and his weapon of choice was an oversized mallet or melee weapon.

He fought the Batman on Joker's command though after awhile Harls became curious of who this masked man was. The jester was skilled at breaking and entering, just as smart as he was insane he quickly found out the identity of the vigilanties and their home. Rich playboy Dean Winchester who's parents were killed years ago was none other than the Batman.

For the last month or so Harley had been breaking into the mansion that was the Winchester abode, having made friends with the caretaker Bobby. It was him who encouraged Dean to investigate, that Harley might not truly be evil but rather another one of Joker's victims. A few times Harley had engaged in fights, having looked like he already took a beating from someone else. More than one occasion Joker using his sidekick as a pawn to take the fall for him or to trigger Batman's traps.

From where Batman now perched, on a building across the street of a warehouse in the Narrows that was known to be one of Jokers. Inside there was loud fighting between Joker and Harley. Screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, then there was the sounds of the fighting getting physical. Brutal crashes of what sounded like Harley's massive hammer crushing the floor and hitting metal like it had dented a support beam. Then there was a scream that came from the young man right before his small body crashed through the window of the large window on the top floor which was the third story. He plummeted down and crashed on top of one of the vans parked just under it, crushed as if the being weighed a half a ton.

A fall like that would've left any normal human certainly paralyzed if not death. But after a few moments Harley slowly pried himself from the indention of the van and attempted to climb down, stumbling and falling to his hands and knees. Joker leaned out the window to glare and shout down to his sidekick. "AND YOU CAN STAY OUT THERE FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT!" Joker shouted down at Harley.

Harley got to his hands and feet and when he was shouted at he flipped off the clown. This angered Joker more who then pulled out a pistol to shoot at his sidekick. Harls cursed and scampered away to dash down the nearest alley, once out of sight Joker left the window and moved further into the warehouse. When the shooting stopped Harley sat on the ground with his back up against the wall. None of the bullets hit him but the fall he had taken did do a number on his small frame. Blood equivalent to toxic sludge dripped from his nose and mouth that some internal damage had been done. He spat out the blood and tried to wipe his face, then he spoke to the darkness looming around him.

"Come to kick me while I'm down, Batsy?" The jester asked into the night. He let his head lean back to rest against the wall, a grin weakly spreading over his blood smeared lips. "I might be down but I ain't out. I ain't going with you quietly."

[mlobsters]

DOCTOR #1

Well, swine flu --it's an epidemic.

DOCTOR #2

Yeah, well, if Niveus was really worried about the epidemic, they'd be giving the vaccine out for free. 

boy oh boy do epidemics and masks hit different these days.

supernatural s5e20 the devil you know (w. ben edlund)

dean saying west ne-vah-duh instead of... ne-vad-uh ? lol

which led me to this article on nyt that has in it also has a quiz on pronunciations of state names including nevada and i got two wrong in places i lived for many years! (colorado and florida, i will give you florida because i was in miami and miami is not representative of florida in the slightest but i was surprised about the colorado one)

CROWLEY After what I --what I did to you?! I gave you the Colt!

SAM Yeah, and you knew it wouldn't work against the devil!

CROWLEY I never!

his *surprised pikachu* made me laugh

CROWLEY Call your dog off - please.

is it dean's turn to have a demon boyfriend?

CROWLEY They burnt down my house! They ate my tailor! Two months under a rock, like a bloody salamander! Every demon on hell and earth's got his eyes out for me! And yet... Here I am...Last place I should be --In the road, talking to Sam and Dean Winchester, under a friggin' spotlight!

shades of ruby's sell

CROWLEY All but one. That night you broke into my house, our first date, my valet hid a tracking device in your car - a magical coin that easily trumps your little bags o' bones. It allows me to hear things, too - and, my, the things I've heard.

🥴

glad sam's talking it out with bobby at least.

BOBBY You ain't. He's gonna find every chink in your armor, Sam, and use it against you - your fear, your grief, your anger. And let's face it, you're not exactly Mr. Anger management. How are you gonna control the devil when you can't control yourself?

oof.

all right well at least i have a vague idea of where things go from here, based on my prolific fic consumption. nowhere good, my guys.

BRADY Brady hasn't been Brady in years. Not since, oh ... middle of our sophomore year?

SAM What?

BRADY That's right. You had a devil on your shoulder even back then. All right, now, let it all sink in.

SAM You son of a bitch. You son of a bitch! You introduced me to Jess!

BRADY Ding, ding! I think he's got it!

excuse me WHAT

this cute white bread man looks really familiar but i don't think i know him, he's been in better known stuff but nothing i've seen. kind of giving me boyd holbrook / the corinthian vibes. but without the excellent accent. maybe a dash of armie hammer?

CROWLEY Not yet. Where's your moose?

DEAN He's cooling off.

moose and dog now, eh.

(wiki)

Originally the network execs wanted Kripke to write Jessica as an ongoing character, but Eric thought it wouldn't work, and he suggested to kill her off, which they liked. Then the studio urged Kripke to make Jessica an evil demon character, who was planted into Sam's life with purpose, and whose betrayal drives him on the road as he realizes demons are closer to him than he thought. S1Com, p. 13. The development in this episode revives a version of this idea.

huh

[amaranthhiding]

Samwena Fanfic Preview

I’m still shocked that AO3 only has 501 Sam/Rowena fics at the time I’m writing this... and that’s including those that only have background Samwena. So I’m sharing a sneak peek of the first ~2000 words of my Sam/Rowena story with other Samwena enthusiasts. Maybe the preview can bring some excitement to someone out there—and some peace to me because today seems to be one of those days where my anxiety is spiking. Please be kind, I’m just a little bit terrified of hitting the “Post” button for this. Pairings: Sam/Rowena, Sam&Rowena friendship No secondary pairing. Other SPN characters’ involvement will be minimal, so far only a phone call with Dean. Rating: so far undecided (but the 2000 word excerpt here is teen-rated) Words: so far 17,500, but it’s far from finished. This story is not posted to AO3 yet. Tags: post-ep 13x19 “Funeralia”, Magic, Curses, Witches, Action & Adventure, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam POV, Rowena POV

Written for the prompt “Fool’s Gold” of the SPN RarePairTober, which I’m hopelessly late for. Story of my life.

Summary: Rowena shows up at the bunker after she has been targeted by a custom-made, lethal curse with the sole goal of destroying her. Under the shadow of this ticking timer of doom, she and Sam are left with a handful of days to prevent a slow, painful death. The search for a cure sees them on a last-minute flight to Central America.

A Metal Pursued by the Witless

Sneak Peek of the first 2000 words of Chapter 1

Sam

Sam sighed, feeling exhausted beyond the stinging in his eyes from too many hours of staring at the computer screen. All of it felt so… pointless when every lead they had on Gabriel turned out to be nothing but a dead end. Not even Rowena had been able to find the archangel, and Dean and Cas were on their way back from the latest road to nowhere, which left Sam alone in the company of his laptop and his own misery. He usually embraced the quiet, but right now it was far too loud.

It was impossible to focus when his thoughts kept spiraling back to all sorts of nightmares that their mom and Jack might be going through in that exact second. They were out there, fighting a war in a doomed universe, and there was nothing Sam could do about it. Nothing other than dig through that corner of the internet for anything angelic, with more alien sightings and 'My dog is the reincarnation of Elvis' posts than his sanity could handle right now.

Frustrated, he slid his laptop closed and pushed it away from himself to the other end of the table. He rubbed two fingers over the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt of releasing some tension. The cold wind outside howled along the bunker's outer wall and Sam breathed out a bitter chuckle at the thought that this was the perfect soundtrack to his life. All of this was on him. He'd made the call to return Gabriel's grace, naive enough to believe the archangel would side with them in return. As if Sam's willingness to trust in the good in people hadn't screwed them over enough times already. He—

Someone hammered against the bunker's door with all the urgency of another Apocalypse.

Sam got to his feet and climbed up the stairs with a frown, considering and discarding several possibilities of who he'd find on the other side of that thick layer of metal. Dean wouldn't forget the key, and there was no way Cas would ever knock like this. For an insane moment, Sam conjured the mental image of their mom and Jack being back home, just like that, no questions asked.

When the old hinges finally shrieked open in a gust of dried leaves, what greeted Sam was the sight of windswept red.

"Rowena?" he asked, not even trying to hide his surprise. "I, uh, I didn't expect you so soon after—"

Something on her face let the tiny smile die on his lips before it ever had a chance to exist.

No wisecrack, no flirtation. Not even an insult. This couldn't be good, Sam thought as he took in the wide-eyed look the witch directed his way. She seemed impossibly small wrapped in that long coat, another icy gust of wind pulling at her hair.

After a hurried glance back over her shoulder, she inhaled in the way one did before making grave statements. Sam waited patiently for whatever this was. Then she suddenly seemed to think better of it and simply shoved her way past him into the bunker.

"Sure, come on in," Sam commented sarcastically, lifting one of his hands with a palm upwards that said, 'Not like people in this bunker usually care what I think either.'

He could pinpoint the exact moment she seemed to come to a decision at the bottom of the stairs, squaring her shoulders before turning to look back up at him.

"Samuel," she said and attempted a smile that was nothing but a pale shadow of her usual air of grandiosity. "You see, there I was, enjoying a vanilla foam bath, when I thought to myself… I thought a seasoned witch like yours truly, with such considerable power…"

Her eyes lingered on the still open bunker door and Sam could swear he saw a flash of fear in them that Rowena masked quickly with another bright smile.

Sam narrowed his eyes, allowing the door to fall closed while noting the way Rowena's shoulders sank down in relief as soon as it sealed shut with a bang.

"I thought it was an affront that someone like me," she continued, undeterred. "...would be done in by a wee tracking spell!"

Fine, he'd play. By now Sam was absolutely sure that what she wasn't saying held the real information, so it took him a moment to process what had been said.

"Wait a second," he asked carefully, still not quite sure what to make of any of this. "Does that mean there's still hope to—to track Gabriel? You want to… try again?"

"There's no harm in trying, aye?" she asked, seemingly having recovered from whatever it was she wasn't telling him because the smile reached her eyes again.

"Uh, I mean, sure. And I appreciate you came all this way out here to try again, I do. But…" Sam frowned. "Didn't you say on the phone that Gabriel was too low on grace to give a blip on your radar? Especially without any belonging of his to lock onto?"

"Och, today's a new day! New chances, and all that."

Sam followed Rowena to the map table where she deposited her purse on one of the chairs. He watched as she dug out a crystal ball to place on the table. Only when she started hovering her hands over the glass sphere did Sam notice that she still hadn't taken off her coat or even the long black silken gloves concealing her hands and forearms.

"Ostende mihi illum quem quaero,"¹ Rowena chanted, the Latin easily flowing off her tongue in a way that Sam admired. He still felt awkward sometimes when he needed to pronounce the dead language instead of just reading it silently on a page, unsure if he truly got it right.

The glass ball remained dark.

Sam threw a surprised look Rowena's way, seeing her mutter something under her breath. For a reason he couldn't figure out, she removed only one of her gloves, returning the now uncovered hand to the glass sphere. Then her gloved hand shot out to grasp Sam's, leading it to the opposite side of the crystal ball.

"You've met Gabriel before, I haven't," she stated simply, holding his gaze as she repeated the incantation.

Sam felt a tingling sensation on his palm and the glass sphere flared to life, throwing a purple glow over the map table's North American continent. Rowena hissed suddenly as if in pain and Sam saw her pull the gloved hand back to her body. The purple glow began to flicker and fade.

"Focus, Samuel," Rowena admonished without averting her gaze from the crystal ball, and Sam cleared his throat hastily. He concentrated on the memory of Gabriel on the upper floor of the bunker, eyes glowing and the shadows of wings spread behind him.

The glow inside the glass sphere shifted from purple to blue, but then it died as abruptly as the hope he'd allowed himself to feel for a short moment.

"I'm sorry, Sam. I think your archangel," Rowena said in genuine regret, placing the crystal ball back into her purse, "doesn't want to be found."

"Yeah, that—he, um, he kind of left in a hurry," Sam explained, a miserable smile tugging at one corner of his mouth in the memory of his misjudgment.

Rowena glanced up at the bunker's exit door, then closed her eyes with a quiet sigh while fumbling with the loose glove between her fingers.

Sam decided the time for some truth had come.

"What's with the, um, the gloves?" he asked and saw the hesitation on Rowena's face before the smile that didn't reach her eyes returned.

"Only the finest silk. Imported, of course."

Sam huffed out a breath with an annoyed sidewards glance, pressing his lips together. Of course it wouldn't be that easy.

"That's—that's not what I meant. But I think you know that." He looked directly into her face, waiting until she finally met his eyes again. "Rowena," he implored softly. "Tell me what's going on?"

She hesitated again, longer this time, before averting her gaze to the table.

"Nothing," she replied in a not very subtle attempt of deflection. "Just that failing a simple tracking spell isn't the best for a witch's reputation."

"Rowena, I thought we'd moved past this," Sam said quietly, surprised at himself that he felt actual hurt over her refusal to tell him the truth. "After everything, do you really trust me so little?"

"You're the only one I trust," she objected instantly, followed by a look of utter shock at her own words.

Sam swallowed through the silence, touched by the visible truthfulness of the admission.

A chuckle suddenly burst out of her. "I must be mad, saying this to the one who's going to kill me. Out of all the people in the world."

His stomach sank at the reminder of that prophecy, the phantom touch of his pistol's trigger still burning on his fingers.

"For what it's worth," he said, clearing his throat another time to get rid of the taste of guilt. "I do not want to kill you. Never have, actually."

The genuine smile playing around Rowena's mouth just confirmed how truly deranged his life was for this to count as a compliment.

He reached for her gloved hand, slowly enough for her to pull away if she wanted. She let him.

"Do you want to know what I felt when you stopped that bullet?" he asked, and Rowena inclined her head in silent question.

"Relief," he stressed, and peeled the glove off her arm. The sight of what he found let the fabric slip from his fingers and sink to the ground. Where before there had been dark silk, he now saw dark-gray skin, dried out like something that had withered a while ago.

"Wh—what…," Sam stammered, unthinking.

"I had nowhere else to go," Rowena stated, the slightest shiver in her voice.

"What happened?"

"This bunker is the safest place I know," she continued, as if that had anything to do with his question.

"Rowena, who did this to you? Was it Lu—"

"Time," she said before he had a chance to finish pronouncing that name, and her smile was at odds with the terrified expression in her eyes. "It seems my past has finally caught up with me."

For the second time within a few minutes, Sam felt his stomach lurch.

"What, how—wait a second, why is this happening now? Your hands were fine two days ago!"

"It appears that the unrest in Hell set free an old enemy of mine. Olivette," she spit out the name with audible disdain. "Calls herself 'High Priestess'. She not only reassembled what's left of the Grand Coven, she somehow found enough fresh blood to bring it back to power. Not quite what it used to be, but enough to—"

Rowena cut herself off, swallowing as she picked up the fallen glove and put it back in place over her arm. She still seemed to be able to move the affected hand, though it looked far less dextrous than her other one.

"They—they ambushed me," she continued in a faraway voice, her gaze glued to her hand. "Those cowards didn't dare to face me in an open fight because they knew I'm the most powerful of them all. So they lay in wait with a curse on the doorstep of my hotel room. Ever since I passed the room's threshold, my body is no longer responding to life magic. And they're still there, cutting me off from all my belongings but the few things I've left in my handbag. I barely got away."

"Rowena, why didn't you say so right away? You can—you can stay here. We got supplies, whatever you need to break this curse."

"Curses are intricate magic. Only their creator knows the balance between the curse and the cure woven into its very fabric. Sam…," she said, and the gravity of the situation started to dawn on him when wetness rose in Rowena's eyes. "Unraveling this, it might take years. It's—it's time I don't have."

"How long do we have to fix this?"

"Judging by the current rate of progression..." She swallowed, then breathed out, "mere days." ¹: Show me whom I want.

[ycurkxng-a]

Restricted Area

Character: (Watch Dogs) Dean King - T-800

Warnings: None

Notes: just got done with Watch Dogs 2 and motivation for this just fucking clobbered me

Hacker activists had been running around San Francisco for ages now, nearly all of them were working to expose the larger corporations and bring down corrupt monopolies, some others were too busy making attempts at stealing from different areas that were heavily guarded, either by street gangs or the police. While some of them did get their loot, others were killed, but there were some that were simply never seen again.

T-800 knew exactly what category he'd find himself in when this was all said and done.

Pulling up to a gang hideout in a vehicle would draw too much attention from the get-go, making Dean vulnerable to an ambush, but in that same vein, he could use it as an exploit. What if he wasn't driving the car? What if a vehicle managed to swerve off the road due to some unknown circumstances, crashing into the front yard?

It was bound to draw any of the Tezcas to the location, if there were any that didn't go over there then chances were that they'd be alone, easy to dispose of before anybody noticed. He just had to be careful in his approach, sneaking never was his strong suit. If he managed to piss these guys off so close to groups of their other members, then he'd be looking at an early death sentence.

Of course he wouldn't go in blind, T-800 had scouted the outside using their own cameras. He couldn't see the inside though, that would be the real issue, if he played his cards right though? He'd be looking at maybe one or two inside, those of which a few swift hammer strikes to the skull could bring down with relative ease.

The day grew dark, night settling in at a rapid pace. That was when he finally made his approach, he stood at the right side of the home, just next to the fence, it gave him a perfect view of oncoming cars. He waited, avoiding the motorcycles and smaller vehicles, they wouldn't be bombastic enough to draw out the ones he needed there. No, he saw the opportunity shine as a semi-truck came into his sight.

With his phone already out and aimed, he pressed down on the set key, the control no longer being in the driver's hands. The wheels shot left, and the front end rammed through the short, metal fences. It didn't stop immediately, pushing forward more and hitting the windows on its right side, T-800s left, shattering them on the spot.

That's when the shouting started, he couldn't decipher who was who in the midst of it all, but that was the least of his concerns. Footsteps from just next to him were hidden by the tall wooden fence, but he could hear them trailing past and into the house. When all he could hear was incoherent arguing from the front, he took it as his queue.

T-800 slid the phone back into his pocket while he turned to the fence, he looked and jumped up after a moment. His hands gripped the top of the fence tight, and he used the momentum from his initial launch upwards to swing his body over the fence and onto the ground. The landing wasn't nearly as graceful as the jump, his left side smashing against the grassy earth with a soft thud and curse under his breath.

Pulling himself back together, the hacker clambered to his feet and took in his surroundings, scanning the area for any unwanted Tezcas that hung back. Luckily for him, there was a desired lack of them. There was a little sigh of relief that left his lungs and sunk into his already pulled up mask, as much as he loved his fair share of violence, he knew that taking out even one in the wrong way would lead to more fighting than he could ask for in a month.

Dirt brown eyes managed to catch sight of the backdoor, a small red button on the side. He'd learned already that pressing it did nothing, all technological here, and he didn't have the key necessary to get through. So where could it have been? He'd already searched each Tezca during his stakeout prior, none of them had the original key that was shared, so it must've been on file somewhere.

By process of elimination, it wasn't out front or inside. It wasn't inside just due to the fact that if they had it in there, new members wouldn't be able to access the hideout. It had to be out back with him, and there was nothing on the porch that could've had it. That was when he came to his final conclusion, a shed.

Tucked away in a corner, at the other side of the fenced in backyard, there had to be something inside of it that would give him the access key. He'd seen it before but didn't think anything of it, just a shed, considering it was a gang hideout it probably held guns or some product. But he'd clearly written it off far too early, if he was right. But when was he wrong?

He moved quickly, his boots tapping gently against the grass underneath them as he lowered his entire body to a crouching stance. If someone did come back here, he would be far too visible standing upright, and being spotted now was a bad idea.

Upon reaching the shed, he took notice in the broken padlock that was tossed to the side. Maybe someone had lived here before them, they simply took over. T-800 tried to not think about what happened to the owner or owners if that was the case, instead paying attention to the inside of the structure as the door creaked open.

Weapons on racks adorned the walls, military grade hardware from grenade launchers to assault rifles to handguns. He could only assume they were all stolen or bought off the record, maybe both. The Tezcas were no strangers to either, so they were reasonable conclusions to come to.

What really caught his attention was the laptop on a small workbench, open and powered on, perfect for him, detrimental for the other guys. He pulled his phone out and held it to the device, quickly searching through the files on it brought him to the access key which was promptly downloaded.

"Jackpot." He mumbled with a grin, T-800 turned his head back to look at the door, the button next to it now a bright green. He aimed the phone at it and pressed down on the prompt that appeared on his screen, immediately the once locked door now opened itself for him, giving him access to the loot inside.

There was a sense of urgency with every breath T-800 drew, his heart raced in his chest and his hands trembled with an expectant nature. His entire mind began to prepare itself for war once he reached the door, the shouting had stopped and was replaced by simple talking in a language that was lost upon him.

"Qué hacemos con esto?" A gravelly voice spoke, their attention was hopefully drawn on something else and not the gentle footsteps that now travelled along the hideouts floors. "Él podría ir a decirle a la policía dónde estamos, o la Bravtas." Another voice, slightly softer than the last but only by a margin.

Well, at least he could make out Bravtas in that.

That stash had to be hidden somewhere, T-800 swiftly searched through the kitchen he initially entered before moving on to the living room. Couch cushions were taken off and set down, the table was searched thoroughly and even the TV stands drawers were ransacked. Once more he was forced to use the process of elimination, as far as main rooms went- he had a bedroom and a bathroom, and no one hid a pile of money where they went to take a piss.

T-800 flipped on the light switch upon entering the bedroom, the sudden change in lighting revealed a resting Tezca with a gun on the nightstand next to him, a goddamn P90. The gangbanger stirred for a moment, awakening after a moment to catch sight of the intruder. For a second, he brushed it off in a dazed state, but it was nearly immediately after that he realized that wasn't right. His eyes widened, and his mouth opened to speak.

He wouldn't be able to do so, as the hammer that T-800 had already pulled out from underneath his jacket came crashing down on his head. Rapid and deadly blows were delivered, the head driving itself into the others skull and crushing it underneath its powerful force.

The attacks stopped after the first contact, but better dead than sorry. There was no guilt for what he did, T-800 knew the Tezcas all too well, he didn't mind taking out one or two if it meant he could get through without starting a war with the rest of them.

When the blood began to pour, that's when his attention was drawn to what was just at his feet at the side of the bed while he set the hammer back underneath the layers. The straps to a duffel bag poked out from underneath, signalling to him that he'd found his prize. While he would've loved to see what he'd gotten out of it right then and there, it would be far too risky and downright idiotic.

Sticking around any longer just increased his odds of being found out, so he acted quickly. The bag was lifted up and thrown over his shoulder, hefty, so there was definitely something worth it inside. Going out through the back and over the fence wouldn't be possible with this kind of load, too heavy to throw over or climb up with, so he used the window in the bedroom. It led him back to where he'd started, at the right side of the house in a narrow alley of sorts.

The bag was thrown out first, then T-800 climbed out. He lifted his loot back up and ran as fast as he could away from the scene of his crime against criminals, taking himself and his haul throughout the neighborhood. By the time the Tezcas realized what had hit them minutes after, he was long gone.

They'd never know just who fucked them and ran off with a duffel bag full of money, and no one else would, except T-800 himself of course. As much as he would've loved to brag about it, he knew that they had a lot more firepower than him. A surprise attack with everything they had for the amount of cash he stole would be destined if he began to boast about his accomplishment, so he kept it on the down-low.

But even with him keeping quiet about it, that didn't stop another from figuring it out with the footage on the hideouts cameras, a rather infamous figure in the scene. While it didn't immediately draw him to T-800, it did pique his curiosity.

Wrench would have to look more into him, something like that wasn't something that every hacker had the skill or courage to do, or maybe it was stupidity. Either way, he'd learn soon enough.

[aspenmissing]

𝙸𝚝'𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙿𝚞𝚖𝚙𝚔𝚒𝚗, 𝚂𝚊𝚖 𝚆𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛 (𝙿𝚝 𝟸)

"G-Gabriel?! The archangel Gabriel?" Y/N stutters, pushing off from the post. Cas nods. "One of heaven's most fearsome warriors?" Cas nods again. "Saved my life?" Cas nods again, sighing. "Because why? Because I'm a Winchester? Because he took pity on me? Or because I'm the sister of someone who has demon blood-"

"As I said, no one knows why he saved you. Many do question it, but never say it out loud in fear of being seen as doubtful."

"Well if you find him, do tell him to make a drop-in with me. Because I'd like my questions to be answered." Y/N says, crossing her arms.

"As I also said, if he doesn't want to be found, then he won't be found. You're just gonna have to let him find you. Whenever that may be." Y/N turns her back to Cas.

"You angels do love not giving straight answers, you know one of these days when you ask me for an answer, I'm just gonna stop halfway-" She turns around to face Cas, only to see him no longer there. "Oh, and that! I'll be sure to just hide when you turn around, see how it makes you feel!" She shakes her head, sighing before straightening her jacket.

She walks out of the motel room and sees the Impala, all clean now. She smiles and jumps into the driver's seat, Dean in the passenger and Sam in the back. She looks between the two.

"What did I miss between you two? Is it because Dean lost rock paper scissors?" Dean looks at her in shock at how she knew that. Sam chuckles, shaking his head.

"It was nothing." He replies, looking at her but still looking disappointed.

"What about you and Cas? What were ya talking about in there?" Dean questions. Then shakes her head.

"It was nothing." He rolls his eyes playfully before Sam goes through the contents of the hex bag in his hand, picking up the bone. She sees his pout in the rearview mirror. "Well, are you going to figure out a way to find this witch, or are you just going to sit there fingering your bone?" Dean chuckles, shaking his head as Y/N starts up the Impala.

"You know how much heat it would take to char a bone like this?" Sam questions, holding up the charred bone between the twins, they turn their heads to look at it.

"No?"

"Bomb fire level?" Y/N answers.

"A lot, more than that or some kitchen oven."

"Okay, Betty Crocker, what does that mean?" Dean asks.

"It means we make a stop," Sam says, looking between the two, smiling. She smirks at him.

"That a boy, Sammy."

==

Back at the high school, the three enter Don's classroom, Dean and Y/N checking the two kilns while Sam heads straight to Don's desk, kneeling.

"So, Tracy used the kiln to char the bone, what's the big deal?" Dean questions as the twins walk over to Sam, who is rifling through the stuff on Don's desk.

"Guys, that hex bag turned up in our room, not after we talked to Tracy-"

"After we talked to the teacher." Y/N finishes, realizing. Sam looks down, noticing a bottom drawer with a latch, which is locked.

"Hey -" He says, getting Dean and Y/N's attention. They look down at the latch. Sam gets a hammer off the table behind them, kneeling back down to hit the lock until it breaks open. He opens the drawer where there are bones in a bowl, one charred, the others not. Sam stands back up, looking down at the bones.

"My god, those are all from children." He says

"And I'm guessing he's not saving them for the dog." Dean jokes.

"Or the hellhounds."

==

In a park, Castiel stands beside a bench with his hands behind his back, watching as the children skip by in Halloween costumes. Uriel sits on the bench, doing the same.

"The decision's been made," Cas says.

"By a mud monkey," Uriel says, chuckling.

"You shouldn't call them that," Cas says.

"Ah, it's what they are," He gestures to the people around them, before looking up to Cas. "Savages, just plumbing on two legs."

"You're close to blasphemy," Cas says, looking at Uriel. He sighs at him. "There's a reason we were sent to save her. She has potential, her brother has potential, they may succeed here."

"I understand why he is important to heaven, but Y/N? The only reason why she is of any importance is because of the grace that she's got in her, all because of an angel who found interest in her."

"You shouldn't question how archangels work and why they do it." Cas sits down on the bench beside Uriel, sighing. He rests his chin on his hands. "And any rate, it's out of our hands."

"It doesn't have to be."

"And what would you suggest?"

"That we drag Dean and Y/N Winchester out of here, and then we blow this insignificant pinprick off the map," Uriel suggests, spitting in venom as he looks at Castiel.

"You know our true orders," Cas says, looking over to Uriel. "Are you prepared to disobey?" Uriel just looks at him, unable to answer.

==

In the basement of Don's house, Don stands at an altar-like table, starting an incantation. Behind him, Tracy's hands are tied to a rope, which is attached to the ceiling, a rag wrapped around her mouth, stifling her cries as she struggled to get free. Don continues to talk in Latin? as he takes a knife and a chalice from the table, walking over to Tracy. He runs the tip down her neck, not drawing blood, but staring at her with a smile. Then he raises the knife above his head to stab her, only to get shot from behind three times. He drops to the floor as Dean, Y/N, and Sam come up from behind him. They put their guns back in their pockets as Dean goes over to Tracy to untie her as Sam and Y/N check Don's body. Dean cuts Tracy down and she rips off the gag.

"Thank you, he was gonna kill me! Ugh, that sick son of a bitch. I mean, did you see what he was doing? Did you hear him? How sloppy his incantation was?" Tracy spat. She looks up at the siblings, as they look at her in realization.

"You-"

"My brother -" This sets the Winchesters off as they go to draw their guns again. "Always was a little dim." Tracy throws her hand up, yelling an incantation, sending the three flying back and hitting the ground and writhing around in pain.

"You son of a bitch!" Y/N spits out, groaning in pain, her brothers doing the same.

"He was gonna make me the final sacrifice, his idea, but now, that honor goes to him. Our master's return? The spellwork's a two-man job you understand, so for six hundred years, I had to deal with that pompous son of a bitch. Planning, preparing, unbearable." Tracy says with venom. She kneels by Don's body, picking up the knife and chalice. "The whole time I wanted to rip his face off."

Tracy starts digging the knife into Don's bullet wound, holding the chalice up to catch the blood flow. She looks back over to Dean, Sam, and Y/N, who are still writhing in pain on the floor clutching their stomachs.

"And you get him with a gun, uh, love that." She stands back up, walking over to the altar on the table. You know, back in the day, this was the one day you kept your children inside. Well, tonight you'll all see what Halloween is."

Tracy starts another incantation and Sam, still clutching his stomach in pain, makes his way to Don's body, putting his hand in blood and smearing it on his face. The twins see him and whisper.

"What are you doing?" Dean whispers, Y/N looking at Sam with a confused yet painful look.

"Just follow my lead," Sam says. He spreads blood over Dean and Y/N's faces as well, moving back away from Don.

As Tracy finishes the incantation, the ground cracks in front of Don and black smoke pours out of it, and into his body of Don. Y/N tenses her jaw, knowing that they were unable to stop his rising, and another seal had been broken. Don's eyes shoot open, now white with the pupil staying black, his body now being controlled by Samhain. Dean, Sam, and Y/N lie still on the floor, their torture finished. Samhain rises off the floor, looking at Tracy's back that is turned to him, his vision blurry. He then walks over to her and she turns around, smiling at him as Samhain kisses her.

"My love." She says.

"You've aged," Samhain says, caressing Tracy's cheek.

"This face...I can't fool you."

"Your beauty is beyond time." The two lean in, their foreheads resting together before he suddenly snaps her neck sideways, her body falling to the floor. "Whore"

He turns around as he sniffs the air before looking down and seeing Dean, Sam, and Y/N lying on the floor. He walks over and looks at them for a second, and because of his blurry vision and them not moving, as well as the blood on their faces, he is unable to see them. After another second, he walks past them and leaves, shutting the door behind him. Y/N opens her eyes and leans over to Sam, whispering so that Samhain doesn't hear them.

"What the hell was that?" Y/N questions.

"Halloween lore. People used to wear masks to hide from him, so I gave it a shot."

"You gave it a shot?!" Dean exclaims, looking at him not believing that they took a chance like that on an idea Sam had from reading lore. Y/N begins chuckling, trying to be quiet in case Samhain hears. "How are you laughing at that."

"Because it's just funny that Sam risked our lives on a shot." She says, looking at Sam. "You are an amazing little brother."

==

The three leave Don's house and walk across the street toward the Impala, wiping the blood off their faces.

"Where the hell are we gonna find the mook?" Dean questions.

"Where would you go to raise other dark forces of the night?"

"The cemetery," Y/N says, opening the driver's side door.

"Yeah," Sam says, getting in the back while Dean walks around and gets in the passenger's side. Y/N turns the engine on and drives off toward the cemetery. Sam leans forwards, resting his arms on the front seat. "So, this demon's pretty powerful."

"Yeah," Dean says, nodding.

"Might take more than the usual weapons." Sam glances at Dean and Y/N out of the corner of his eyes, and the two get what he's suggesting. Y/N shakes her head.

"Sam, no, you're not using your psychic whatever. Don't even think about it. Ruby's knife is enough," she says.

"Why?"

"Well because the angels said so for one –"

"I thought you said they were a bunch of fanatics," Sam says. Y/N looks to Dean.

"You said that?" She chuckles, looking back at the road. "Not wrong."

"Well, they happen to be right about this one," Dean says, to which Y/N nods in agreement.

"I don't know, guys, it doesn't seem like they're right about much."

"Well then forget the angels, okay?" Y/N looks to Sam, brows furrowed. "You said yourself, these powers, it's like playing with fire." Dean picks up the knife and holds it out to Sam.

"Please." He says. Sam looks at the knife before grabbing it, not saying anything as he leans back, looking out the window.

"We're sorry, Sammy, we're doing this for your good," Y/N says, looking in the rearview mirror at Sam, seeing his frown. She sees that he goes to say something before shutting his mouth. She sighs, concentrating back on the road.

==

At the cemetery, there's a bunch of teenagers in a room in the mausoleum, walking around in costumes as rap music plays. Justin stands there looking around.

"Dude, I'm tripping balls!" He says. Footsteps echoed around and Justin notices. "Yo, shh, be quiet, it's the cops." Everyone scuttles around to hide; the music is turned off. The person walks down fully, revealing it to be Samhain as he walks towards the room they are partying in. Justin notices it's him. "Mr Harding? I mean, Don?" Samhain closes the gate to the room, locking it. As he walks away, he runs his hand across the gate. Justin tried to open said gate, but it doesn't budge. "Don, you, uh, you locked us in."

Justin tried the door again, and it stays locked, but the doors to the crypts in the room start to shake. The teenagers back away into corners, but Justin looks to one side and begins to back to the other side. A door comes open, and hands reach out and grab his ankles. Justin screams as a zombie drags him off his feet and into the crypt, a second later blood splatters out of the crypt, squirting out and covering the ground in front of the crypt. The teens start to freak out and try to get the gate open. Sam, Dean, and Y/N rush down the stairs, hearing them pleading.

"Help them," Sam says.

"Dude, you're not going off alone," Dean says.

"I'm coming with you," Y/N says, but Sam stops her.

"Do it!" He orders. Sam runs off after Samhain and the twins look after him for a second but then look back at the teens, Y/N motioning for them to move.

"Stand back! Stand back!" She shouts. The teens move away from the gate and Y/N shoots the lock, kicking open the door to let them all out.

"Go out, come on, get out, move!" Dean shouts. As the teens rush past them, Dean and Y/N look around the mausoleum as the doors shake, watching as one of the grave doors crashes to the ground and breaks. A zombie crawls out of it and stands up as another grave door crashes to the ground and the zombie in the next grave over starts to crawl out as well. Dean puts down the duffel bag as he and Y/N pull out a weapon the second zombie gets up, as the two hold up what looks like a silver stake.

"The party's just started."

"Bring it on, stinky."

==

Sam walks through the mausoleum looking for Samhain. He turns a corner and sees the said demon himself in a room facing the far wall. Sam tries to walk silently up to him, narrowing his eyes at the demon. However, Samhain hears and turns around suddenly, throwing up his arm, and a bright white light comes out of it. It dims, however, and Sam keeps walking towards Samhain.

"Yeah, that demon ray gun stuff? It doesn't work on me," Sam says. Samhain then runs at Sam, only to be uppercut as they begin to fight. Samhain finally pushes Sam against a wall by his neck, getting the upper hand.

==

Back in the crypt room, Dean has already taken out one of the zombies, the silver stake coming out of its chest lying on the floor. Y/N stabs another zombie to the ground with her silver stake next to the first one. She sighs in relief.

"That was way too easy," she says. She senses something behind her, hearing the clicking of heels as she turns to see a woman staring at her. Dean senses too and is quick to grab another silver stake and stab her, only for her to flicker and disappear and appears behind Y/N. Y/N pulls out the silver stake from the zombie and goes to stab her again only for the woman to motion both her hands at them, sending them flying across the room and into a wall, them sliding down the wall.

"Zombie ghost orgy huh?" Dean says.

"Well, that's it, we're torching everybody," Y/N adds.

==

Back with Sam, he manages to get the knife out, trying to stab Samhain and when it starts to cut into his skin, it sizzles and Samhain pushes it out of Sam's hand and whips Sam around- throwing him into the wall across the room. Sam gets back up and Samhain looks at him, ready to attack, goes running at Sam. Sam is quick to put his hand up, using his psychic power to stop him. Samhain struggles against Sam, as he manages to keep him from advancing too much. Samhain continues to advance slowly, causing Sam's hand to shake more. Dean and Y/N come running around the corner, seeing him use his powers.

"Sammy..." Y/N mutters as the twin's faces fall. Sam sees them over his shoulder of Samhain but continues. Sam begins using a lot more concentration as Samhain keeps advancing, causing his nose to start bleeding as blood pounds in his head, causing him to grab his head with the hand not holding Samhain at bay. Y/N goes to help him, but Dean grabs her arm, keeping her where she is. Black smoke begins to flow out of Don's mouth.

The two watches as Sam finally exorcizes Samhain as his nose continues to bleed and the blood pounding in his head starts to slow down. Once Samhain is out of the body, Don's eyes turn back to color as he drops to the ground dead, the black smoke disappearing. Sam can barely raise his eyes to meet Dean and Y/N's stare, Sam realizing that this is the first time they've seen him use his powers, not knowing that they had already watched him do so.

Y/N and Dean look at him sadly, Dean with a little bit of fear in his eyes and Y/N with a little bit of anguish, knowing that the angels may have been right and that she may have to stop her brother if he is to go down the path of the demon blood, and kill him before he could end the world.

==

In the motel room, Sam is packing clothes into his duffel bag. Dean and Theo were nowhere in sight.

"Tomorrow," a voice says from behind Sam. He jumps at the sound and turns around to see Uriel sitting on the couch. "November 2nd, it's an anniversary for you."

"What are you doing here?" Sam asks.

"It's the day Azazel killed your mother, and 22 years later your girlfriend too. It must be difficult to bear, yet you so brazenly use the power he gave you. His profane blood pumping through your veins," Uriel spits out.

"Excuse me?"

"You were told not to use your abilities."

"And what was I supposed to do?" Sam questions. "That demon would have killed me, my brother, my sister, and everyone."

"You were told not to," Uriel says.

"If Samhain had gotten loose in this town -"

"You've been warned, twice now."

"You know? My brother was right about you, you are dicks," Sam says, sneering at Uriel. Sam feels a gust of airflow past him as Uriel is suddenly in front of him.

"The only reason you're still alive, Sam Winchester, is because you've been useful. But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you're worth, one word. One, and I will turn you to dust," Uriel then backs up but continues talking. "As for your sister, tell her that maybe she should climb off that high horse of hers. Ask Y/N what she remembers from hell." Wings flutter as Uriel disappears, Sam's eyes going wide as he turns around to look for him. Dean then enters the room, looking at Sam with a confused look, as to why he's looking around.

"You okay, Sammy?" He questions, Sam, looking at him with a sad look.

==

In the park, Y/N sits on a park bench, watching kids play with a soft smile. She senses something besides her, even though she's looking the other way.

"Let me guess you're here for the 'I told you so'," she says, looking at the angel.

"No."

"Well, good, 'cause I'm not that interested," Y/N says, looking away.

"I am not here to judge you, Y/N."

"Then why are you here?" Y/N questions.

"Our orders."

"Yeah, you know, I've had about enough of these orders of yours –"

"Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do whatever you told us to do," Cas says, looking at the woman. Y/N crosses her arms.

"Your orders were to follow my orders?"

"It was a test, to see how you would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say."

"It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive," Y/N says, causing Cas to chuckle a little. "So how'd I do huh? Did I fail your stupid test? I get it. But you know what? If you would have waved that fairy magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I'd make the same call. 'Cause see, as a hunter I don't have the luxury of knowing what's going to happen when these seals are broken, hell I don't know what's gonna happen tomorrow or in 10 minutes. But what I do know is, that this, here?" Y/N gestures to the kids playing in the park. "These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it is still here because of my brothers and me."

"You misunderstand me, Y/N, I'm not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town," Cas says.

"May you repeat that?" Y/N says, looking at Cas in confusion.

"These people, they're all my father's creations. They're works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation. Now that's not an expression, Y/N, it's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means," Y/N looks at him a little pained, and sad. "Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?" Y/N nods.

"Go ahead."

"I'm not a... hammer as you say. I have questions, I have doubts. I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months, you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Y/N. I truly don't." The two share a look, and Y/N looks out to the kids again and when she looks back, Castiel is gone.

"He's gonna be the death of me," she mutters.