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Getting away from himself had been pathetically easy - the other version of himself softly snoozing away in his bed - but Dean wasn't really surprised. What did that whiney, pitiful baby of a man really know about the things that could happen to you when you let your guard down? He thought he knew, thought he was special and oh so tormented by his time in the Pit, but 30 years? What a joke! Alastair hadn't even begun to really play with him before that pretty little angel swooped in and saved the poor damsel. The Dean he'd left back at the motel knew nothing or he'd never let his guard down like that. It was naive and Dean would have to go back later and make sure his blue-eyed twin didn't get himself killed.

For now, though, he wanted freedom! The demon could've done without the cold as fuck night air but it was a small price to pay for the possibility of getting his hands on something or someone to play with. Say what you want about his twin, but he had an almost satisfactory knife collection and Dean had swiped a couple of them before slinking out of the motelroom.

Dean weighed his options. He could break in somewhere, find a cute little house with an equally cute little couple and show them just what kind of illusion of safety they were living in. Locked doors and burglar alarms did nothing to protect against the things you should really be afraid of and Dean felt a thrum of desire under his skin to show them the reality they were hiding from. He probably wouldn't kill them. What was the point of education if you killed your students? No, he'd just open up their eyes...possibly literally - the inside of an eyeball was fascinating in a disgusting sort of way.

Or... he could do what his twin would have done and go to the nearest strip club. He might not even have to use his knives there. So many tortured young girls and boys there. All it would take would be a few well-chosen words and he'd inflict the same kind of pain and fear with them. Hmm, difficult choice. Dean looked over at the Chistmas shoppers milling down the street as he walked through the park and his lip curled with disgust as he heard their laughs and saw their smiles.

He'd torture the already tortured some other time. Tonight it was time to shatter a few illusions and expose the gorey truth about the state of the world. Then a warm shower. He was fucking freezing! 

It's in a wolf's nature || Dean and Jacob

The Christmas holiday was little more than a week away, and the shops were more overcrowded than ever. Every year, it was like this; and every year, Jacob would have thought many of them would have learned by now. What good does it do to wait until these final days? What purpose does it serve to seek out that oh-so-perfect gift, when their dearly beloved is just going to return it within a few weeks? Or stuff it in the back of the closet and never lay eyes on it again? 

His attitude wasn’t exactly the best this time of year, and adding everything else that had been on the alpha’s mind didn’t make it easier to deal with. Trying not to die rated a bit higher on his list than making sure he made it to the store for that final sale, after all. 

Night had fallen hours ago, but Jacob paid the stars and the nearly full moon little attention, for the most part. A part of him longed to give in to the pull he could feel just under his skin, that desire that he always felt. To run and claw and feel the ground falling away underneath him; to feel the blood as it slipped between his hands, the taste of it (and on those certain occasions, he thought with a grin) the thick, beating heart as well, its texture so different from that of the liquid blood— 

Jacob shook his head, shoving his hands down in the pocket of his coat as he clenched his fists, nails having sharpened to claws and ripped right through the (expensive) leather gloves. 

He looked up at the moon once again, thinking.. judging.. and finally coming to his own decision that the shining light in the night sky was full enough. Fitting quite enough within the realm of possibility. A mere few hours, a day… Who was really counting? It’s not as if he was bound (completely) by time. 

Besides, Jacob thought, starting to head towards the park, watching the crowd of shoppers the whole time. There’d be one stray, he knew. There always was. No one need tell an alpha what to do. 

[lifexofxpie]

Gemini: Muse will split into two different versions of themself for three days

Dean looks down at the twin version of himself - still sleeping and hugging the pillow like some lame substitute for another body - and scoffs silently before slipping out of the motel room. Once outside, he shivers and looks up at the sky.

"Vacation topside. Should’ve remembered to bring my coat and gloves"

[lifexofxpie]

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Dean sat in the car, hands gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were white and his palms hurting. Anticipation, longing, excitement, dread, worry, happiness and guilt were all swirling around inside him, a violent tornado of emotions that made him feel like he was going to vomit if he as much as moved.

He'd made the mistake of starting to think before he'd gotten out of the car and now he was stuck. Dean had always worked better when he didn't think, he had a good gut instinct that usually guided him in the right direction, the thoughts just slowed him down, made him doubt - both himself and others - so it was better to just act. It was better to just get out of the car and walk up to the door and knock, wait for a moment or two before it opened and there she'd be. Mom. He wouldn't have started thinking then either, just would have hugged her for the longest of time. But he'd started thinking and now he was stuck.

What if she wasn't really Mom? What if she was different? What if she would be angry with him for not coming right away? What if she wouldn't even recognize him? And worst of all: What if she'd be exactly the same as she had been back then? How could he and Sam even begin to fit into her life then? When so many bad things had happened? Could they just forget that and be her sons again?

Dean almost started the car and drove away, back to the motel and back to Sam. He couldn't do it. Approaching that door was like taking a leap into the abyss. Still, he longed for it, but he was afraid of what he might lose in the process. Things were good now, he had Sam back - and a tentative tolerance growing with Meg, but most of all Sam, alive and well - he had the hunting now that someone was apparently trying to open Purgatory so there were no shortage on things to do. It was life as he knew it; Family and Hunting.

Except...

Except part of his family was beyond that door, a part that he'd missed so fiercely for so many years. 

Flinging the car door open, Dean was out and heading towards the door in a matter of seconds. His steps thudded heavy and determined against the ground and the knock on the door was hard enough to hurt his knuckles. He moved as he waited - if you move the thoughts can't catch you - pacing back and forth outside the door. The wait was too long. Maybe she wasn't home? Dean didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. But he'd come all this way, he couldn't just go home again without nothing. 

Sliding the lockpick from his pocket, Dean quickly checked to make sure he wasn't watched then stepped closer to the door to work the lock open. It wasn't a difficult lock, barely took a minute before the soft snick told him that he'd succeeded. He took the handle and carefully pushed the door open. The room was dark and it smelled stale and...sick. Dean swallowed and pushed the door open further. There was a shape on the bed.

Oh god she's dead! Dean had been too late to come and see her. She was gone again. Infinite sadness threatened to well up but then there was movement and he froze.

"Mom?" he croaked out. 

Sick as a Dog || Open

Mary laid down with her head tucked weakly against her pillow. Her dingy, disgusting pillow that definitely needed its case changed or cleaned because she had sweated right through it last night. A shiver crawled up her spine and she shook her head. She couldn’t even get out of bed for a glass of water, much less go change her pillowcase. She remembered these witches from what they had done to  her when she had just gotten back; greyfaces, they were called. They had de-aged her back to seventeen and careless when all she needed to do was be careful and try to figure out what was going on. She wished she could have enjoyed that youth at a different time when she didn’t have to worry about finding a place to hide out after being resurrected. Like right now. Oh, she would definitely take that de-aging over this sickness right now. It was even worse than the last flu she could remember having. Mary hadn’t eaten in what seemed like a day, and her water bottles had been emptied along with her stomach a few hours ago. Her eyelids were feeling heavy, too heavy, and she wanted nothing more than for someone to just come help her. She wasn’t past asking for help, not when she was certain that if she didn’t get some soon, her body might shut down. But the phone was too far away, her arms felt too heavy to lift. Though she tried and only ended up knocking her lamp down in the process; a shatter of glass and ceramics blanketing her in darkness.

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"Then don't talk about my family like you know anything about them," he shot back at her, tone harsh and dangerous. Dean didn't know who this woman was but he didn't like her. She spoke like she knew him and that was rarely a good thing. 

He was thankful the tables around them were all empty so no one could overhear them as she started talking about exorcising and silver knifes. Dean wasn't sure if she was just a good liar when it came to this or if aforementioned objects really would have no effect on her. If not, he wondered what would. What was she?

Persistant, for one! Despite all logic she kept talking, as if sticking to the lie for just a little longer would somehow make Dean believe her bullshit. And what bullshit that was! Was she... was she claiming to be his car. His car?! Dean might not know all the mysteries of the universe but he was damn certain this wasn't a fuckin' Transformer's movie. Cars were cars, and that was that. They might occasionally get possessed but they were still cars, not freakin' ladies with dogs sitting outside of cafés.

The old sting of humiliation and pain of having lost his car served to further fuel his anger and he worried about what state his teeth would be in after this conversation and the amount of jaw clenching he'd already done.

Then she started speaking of his family again, old memories - things she shouldn't have any clue about, things Dean didn't even remember himself - and Dean had just about had enough. How did she know all this?

The drop that made the cup run over came in the shape of two colorful pieces of lego, resting ligthly in the palm over her hand and Dean's composure snapped. He slapped the legos out of her hand, sending them clattering to the ground, before he leaned in.

"I don't care who the fuck you are," he hissed, "You stop following me and my family around right now and get the hell back to where you came from. Or else..." Dean didn't bother finishing the threat, just backed up a couple of steps and pulled his phone out to call Sam and warn him.

Dude, where's my car || Dean and Impala

[lifexofxpie]

"You're implying I won't get in and out of there in one piece. That's lacking in confidence, Cas," Dean pointed out. He knew the angel was right - on some level at least - but that didn't mean he wanted to hear it being said. This was a risky business and you never knew what hunt was gonna be your last. It could just as easily be the routine haunting-job as the powerful exotic creature. It was a risky job and you had to be prepared for everything, but you couldn't be afraid of everything. Knowing, and accepting, the danger wasn't the same as running from it. Dean was okay with doing the former, not the latter. There were people here who needed help and even if he wasn't immortal he was the one best equipped to deal with it.   

Dean's glad when the angel goes for the option of joining instead of trying to convince Dean not to go in there at all. Dean needs this. He needs the reminder that he's still alive. 

"Alrighty then!" he says and claps his hands together once. It's light enough outside. "Let's go!" 

Turning around, he grabs the machete and a case of syringes, all filled with dead man's blood, and then he quietly climbs out of the car. He tenses, preparing for a fight, he hopes at least one of them wakes up. Dean throws Cas a quick grin before nodding towards he building, motioning for him to follow.

Blood bag vs. Scumbags || Dean and Castiel

Castiel scowls, huffing out a large breath. 

"I never said I lacked confidence in you, Dean. I am merely being realistic here." He says firmly, "A first aid kit is perfectly fine if you are able to use it." 

Cas sighs softly, he just doesn’t want to see Dean get hurt. He knows Dean is perhaps the best hunter out there, but an entire vampire nest is foolish and reckless. He glances back up at Dean, “But if you are too injured, if you are passed out, or suck somewhere, then what? The chances are, you will die.” 

And I can’t sit back and watch you die. I just can’t. 

The angel opens his mouth, about to retort to Dean’s comment about “cuts and bruises” but the hunter continues, and what he says effectively shuts Castiel’s mouth. He blinks slowly, surprised, before inclining his head. 

"I… I think I would like that." He doesn’t mention that he could wipe out the vampires in the blink of an eye, he doesn’t mention that he’s stronger now, much stronger, he doesn’t mention that that is because of the souls… 

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"Sorry sorry," Dean quickly apologized, knowing better than to not just roll over and apologize when Lisa used that tone of voice. He kept looking at her feet - or what he could see of them below the giant belly - when they moved towards the couch but his eyes snapped up to her face at the comment about half-vampire hybrid, clearly no catching the reference. 

He helped her onto the couch and sat down next to her.

"There's no such thing as a half-vampire," he said, "You're either infected or you're not. There's no shades of gray inbetween. If someone...something did this to you..." He dragged a hand over his mouth in distress. Was it even possible for something like this to happen. Could vampires even have kids? And what the hell was Lisa involved in all of this for. Dean's mind immediately went to places he would rather stay far far away from.

"Lis," he said and reached out for her hand, "We'll fix this, alright, no doubt about it..." Okay, that was maybe a little more confident than he felt, "but you gotta tell me what happened. Who did this to you? When? Did you see what they looked like? Any distinguishing marks that seemed...non-human?"

Some Help Required || Lisa and Dean

[lifexofxpie]

Lisa tracked Sam down? Lisa, who'd been in the business how long at the time? Months? A year? She'd managed to track Sam down? Had he really been that off his game? It was a goddamn miracle that is was Lisa and not something more sinister that had gone after him. 

"How was he? When you saw him." Dean was almost afraid to ask, afraid to hear that he'd been tricked by Sam's voice telling him that he was fine when, in reality, he was falling apart. Could Dean really have been so blind and missed that?

Lisa pushed away from the counter and stepped closer. Dean watched her with a frown furrowing his brow, not because of the decreasing distance between them but because of the words out of her mouth. 

"The hell he can!" Dean protested, "This isn't him deciding to go off to school somewhere. This is hunting we're talking about. You stroll too far down that road and there's no coming back. I'm not just gonna sit back and let him..." It's not your place, his mind tried to tell him but he resolutely ignored it. Dean just made it his business. "We both know whose fault it is that he's even considering this. I'll bring him here and I'll swing by a store and by a giant freakin' padlock on the way back. This isn't even up for discussion. I'll bring him back, we'll talk to him and he'll listen."

Dean sat the beer bottle down on the counter, angrily. He wasn't really angry, though. Mostly just scared, scared of what could happen to Ben out there. He ran a hand over his face and closed his eyes for a second.

"Do you know where he is?" he asked. Dean would bring the kid home.

Only a Matter of Time || Dean and Lisa

[lifexofxpie]

"D-Dean?"

The question was quiet and barely audible over the smattering of rain against the windows and if he hadn't already been wide awake he would have easily missed it. Instead he turned around again, head peeking out from under the blankets to look over at Jo's tiny form under the blankets of the other bed. Meg didn't look much bigger when she slept in the bed but the former demon had a personal bubble lined with barbed wire and invisible brick walls, which somehow gave the illusion that she took up more space than she actually did. Whatever defences Jo had, they did not have the same effect and she just looked fragile and thin where she was curled up under the covers.

"Yeah?" he asked, squinting in the dark. She looked about as miserable as he felt.

"You wanna crawl over here and snuggle? Shared body heat and all," he said, mostly in an attempt to joke and get her to smile and call him an ass. When the words were out, though, he had to admit that the prospect of a human space heater wasn't all that unpleasant. But seeing as Jo had firmly shot down the "last night on Earth" speech Dean was fairly certain that the "shared body heat" one wouldn't go over much better, regardless och whether or not Dean actually meant anything by it.

Thunder: It’s raining outside and your muse is stuck inside with Jo Harvelle and when the power goes out they cuddle to keep warm.

Dean had never been a particular fan of thunder. He wasn’t scared of it but he didn’t like it. The thunderstorms and flickering lights weren’t always just thunderstorms and flickering lights in his world. A lot of the time they were just annoyances of nature but there was always the risk that the sound and darkness were trying to cover up the presence of something a whole lot more sinister.

The rumbling of thunder and crack of lightning had been going on all afternoon and the rain smattered against the windows with enough force that Dean kinda worried they might break if the wind didn’t let up. The room was already draughty enough - and colder than a polar bear’s butthole - and without the shelter that the windows provided it would be unbearable.

Jo had swung by earlier for a beer and chance to talk. When the storm outside picked up, Dean had told her to stick around and wait it out. No one should be out on the roads in this weather unless they absolutely had to.

The power had went out fairly quick. They’d talked, played cards, chared the leftover pizza in the fridge, talked some more until both of them were half asleep at the table - with their hands supporting their chins being the only thing that kept them from faceplanting on the surface of the table - and Dean finally declared that, as nice as the company was - it was time for bed. Sam and Meg were out somewhere so Dean offered Jo to take Meg’s bed for the night.

A couple of hours later, Dean was curled up on his side on the bed - underneath blankets that were nowhere near enough to keep the coold out - and his teeth were clattering in an annoying staccato rhythm that did absolutely nothing to help him sleep. He turned but all that did was shift the covers and allow for more cold air to seep inside and he winced silently and glared at the raindrops on the window.

[Not sure if this was supposed to be drabble or a para. I made it a para. Tell me if you want a drabble instead and I’ll finish it]

[lifexofxpie]

Dean didn't sit down at the table again. Sitting still was not an option, he needed the movement to keep from falling over. He did see the water bottle Sam had left for him on the table, however, and while the gesture was nice, to Dean, it felt a little bit like a failure. Apparently his retreat to the bathroom hadn't been as smooth as he'd hoped. He still picked it up and drank from it as he began to pace the room.

  "How many hunters know about this? Have the others been told or is it just us and Bobby? It might be a good idea to call in some backup," he said, "We can't both try and find Purgatory and at the same time deal with the shit that every little monster causes. We know people we can call." 

  Dean to force himself not to pulll his phone out and start calling right away. This he could deal with, this, the hunting and the monsters were familiar aspects of his life. This was something he knew how to do and in the violent swirl of things that had suddenly changed, this was the lifeline he could cling to and trust to pull him through.

The "Yeah..." from Sam sounded like it was pulled from his lips by force and Dean instantly felt his suspicion rise. He stopped pacing for a moment and watched his brother's back, seeing as Sam was still facing the window instead of Dean.

The beginning of the explanation also did very very little to calm him down  but rather the opposite. The cage hadn't held Michael and Lucifer. Ontop of all the shit with Purgatory, Heaven and Hell's biggest brats were back on the surface of the Earth. Fucking hell! Why couldn't solved problems just stay solved?

  Dean's mouth fell open when Sam evetually turned around and for a brief moment or two his mind supplied him with the worst possible scenario. Sam wasn't Sam anymore. Lucifer had found him and Dean had walked right into a trap. But he looked up at Sam, met his brother's gaze and the emotion there erased all doubts. Whatever shit Lucifer's meeting with Sam had brought, Dean's brother was still himself and not an archangel in diguise. Suddenly, anger flared up in him and Dean's eyes hardened.

  "And you didn't think to call?" he asked, tone venomous as a retroactive reaction to the fear of finding out that Sam hadn't been doing well on his own - even had been close to not making it - and Dean hadn't known a thing about it, "When you were lying there, wondering about how long you'd last, it didn't cross your mind to maybe let me know? I let you go off on your own only because you promised me you were well enough to take care of yourself and n..." Dean drew in a deep breath, tightened the cap on the water bottle and tossed it onto one of the beds, "Sometimes your stubbornness just really fucking pisses me off. You understand there's a line, right? Where being independent and strong turns into goddamn stupidity. I could've helped, Sam. I could've helped and maybe you..."

  He fell silent and forced himself to listen as Sam continued explaining, about the cage and Lucifer and...

  Dean staked over to him, gripped the hem of his shirt to pull it up. A thin line. A scar that didn't at all seem fitting with its sinister nature. Dean dropped the shirt back in place and ran a hand over his face.

      "Goddamnit, Sam," he said in an almost resigned voice. What the hell did it mean that part of Sam was now carried around by the Devil as some sort of freaky souvenir?

  "A connection? What does that mean? What kind of connection?"

Back to Sioux Falls || Sam and Dean

[lifexofxpie]

Dean shifted a little under her scruitiny and her leer. Logically, he knew that she was just saying it to goad and mess with him, unfortunately he wasn't completely immune to its effects. He was used to being the driving force behind any sort of flirtation - liked to have the resemblance of control over how far it went and how it went - but when the roles were reversed he never quite knew how to react. It was the teenage years all over again, the jibes about being pretty to the kid whose outsides never looked as hardened and rugged as he felt on the inside. He'd sometimes wished for a scar, something big and disfiguring, something that'd earn respect instead of unsettling comments and raised eyebrows, questioning if he was really going to be able to do the job. He'd fuckin' showed them, pulled several of their asses out of the line of fire at one point or another.

"Flattery or not, if you start peeking in during shower time I'm gonna charge you," he threw back and then, as she turned around to start rummaging through the drawers, Dean grabbed the covers and pulled them up over his bare legs.

He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she dug her way through the drawers in search for, what he suspect was, something to sleep in. 

The comment she spat at him over her shoulder makes him sit up a little straighter and cross his arms over his chest. There was blood on his hands alright, blood that still had him waking up in the middle of the night- even if it happened more and more seldom now - ridid with fear and holding his breath. The blood of Azazel and Meg's brother was on the other end of the spectra, those were the deaths that felt like an accomplishment rather than a failure. It wouldn't be the best idea to share that particular piece of information with Meg.

"Your brother was killing my brother...so I stopped him. And as for Azazel, I met your daddy back in 1973 and I warned him, fair and square, that I was going to be the one to kill him. He could've stayed away from my family but he didn't. And now he's dead too. So it goes."

Dean didn't want to look at demons as creatures with any kind of family bonds. That just meant another shade of gray and the fewer of those there were, the better. Monsters were monsters, humans were humans, and it was your job to protect your family and as many other humans as you possibly could. Sure, even Dean had to admit that there were a few exceptions to the rule - possibly Meg would turn out to be one of them, but Dean wouldn't hope for that to be the case until he'd gotten further proof - but it was still easier to think of the whole thing as a dichotomy, where someone was either good or bad, human or monster.

He heard her sigh, followed by what sounded like a violent cracking of joints and his head snapped up in time to see the wings sort of merge with and recede into her back, leaving two tattoos in their wake. It sounded painful and Dean winced in sympathy. He had to bite his tongue to blurt out the question What are you? That was the less important question and Dean suspected Meg would jump at the chance of not having to reveal anything about why she'd decided to stick to Sam like a leech - or possibly a friendlier and less blood-sucking creature - so he'd save the question about her newly aquired wings for later. He was watching her, but not for the purpose of seeing her naked. His eyes were on the tattoos, going thrugh the index in his brain, trying to remember if he'd seen or heard of anything like this before. There hadn't been many winged creatures in his past at all, apart from the angels and Dean suspected their wings to be less scaly. Also, the idea of Meg suddenly being an angel was just nutty.

"Or...," Dean said, tightening his jaw and looking over at her, "You drop the illusion that you are in a position to be negotiating here and start answering the questions I ask. You wanna stay here, honesty's the way to go. Lying and weaseling out of talking aren't gonna do you any favors. I'm not looking to unravel the whole mystery that is you, I just want to know if the donut happens to be filled with shit before I decide to take a bite."

Her eyes changed, not in the way Dean had expected and his own eyes narrowed just a fraction as her pupils thinned into cat-like slits. Again he wondered what the hell she was?

She started talking and, for the first time since she'd showed up, Dean believed what she was saying and he relaxed. He did know what she spoke of, knew just what kind of appeal his Sam held to the misfits and the misunderstood. His brother was the most forgiving person Dean had ever met, saw beyond whatever flaws a person or creature had, and tried so hard to find a core of good in all things, even the seemingly evil. Dean had benefitted from it - would have been kicked to the curb a long time ago if Sam hadn't seen something in him, beyond all the crap and the violence and asshole behavior, something worth keeping - and now it seemed Meg was benefitting from it too. And Dean couldn't fault her for wanting to stick around someone who looked at you like you like that, like you were something, someone.

"You know, you can tone down that paranoia. I'm not gonna kill you unless you give me a reason to and I already told you what that reason would be." Sam. Always Sam. You hurt my brother and I will skin you alive, consequences to myself be damned.

Sugar, Spice and Everything Nice // Dean and Meg

"Pants or no pants I don’t care. Nothing’s coming. Especially something I couldn’t handle. Actually I might prefer it if you opted out of them," the charcoal outline of her eyes and bloodied lip could be seen through the dim light as she smirked at him. If she couldn’t accurately guess at all the spots that made Dean uncomfortable, he was quick to give them away.  "Sam’s never naked and he gets all bent out of shape when I go looking in during shower time. I don’t know what he expects me to do with myself. But if it’s any consolation, bow-legged jack asses are more my type." She threw a vile wink his way before turning back around and starting to rummage through her section of dresser drawers. Not that they were actually in any order. She had gotten into the habit of stuffing clothes in where they fit and that was it. 

It is said that one day the sun will explode and the entire solar system will be swallowed by it’s temper tantrum until finally it collapses in on itself. Not even Pluto, which has yet to complete a full rotation around the sun since it’s discovery, will be spared. These are the things Meg thinks about when she lies in bed, hand absently stroking Bear’s fur. Listening to the gentle -perpetual- cycle of Sam’s breathing. Snoring. Holding her own breath when his catches, counting to see if he’s silent for too long and she needs to rouse herself  to shake him and make sure he isn’t committing some subconscious form of suicide. Her own seeming immortality can afford her these considerations of time. She has lived such a long and bitter life, she no longer fears staring down eternity.

And she wonders how Sam, Dean and there family factor into eternity. Mostly Sam -she’s not really used to factoring that her pact with the angel includes everyone they consider family. Bobby, John, Mary, even that dumbass angel; all on the list of beings she’d take the hit for. Those were the terms and conditions that she accepted. Sam was the ‘why’, his friendship -the kindness he had shown her- the ‘because’, everyone else was just the ‘what’. 

And maybe it would have been easier to say that out loud. To admit that to Dean. Maybe, through some divine intervention, he’d actually believe her. But vulnerable was something she was not going to do. Not for him, not when she couldn’t trust him to keep himself from sticking a knife in it and twisting until she screamed. His privilege did not extend so far as that. The truth also was that Meg was hardly beginning to understand what she was and what it meant. If she couldn’t put it into words, what chance did she possibly have of explaining it to him? She had a pocket sized leather notebook half filled with her experiences -each time something new in the transformation popped up , and copied passages from ancient books scattered across the world. Things she might eventually bring to Sam to talk about when they were in some semblance of order. She could trust Sam not to exploit her theories. Dean on the other hand… well experience had taught her the only truly redeemable creature in his eyes was his brother. She couldn’t possibly stand a chance. 

Could she? 

"Those are some big words for glorified serial killer Dean," she spit at him over her shoulder. Meg’s bony hands tugged out a pair of pink basketball shorts and a large tee shirt that she couldn’t remember any more who it actually belonged to. "Before any of this apocalypse shit got underway I saw you put a bullet through the brain of my little brother, Azazel shortly after. You killed the closest thing I had ever had to a family. Or do you really forget so easily the blood on your hands?" She stood up straight, back to him still but head clearly tilted in a rhetorical way as if she were waiting for an answer. 

Meg took a deep breath, realizing he’d probably do everything he could to keep her from sleeping. More frustrating was that despite her annoyance and bitter responses she knew he had every right to be asking about her intentions with Sam. Lest history repeat itself -but she really did hate being compared to Ruby. She just really hated being caught between being sympathetic to his points (by default of what she had become) and trying to maintain a distasteful, temperamental exterior. 

She exhaled deeply, flexed her wings with a deft movement and forced them into their real resting position. With a great amount of cracking, and generally unpleasant auditory conduction, the wings receded into her back. A little more decent in her opinion, where they looked like ornate tattoos arching over the large red scare from a once infected bullet wound, a litany of other smaller scars, fading bruises, and the tramp stamp that had actually been inked into the meatsuit before she’d occupied it.  She could feel them twitching just beneath the skin, ready to break free from the sense of being threatened Dean’s presence caused. She slipped off the (hand done) backless shirt for the more comfortable tee and quickly followed by removing her jeans and slipping on the shorts. She doubted he’d play any sort of peeping tom on her of all people, not that she really cared at all either way. Good for him if he got a a little look-see. 

"Mmmmm how about I tell you what you need to know and that’s it. You can look at the jelly doughnut but you don’t get to squeeze out the tasty little insides," she moved to the edge of her bed and sat down. Meg fixed her brown eyes on the male. She studied him quietly, head tilted. Her eyes had changed, not to the demon black he was probably expecting. They resembled a feline’s, slitted pupil, fluorescing in the dark when seen at the proper angle. No chance he’d be leaving her jelly doughnut insides alone. She could see it in the firm set of his jaw. 

Perhaps he was looking for it to be a repeat of Ruby. Perhaps he was looking for an excuse to drive that knife home in her heart. 

"I helped him because he needed someone who wasn’t you and I needed a place to belong. Even a monster needs a home, Dean. Perhaps the monster most of all.  I dug my way out of the trenches with him,” her voice wavered briefly and she turned her head to stare at the wall. As she often did when she was saying things she never wanted to say out loud,  ”Knee deep in piss and shit and blood and vomit. We clawed our way back and as fucked up as it is, we’re friends. You know what that’s like don’t you Dean? To have a friend that’s got everything in the world going against them and you’re still fighting their battles for them because one day they might actually be able to do it themselves. You’re actually the last person on this little shit hole planet who even needs to ask me that question. And now, because I made a choice, I am irrevocably bound to Sam and you and your family. You want to stab me go ahead, you’ll have better luck with a toothpick. Ten bucks says the knife breaks before I do. You wanna kill me, just do it and admit it’s because you want to, because you would enjoy it. I can’t run. I have nowhere else to go.” 

[lifexofxpie]

Thunder: It’s raining outside and your muse is stuck inside with Jo Harvelle and when the power goes out they cuddle to keep warm.

Dean had never been a particular fan of thunder. He wasn’t scared of it but he didn’t like it. The thunderstorms and flickering lights weren’t always just thunderstorms and flickering lights in his world. A lot of the time they were just annoyances of nature but there was always the risk that the sound and darkness were trying to cover up the presence of something a whole lot more sinister.

The rumbling of thunder and crack of lightning had been going on all afternoon and the rain smattered against the windows with enough force that Dean kinda worried they might break if the wind didn’t let up. The room was already draughty enough - and colder than a polar bear’s butthole - and without the shelter that the windows provided it would be unbearable.

Jo had swung by earlier for a beer and chance to talk. When the storm outside picked up, Dean had told her to stick around and wait it out. No one should be out on the roads in this weather unless they absolutely had to.

The power had went out fairly quick. They’d talked, played cards, chared the leftover pizza in the fridge, talked some more until both of them were half asleep at the table - with their hands supporting their chins being the only thing that kept them from faceplanting on the surface of the table - and Dean finally declared that, as nice as the company was - it was time for bed. Sam and Meg were out somewhere so Dean offered Jo to take Meg’s bed for the night.

A couple of hours later, Dean was curled up on his side on the bed - underneath blankets that were nowhere near enough to keep the coold out - and his teeth were clattering in an annoying staccato rhythm that did absolutely nothing to help him sleep. He turned but all that did was shift the covers and allow for more cold air to seep inside and he winced silently and glared at the raindrops on the window.

[Not sure if this was supposed to be drabble or a para. I made it a para. Tell me if you want a drabble instead and I’ll finish it]

[lifexofxpie]

I’m gonna say this one time — you make a move on him, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.