#* guest muse: Sam Winchester *

[ordinariums-a]

@laomedeiia

"Hey- hey, you gotta get outta here." As soon as he saw them, he lowered his gun, spare hand moving so his palm was facing them. A haunted house at night, but how and why did they even get out here? This was a ten minute walk from the nearest road. Someone poking around in here - not what he expected when he showed up. "Come on, show's over."

[jasmines-library]

Could you do a Winchester!sister fic about her wedding and she’s closer with Dean so he walks her down the aisle and then Dean has a dance with her and Sam has one too and just like fluff moments throughout her wedding day

Time for a Wedding

Note: The reader is described as female (as requested), however her partner is not described to make this fic more accessible.

Word count: 700

⛤ SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST ⛤

Dean never thought he would live to see your wedding. Or Sam’s for that matter. In fact, he was never sure if he was even going to make it to see the next time the sun broke across the sky. But, nevertheless; there he was. Standing in a fancy suit that was just a little bit too snug to your left, watching as your bridesmaids hovered excitedly around you. They were making the final finishing touches to your hair and makeup and making sure that your dress flared out the correct way. It was stunning, Dean mused, grinning at the thought. The way the beads embroidered across the lace shone as they caught the light made you seem even more enchanting than you already were. You were glowing, eyes bright with a beaming smile, but your brother couldn’t help but notice the twinge of anxiety that hid behind it as you waited behind the ornate doors.

Dean took your hand in his, running his fingers briefly over the engagement ring that fit snugly on your left hand. You glanced up at him.

“You okay?” He asked tenderly.

“Yeah.” You hummed in response with a slight nod of your head, stung trying to rid the anxious knot that settled in your stomach.

“You look beautiful.” Dean told you truthfully. He was so proud to see you all dolled up.

“Thank you.”

“Always, kiddo.”

It was then that you heard the music drifting softly from the doors, and they were opened slowly. Dean slipped his arm through yours as you clutched your bouquet and began to walk you down the aisle.

Sam’s breath caught when he saw you and his eyes began to water. He was so proud of how far you had come. You were no longer the small child who used to clutch onto his trousers because you were too small to reach his hands, instead you were now a strong and independent woman and it made his heart swell. The sight of Dean walking you down the aisle was what made the river of grateful tears begin to fall. Dean had always been there for the both of you, taking over the role of your dad whenever John wasn’t around, and he was doing it again here.

As you walked down the aisle towards your partner, you beamed brighter than 100 suns shining all at once. Once you reached the step you Dean slipped his arm away from yours so you could say your vowels and celebrate your love.

~

There was a happy buzz in the air as chatter passed between the guests seated at the tables or mingling around the room, passing drinks around the room or congratulating you on your marriage and doting over your dress. The evening passed quickly and soon it came time for your first dance.

You took to the floor, swaying gently with your partner to a song that meant so much to the pair of you. Then, once you were done and applaud filled the room, a familiar tune fell over the speakers and Dean whisked you away across the dance floor.

The two of you smiled as you moved in sync to the song that you had blasted in the impala hundreds of times, singing along to the lyrics at the top of your lungs and Baby hurtled down the country roads just a little too fast for your liking. Dean twirled you under his arm occasionally and soon after, the song faded into another, much slower song, and Sam’s arms replaced Deans as the two of you danced around together. You rested your head against your chest as you swayed. It meant so much to you that your two brothers were here to celebrate and dance with you in place of John and Mary. In some ways, it made your wedding feel even more special to be surrounded by the two boys you had formed such a strong bond with.

(I’m sorry it’s so short but I hope you enjoyed :))

[snnynaturalarch]

SNNYNATURAL  :   independent  semi  to  highly  active  blog  of  disney  channel’s  sonny  with  a  chance’s   allison  jade  “sonny”  munroe.  this  blog  revolves  around  sonny's  supernatural  verse  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  her  canon  verse.  supernatural  verse  to  @snnydcys.  loved  and  cherished since may 2023  by  lumi  (  26+  ,  pst/cst  ,  she/her  ).

guest  muses  :  sonny's cousins , safehouse volunteers , farmhouse neighbors , cheating ex boyfriend things to know about munroe's safehouse

heavily affiliated and connected to @wavrlynatural

connection  to  sam  and dean:  just  for  anyone  who  is  curious  for  plotting  purposes,  sonny  is  not  connected  to  any  of  the  winchesters  (unless  plotted  with  whoever  i'm  writing  with).  i  left  it  completely  open  because  i  wouldn't  want  to  force  anything  on  anyone  and  would  love  to  leave  room  for  all  types  of  connections.  sonny  and  her  family  are  their  own  hunters  and  own  their  own  roadhouse/safehouse.  if  anything,  the  only  canon  connection  i  would  have  is  that  they  would  drop  by  if  there  was  a  hunt  nearby.

sonny munroe's headcanons previously on supernatural spn sideblogs : @antiqsvchotic ( minah chung ) , @thel0re ( multi )

read more below . . .

main verse: sonny is the daughter of hunters. they tried their very best to keep this life hidden from her, until one day a shifter snuck into their home and she was thrown into the life. her family created a roadhouse/safe house, munroe's safehouse (located in appleton, wisconsin), for all other hunters to come when in need of refuge or a place to relax before going off. think of it as a bar in the main space and then rooms down the hall. kind of like a free motel for hunters of some sorts. sonny dedicates her time aiding hunters, patching them up, and giving them the happiness that they need. even if it's temporary. her main goal is to bring back joy and comfort that they may have lost during a hunt.

now, she doesn't go on hunts herself. her main place is at the safehouse. which was also pretty much her home since she lived upstairs. however, whenever the time comes, sonny will find herself on a hunt from time to time.

apocalypse world verse: the world where sam and dean were never born and the angels took over. both of sonny's parents died in their hunt. leaving sonny all alone. part of the resistance against michael and the angels. in this universe, she stopped going by sonny when her parents died and only goes by her government name, allison. she's the opposite of sunshine in this universe. she sees the world as dark and cold. not being the light that people needed in worst of times.

demon verse: very much like her main verse, she is the daughter of hunters and they own a roadhouse/safe house and she works there aiding hunters. one day, her fiance was in trouble. a little backstory, the two met on a hunt. she saved his life from a very angry spirit and the two have clicked and gotten together and been together since. now he was being tortured by other demons. she didn't know why nor did she care, but she just knew she had to go save him. but her parents wouldn't let her go, instead, they went to go save him themselves. she waited for days only to find out that her parents were now in danger. she was visited by a demon as if it was a little fun game for them. letting sonny know that there was no way of saving them. so she found herself running off and summoning a crossroads demon. selling her soul to save their lives. it worked, however... she was only given three days so she had to say her goodbyes.

the moment she was dragged to hell, she was tortured. they wanted to break her fighting and kind spirit. sonny tried to hold onto hope. but her torturer was determined to break sonny's pure soul. so what did they do? they showed the truth of what her fiance was like. showing that he's been cheating on her. talking negatively about her. talking about everything she's insecure about. not only was this the right button to press, but sonny snapped. she was angry. now only did she sell her soul to save him, but he put her parents in danger. sonny grew incredibly angry and actually killed her torturer. and by this action alone, she was allowed to become a demon.

hesitant at first, every part of her didn't want to. but with all the torture and finding out the truth, she agreed. the last kindness in her heart didn't let her possess an innocent. instead, she reclaimed her body. and her first job as a demon? killing her ex fiance. and sadly.... that was an easy job and it erased all the purity she had left.

she would visit her parents from time to time to see how they're doing. but never getting close. now, she walks and lives amongst the demons.

guidelines

BE KIND AND RESPECTFUL: i do not want any ooc drama at any time. this is a safe space just to write and have some fun. if there is any problem, i am always open to chat. AGE: i am 26+ years old and am only comfortable writing with muns AND muses that are 18+, so please be respectful of that. // i will be writing sonny between the ages of 22-38, depending on the thread. DO NOT RUSH: there are days where i just don’t have the energy to write, so please be respectful of that. and you don’t have to worry about rushing either! take your time. this is a hobby! TRIGGER WARNINGS: so since dark subjects might come up, they will be tagged accordingly! smut will be tagged. but i will absolutely NOT write any of the following - eating disorders (my trigger), c*lowns (my phobia), large age gaps, incest (including step siblings/step parents), rape, any form of abuse, ect. SHIPPING: this is a multi ship blog so no ships will intersect with each other unless plotted. i also will not and do not accept force ship. this is all based off of chemistry. i also don't just ship, i welcome all platonic, familial, enemy things! sonny is also fluid. AFFILIATES/MAINS/EXCLUSIVES: i am the type of person who gets anxiety about exclusivity due to just wanting to write with everybody. so i will not be doing exclusives unless it is discussed between me and a mun. affiliates and mains, i consider it the buddy system. BANNED FCS: the ones who have asked not to be written, serious criminal charges, youtubers, ect. to name a few: amber heard, logan paul, lea michele, ect. if you have any questions, just let me know!

where else to find me :

@snnydcys , @greatcstarcher

credits :

psd  : jaynedits gifs  :  @harlivycommissions  ,    @boyiega  ,  @injungifs  ,  @zvlda  ,  @corneliagifs , @lunaspacks

[snnynaturalarchive]

SNNYNATURAL :  independent semi to highly active blog of disney channel’s sonny with a chance’s  allison jade “sonny” munroe. this blog revolves around sonny's supernatural verse that has nothing to do with her canon verse. sideblog to @snnydcys. loved and cherished by lumi ( 26+ , pst/cst , she/her ). 

reason for blog : sonny's supernatural verse has been becoming a persona of her own, so i decided to make her own little space for this universe.

guest muses : sofia ortiz jessica alba ( cousin ) , camila alvarez lindsey morgan ( distant cousin )

READ BELOW FOR VERSES & GUIDELINES . . .

CONNECTION TO DEAN & SAM: just for anyone who is curious for plotting purposes, sonny is not connected to any of the winchesters (unless plotted with whoever i'm writing with). i left it completely open because i wouldn't want to force anything on anyone and would love to leave room for all types of connections. sonny and her family are their own hunters and own their own roadhouse/safehouse. if anything, the only canon connection i would have is that they would drop by if there was a hunt nearby.

main verse: sonny is the daughter of hunters. they tried their very best to keep this life hidden from her, until one hunt they used sonny as bait and she was thrown into the life. her family created a roadhouse/safe house, munroe's safehouse, for all other hunters to come when in need of refuge or a place to relax before going off. think of it as a bar in the main space and then rooms down the hall. kind of like a free motel for hunters of some sorts. sonny dedicates her time aiding hunters, patching them up, and giving them the happiness that they need. even if it's temporary. her main goal is to bring back joy and comfort that they may have lost during a hunt.

now, she doesn't go on hunts herself. her main place is at the safehouse. which was also pretty much her home since she lived upstairs. however, whenever the time comes, sonny will find herself on a hunt from time to time.

apocalypse world verse: the world where sam and dean were never born and the angels took over. both of sonny's parents died in their hunt. leaving sonny all alone. part of the resistance against michael and the angels. in this universe, she stopped going by sonny when her parents died and only goes by her government name, allison. she's the opposite of sunshine in this universe. she sees the world as dark and cold. not being the light that people needed in worst of times.

demon verse: very much like her main verse, she is the daughter of hunters and they own a roadhouse/safe house and she works there aiding hunters. one day, her fiance was in trouble. a little backstory, the two met on a hunt. she saved his life from a very angry spirit and the two have clicked and gotten together and been together since. now he was being tortured by other demons. she didn't know why nor did she care, but she just knew she had to go save him. but her parents wouldn't let her go, instead, they went to go save him themselves. she waited for days only to find out that her parents were now in danger. she was visited by a demon as if it was a little fun game for them. letting sonny know that there was no way of saving them. so she found herself running off and summoning a crossroads demon. selling her soul to save their lives. it worked, however... she was only given three days so she had to say her goodbyes.

the moment she was dragged to hell, she was tortured. they wanted to break her fighting and kind spirit. sonny tried to hold onto hope. but her torturer was determined to break sonny's pure soul. so what did they do? they showed the truth of what her fiance was like. showing that he's been cheating on her. talking negatively about her. talking about everything she's insecure about. not only was this the right button to press, but sonny snapped. she was angry. now only did she sell her soul to save him, but he put her parents in danger. sonny grew incredibly angry and actually killed her torturer. and by this action alone, she was allowed to become a demon.

hesitant at first, every part of her didn't want to. but with all the torture and finding out the truth, she agreed. the last kindness in her heart didn't let her possess an innocent. instead, she reclaimed her body. and her first job as a demon? killing her ex fiance. and sadly.... that was an easy job and it erased all the purity she had left.

she would visit her parents from time to time to see how they're doing. but never getting close. now, she walks and lives amongst the demons.

GUIDELINES

BE KIND AND RESPECTFUL: i do not want any ooc drama at any time. this is a safe space just to write and have some fun. if there is any problem, i am always open to chat. AGE: i am 26+ years old and am only comfortable writing with muns AND muses that are 18+, so please be respectful of that. // i will be writing sonny between the ages of 22-38, depending on the thread. DO NOT RUSH: there are days where i just don’t have the energy to write, so please be respectful of that. and you don’t have to worry about rushing either! take your time. this is a hobby! TRIGGER WARNINGS: so since dark subjects might come up, they will be tagged accordingly! smut will be tagged. but i will absolutely NOT write any of the following - eating disorders (my trigger), clowns (my phobia), large age gaps, incest (including step siblings/step parents), rape, any form of abuse, ect. SHIPPING: this is a multi ship blog so no ships will intersect with each other unless plotted. i also will not and do not accept force ship. this is all based off of chemistry. i also don't just ship, i welcome all platonic, familial, enemy things! sonny is also fluid. BANNED FCS: the ones who have asked not to be written, serious criminal charges, youtubers, ect. to name a few: amber heard, logan paul, lea michele, ect. if you have any questions, just let me know!

WHERE ELSE TO FIND ME?: @snnydcys (main blog) , @mommydcys (nsfw blog) , @antiqsvchotic , @greatcstarcher , @havntedbase

psd credit : jaynedits gif credits : @harlivycommissions , @boyiega , @injungifs , @zvlda , @corneliagifs

[thecursedhellblazer-arc]

A Dream within a Dream

Starter for @awaywardboy-andhisangel​​

Gods, if there was something he still hadn’t got used to was how vast the States were. Even after all the years he had been living in the country, at times he still found himself appalled by how long the ride from one place to another took him. The trips he used to do when he had still been living in the UK were nothing in comparison. A fun, relaxing outing in the countryside. He missed London, his old habits, some parts of his old routine. There were reasons why he had chosen to leave, though, and they were still standing. Which meant, among the other things, that there was no going back.

John turned his eyes on the landscape that was running outside the window of the cab, catching the sight of a signpost carrying the city’s name. Santa Fe, New Mexico. Over twenty hours of driving and changing transports from where Constantine’s place was, near Atlanta. If he didn’t get to work and gain another big win, his wallet would have very soon gone on strike, that was a fatal certainty. He had been meaning to stop by New York that weekend and gamble his way inside a certain establishment, but the phone call he had received had forced him to change his plans. Usually, he never dropped his business and left just because someone asked for his help, but what he had been told had been enough to spark his interest and make him look into the case. And, from what he had found, he could tell that it was bad. And quite urgent too.

His hands slowly balled up into fists. The body count was still low, all considered, but the people involved were already too many. And some of them were kids. The mere awareness was enough to bring back memories he was never drunk enough to face and he would have never forgiven himself if he had...

“Hey, pal. We’re here. That’s the address,” the taxi driver’s voice cut through the trail of his thoughts, snapping him back to the presence and causing him to realise that the vehicle had stopped right in front of one of the visibly cheap motels in the suburbs of the city. Christ, he hadn’t even started and his head was already a mess.

Get it together, old son.

“Ta, mate,” he hurried to reply, fishing for his wallet so he could pay the driver’s fee, his other arm already reaching out for his bag. “Keep th’ change. ‘S not much, but I ‘ad yeh take quite th’ drive today, so...Consider it me thanks for tha’ too, aye?”

The man offered him a non-committal shrug, but accepted the money without hesitation, before wishing him a good day and driving off as soon as John had got off, leaving the Brit standing at the edge of the courtyard around which the motel rooms were set.

A quick glance around the place, a moment to check the piece of paper where he had marked down the directions, another to fix his sunglasses and lighting up a cigarette, and then he stuffed his hands in his pockets and marched towards room 23, on the opposite side of the yard.

The Winchester brothers, he thought with a huff. It was odd that he had never crossed paths with them before considering that they seemed to dabble with some of the worst sides of the supernatural world, just as he did. Though, Fate seemed to have wanted to keep them in different corners...until that moment. It made him wonder if he should have taken it as a bad omen, all considered.

He rattled his knuckles on the door of the room and then he pushed it open without waiting for an answer, the fact that it was supposed to be locked up be damned. A magic trick here and there allowed you to save some time.

Whatever was going on inside the room till a moment before instantly stopped as he stepped inside, but John’s attention instantly focused on the freshly opened bottles of beers that both hunters were holding. Hell yeah. That was exactly what he needed.

“Bloody lifesa’ers,” he commented, before stealing the drink out of the taller between the two man, for the mere reason that he was the closest. Hard to say if the comment was directed to the two brothers or to the beer. “Me last drink was before I left to come ‘ere n’ th’ fuckin’ trip took bloody ages. Bloody States. I waste more times goin’ ‘round th’ country than gettin’ me shite done, yeh know?”

He shook his head and took one long gulp from the bottle. “John Constantine, by th’ way. We talked on th’ phone two days ago, aye?”

Sam stared at his former beer for a moment, still a bit stunned by the blond’s sudden appearance, and then turned to glance at Dean. They had been sort of warned off about the Brit, but he hadn’t known what to expect. And, now that he had seen him, he knew even less. And with that thick accent he was having some issues catching everything the other was saying.

“Ah, you’re welcome...for the drink,” he settled to say, hoping that his brother wouldn’t have thrown a fit already. He cleared his throat. “I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean. Thanks for coming with such short notice.”

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2021 | Day 22: Meet Cute

Trick Or Oh No, Please Don't Cry | @deansmultitudes

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1,360 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Dad!Castiel, Halloween, Fluff Summary: Dean expected the Halloween night, spent on giving out candy, to be rather uneventful. And it was, at least, until the tiny disaster happened.

Losing A Few Teeth | @vampamber

Rating: General Word Count: 1,481 Main Tags/Warnings: dentist office, high on nitrous oxide Dean, drunken marriage proposal, first meetings Summary: Dean probably should’ve had his wisdom teeth removed ages ago, but he's never been fond of doctors of any sort, and that included dentists as far as he's concerned. But when he wakes up from getting them removed, the nitrous oxide makes him a bit drunker than expected. Proposing marriage to the hot nurse with the ungodly amazing blue eyes level drunk, apparently.

irresistible | @kitmistry

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 1,529 Main Tags/Warnings: Top Castiel, Bottom Dean, Porn with Plot, Strangers to Lovers, Celebrity Castiel Summary: Well, hello there, Mr. Dark-and-Handsome. Dean can spy what is surely a demi-god, talking with a few ladies across the room. The ladies all coo, and blush, and cling to him with adoration written into every curve of their shapely bodies. The demi-god, though, is cool and aloof. He smiles politely at them, but doesn’t single any of them out. Doesn’t even really look like he’s paying that much attention to them, actually. His strikingly blue eyes scan the room every now and then, without focusing on any person or art piece in particular. The demi-god turns his face so he’s looking somewhere to Dean’s left, and holy. fucking. shit. That’s Castiel Novak! The movie star!

My Honey Bee | @vampamber

Rating: General Word Count: 1,774 Main Tags/Warnings: ABO, alpha Dean, omega Cas, true mates, scenting, first meetings Summary: Rolling his eyes as Sam excitedly made his way to a booth selling what looked like weeds as far as the alpha was concerned, Dean started wandering in the opposite direction. Wrinkling his nose in horror at an older lady selling hideous crafts made out of freaking corn husks (do people even buy crap like that?), he was suddenly hit by the most delicious scent ever. He knew he recognized it from somewhere, but he just couldn’t place it. It was sweet and thick, and even had him drooling a little from how good it smelled.

To All The Places I've Never Been | @vampamber

Rating: General Word Count: 2,814 Main Tags/Warnings: first meetings, barista Cas, pilot Dean, referenced Sam/Eileen Summary: Castiel has always wished that he could travel the world and see all the beauty and adventure awaiting him. Working at Starbucks for minimum wage, though, usually makes travel like that way too expensive and impossible. And working at said Starbucks in an airport only adds insult to injury. Maybe the cute green-eyed pilot that just ordered some coffee can sweep him away from here?

The Fortune Teller | @expectingtofly

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,038 Main Tags/Warnings: Fortune Teller!Cas, Eileen/Sam, Normal Life AU, Beach Vacation, Fluff, Inspired by the song "Fortune Teller" by Robert Plant and Allison Krauss Summary: Dean doesn't trust any of this hippy bullshit—as he likes to call it. But he's at the beach on vacation with Sam and Eileen and they've dragged him to a fortune teller, so he reluctantly follows. Cue an attractive, charming fortune teller and a palm reading Dean wants to dismiss, but can't seem to shake.

Winchester's Haunted House | @deansmultitudes & @kitmistry

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 3,417 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Past Character Death, Ghost!Cas, Halloween, Haunted House Summary: For the Halloween evening, Dean turns his new home into a haunted house for neighboring kids. But once all the guests are gone, is when the real haunting begins.

Heat powered by you | @Mistofstars

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,177 Main Tags/Warnings: Destiel, cold winter night, holding hands for warmth, first encounter, Fluffy, Romance, duracell campaign Summary: Just two strangers in a cold winter night, who have both missed the last bus home. Luckily, there is a bus shelter that provides warmth – as long as you hold hands to close the electric circuit. Too bad that Castiel appears pretty infuriating to Dean. Or is it something else? P Inspired by the Duracell campaign "Moments of Warmth".

The Christmas Market | @gii-heylittleangel

Rating: General Word Count: 4,377 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fic, First Meet, Meet Cute Summary: Being alone in a country he didn't know was never Dean's plan. Still, he tried to make the best out of it and, in the end, he thinks he really did.

Muse | @twisted-pride

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,605 Main Tags/Warnings: temporary character death, implied/referenced character death Summary: His life is but flashes Castiel has remembered from dreams, recreated in monochrome, if only so that Cas could prove this man wasn’t made up. After all, he’s certain he’s alive, that he’s someone out there that Cas just can’t get out of his head: he’s stuck with Cas too long to be fictional. And yet -- and it sounds silly in Cas’ head -- he’s never met the man. Someone he has drawn and painted for at least a decade, one that’s haunted his dreams even longer, and he didn’t even know his name. --- Ever since he was young, Cas has been haunted by this phantom of a man, both in his dreams and in the real world. No matter what Cas does, where he goes, the man is there too. In every mirror, every reflection, in puddles and car windows and the faintest reflection of Cas in the metal pitcher at restaurants. He's certain the man isn't the result of an overactive imagination or a ghost with unfinished business, but if he really is experiencing someone else's dreams, why is it only this stranger that Cas sees in his dreams and no one else? [Prophet AU]

This Charming Man | @expectingtofly

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 4,993 Main Tags/Warnings: College AU, Fluff, First Kiss, Inspired by the song "This Charming Man" by The Smiths Summary: Castiel is not having a good night. He was on a bike ride, until some asshole nearly hit him with his car, sending Cas veering onto the shoulder. Now he has a flat tire and has to walk his bike back to his college dorm. And, it looks like it's about to rain. Then said asshole returns, apologizing and offering to give Cas a drive. Sure, he's attractive and Cas' own age, but he could also be a serial killer for all Cas knows. Either this night is looking up or it's gonna get a whole lot worse.

Splash | @notfunnydean

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,132 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean wears a bikini, Genderfluid Dean Winchester, Feminization, HHomophobic Language, genderphobia, lifeguard!cas, First Time, First Kiss, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting Summary: Dean is an idiot. Since it’s hot outside and Sammy wants a break from his studies, they decide to check out the local pool. Feeling brave Dean decides to finally be himself for once. Will he regret that?

A New Perspective | @kingdumbass

Rating: Mature Word Count: 5,471 Main Tags/Warnings: First Date, Meet Cute, Blind Date, Artist Cas, Language Summary: A recently dumped Dean is begrudgingly dragged off of his couch by his brother Sam to attend an art show. As it turns out, getting off the couch can be a good thing sometimes.

The Samhain Feast | @deansmultitudes & @kitmistry

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5,840 Main Tags/Warnings: Magic AU,Wich!Dean/Familiar!Cas, Animal Sacrifice Summary: The end of the harvest. The one day the veil between our world and the otherworld is thinnest. The day when a witch coming of age can try summoning and binding a familiar. The Samhain Feast is a tradition so ancient, no one remembers how it started. Dean has attended every single one of them since he was old enough to walk, watching witches meeting their familiars and bonding with them. This year, it's his turn to make an offering. And hope one of the familiars chooses him.

Dear Santa | @imbiowaresbitch

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5,854 Main Tags/Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Top Castiel/bottom Dean Winchester, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Rimming, Anal Sex, Happy Ending, kinda a christmas fic Summary: Castiel takes his 8-year-old son Jack to the mall, where Jack decides he HAS to speak to Santa. Cas is glad he did.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Paradise Found

Author: whiskygalore

Artist: Eliza_Avalo

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean/Cas, briefly mentioned past: Dean/Lee, Dean/Carmen, and Dean/Cassie

Length: 28000

Warnings: No major archive warnings

Tags: Omega Dean, Alpha Cas, humor, misunderstandings, fluff.

Posting Date: November 12, 2021

Summary: Paradise Found: a secluded resort for single alphas and omegas searching for that special someone. A tranquil romantic setting where connections can be made and true love can blossom. Dean isn’t looking for that special anyone. He’s sworn off relationships since he found his girlfriend riding an alpha in their bed. But he can hardly say no when Sam ambushes him and sends him off on an all-inclusive, fully-paid vacation. Though he kind of wishes he had when he discovers the dumb activities he’s expected to take part in, (kayaking he’ll try, line-dancing is a hard no) and the fugly shorts Sam packed for him. At least there’s a pretty waiter he can ogle while he tries to find an alpha he doesn’t want to punch in the face.  Cas is helping out at his family’s resort while he tries to find inspiration for his next trashy romantic novel. Between attempting to kickstart his muse, covering for the mono-plagued waitstaff, and ensuring his brother doesn’t kill their increasingly dithering father, he has his hands full. Then he meets the green-eyed, foul-mouthed, plaid-wearing omega of his dreams. It’s love at first sight. Unfortunately, Dean doesn’t seem to realise it.

Excerpt: Standing over their father’s desk, Gabriel glances up from the paperwork he’s probably not supposed to be rifling through.  “You what now? I think I misheard.” “I found my soulmate. Outside. By the pool.” A surprised burst of laughter erupts from Gabe. It takes a second for him to sober before he sits down on their father’s chair and gawks. “You’re kidding, right? I mean you’re not exactly known for your sense of humour, but you’re joking. You’ve got to be.” Cas sighs, and doesn’t even try to keep the dreamy smile off his face.  “Crap,” says Gabe. “You’re not joking. I’ve never seen that weird smile on your face before. Like ever. It’s kind of creepy.” “Shut up, Gabriel.” Even Cas’ admonishment doesn’t carry the same heat as usual.  “Well, fuck me sideways with a pool cue. Some skanky O finally won over my baby bro’s heart. Never thought I’d see the day. They are an O? You’re not gonna give the ‘rents a joint coronary by mating another alpha, right?” “Dean isn’t a skank,” Cas snaps. “And I don’t care what designation he is. But...he’s far too pretty to be an alpha.” Gabe smirks. “Dean, huh? Oh, Dean Winchester? Checked in a couple of hours ago? Totally weather inappropriate flannel shirt, jeans and dirty boots? Oh, he’s totally an omega. He wasn’t radiating the usual desperately-seeking a mate vibe most of our guests have, I’ll give you that. And I guess he’s pretty if you’re into that kind of thing. Bit too pale and grumpy looking for my tastes.” “He’s beautiful,” Cas corrects, eyes narrowing. “He has freckles. And bow lips. And eyes the colour of… the colour of… summer grass shining with morning dew.” Cas would cringe at his own words if they weren’t entirely true. No, okay, he’s still cringing. Finding your future mate isn’t an excuse to indulge in purple prose. Gabe makes a gagging noise and mimes puking into the wastebasket. “Oooo-kay then, bro. Well, the nerdy heart wants what the nerdy heart wants, I guess. So, did you sweep the grass-eyed love of your life off his feet?” “Not… exactly,” Cas admits. “He told me he wasn’t a fan of my turgid member.”

DCBB 2021 Posting Schedule

[unscrxpted]

For: @fxirytxlcfxtc

Muses: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Guests: Bobby Singer

"No, I'm not going crazy, yes, the nightmares have stopped, yes, Nova is keeping an eye on me," Sam sighed into his phone, rubbing his forehead. "Bobby, I'm fine. It's been four months. That's more than twice as long than we let ourselves grieve over Dad. I'm fine." He rolled his eyes and glanced over at Nova, shaking his head. "I gotta go. I have to check in with Melinda and Sylvia before they kill me."

He quickly hung up and put the phone down. He'd already called the girls to check in, he just wanted Bobby to stop treating him like a child. Sighing heavily, he rubbed his eyes. "At this rate I'm gonna be putting whiskey in my coffee."

[marril96]

Out of the Woods

Chapter 2: Gone Girl

Characters: reader, Sam, Dean

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: An explosive argument leads to you running away and puts Rowena in danger.

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian​

*****

It was dark by the time you arrived at the cheap hotel (because of course it was cheap. The Winchesters' favorite flavor) Sam and Dean had booked adjoined rooms in for the four of you. The door creaked as you opened it, the knob wobbly in your hand; you had to lock it in order for the door to stay closed. The air was stale, reeking of dampness and cigarettes countless guests before you had to have smoked inside. The wallpapers, a sickly, mustard yellow, were ripped and peeling in places.

You hated this place. It only made you angrier at the Winchesters. At Rowena, for dragging you into this. At yourself, for letting her do it.

"You guys made up?" Dean asked. He and Sam were on the couch, a tiny thing that barely contained the two of them, looking over, for what must have been the hundredth time, crime scene photos on their laptop. Desperately looking for clues, for the smallest details they might have missed.

You gave a bitter chuckle. "As if." Not that it was any of their business, but it didn't hurt to indulge them. After all, you'd fought right in front of their eyes.

It was — sort of — their fault, but still.

"Got into another fight?"

Why did he care? If you and Rowena's relationship was so important to him, he and his brother wouldn't call all the time begging for help.

Some hunters they were.

"Why, she send me shit? I had my phone turned off," you said. It wasn't like Rowena to send nasty messages (she preferred to fight face to face), but it wasn't every day the two of you screeched in each other's face like banshees. Which was exactly why you'd turned off your phone.

That, and you didn't want the brothers spamming you with messages to come back and inquiries if you were okay, like they tended to do when ignored.

Dean looked back at you. Narrowed his eyes in question. Sam followed suit, expression questioning, hopeful.

A lump popped in your throat. Your heart jumped, startled. Those were not the faces of men curious about their friends' (well, sort of friends, in your case, at least) relationship.

"You didn't get here together?" Sam asked. Was that concern in his voice? Fear?

You almost — almost — didn't want to respond. "Why would we? I meant it when I said I couldn't be around her. I needed some me time."

The brothers exchanged one of those glances that spoke more than a thousand words.

Lips trembling, you uttered, "Isn't she here?" In the other room. Flipping through one of her enormous spellbooks. Making hex bags she never used. Sulking like she usually did after a fight.

"She… well…" Sam trailed off, eyes avoiding yours that tried to make contact.

"What?" you demanded. Ordered. Not in the mood for stalling.

He cleared his throat. "She went after you."

"Wha-she what?" It came out as a yelp; a squeaky, pathetic little yelp that would be embarrassing any other time.

But not today. Not now.

Sam was surely mistaken. Rowena hadn't gone after you. She couldn't have. You would have seen her. Heard her. Sensed her the way you always did when she was near, her magic radiating with the force of a thousand suns, rubbing off of yours, melting into it. You wouldn't — couldn't — have missed her.

"She said it was dangerous to be alone in those woods with the maniac we're hunting around," Dean said.

She didn't. She absolutely did not. She wasn't that stupid.

Only, she was. Because, no matter how mad she was, how impossibly livid, she would never let you get hurt.

As much as it pained her to admit it, as hard as she'd sworn against it, Rowena MacLeod was a lovesick fool.

"And you — what? You just let her go?" you spat, filth and venom rolling off your tongue.

"She said she'd be fine," Dean said defensively.

Of course she did. Rowena always said she was fine. Like when she woke up covered in sweat, or wept for no apparent reason, or stiffened at random, eyes blurry with tears. She didn't have PTSD. She was fine. Everything was fine.

She never quite came to terms with it, and you doubted she ever would. It was easier to pretend everything was okay, to put on a smile and play a happy role. It was easier to shove issues aside and refuse to acknowledge them. Doing otherwise would be admitting defeat. It would mean she wasn't in control. That her life, her body, her mind and soul, weren't under her command.

The mere thought of that scared the hell out of her — even more so than the nightmares of Lucifer.

"Does it look like she's fine?" you snapped, and instantly flared with guilt. It wasn't Dean's fault Rowena had gone off on her own. If he and Sam were to have attempted to stop her, chances were, they wouldn't have been successful. Your girl was stubborn. Headstrong. Independent. What she wanted, she did. What she needed, she took.

If anyone should be shouldering the blame, it was you. You with your stupid tantrums. With your whining and complaints, incessant, annoying, ridiculous. With your desires to protect her, which did nothing but put her into even more danger.

If something bad had happened to Rowena, it would be your fault.

"I'm sure she's fine," Sam said before Dean could utter a retort — sassy, no doubt. "Why don't you call her?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Okay," you said with a nod, instantly grabbing for your phone and tapping in the number you knew by heart. You would call her, and she would pick up, and the two of you would scream at each other again, and everything would be as it should.

It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four, five, six, and so on. Each ring made your heart jump higher, made it pound harder against your chest. A hammer devastating you from the inside, one slam at the time.

You hung up the call and called again. And again. And again. Nothing awaited you on the other line — nothing but the beeps as the seconds went on, long as hours, grim as the night that had befallen this small town.

"She's not picking up!" You couldn't keep the hysteria out of your voice. "She's not-I don't-I can't—"

"Maybe she's still mad at you," Dean offered. He didn't really believe it, it was clear as day, but he wanted to help. He wanted you to calm down. "You know what she's like. The woman holds a mean grudge."

"Right," Sam agreed. "Why don't-why don't I call her?"

"Well, go on, then!" you snapped.

Maybe the elder Winchester was right. Maybe she was still mad. Maybe she didn't want to talk to you out of principle, wanted to punish you for running off like a headless chicken. She did have a tendency to hold a grudge.

As did you. But, as angry as you were, you couldn't help the worry that crawled into your heart, nested in it, roiled and coiled like a parasite.

Silence settled as Sam pressed his phone to his ear. Seconds passed, horribly long. He swallowed a lump in his throat. His jaw tensed. Teeth grit tight.

"Nothing."

That one word — so simple, so lonely — was enough to throw you into hysterics. Your heart race. Hands trembled. Tears spilled down, drenched your face like a waterfall. For the second time today, you started sobbing so hard your throat hurt.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Sam said, laying a hand on your shoulder.

You shook it off. This was his fault. His and Dean's. If they hadn't begged for her help, none of this would have happened. You and Rowena would have been chilling at home, wrapped in a blanket, watching a shitty movie that she would trash and you would defend just to tease her. She would complain about being cold, and you would snuggle closer and wrap your arms around her — purposely tight so she would complain, and you would pretend you didn't know what she was talking about, and she would pout, and you would call her adorable, and she would deny it, and you would kiss, and the movie would be forgotten as the two of you got lost in each other.

But no — the Winchesters couldn't resist a chance to drag her into yet another of their messes. And then you walked away like a spoiled brat, and she went after you.

And now she was gone.

Because of them. Because of you.

"We can track her phone," Sam offered.

"Yeah, track her phone," Dean said in agreement, offering an encouraging smile.

You didn't return it.

Sam grabbed his tablet and started typing. "Let's see," he mused, eyes glued to the screen. A moment passed, then, "Got it!"

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve. "Where is she?"

"In the forest." He squinted. Frowned. "Deep in the forest."

"Maybe she got lost," Dean said.

Right. It was a possibility. Rowena was a proud creature. If she got lost, the chances were, she wanted to find the way out on her own. Calling for help would be beneath her.

Maybe that was why she wasn't picking up the phone. She didn't want to admit that she was lost.

"Let's go," Sam said.

The brothers quickly grabbed their necessities — phones, the tablet, weapons. Dean offered you a gun.

You raised an eyebrow.

"For protection."

You willed your eyes to spark purple, just like Rowena had taught you. A display of power. A warning. A threat. "I've got my own."

"Suit yourself." He shoved it into his jacket pocket.

The forest was creepy at night. There were no chirping birds, no crickets, not even a rustle of movement — nothing but silence that gnawed at you, chilled your bones like a winter's morning. Sam led the way, following the red dot on his screen. Rowena's phone. Rowena. Hopefully waiting, ready to bitch you out the moment she laid eyes on you.

It would be worth it. Anything would be worth it, so long as you found her.

"We're almost there," Sam said.

Good. You were already preparing a lecture. You'd said you wanted to be alone, which was not an invitation for her to follow after you. Instead of giving you space, she'd gotten lost. Like a brat. That was sure to push her buttons, and she would say something equally rude, and you would fight all the way to the hotel, and then you would make up by morning, and tomorrow it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

That was the thing with you and Rowena — your arguments didn't last long. Not even rare big ones like this. You loved each other too much to stay mad for long.

"We're here," Sam announced, shaking you from your thoughts.

You frowned. Shined your flashlight as you looked around.

No Rowena. Nothing but overgrown grass and sickly trees.

Willing your trembling lips to steady, you said, "What do you mean, we're here?"

"The app says we are."

"The app is wrong!"

"It's usually accurate."

"Clearly not this time!" You spread your arms wide, gesturing to nothingness. "You see Rowena anywhere?"

"Maybe she's hiding."

"In plain sight? She's tiny, not invisible!"

"She could be using magic."

"I don't feel any magic."

"Maybe—"

"Guys!" Dean shouted, breaking up the exchange. "Check this out." He was hunched over a patch of grass by one of the trees, shining his flashlight directly into it.

You and Sam rushed to his side. Looked down. Blood froze in your veins at the discovery.

A phone laid amidst the yellowish blades of grass, speckled with dirt and grime. Alone. Abandoned. The screen shattered like a mirror.

Rowena's phone.

A reddish-brown stain stood out amidst the dirt. Blood, dry but still vivid, still bright under the light.

You gasped. Stumbled backwards, knees wobbly, weak. A helpless, banshee-like wail tore from your throat, and you fell to your knees.

And you cried and cried and cried, the only animal daring to make a sound in this dead, dead forest.

*****

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[kyber-kisses]

Beautiful Loser

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst. (It’s mostly fluff)

Summary: So- Dean may or may not be in love with his best friend. But is he really okay just staying friends?

words: 1,734

A/N: I wrote this for @jawritter​s 500 follower challenge, using Bob Segers Beautiful Loser as my prompt. It took me a few tries but i eventually pulled together this piece. Hope y'all enjoy!

Dean was happy. For the first time in weeks he was totally relaxed and happy. It had become almost like a tradition that every month or so you and him would take a case just the two of you. It was strictly a no Sam event, the younger Winchester honoring your tradition by staying back at the bunker.  He knew how much Dean valued his friendship with you and was always glad to withdrawal from a few hunts every once and awhile.

And that was a whole other thing. Dean and Y/N. Best friends since childhood- at least it was like that until something shifted. . .

Dean didn’t know when it first began. Maybe it was when people began coming up to you and flirting when he was around, or maybe it was when you moved into the bunker. All he knew was that he had somehow, idiotically gone and fallen in love with his best friend. Maybe it was his sudden jealously that clued him in on his feelings, he didn’t know.

And maybe he should have seen it coming. You had been a part of his life for so long that maybe it was just bound to happen? And with all the similarities you had to him, it was almost like you were molded and created by God to be his friend. From your love of extra onions on your cheeseburgers to the way you hummed rock classics when you were deep in thought, you were just. . . everything Dean could have ever wished for. Your dumb jokes could rival his own, and though he would never admit it out loud; you were almost a better hunter than he was.

The whole situation had him thinking back to that conversation Sam had with him a few months back, about if he ever thought about settling down with someone who knew the life. He had tossed the idea aside like it was a candy wrapper- but not before an image of you had popped up in his head. It had only been for a millisecond, but it had happened. After that it was like he wouldn’t let himself forget it. In truth, who better to fall in love with than you?

But he knew he couldn’t have that. It wasn’t in the books for him, plus- he couldn’t have it all. He was a hunter, he took what he could get and was grateful. If that meant staying as your best friend then so be it.

“Dean? DEAN!” you snapped your fingers again, this time successfully pulling the hunter from his thoughts.

“What?”

“You were totally in the zone. I’ve been trying to talk to you for the past two minutes.”

“I was thinking. Sue me.”

The two of you sat perched on the hood of the impala, a quart of peanut butter and chocolate ice cream balanced between you. It was somewhat of a tradition that after a hunt the two of you took the longer route home, bought a carton of ice cream from the nearest gas station and parked Baby out in the middle of nowhere. You would take the worn leather seats of the impala over a sketchy motel mattress any day. Here it was quieter. Here you really just got to be with Dean.

“Thinking about what?” Folding your legs together you passed the container over to the hunter, watching as he picked at the ice cream with the flimsy plastic spoon.

“The time I pushed you into that motel pool.” He lied, opting to feed you a believable answer in hopes of you backing off and taking the bait.

“Hey, if I remember correctly I pulled you in with me before you could get away.” You grinned, tapping him with your spoon. “You looked like a drowned rat.”

“No better than you looked.” his comment earning him a swat on the head before his own smile tugged at his lips as he turned his gaze from the slowly melting ice cream to you. Both your smiles growing as you tried to suppress you laughter right along with Dean. What began as just a hiccup of a laugh quickly gave way to the full bellied laughter as the two of you thought back to the memory. Those were the times he really cherished, when the two of you could simply goof off in peace.

“But seriously-“ your laughter died down, eyes still crinkled as you looked over at him. “What were you thinking about?”

His own laughter slowly puttered out as his eyes went back towards anything other than you. Everything in him wanted to blurt it out. Tell you how he really felt- but he locked it down. No. He was okay with just being friends and beyond that he knew you only saw him as that. just friends. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’ve been thinking about- what I want.” The words felt heavy on his tongue. He could give you the bare minimum of information, steer you off course.

“Oh? We about to go deep then?” You mused, taking the container of ice cream back and shoving your spoon into it. “Do I need to break out my bottle of very special bourbon?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t be against it.”

And before he could stop you, you were sliding off the hood of his precious Baby and ducking into the open passenger window. He expected for you to simply pop back up with your prized bottle of Wood-ford reserve Kentucky bourbon, but instead you also decided to crank up the radio, Bob Segers voice flowing freely from the open windows of the vehicle.

Rounding the hood once more, you held up the bottle, Deans hand reaching out for it only for you to snatch it back. “Ah, ah, ah. You wanna drink, you gotta pay up.”

The hunter let out a groan, head falling back. He should have known you would pull something like this. This was your way of getting his guard down and really opening him up. And it worked. Every. Single. Time.

“Y/N, no. I don’t wanna.” He whined, trying to ignore the massive grin on your face as you playfully danced towards him to the tune flowing out of the car. “Please don’t make me sing.”

But at this point you were past bargaining with, singing into the bottle like it was a microphone.

“Beautiful loser, where you gonna fall?

You realize you just can't have it all.”

It was almost ironic, you standing there singing the lyrics to a song that hit way too close to home. It was like the universe was out to get him- or maybe it was Chuck. And then you were suddenly yanking him forward to dance with you, slinging the arm with the bottle around his shoulder as you moved to the tune of the upbeat song, continuing to belt out the lyrics and earning a warm and amused smile from the Winchester.

“He's your oldest and your best friend

If you need him, he'll be there again

He's always willing to be second best

A perfect lodger, a perfect guest

Beautiful loser, read it on the wall

And realize, you just can't have it all

You can't have it all, you can't have it all

Oh, oh, can't have it all.”

He wasn’t a dancer. But here you were, whirling him around with you and he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. He loved being this close to you and you looked so incredibly happy. It was infectious to the point of which he found himself singing along with you. You were successfully pulling down his walls one by one and weaseling your way further into his heart. As the music faded into its instrumental portion, you slowed down, eyes still bright as you looked at him.

“Can I tell you something, Dean Winchester?” You swallowed, panting on the humid summer air, almost like you were drunk on it. “If you want something, reach out and grab it. Don’t let anything slow you down.”

It was like he buffered. His steps faltered and his eyebrows knitted together momentarily before he gave you another soft smile. “What if I can’t? What if it’s out of my reach?”

“You don’t know until you try. Maybe if you told me what it is you want I can help you reach out for it. You deserve everything good in this life.-“

but you never got the chance to finish before Dean had two calloused hands on your face and was pulling your lips to his. And just like that it was like every synapses in your brain shorted out. It took a second before you were kissing him back, wrapping your arms around him despite your shock. You did tell him to reach out and grab what he wanted.

You just never expected that to be you.

“I’m sorry-“ he quickly pulled away, suddenly realizing what he had just done, almost entirely oblivious to the fact that you had had your arms around him. “I shouldn’t have done th-“

“Hey, beautiful loser. Stop apologizing.” You quickly shut him up, because this time it was your turn to reach out a grab what you wanted. Pulling him back to your lips, you successfully made the hunter freeze. And just like the peanut butter ice cream still balanced on the hood, you could practically feel him melting into you. Between the upbeat piano music in the background and the fierceness of the kisses it felt like the two of you had stepped into the happy ending of a movie, your silhouettes dancing against the orange setting sun. When you pulled away, you were met with a gaze that made your bones feel like jello, the older Winchester looking at you as if you were some miracle sent from the heavens.

“You told me if I wanted something, I should reach out a grab it.”

“So I did. And I did exactly the same.”

“So you did.” And then he was snaking his arm around you, pulling you in, and pressing his lips against yours once more. He never would have believed you felt the same before this moment,and  as he stood there, gazing at you and the almost golden trim the setting sun had given you he realized something else: That just maybe, he could have it all.

The End.

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[javocjovian]

The Fall - PB Gift Exchange 2021

Happy Exchange, @aquatigermice​ !

This year’s prompt for the Profound Bond Gift Exchange was Reunion. I wanted to redo the demon cure scene from Soul Survivor and the confession scene from Despair, so I rewrote them together! I hope you like it :)

Title: The Fall Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29408607 Ship: Destiel Rating: M Word Count: 3608 Tags: Canon Divergence, Demon Dean, Demon Cure, Blood Injections and Needles, Demon Dean is an asshole, Castiel is low on grace, Love Confessions, Angst, Happy Ending Summary: An alternate take on how demon Dean was cured. In this version, Crowley didn't step in to help Castiel and he arrived at the bunker with barely any grace left. Still, he and Sam manage to subdue Dean and they resume the cure, this time with Castiel making a life-changing decision to save Dean's humanity.

Beta-ed by the awesome Inlovewithsaturn!

Sam Winchester stood stationary in the bunker’s hallway. The dull, yellow glow of the light above him highlighted the unkempt state of his hair as she stood, his head bowed. His arm was in a sling, and his free hand was rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted, yet the dull ache in his arm and the pounding in his head was nothing compared to the burning in his chest. He inhaled deeply. It was only when the sound of footsteps echoed down the hall that he forced himself to look up.

“Sam?” Castiel appeared around the corner.

“Hey, Cas.” Sam put on an alert face. “I’m just, uh…” he started, but one look at Castiel told him he didn’t need to explain himself.

Castiel looked as weary as Sam felt. His haggard and half-unbuttoned dress shirt spoke more to this than the shadows under his eyes or his ruffled hair. He looked oddly small without his coat. In fact, he looked almost human.

In their moment of mutual silence, their gazes both fell to the door behind Sam. Room 7B.

“How are you doing?” Sam broke the silence.

“Fine,” Castiel lied. “You said you had a lead on Crowley?”

“Yeah… yeah, I think so.” It took him a moment to realize what Castiel was talking about. “You’re in no shape to go after him, Cas. You should stay here.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I think you should go after him. Maybe he can give us more information.”

Sam stared at Castiel in surprise. “I can’t leave now.”

“You need a break,” Castiel said. “You’ve been at this for hours. I can take over for a while.”

Sam studied Castiel. For a moment Sam looked worried. It looked like he wanted to ask Castiel something. His eyes fell to the shadow of a beard around Castiel’s jaw. When Sam finally replied his voice was heavy. “I know you’re worried, but this is my fault. I need to take care of it.”

“Sam...”

Castiel’s voice was so gentle that it momentarily made Sam’s throat burn again, but it brought him a sense of comfort. If there was anyone he could trust with this, it was Castiel. He thought about what Castiel was suggesting again.

“You’re weak, Cas…”

“I know,” Castiel cut him off, “but I can finish it. It might be better this way.”

Sam’s dark eyes seemed to glisten in the dull light. It looked like he wanted to ask something, something important, but ultimately he didn’t say a thing. He understood. It was their shared grief that convinced him to hand over the reins. He licked his lips, then nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Call me if anything happens.”

Castiel nodded back.

They didn’t look at each other or say goodbye. Sam cast one last glance at the door, then headed down the hallway. Castiel watched him vanish, his footsteps receding into the ringing silence. Castiel could still hear the lockdown alarm reverberating in his ears. He buttoned the sleeves of his shirt, suppressed a cough, then opened the door to room 7B.

The bunker’s archive room was normally filled with lore-laden shelves, boxes of meticulously categorized objects, and hundreds of files, but today the shelves were pushed aside revealing a spotlit, brick-lined dungeon. In the center sat a metal chair surrounded by a demon trap, and in the chair, restrained with leather straps, sat Dean Winchester. He looked up to see his new guest and a cold smile parted his lips.

“Hey, Cas,” he said, his eyes flashing black.

Dean Winchester had been returned to the bunker mere hours ago. He’d already broken out once but, as Sam put it, it just meant the treatment was working. Still, Dean didn’t look any more human than when Castiel had arrived. Dean seemed as alien to his own home as if he’d never been there. His sharp, green eyes followed Castiel’s every movement as continued Sam’s work. Dean only seemed to become crueller with every injection, however. His taunts were only broken by roars of pain as Castiel injected him over and over again with blood.

“You know, if I were you I’d just call it a day,” Dean jeered, panting after an injection. Despite his sharp tongue, he looked as exhausted as Castiel. “Sam was strong,” he pressed on. “He could’ve gone all night. But you? You don’t look so good, Cas.”

Dean said his name like a profanity, but Castiel wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing a reaction. Castiel kept his eyes averted, wiping the needle down before he lined it up with his own forearm. He could feel Dean’s cocky grin burning into him.

“You were human enough to escape that trap,” Castiel replied simply. “This is working, Dean.”

Dean eyed the needle with apparent disinterest, but the overcompensation in his voice gave him away. “You know, Sam got enough blood bags to feed a whole vampire nest. But you… you just can’t wait to stick me with your own, huh?” He grinned darkly.

It was true, there was a small fridge loaded with blood beside the work table, but Castiel wasn’t using it. He inhaled sharply as the needle pierced his own skin. He watched as the syringe began filling with dark, red liquid.

“It’s a ritual of sanctified blood,” Castiel grumbled. “There’s no blood more sanctified than an angel’s.”

Dean watched him beadily. Castiel looked pale.

“Yeah,” Dean replied, “Sanctified blood. But you’re not human, are you?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He removed the apparatus from his arm and set it aside, then he pressed his fingers to the prick of blood to heal it. There was a progression of the darker and darker marks, a timeline of injections. A sudden coughing fit overcame Castiel and he gripped the work table.

When he recovered, he saw Dean grinning at him.

“Does Sam know?” Dean taunted. “How bad it really is?”

Castiel’s eyes were as light as Dean’s were black. Dean’s smiling was growing, like a predator lurking beneath the grass.

“You think I can’t tell?” he mused, leaning forward in his bonds. “I’m a demon, Cas. I can smell it in you. How much grace do you have left, huh? How long until that ‘sanctified blood’ needs a blessing to work on me?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He collected himself, standing up tall, then began preparing the next injection.

Dean seemed to take that as confirmation. “You weren’t beyond a little grace-stealing before,” he went on, talking over the clinking of equipment on the table. “What happened? Tired of killing your own species? Or are you just tired of being one of them?”

He couldn’t see Castiel’s face, but the obvious pause in his preparations gave Dean a second wind.

“That’s right, Crowley told me all about it. You won’t kill another angel, you won’t tell Sam the truth, what are you even doing here? Sam had this under control. Are you just trying to feel useful? Because you’re not.” Dean smiled triumphantly. “We don’t need you, Cas. We never did. Crowley was a better friend to me in the last month than you ever were.”

Castiel stared in silence at the blood-filled syringe. It gleamed dully in the dark dungeon. At last, he turned back to Dean and muttered, “Injection number twenty. One-forty-two-am.”

Dean’s gaze turned icy.

“You call me the demon, but angels?” He gave a rough laugh as Castiel double-checked Dean’s restraints. “You’re just as bad. Look what you did, Cas. You ruined everyone’s lives. Sam’s, Jimmy’s, mine. We’re both monsters! You belong in this trap, right by my side!”

Castiel clasped his hand on Dean’s bound arm and Dean snarled reflexively. Castiel summoned all of his strength and plunged the needle into Dean’s arm.

Dean roared. He thrashed in his bonds, but it was useless. His arm was trapped in the leather straps and by Castiel’s grasp, and Castiel didn’t ease up until Dean had collapsed back in the chair. The effort affected them both, however. As Dean panted and caught his breath, Castiel gripped the back of the chair to steady himself.

“It’s pointless, Cas,” Dean breathed. “There’s no saving either of us. You know that.”

Castiel repressed the discomfort Dean’s cynical gaze caused him. Castiel couldn’t tell if that was Dean or the demon talking, and even worse, he wasn’t sure if it mattered.

“Now long now,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean glared at him as he walked back to the work table. For a moment the sound of Dean’s rough, rhythmic breaths was broken only by the gentle clinking of delicate tools.

“If this doesn’t work…” Dean said, “you know what you gotta do, right? You got the stomach for that?”

Castiel didn’t respond. He didn’t have the strength to but he supposed, in the end, it wouldn’t matter. He had already made his decision.

Dean cocked his head and, as if reading his mind, he asked, “Or are you not planning on being around for that part?” Dean saw Castiel pause for a second time, but Dean wasn’t smiling anymore.

When Castiel turned around he looked like he’d aged several years over the past few hours. When he first stepped into the dungeon he could tell that Dean wasn’t wholly human. He could see it. But that was no longer the case. Castiel could no longer tell how much humanity was or wasn’t in Dean, nor could he sense how much he had in himself. He felt weak, although as his strength diminished his mind only became more clear.

Dean continued to taunt Castiel as he extracted the next injection, but none of it seemed to have any weight. When Castiel once again clasped his hand on Dean’s arm, the ruby red syringe placed against Dean’s skin, Dean mustered out only one word.

“Don’t…”

Castiel ignored him. He plunged the needle in, and Dean shouted in agony.

“Stop!” He shouted. “Is this what you really want? Huh? You’re going to kill yourself!”

Castiel extracted the needle from Dean’s arm, and he roared again.

“Don’t!” He groaned. “Don’t...Don’t you die for me, Cas!”

Castiel stared at Dean. Dean was glaring at him, heaving and sweating in the chair, but there was something beyond his anger. Castiel knew it was time to call Sam, but Castiel couldn’t bring himself to move. He just stood there beside Dean, the empty syringe in his hand, feeling his own heart beating against his ribcage.

“Don’t do this, Cas. I’m not worth it.” Dean pleaded with him. “I’m not.”

Castiel’s expressionless facade wavered for the first time in what felt like years. There was a moment, less than a millisecond, where Castiel could have sworn he saw Dean’s humanity as plainly as if it were a feature of his face, and Castiel knew Dean could see it just as plainly in Castiel. Two monsters were dying in the dimly lit dungeon. Castiel took out his phone to text Sam.

“Cas… stop...”

Castiel’s expression hardened and, once again, he plunged the syringe into his own arm.

Dean groaned in frustration. “Damnit, Cas…”

The way Dean said his name caused Castiel more grief than ever. It was no longer a jeer, it was a plea.

“I don’t… I don’t want it,” Dean begged him. “It’s not worth it.”

Castiel looked at Dean sadly. “Humanity…” he said slowly, monitoring the blood rising in the syringe, “...it is worth it. And so are you, Dean.”

Dean stared up at him in hopeless frustration.

“You’re not a monster, Dean. You’ve never been.”

Dean looked away and closed his eyes as if he was in pain, but Castiel’s voice only became stronger.

“All this hate and anger, you think that’s what drives you, but that’s not who you are. Everything you’ve ever done, you have done for love. You became a demon… for love.” Castiel removed the needle without a wince and placed his hand gently on Dean’s arm. Dean trembled. “That’s who you really are. You are the most caring man on earth, the most selfless, loving human being. You think humanity is the real curse, but it’s not. I would choose it over everything else, every time, for you.” Castiel’s throat was prickling, but he refused to cough. He set the needle against Dean’s skin with steady hands.

Dean didn’t open his eyes.

“You changed me, Dean,” Castiel rasped. “You made me human. Now I’m going to repay the favor, no matter the cost, because it’s worth it, Dean. You are worth it.”

There was a plea in Castiel’s voice, a plea for Dean to look at him, so Dean did. He glared at Castiel, but it was a glare of grief. It was such a human expression that Castiel was relieved to see it. He smiled, despite the ache in his heart, and said, “I love you.”

Dean’s glare faded the smallest amount before Castiel plunged the needle into his arm. Dean roared in agony but he didn’t thrash. Castiel’s gentle grip on his arm seemed to still him completely. Castiel could practically feel the last of his grace leaving him through the syringe, purifying Dean’s body. A tear slipped past Castiel’s eyelashes, but he continued to watch Dean.

As Dean’s groans subsided, neither of them spoke. The silence rang louder than the lockdown alarm, the memory of which felt like it came from another lifetime. Slowly, Dean’s head drooped onto his chest and Castiel dropped the syringe. He knelt down and grasped Dean’s face, supporting him. The effort was astounding, but Castiel fought through it. He wanted nothing more than to pass out himself, but tending to Dean gave him strength. At last, Dean looked at him, his green eyes glistening.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel’s smile returned.

Dean seemed unable to fully support himself in the chair, so Castiel began fumbling with the restraints, undoing them one by one. Once Dean was freed, Castiel pulled him close and eased him onto the floor. Now completely winded, they sat on the floor together, leaning against one another, neither speaking, neither moving. The passing of time that once seemed so mercurial to Castiel was now precious. He couldn’t sense Dean’s humanity, but he didn’t need his grace for that. He could feel it in the way Dean withheld his full weight against Cas, unwilling to burden himself upon Castiel completely.

A coughing fit suddenly seized Castiel and he turned away, rumbling against Dean. There was no longer a careless rage in Dean’s eyes. Instead, there was a profound grief, but it only made Castiel smile wider.

“Cas,” Dean said. “You idiot.”

Castiel chuckled. He couldn’t help it. It felt strange, but it happened as naturally and easily as coughing. Dean stared at him, bewildered by Castiel’s smile. But slowly, gradually, Dean’s expression softened as well.

“You complete idiot.”

Castiel beamed at him.

Dean put his head on Castiel’s shoulder as if in exasperation, but Castiel knew it was a hug. He put his arms around Dean’s back and felt Dean do the same. The seconds that passed were the longest and most sublime he’d ever experienced. Castiel felt his throat prickle again, but this time he didn’t cough. He sniffed.

The sound of footsteps slowly joined the sounds of Dean’s breathing and the hum of the fridge. The door to room 7B opened, and neither Castiel nor Dean turned around. They knew who was rushing in.

“Dean! Cas!” Sam hurried over to them. He sank down on his knees and put a hand on each of their shoulders.

Dean looked up at him and gave him a brave smile. “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam beamed at him in relief. Speechless, he took Dean into a hug right there on the floor, then pulled Castiel in as well. Castiel could feel the gratitude rolling off of Sam in waves.

“Are you okay?” He finally pulled away to look at them both. “What happened?”

Dean merely grunted in response, so Castiel answered for him. “We’re okay.”

Until that point, Sam had only eyes for his brother, but Castiel watched as Sam spotted the unused blood bags and untouched fridge. Sam hesitated, then looked down at Castiel. Castiel could see a flicker of deep concern crack Sam’s celebration.

“Cas… what…?”

Castiel could practically hear Sam figuring out what he’d done.

Sam stared at him in shock. “The blood was purified, Cas. You didn’t need to… What happened?”

“I was afraid the normal blood wouldn’t work,” Castiel admitted. “This wasn’t a normal case.”

Sam stared at him. Castiel didn’t have the strength to look at Dean.

“But, your grace...I mean,” He asked. “Are you okay?”

“One problem at a time, Sam,” Dean spoke up.

Castiel was grateful.

Sam nodded to himself, “Right. Yeah, okay.”

Deciding to hold off on any more questions, Sam helped the two of them to their feet. Seeing Dean gave him a weary smile melted away Sam’s concerns, at least for the time being.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam said.

The three of them left the archive room and settled down at the research table. Sam had made an enormous plate of grilled cheese sandwiches and they all sat together, eating and drinking in a somewhat subdued state of relief.

Sam filled them in on Crowley’s whereabouts, even though he hadn’t been able to make contact before Castiel had texted him. Keeping Dean’s advice in mind, Sam hadn’t brought up the fact that the Mark of Cain was still on Dean’s arm, but it was clear that their next mission was to find Crowley regardless. None of them spoke about Castiel’s grace or the coughs he suppressed throughout the meal.

At last, Castiel excused himself from the table without taking any of the sandwiches. His beer was still nearly full. Sam looked unsettled, but he didn’t need to say anything to Dean. Dean excused himself moments later, and Sam began cleaning up.

Castiel had been set up in one of the bunker’s many spare rooms. He’d taken it up in the past but hadn’t gone to any lengths to make himself at home, as Sam had often told him to do. His coat hung off the back of a chair, and Castiel was staring at it from where he sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were unfocused. He didn’t notice the footsteps coming down the hallway, or the quiet knock on the door. It opened moments later and Castiel saw Dean look in.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel rumbled.

Taking that as an invitation, Dean stepped inside and closed the door behind him. While the grilled cheese sandwiches and beer seemed to have given Dean some of his color back, he looked pensive and unsettled. Dean’s eyes fell to the unhealed needle marks on his arm. Castiel rolled his sleeve down.

“How are you doing?” Castiel asked.

“Can’t complain.” Dean shrugged. “How about you?”

“Fine,” Castiel said, although an unexpected sound from his stomach betrayed him.

Dean’s eyes were hard. “You know, you’re going to have to eat now. And shower. And drink water...”

Castiel smiled slightly. “One problem at a time.”

Dean’s own words coming out of Castiel’s mouth softened Dean’s expression. He sighed and crossed the room, sitting down beside Castiel. Castiel forgot how warm humans were.

“It’s not your fault, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. He’d seen Dean’s eyes drift to the Mark of Cain.

Dean didn’t respond, so Castiel went on.

“None of it is. You did it to protect the people you love.”

“Yeah, and now you’re going to die because of it,” Dean muttered.

Castiel sighed. “If I was going to die from losing my grace, I would have done it already.”

This didn’t seem to help, however. Dean stared at him. “So you were planning on dying, then? To save me?”

Castiel didn’t flinch. “Yes,” he said simply.

Dean looked away, his jaw stiffening. He looked like he was searching for something to say. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel said. “It’s an unusual case. Angels becoming human…  As far as I know, I’m the first one who’s done it. Twice now. Maybe there’s more to being human than either of us know.”

Dean didn’t respond to this. He looked conflicted. He was staring at Castiel’s coat on the back of the chair, layered in stains and wounds.

Castiel could feel the weight of the silence pressing down on them. Yet, he felt bulletproof more than ever before.

“Dean,” he said boldly. “I meant what I said. All of it.”

Dean didn’t move.

“And I’d do it ag…”

“Shut up, Cas,” Dean muttered, moving his arm over Castiel’s knee and taking his hand in his.

Castiel was caught off guard, but he held Dean’s hand back without thinking. When he looked back up at Dean, he spotted a flush of color rising in his face. The tension in the room seemed to melt away. When Dean returned Castiel's gaze, he saw that Castiel was smiling at him. It was a startlingly human expression. Dean had never seen it before, and before he realized it Dean was smiling, too.

“You’re an idiot,” Dean said in disbelief, even as he held Castiel’s hand tight.

Castiel smiled wide. “I know that.”

Dean chuckled. They held hands in the silence of the bunker, their forearms pressed together, the Mark of Cain matching the needle marks. Castiel once again felt time passing in slow, blissful seconds. Two humans, reunited.

They had a million problems headed their way, but in that moment it felt as if the biggest ones had been conquered and, somehow, Castiel knew it would all be okay.

[mattzerella-sticks]

Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 12 - Moondorsonas

           Tomorrow was very important. The culmination of an entire year, what every faithful citizen under Moondoor’s banner looked forward to. A celebration of rebirth and renewal, where they prepare for harvest days now that the last bit of chill faded from the breeze. And Castiel, as Archchancellor, was tasked with making sure this festival ran as it had for centuries. Perfectly, without a hitch.

           He’d be more confident, though, if Castiel could speak with Her Royal Highness.

           Being the Archchancellor, Castiel delegated many of his church’s emissaries with tasks so he could focus on the main event. The ritual where, under the heavenly glow of their goddess's full moon, Castiel invoked sacred prayers in the ancient tongue. Bathing in her mercy. Asking for protection. Bartered humble, righteous service for help making this summer’s crops more bountiful than last. As it would be his first time, Castiel spent many days and nights in training alongside fulfilling his other duties. There were never enough hours in his life for it all, so help was required.

           However, not every emissary was successful. Like Brother Samandriel, whose only duty was getting the Queen’s signature on papers detailing the expenses for the Celestial Carnival. That way, when Ellen from the Treasury Chamber yelled at him for how much gold they used, he could present her with those papers and direct her towards the Queen for questioning.

           Except Samandriel returned with unmarked sheets. “They wouldn’t let me speak with her,” he said, “that I didn’t rank high enough.”

           Castiel snorted, flicking his way through robe after robe. Thinking about which he should wear for the festival. “That doesn’t sound like the Queen,” Castiel told him, “who pulled rank on you?”

           “Her Majesty’s Handmaiden.”

           He stilled, strangling the silver fabric in his hands. Castiel turned, exchanging the robe for Samandriel’s papers, and set off down the hall. Temple pounding at the same pace his sandals slapped across the stone flooring. Barreling towards the Queen’s royal offices. Tan cloak billowing behind him, looking almost like wings. Their flapping scaring poor servants and maids who he happened upon in his fury.

           The only one who hadn’t flinched on sight, is the same man who keeps him from completing this simple task. Talks in endless circles and wasting his time.

           Queen Charlene’s Most Favored Handmaiden, Sir Dean Winchester. Like he knew Castiel was incoming, Dean waited outside her doors. Leaned on them, blocking his path. Arms folded over a leather tunic while he wore his most smug expression that Dean knew Castiel hated. “His Holy Archchancellor,” Dean greeted, “What purpose is it that you would grace us with your divine presence?”

           “I need to speak with Her Majesty.”

           “…Why?”

           Fifteen minutes later, Castiel was nowhere closer to getting past him. While he commanded the holy light of the goddess, Amara, the other man’s supernatural ability of being annoyingly stubborn proved indomitable.

           “Dean,” he sighs, pinching his brow, “I really don’t have time for this.”

           “You never have time for anything.”

           “I’m to meet with members of the MacLeod Court within the hour,” he explains, “and if I’m even a second late you know how unbearable the Lady Rowena will be. With her being this year’s goddess conduit, I need her at least somewhat agreeable.”

           Dean scoffs, waving Castiel’s concerns off. “I can send Sam down there and distract her. You know how crazy she is about him.”

           “Please don’t,” Castiel says, “we’re on a very tight schedule as it is. I can’t have her flitting off with your brother to the deepest sections of the library.” He stepped closer, toes brushing the tops of Dean’s boots. “Is Queen Charlene in such an important meeting that she cannot take five minutes to sign a few pages?”

           He hopes the earnest sincerity he wove throughout his voice works. That, paired with the wide eyes and trembling lip, always worked on the other man in younger years. Getting him to roll over like a well-trained hound. While Castiel hadn’t used tricks such as those for a while, they still hold. Dean relents, dropping his façade.

           “She’s just in there writing stories about characters from this story she likes,” Dean confesses, “the one her fool, Gabriel, tells.”

           Irritation wounds him, stabbing sharply at his side. “Then why have you been putting me through this?”

           “Because we’re finally having a conversation!” Ice rushes through Castiel’s veins at the admission, stumbling backwards. Body uncooperative for the moment. Dean carries on, ignorant of Castiel’s reaction. “Ever since you took over for that bastard Ishim as Archchancellor, I barely see you anymore outside of our bedchambers, and even then I feel…” His gaze dips, lips trembling as he stops shouting. “I feel like you aren’t there with me.”

           “Dean…”

           “I just – I miss those days when you would skip your daily meditations, and I’d say I was doing parole. Lying to our superiors, even though I’m sure Charlie knew where I was going… and we’d meet in our special alcove. Talk and kiss and… you know.” Dean sighs, swiping at his nose. “I can’t remember the last time we kissed, let alone when we were intimate with one another.”

           There are a lot of sad truths Castiel realizes. That his newer responsibilities did weigh on him greatly, pulling Castiel at all hours. He would enter their room exhausted, barely uttering a single word before passing out atop the bed. And as Archchancellor, he could not sneak off like in the early days of their courtship. His superior hung in the sky every night – there was no lying to her. But Dean hadn’t deserved such dismissals. Being left behind, unknowingly. Underappreciated. Unvalued. There was no excuse for Castiel’s actions. Dean was important to him, as much as his faith was.

           Castiel reaches forward, cupping Dean’s cheek in his hand. Forcing his gaze onto Castiel’s face. “Oh, Dean,” he sighs, “I apologize. Truly. For not making you feel as important as you are to me.”

           Dean offers a pitiable smile, shrugging. “S’okay,” he mutters, “I’m just… these past few weeks have been rougher than usual, because of the festival. Plus, there’s this whole conflict on the Southern Border that Charlie’s worried might grow into something larger if not dealt with I… it was just terrible timing, I guess.” He steps aside, gesturing at the door. “Go. You have things to do, better things than comforting my sorry ass.”

           “You’re forgetting, Dean Winchester,” Castiel grins, following him. Loops his arms over Dean’s shoulders. “I’ve seen your ass, and there is nothing you should feel sorry for. Amara did bless you mightily in that regard.”

           Their foreheads touch, Dean mirroring Castiel’s expression. “She blessed me by allowing you to find your way to me.”

           Castiel agrees with a kiss, pressing against him in a way they haven’t fit for a while. As they break for air, panting, Castiel hugs Dean tighter. “I promise, in the new year, I’m going to find a balance. Make more time for you, whenever I can. And if whatever I do isn’t enough – please let me know. Because I will try harder.”

           “I will,” he promises, “thank you, Cas.”

           They part after one last kiss, Castiel sliding his hand down Dean’s arm until their fingers tangle. “I should really get these papers signed,” he says.

           “Yeah.”

           Castiel cannot leave. Not yet. An idea strikes, like lightning. Inspiration so divine he thinks his goddess bestowed it as a gift. “You know,” he starts, swinging their hands, “after the ritual, I’m supposed to be in attendance of a grand feast.”

           “Yeah, I know,” Dean says, “So am I.”

           “The thing is… I’m supposed to be adorned in full regalia.” Castiel squeezes Dean’s hand, “The hat… the necklace… gloves and mask.” By Dean’s glinting eyes and curling smirk, Castiel knows he understands. Yet he continues. “Actually, anyone could be dressed in that outfit and they’ll assume it’s me. Brother Samandriel owes me a favor, anyway… do you think you could delay your arrival to the feast?”

           Dean nods, “I’m sure I could… but where would we go? The castle will be brimming with the usual ghosts and curious guests.”

           “There’s always our alcove.”

           “Yeah… our alcove.”

           Castiel lets go, returning to his role. “I’ll see you later tonight,” he says, “And we can rehearse for tomorrow.”

           Dean cheekily bows. “Holding you to that, Holy Archchancellor.”

           “You’re mistaken Dean,” Castiel finally opens the door, “it’ll be me doing the holding.” As beautiful as the papal bells, his beloved’s laughter fills the space. Trailing after him even through the closed doors. Charlene glances up from her musings, smiling. “Hello Charlie,” Castiel says, grabbing for the papers in his cloak pocket, “can I have a moment of your time…?”

(Day 11 - American Pie)

[canonconspiracy]

Retirement (Cain x Reader)

Fandom: Supernatural

Fanfiction By: @rmorningstar21

Pairing: Cain x Reader

Cross-posted on AO3 and Wattpad (rmorningstar21) as two parts.

How one of the very first seraphims created ended up on this little excursion was beyond you, yet, there you were.  After the fall, you refused to join the idiotic war that the other angels decided to create, in attempt to rule.  Following what seemed a millenia that you have lived, you were experiencing something new being on Earth, and almost immediately you had been dragged into the hunting world with Sam and Dean Winchester, along with the angel Castiel.

This hunt that Dean had dragged you on was a quest to find the First Blade.  According to the location spell that Dean's father's hunting buddy Tara had, the three of you were at the correct place.  Unfortunately for that, though, the three of you ended up in the one spot that none of you should have come to.  All the stories in heaven that you had heard of Cain were simply that he was ruthless, and a force to be reckoned with.  

"Do any of you keep bees?" Cain asked, walking in with a tray of tea.  You felt his eyes land on you for a moment, before he walked the rest of the way in, placing the tray down.  "Its very relaxing.  They're such noble creatures.  And the honey?  Well, I keep it right on the comb."  He kindly handed tea to you first, then Crowley, and finally Dean, gently saying, "There you are," after each cup.  For the father of murder, he struck you as kind. 

You noticed as Crowley trembled with the cup of tea, light clatter with each little shake that his hands made.  Dean was still standing by this point, and you were sitting on the furthest end of the couch from Crowley, allowing Dean to sit beside Crowley as he finally did take a seat.  Placing your eyes on the gentle, yet stern man, you could not help but think of how handsome he was.  Quickly you attempted to dismiss that thought, seeing as the father of murder was what your eyes were fancying.  It was unheard of.  

"They're dying, you know," Cain continued.  "Without bees, mankind will cease to exist."  Each word that Cain said about bees intrigued you more.  Just like Castiel, you were interested in learning more about Earth, and the nature that surrounded you perked your interest.  Cain took a seat across from the three of you, his face growing serious as he paused before speaking once more.  "So, what are the King of Hell and a Winchester doing at my house?"  The man's captivating eyes fell on you after his question, as if he was studying you.  "And the first seraphim?"

You simply nodded, a small bit of blush falling onto your face under his gaze.  Despite what your mind was repetitively saying, you felt something pulling at your vessel's heart under those eyes.  As you sat, you listened to Crowley attempt to smooth everything over by falling all over his words, eventually being shushed by Cain, genuinely making it so the King of Hell himself could not speak.  It was almost humorous, and your lips curled into a half smile.  

"How did you find me?" Cain said, his voice raised in warning.

"We didn't mean to find you," you said softly, your voice gentle and calm compared to the other two that had brought you.  "The location spell was for the First Blade." 

Dean had already begun getting aggressive with Cain, and Cain specifically told the three of you to leave.  He had said that he was leaving, and that you all should never return.  Knowing how stubborn Dean Winchester was, and how desperate Crowley could be, you knew from the moment that Cain left his property that the three of you would be coming back.  

You split off from the other two to search, especially because Crowley spent half of his searching time spitting out complaint after complaint.  Realizing that the First Blade was nowhere near where you were looking, you returned to the area that the other two happened to be, joined by the father of murder, whom looked as if he just returned.  

Staying silent, you admired his fire from afar.  Cain could have murdered both of them, and then found you to end you as well, yet he did not.  As you stood admiring the man as Dean and Cain argued with one another, you could feel the presence of demons drawing closer - and there were a Hell of a lot.  None nearly as strong as Cain, of course, but lowly demons in numbers could still pose an issue.  

As Cain turned to walk into his kitchen, he glanced towards you, sending you a signal with his eyes.  It was as if he was going to sit and watch a show, and his eyes were begging for you to join him.  Nervously, you followed him into the kitchen.  "Would you like some help?" You asked with a kind smile, Dean giving a shocked look before he started facing the first demon. Crowley had apparently set him up, as you expected, as you saw him kill the first and watch the show from the next room.  

"You are intriguing," he mused out, his eyes slipping from you to Dean as he watched the progress.  "What managed to drag the first seraph in with Winchester business?"  Through the time that Dean was fighting demons, proving that he deserved the Mark of Cain as well as the First Blade, Cain took a special interest in you as well.  He did not plan on giving you a great burden, and on the contrary, it was as if he was offering you an escape.  There was even a very light indicated flirtation behind some of his words, though his statements would often be cut off by Dean saying something to him, and him needing to reply.  

As the two of you watched the show, he eventually disappeared to an unknown location, the demons locked outside still.  Dean and Crowley were looking out the window, and Crowley made the comment of staying as long as he could.  

"If necessary, I will lay them to ash," you whispered softly with a smile, your mind drifting back to the demon that you were connecting with.  Something about him drew you in, and part of you genuinely wished to escape the conundrum that the Winchesters had dragged you into.  

The three of you turned to the presence that was once again in the home, your eyes landing on Cain.  Dean immediately spoke up, saying, "Are you in or out, because I'm getting headspins?"

Cain had then offered him the mark, explaining that it was both a great power as well as a great burden.  Upon transferring the mark, he had shooed everyone out, but the look that he gave you was to stay close.  You immediately fluttered out of the room, and stood in the nearby forest area as you watched him lay all the demons to waste.  Even as an angel, it was thoroughly impressive to watch Cain fill the entire house in red.  

In what seemed like a few moments, you felt his presence much closer, and turned your head to your right.  As your eyes laid upon his, you stared up at him in wonder.  "If you aren't disgusted from what you just witnessed, you are welcome to stay," he said barely above a whisper.  

"You did what you had to," you said softly, almost lovingly.  "I will ward myself from the angels and gladly stay with you." 

A smile crossed his face, and he cupped your chin with a strong, warm hand.  It may have been something in your eyes that reminded him of Colette, or maybe the loneliness of eternity, but he brought his face down to your own, pressing his soft lips against yours.  Kissing back passionately, you wrapped your arms around his neck cautiously at first, before you felt his arms bring you in closer by your waist.  The two of you held one another, lip to lip, for what seemed like forever, yet not long enough.  Jumping into eternity together, you were officially retired with the father of murder himself, and could not be happier.

*** (Part II) ***

Cain's blue eyes shot open immediately, throat vibrating an aggravated groan as he recognized the obvious presence of trespassers coming closer to his home.  His blue eyes shifted over to you, y/h/c hair messily splayed against the pillow.  For a moment, his blue eyes simply shifted around your face, a gentle smile pulling at the edges of his previously grimacing lips.  

Your y/e/c orbs were closed, facial features adorning the slightest upturn of a contented smile as you slept.  Though, as the first seraphim, you had not needed to sleep, neither did he.  It was simply a human habit that the two of you both enjoyed, particularly feeling the closest as you're splayed in his arms.  

His hand reached over, before falling short.  As much as Cain wished to warn you of the impending threat, he also knew that he would be able to handle it himself.  After all, your grace was not even completely restored, while Cain had his full demon power.  Simply reaching over to place a gentle, chaste kiss against your forehead, he snuck himself out of the bed.  

With a simple snap, the man was already dressed in more appropriate clothing to greet his unwanted guests, quietly moving out of the room to do just that. He was sure that he would not have to feel the two familiar presences once more, and yet, he could feel a Winchester and the King of Hell once more.  No matter what impending dangers were ahead, Cain still wished not to be a part of it, especially now that he had you. 

He could still remember that night, the very first day the two of you met.  Upon laying waste to countless demons, the two of you had met outside of his home.  His smile tugged hard against his lips as he separated from your second kiss, the two of you wondering where to go from there.  After all, you had been hunting with the Winchesters and attempting to stop an apocalypse.  

You knew as well as he did that you could not simply bail upon the apocalypse itself, and that neither of you would hear the end from Sam or Dean Winchester.  Of course, you also knew that Cain wished for his privacy, and you were not going to give the open opportunity for the Winchesters to track you down.  

"I really would like to see you when the apocalypse is all over," you said finally, your y/e/c eyes gazing up at him with hope.  

He chuckled softly, his smile against his lips as if he had known you for forever, and that this was not the first goodbye the two of you had to endure.  "You truly are one interesting angel," he said, almost teasingly, though his blue eyes had not left your own gaze.  "If you're willing to trust a Knight of Hell, I'll come get you once everything's back to normalcy." 

"I do," you spoke softly, your lips curling up the slightest bit more.  

The two of you drew into one more kiss, one of longing.  Plush lips collided with slow ferocity, an act to be savored until the two of you would meet once again.  You reached your hand up to sift smooth fingertips through his peppered hair, relishing in the feeling of his arms wrapped tightly around your waist.  

His lips curled upwards at the thought of you, and the thought of your very first kisses shared.  He couldn't help it, though the few years the two of you had spent together was merely a blip upon both of your centuries alive.  The happiness that he relished in was quickly quelled by the rapid knocking that filled his eardrums, a cacophony if he were to be honest.  

Groaning in aggravation, the reverberations settling in his throat, he moved to the door to open it.  His blue eyes narrowed upon the two, before he allowed a feigned smile to pass his lips.  After all, the hunter was someone, as much as this was an annoyance, that he respected.  

Moving himself aside, he silently motioned for the two to come in.  It was clear upon both of their faces that the two were already uncomfortable, something that Cain mentally noted.  Still, he was a cordial individual, demon or otherwise, and allowed the two to sit.  

He disappeared to the kitchen to fix a morning tea, thankful that you still had yet to wake from your slumber.  In the distance, he could hear nervous chatter going on between his two uninvited guests.  As soon as he walked out with the tray of tea, it had ceased.   

"Dean Winchester," Cain finally spoke, his blue hues glancing to the Winchester male, before it moved to Crowley.  "And the King of Hell, in my home again.  What do I owe the intrusion?" Though his tone was kind and light, his blue hues clearly spoke otherwise.

"We need to kill God's sister," Dean Winchester spoke blatantly, getting right to the point as he took his cup and lightly sipped from it.  Though he attempted to keep a confident visage, it was clear that his hand was shaking the slightest bit as he held the cup in the air.  His green apple eyes attempted to catch Cain's gaze to hold up his act.  "And we heard from a reliable source that you are the current owner of the Colt." 

"I do remember selling it to you a few eons ago," Crowley murmured in barely a whisper, his hand shaking wildly as he brought his cup of tea to his lips.  

Before Cain was even able to get a word in edgewise, the light patter of footsteps could be heard from up the stairs.  Dean Winchester had immediately grabbed at a knife, likely presuming that someone broke into Cain's house.  Crowley seemed a little startled, but overall unphased.  As for Cain, a frown tugged upon his lips as his brows furrowed.  

Everyone's attention had moved to the stairs where Y/N descended.  Groggy-eyed and waking, you descended the stairs wearing one of Cain's eldest undershirts, paired with a relatively skimpy pair of your underwear.  After all, the two of you never had visitors, so getting dressed in the morning was not your very first priority.  "Sweetheart, you could have woken me," you called out, before you suddenly sensed the presence of others.  

Your y/e/c orbs glanced down, not even halfway down the stairs, noticing that Cain was sitting with the two.  Your vessel's cheeks tinted the slightest bit in blush as you quickly snapped your fingers, dressed in a normal garb that you would wear.  Walking the way back down the stairs, you mentally hoped that the two guests had not seen your adornments.  

"Was that Y/N?" Dean snapped quickly, his gaze upon Cain almost accusingly.  

"Clearly, Squirrel," Crowley murmured under his breath.  In actuality, Crowley had felt the presence of the seraphim since the two pulled up in the Impala, but he was not going to be the one to tell Dean Winchester about it.  Mentally, Crowley retracted a bit as he felt Cain would kill him simply for pointing out the now obvious fact.  

By this point in the conversation, you had already made your way to the kitchen, fetching yourself your own cup of tea before coming out into the room.  "Dean," you addressed formally, a gentle smile against your features.  "Crowley."  Your y/e/c orbs glanced from one to the other as you addressed them, before glancing over to your lover.  You could not help but feel a little rigid in your own home, knowing that you had explained to Sam and Dean Winchester that you were done hunting after the last apocalypse.  Though you had left out this one detail, it was not their business after all.  

"What are you doing here?" Dean questioned before you even had the chance to formally address your lover.  "Wait, hold on-  are you two…?!"  

Cain rolled his eyes at the clear accusation, while you on the other hand began to laugh.  It was more of a giggle than anything, but you moved to place a gentle kiss against Cain's cheek before you addressed the elephant in the room.  With a smile against your lips, you said, "Happily together since the first apocalypse?  Yes." 

Cain smiled softly up at you, before moving his left hand to grab your free hand gently, entangling his fingers with your own.  Though the man was nearly as old as time, and did not require reassurance that mortals did, he did happen to shine a bit that you would speak so freely of your relationship.  "Regarding the Colt," Cain cut in, wishing to make the conversation as short as physically possible, "that changed hands over a century ago." 

"Wait, but, hold on," Dean interjected, still attempting to wrap his head around the whole situation.  For this moment, the apocalypse didn't matter to him, it was simply the two of you together that did.  "How?  Why?  You gave up hunting for him?" 

You simply rolled your eyes at the frantic observations of the Winchester, a slightly amused smirk against your features.  Your eyes shifted to your lover, before directing back to the confused Winchester.  "I gave up hunting because I've been done with fighting since the first angel war," you said with a shrug.  "Though finding love in Cain showed me the opportunity to just be happy." 

Cain's lips pulled upwards the slightest bit more at your words, squeezing your hand reassuringly with his own.  "And if you have no other business here, neither of us know where the Colt would be," Cain chimed in.  "You can leave once again, and never return." 

After some minor complaints from Dean, Crowley managed to drag him out of yours and Cain's home, much to both your relief.  Though you hadn't minded seeing the Winchesters on a rare occasion, you had been enjoying the peacefulness without them.  Even if the hunters meant well, it was never truly peaceful with them.  

When the door shut, you allowed a sigh to escape your lips, before they curled into a smile.  "Well, that was unpleasant," you said with a gentle chuckle, before squeezing his hand once reassuringly upon separation.  You moved from your spot to grab the tray Cain brought in for the uninvited guests, taking it out to the kitchen with you.  

Cain traveled close behind, his own laughter escaping his lips.  "I couldn't agree more," he said in an exhausted tone.  "I was hoping to have them leave before you woke.  

As you moved to wash the dishes out, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, Cain's face buried in the crook of your neck.  His gentle scruff tickled your neck, causing you to giggle a bit as you finished up the dishes quickly, relishing in his warmth.  "No harm done," you hummed out softly.  

Finishing the dishes, you turned in his arms fo face him, wrapping your own arms around his neck and placing a kiss to his lips.  Since your good morning kiss had to wait until after your guests had left, both of you seemed to have more ferocity behind your lips as they moved in sync.  Melting into one another's arms, you both relished in the moment together.  

Once the two of you separated, his voice was a bit more timid than normal.  His words were meant to be nonchalant, and yet, they sounded more like a plea as he asked, "You wouldn't leave for another apocalypse, would you?"  Crystal blue eyes gazed down into your y/e/c eyes as he awaited your response.  

You shook your head quickly, a laugh escaping your lips.  "Unless somehow they convinced you to join in on the apocalypse, sweetheart, I was serious," you replied solemnly.  "I've been done fighting since the first war, and there's no way a Winchester, demon, angel, or even father himself can convince me to tag along in another apocalypse.  Especially if it meant leaving you."

"I love you, Y/N," he murmured softly, his lips curled into a smile as he pulled you tightly against him.  

A matching smile against your lips, you whispered back, "I love you as well, Cain." 

[kickingitwithkirk]

Beyond Seduction: pt II

Pairing: Artist!Sam Winchester x Isobella Tennant

Warnings: cursing, flirting, touching, sexual innuendos, low self esteem, domineering mother

WC:2508

A/N: So in this part Isobella implements the next step in her plan and the slow burn starts building between Sam and her.

Part I

Mobile masterlist

*no beta, all mistakes are mine

***

The new boy had scurried off the fetch more coal as the door knocker sounded. Sam opened it and was stunned to see who was standing there.

“Are you still interested in painting me?”

Sam blinked a few times thinking he was imagining her standing there but no, she hadn’t disappeared. “Did Crowley seek you out to jolly me from the doldrums?” He chided her as he leisurely leaned against the door jam.

Izzy stood up ramrod straight, pushing her shoulders back and jutted out her jaw, “Who’s Crowley? Obviously, you were not serious, I’m sorry to have bothered you.” She tursley replies, marching back down his walkway before he knew it.

“Wait!” Sam called out louder than intended, making her pause as he rushed out the door barefoot wincing from the cold and stopped in front of her, “I’m sorry, you took me by surprise, I was beginning to think I had imagined you.” She raised an eyebrow at that remark.

“Perhaps you should seek help from Doktor Freud,” It was Sam’s turn to raise an eyebrow, surprised she knew about the famous psychoanalyst, “if all you can imagine is someone who looks like me.” He was set back at the disparaging comment about herself.

“How about we discuss it inside before my neighbors think I’m even madder than they already believe.” He glances down drawing her attention to his inappropriate outdoor attire.

“Oh hell, how are you not freezing?”

“Actually, I am but I wasn’t gonna let you disappear again.” She lets out a little huff before proceeding him across the threshold into his brightly lit home.

All the gas lights are turned up as evening sets in, illuminating the area almost as brightly as daytime. Izzy lingers in the entryway looking around at the sumptuous if eclectic furnishings enhanced by the lighter colored walls.

Sam quietly observers her. The coat is way too big, swallowing her frame, gloves are almost worn out and the wool wrapper is hiding most of her head.

She stops, turned in profile in front of a statue of Anubis, running a gloved finger over the engravings along its base. Sam can clearly see the curve of cheekbones and the strong cut of her jaw. Sensing him watching, she turns to face him full on.

Sam steps closer as his artist's eyes continue cataloguing her features. A small smile plays on his lips at an errant smudge of soot on a cheek, the cinnamon freckles dusted across her face standing out against her creamy skin, even her full lips possess them. The nondescript nose is the same.

He remembers her being well above the normal height of most women, realizing it’s not from the heels of her indecently revealed boots under that god awful orange dress, it’s all her.

He moves scant inches in front of her, forcing her to tip her head back to continue making eye contact with him.

Sam’s stomach free falls in disbelief at their color, even her long lashes are exactly like Dean’s.

Were like Dean’s...Sam mentally having to remind himself his beloved older brother has been gone for nearly sixteen years.

“Fuck, your very tall!” She blurts out, snapping him from his dark musings.

“So are you and a lady does not use such language.” Sam gently admonishes, making her snort in a very unladylike manner, “Then you haven’t spent much time around real ladies if you believe they don’t curse.”

Sam chuckles knowing all too well those real ladies. Lady De Burgh did erotic things with him that would have even the lowest prostitute blushing. “You are very free with your opinions.”

She shrugged, “I prefer to be truthful than a sycophant like most of the queen's court.”

“Touché. Now that we are done exchanging the pleasantries,” Sam reached for the top button of the overcoat she stiffened, “I am not a whore even if my employer has cast me off.”

Sam lightly traced the button with his index finger, “He cast you off because of what happened that night?” His voice took a hard edge at how she had been treated by the Duke.

She bit her lower lip looking down, “None of that,” Sam touched her lip gently pulling it free and rubbed his thumb across it, enjoying its plumpness, “I’d rather you didn’t damage yourself and you’ve done nothing wrong to warrant dismissal, even if he has had his fill of you.”

It had always elicited anger in him at how the aristocracy thought they were above reproach for the way they treated those in their employment. Too many times he had seen women dismissed when the lord of the manor was done with them, moving on to the next young chit.

She looked up at him, “I know what is expected of a model...” blushing, she was unable to finish.

“I have never asked any woman to give more than she’s willing. I won’t deny I want you to warm my bed,” her eyes widened as Sam slowly licked his pink lips suggestively, distracting her as he unbuttoned the coat and moving behind her, slips it off, dropping it onto a nearby chair, and lowered his voice saying, “but only because it’s what you want too.”

Sam tipped his head down a bit, close enough she could feel him breathing against her cheek, the heat of him radiating on her back barely a hands width away, making her tremble, getting a sense of how imposing he really is as he takes the end of her scarf and untwined it to reveal her messy, barely held up by a few pins, hair. He gives into temptation and removed them.

Her hair was even more glorious than he remembered, luxuriously thick waves, kinked from the damp weather, tumbled past her waist, below her buttocks, brushing her thighs in a fiery mixture of reds and golds.

Sam walked in front of her watching her shiver, delighted he was already having an affect on her. “You’ve caught a chill. Let me show you to your room where you can freshen up.”

Sam lead her up three flights of stairs to the servants quarters in the attic. “You have the floor to yourself. Mrs. Mills has her own house, the maid lives with an aunt, the new boy is in the carriage house and of course Crowley is in the basement,” Izzy squinted at the amused way he said it, “the butlers quarters.”

“The WC is across the hall.” Sam remarks opening the door for Izzy to enter into the cupboard sized room typical for a governess and leans against the jam crossing his arms.

Upon the washstand sat a chipped basin and pitcher, the dresser had a fine layer of dust on it but the floor was recently swept, the linens laying on the narrow bed appear freshly laundered.

“The stove draws but we don’t skimp on coal, not that I’d expect you to light your own fire unless you want to.” Sam dropped a hand to rest on his thigh emphasizing his actual meaning. “I missed lunch, if you’re hungry, join me in the Blue room in a half hour.”

“You want me to sup with you?” Izzy asked confusedly, assuming she would be taking her meals with his other servants.

“Of course, even though I’m employing you, I prefer my models to dine with me, as would any guest would in my home. I’m afraid it will be whatever Crowley comes up with, Mrs. Mills won’t be back till Monday. If you prefer, I can have something sent up.”

Izzy was about to answer when her stomach rumbled loudly in the quiet quarters making Sam laugh, “I’m guessing you’ll join me?” She nodded in response. “Good, I’ll see you shortly Izzy Morgan.” Sam's eyes raked over her one more time before closing the door. Izzy sat in the bed shaking but not from the cool room.

Whether it was from her adrenaline tapering off or the sheer arousal Sam made her feel she wasn’t sure of. One thing she did know, one way or another, she wouldn’t leave his home an unsullied woman.

Dinner turned out to be sausage, rewarmed biscuits and a gravy that looked strange but was tasty. Sam lounged in his chair watching Izzy eat like a well mannered lady, she obviously had picked that up from being in service, but cleaned her plate like a dock worker. He had to add being a pinch penny to the Duke's growing list of faults when it came to his staff, judging by the way the awful orange dress was to short and hung loosely on her frame.

“I can get Crowley to fix you something else,” a confused expression crossed Izzy features wondering why he said that after she had already finished her dinner, “I noticed you cleared your plate.”

Oh.

Izzy felt her stomach clench so hard it hurt, once again hearing her mother’s voice running through her head about her unladylike appetite, eating everything in front of her as if she was some common field hand instead of a titled lady.

Lavinia Tennant never missed an opportunity to chastise her unladylike daughter.

A true lady eats like a bird, only a few tiny bits of each course out of politeness. No gentlemen would ever want a wife who eats more than him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eat this much, I won’t do it again.” Izzy automatically apologized using the tone that always placates her mother, staring at the table.

Sam sat up in surprise watching Izzy rapidly blinking, regaining control of herself realizing he had unwittingly triggered something in her. What had happened to her ? “I didn’t mean to imply you ate too much,” he reached over placing a finger under her chin and gently lifted up trying to get her to look at him, “I thought perhaps you were still hungry and would like something else. I’m not chastising you.”

Izzy finally looked up and Sam was saddened by the expression he found.

“In my home no one goes without what they need, do not be afraid to ask. And you’re welcome to raid my kitchen anytime, day or night. Do you understand me Izzy?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good, and it’s Sam. And do not think it has slipped my notice that you brought nothing, not even a toothbrush. I keep a few clothes on hand for my models but I doubt they’ll fit. If you can survive till Monday, I’ll take you to a dressmaker I know for something that’s not...this.” Sam finished gesturing the dress making him develop a hatred for the color orange.

“I feel like an orange nightmare.” Izzy comments, sounding more like herself.

She was intriguing him more and more. He knew she was made of sterner stuff but wondered what had happened to create the dichotomy he just witnessed.

“If you’re not too tired I want to get you in my studio and do some preliminary sketches tonight.”

***

Izzy wandered around the large room with high ceilings covered in tin refracting the lighting from the towering candelabras Sam lit. He didn’t use the gas lighting in here, something about the way the light cast something or another. She shivered slightly wondering why the room was cooler than the rest of the house.

As Sam pulled out a sketch pad and charcoal from a cabinet watching her moving in the periphery, examining everything with the same curiosity she had shown earlier stopping in front of a small copy of Venus and Cupid with a Saytar. “Did you do this?”

“Yes,” Sam said as he sat down on the stool he had placed near the raised platform covered in pillows, “it was the only one I have left from Italy. The Master would toss all of our works in the fire when he had to much to drink”

“You traveled quite a bit in your studies?”

“I was lucky that I had a chance to study with several Masters around Europe.”

“I’ve only been to Scotland once. Weather was dreadful but I wouldn't have traded it for a month of sunny days.” Izzy moved over to the platform and stood in front of it, “So how do you want me?”

Sam swallowed feeling himself becoming aroused at the innocent question as several ideas ran through his mind. “Please sit, I want to do a few preliminary sketches, familiarize myself with your features.” He watched as she stepped up and sat cross legged on the pillows keeping the ramrod straight posture like a duchess, something ladies were trained to do from childhood.

After about an hour she was wiggling around more than a professional model, “Can you sit still for more than a minute?” Sam huffed out ripping off another sheet, adding it to the growing pile around his feet. “Let's take a break.” Izzy stood up and arched her back stretching that awful dress taught over her revealing some interesting curves under its bagginess.

“That dress has gotten on my last nerve,” Sam barked out and pulled his shirt off handing it to her, “put this on.”

Izzy froze staring at him. She had seen men’s bare chests before, all her brothers weren't the most modest, but their figures were nothing compared to Sam’s.

He possessed musculature that could have been used for an anatomy manual, long chestnut hair brushed his broad shoulders encased in sun kissed golden skin, random beauty marks dotted his torso, a light smattering of hair sat between his nipples, toned stomach accented by the deep v of his hips.

Izzy already thought he was extremely attractive but after seeing Sam like this, he was breathtakingly beautiful.

Reluctantly taking the shirt she moved behind the carved screen participating a corner and unbuttoned her dress with shaking fingers. “Don’t forget to remove your chemise too.” Sam said standing directly on the other side.

“I know that Sam.” Izzy irritably tossed her dress over the screen hearing Sam curse after it landed on his head making her giggle.

She peeked around the screen at the sound of the candelabras being moved behind the platform. “I need to see you in a different lighting angle.” Sam tells her before perching on the stool again.

“Whenever your ready.”

Izzy feels her breathing becoming rapid as her nerves take over. She’s never been this undressed in front of any man before, not even Greyson and Sam Winchester was definitely not just any man.

“I know your nervous but I will only look at you as an artist and their subject. I won’t do anything untoward you unless you want it too.” Sam emphasizes again.

Izzy took a deep breath and came around the screen, walked to the platform and stepped on it.

“Don’t sit yet, move to the center in front of me please.” She moved to the designated spot.

“Turn around slowly,”

Sam felt his breath catch as the lighting behind her turned his white shirt translucent and he could see her figure.

Forevers: @donnaintx

[deansawthetvglow]

Prompt: For Dean's birthday, Cas Googles "presents for loved ones" and inadvertently follows recommendations for romantic gifts.

Shit. Okay. Hi anon, i forgot how to see inbox notifs and have no clue if u sent this during my drunk promt ask or sober prompt ask but will fill now.

Alright nvm ^^^ that didn’t happen.

 I lost this prompt for days after I got drunk and I couldn’t find it in my drafts and alas, finally. Anyways, this was written fully sober, lmao.

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart, 2.2k, 

fluff, light angst, post s14. (ao3 link if u want)

It’s January 20th, 4 days out from Dean’s 40th birthday and he still has yet to decide on a gift. It’s his first time, really, buying Dean a birthday gift. Sure, there had been the pack of funny socks he had snagged in passing from the check out at a Gas-N-Sip, but there hadn’t been any thought behind that, no planning, nothing that Castiel thought constituted the socks as a gift. Not really. 

Not only that, but there had never really been occasion to purchase a gift for Dean until now. Sam and Castiel had decided that, with the world coming to an end and all, Dean finally deserved a proper birthday party. In years past, he had either insisted on drowning out his birthday’s with booze or insisted on ‘no gifts.’ 

Castiel isn’t sure why, maybe because the eldest Winchester brother would only feel more indebted to the others around him, or perhaps because he simply didn’t like gifts. Either way, that’s why it became his mission to get the perfect gift for Dean. Something that isn’t a curse, but a comfort. 

The time after Mary and Jack had passed away and Chuck opened the gates of hell had been rough for Dean and him. Sam had kept a protective arm’s length between Castiel and Dean, insisting Dean needed time. It hurt to feel their bond being stretched thin as he’d watch Dean across the bunker from the corner of his eye, careful not to step into his space. Castiel had decided to stay in the bunker despite the tension though, Sam insisting they needed all hands on deck as they began on the long road to killing God.

Still, despite their close proximity, and the time they’ve had to heal, he can’t help but feel further from Dean. 

Cas remembers when Sam told a story of the time he gave Dean a chocolate bar and some motor oil for Christmas. Apparently, Dean had lit up at the sentiment, but Castiel can’t handle settling for something like that. 

Dean deserves something special. 

Castiel begins his search on Google using the simplest, most “Dean” search terms he can think of. 

Men’s flannels

Not special enough

Classic records

Maybe some time, but still, not good enough.

A new pair of boots

Shoes are always too risky. 

Cowboy costume

Halloween maybe, but not for this. 

Guns

Dean already has one he trusts. 

It’s been nearly two hours browsing Google and Amazon before Castiel has to take a break and let his head loll back with a sigh. 

After stretching a bit and standing up to pace the length of the bunker, he finally settles on a Google search that he’s sure will bear fruit. 

Gifts to show you care for someone. 

Castiel takes his time clicking through the links and scrolling through many of the lists. He nearly gives up when finally, an article entitled, “Gifts to Connect You to the Person You Care About”  catches his eye.

Cas smiles at the headline and clicks through the list, cataloging the possibilities away in his mind.

However, all those possible gifts dissipate from his mind as soon as he sees it. It’s perfect, and they have some in stock at the Bed Bath & Beyond an hour and a half away in Nebraska. With that, Cas calls a “Be back later!” into the seemingly empty bunker and heads out to fetch Dean’s gift. 

When he finally arrives at the store, he makes his way inside and heads to the sleep section, his eyes lighting up when he sees what he’s looking for on the shelf below a big “As Seen On TV” sticker. 

Next to the sticker it reads: “Bed Beats” 

Bed Beats are a pair of wristbands and compact speakers that are connected via wifi anywhere in the world. Just slip the wristband on, place the disc speaker underneath your pillow and send a request to your partner through the app. When they slip on their own wristband, the device will relay their heartbeat to your speaker and vice versa. Never feel disconnected again.

Castiel grins, giddy, and picks up the first box on the shelf. It’s exactly what he and Dean need. It’s the perfect way for Cas to watch over Dean without invading his space. It’s anatomical communication without speech. Cas will know when Dean needs help as his heartbeat speeds up, he’ll know when he’s at peace, he’ll know he’s alive. 

He also blinks at the bursting yellow sticker that sits on the top left corner of the box that exclaims, “Great for Long Distance Couples!” 

They may not be a couple, but with the way that their souls and relationship has grown distant, Castiel decides that’s enough to classify them as ‘long distance.’ 

As he waits in the line to check out, Cas also grabs a simple card and a tube of discounted, red wrapping paper left over from the holiday season. 

When he gets back to his car, he decides it’s best to get everything in order before presenting the gift to Dean. When he finally gets into the heavily taped box, he pulls out one set of the wristband/speaker combos and sets it aside for himself. 

Before shrouding the other set in the metallic, red of post-Christmas, 99¢ wrapping paper, he syncs the devices and downloads the app to avoid the hassle of setting it up later. 

Then, he writes, with his thigh as a sort of table, in the card with an old pen he found in the console of his truck. 

I’m including the instruction booklet in this card (please don’t read until after you open the gift!)

Dean, 

I know I’ve made so many mistakes lately, and that perhaps we do not see eye to eye on everything any longer, but this is a chance to connect without having to agree. Just to sleep and not be so alone. 

Happy Birthday. I hope you like it. 

Yours, Castiel

However, he scribbles out the ‘yours’ as it feels out of place in this letter. With that, he seals the card, and the instructions, into a white envelope with Dean’s name in angelic script printed on the front.

The drive home is pleasant and he can’t help but feel butterflies for the moment he gets to present it to his charge. 

The next days pass silently, Castiel with his gift for Dean hidden in his own closet and nearly forgotten amid all the preparations for the party. 

Sam was in charge of inviting people and Dean had insisted on being in charge of food and drinks. On the day of the party, Castiel sits off to the side as many of the guests enter, most are hunters he’s never met before, and he can’t help but feel like an outsider as the day of barbequing and reminiscing devolves into pie and drunkenness by nightfall. 

He’s glad to see Jody and Claire, but even then, their conversations are stilted, both of them want to speak primarily to Dean, the ‘birthday boy’, while Cas isn’t allowed that luxury. 

He sits away from Dean all night, only making contact to say “Happy Birthday, Dean” after he blows out the ‘4’ and ‘0’ candles that someone stuck straight through the latticework on a sweet, cherry pie. Cas smiles as Claire goes up and whispers something to Dean that makes him throw his head back in laughter and begin a lively conversation with her. 

That’s when he realizes he’s on the outside looking in. 

From where he stands, nursing a finger of whiskey, he can see Alex and Garth discussing the medical anomalies of Lycanthropes, Sam, apocalypse-world-Bobby, Donna and Jody playing some sort of cards-and-drinking game, a few people he doesn’t know attempting beer pong in the war room and even a pair of local hunters musing over the library’s expansive collection. 

He’s an outsider like he’s always been with the Winchesters. When he’s not of use, he feels unwelcome. He knows there’s never any ill intent, but even now, when he doesn’t even need his angel mojo, he still doesn’t quite fit. He doesn’t understand half of the banter thrown around the room, he can’t get drunk unless he drinks the entirety of the Men of Letters scotch collection, and he can’t interact with the guests without Dean coming up. 

At this, loneliness overtaking him, he decides to retreat to his room to wait the party out. 

He sends a nod and a tip of his glass to Sam before motioning that he’s leaving, Sam acknowledges him with a grin, drunk on whiskey and the excitement of the party, and Cas slips out of sight. 

Before letting himself rest, he sneaks into Dean’s room to place the card and the gift on his bed. 

He decides it’s best that way.

–

Castiel keeps his personal speaker and wristband close to him, beside his phone on his nightstand, hoping that some night it will be of use. He feels the uncertainty drift in and out as each night passes without so much as an acknowledgment of the gift. 

A week passes before anything happens. It’s 3 am when Castiel’s ears pick up on the small ‘ding’ that pops out of his phone speakers. 

He rolls over and grabs his phone. On the screen sits a notification. 

Bed Beats

Dean would like to share his heartbeat. Accept?

Castiel grins into the dark and arranges the speaker underneath his pillow before securing the soft band around his wrist at his pulse point. 

With a tentative thumb, he swipes to accept and lays his right ear down onto his pillow to hear Dean. He can hear his heart beating quickly, possibly a nightmare, Cas thinks, and wills his own jittery heart to slow. He has to be the grounding one for Dean, has to be a comfort. 

His own heart beats deep like a drum, and soon he can hear Dean’s heart rate slowing to match his own. Soon, they’re in perfect sync with one another. He feels closer to Dean than he has in months and hopes Dean feels the same. 

He listens as his charge’s heart rate begins to slow even more, to around 75 beats per minute, he notes, and assumes he’s slipping into sleep. 

Castiel, usually one for wandering the bunker after the brothers are asleep, doesn’t dare lift his head from his pillow until Dean ends the connection come morning light. 

It continues like this for many weeks, Dean requesting Castiel’s heartbeat in the wee morning hours, disconnecting at sunrise, and going about the days as if nothing has changed. 

Nothing’s really changed during the day. They continue to keep their distance. Dean thanks him for making the coffee one Sunday morning and Sam tells Cas, “See, space is all you needed,” his eyes sincere, “It’s healing.” But Sam doesn’t know the reason the healing process has begun to speed up. Cas can tell Dean hasn’t told his brother of the gift, and he prefers it that way. It’s the first thing between them that Sam isn’t clued into since before Mary’s passing. That alone brings him peace.

It’s a Tuesday in early March when everything shifts. Cas is lying on his back in his bed, nerves nearly taking him. Dean almost always pings by 3 am, and now it’s 45 minutes past and he’s trying to keep calm. 

A sound makes Castiel’s ears prick up, but this time it’s not a sharp ‘ding,’ it’s the soft sound of knuckles rapping on his door. 

Cas, beneath the covers in his most comfortable shirt, one Dean loaned him for the brief period he was human, props himself up on one elbow and quirks his head as the door opens softly, revealing Dean in his doorway. 

He’s in a Led Zeppelin t-shirt with holes around the seams, and a pair of black briefs, and the “Send Noods” socks Castiel bought him. 

“Dean?” 

“Hey, Cas” Dean whispers into the darkness as he steps into the room, shutting the door behind him with care. 

Words die on Castiel’s lips and his breath hitches as Dean pads, soft and calm, to his bedside. 

He lifts the corner of Castiel’s blankets ever so slightly and looks down into the glint of Castiel’s blue eyes as if asking permission. Castiel gives him a slight nod and holds his breath as Dean lifts the covers further and slips in under them. He positions himself with his head resting on the left side of Castiel’s chest, ear right above his heart and arm draped across him, hand gently thumbing at the soft fabric on Castiel’s right shoulder. 

Castiel can feel his own heart rate pick up, it’s swift and uncontrollable and it’s filling his vessel up to the brim with hard thumps. He’s beginning to wonder if he’ll ever breathe again when a low thud overcomes his near panic. 

As bright as a bell in a void, he hears it, Dean’s heartbeat, drumming from the deep. This time it’s his charge’s heart that’s strong and steadfast and convinces Castiel’s own to join it in slow synchronization. 

Castiel takes in a breath and slows his own heart rate. He sees Dean’s eyelids flutter shut and he lets his chin rest in the soft of Dean’s hair, his left hand rubbing slow circles into his back. 

“I missed you.” 

Dean doesn’t speak, but Castiel can feel the whisper of a smile move on his chest. 

As he lets himself drift into peace, thoughts blink in his mind at the pace of his heart. 

I fit here. Dean fits here. This is my family. This is who I love. This is home.

____

(Gift based on this!!!)

[myinconnelly1]

Throwing Pebbles: Far From Home (11)

Masterlist / Previous

Word Count: 911

Warnings: none

“Eminence Crowley,”  Julie curtsied to the holy man.  “We are hoping to have an audience with your king as soon as possible, the situation is direr than was first realized.”

“Oh, you seem to misunderstand me,”  He adjusted his red robes.  “The king wishes to meet with the Winchester knights only.  You and your,”  He eyed Cole and Lisa, “Servants may retire until later this evening.”

“Eminence.”  Julie curtsied again even as she bristled at the coddling tone the Cardinal used on her.  A confused look crossed Sam’s face at the exchange, and Cole pressed an urgent but supplicant hand to Julie’s back.

“Here are your rooms, Lady Julie,”  A straw-haired servant ushered Julie and her entourage to a small apartment then left.

“Spill it,”  Cole stood in front of the now-closed door with his arms crossed staring at Julie.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  She retorted a little too primly.  “He is a Cardinal.  If he chooses that I not be seen or heard, then I am not.”

“Right,”  Cole huffed patiently watching her pace.  “And that doesn’t bother you at all right?”

“Of course not,”  Julie lied through her teeth as she rolled her shoulders back trying to relieve the tension that had settled between her shoulder blades.

“You full of shit,”  He said simply.

“You watch your mouth in front of me, Cole.”  She snapped at him with a finger outstretched.  “I am the daughter of a Count.  I was chosen by the King to be the guide for his knights.  I-” She realized that she had puffed out her chest as she had uttered her list.  She released the air and slumped a little.  “I am overreacting.”

“It’s alright Milady,”  Cole said a small smile on his face.  “I’d rather you take it out on me than by accident in court.”

“Thank you for being here for me, Cole.  I don’t know how I would survive without you,”  She didn’t utter the apology even behind closed doors but it was evident on her slightly flushed face that she was embarrassed.

“Now, how do we get you out into court?  The Cardinal and the rest of the nobility will eat the Winchester brothers alive if I know anything about knights.”

“You’re right.  I need to be there, King Oskar wouldn’t have sent me along if he didn’t think there was trouble.”  Julie mused.

A knock sounded at the door behind Cole’s back startling both of them.  Cole moved away from the door to let a still quiet Lisa answer it.

“May I help you?”  Lisa asked politely.

“I’m here to escort Lady Julie to the Grand Hall.”  Came the voice of an older man.  He had a somewhat surly disposition and though he looked sober, the effects of a hard life and hard liquor had worn themselves onto his skin.

“I am here,”  Julie replied as she had been waiting patiently for him to arrive.  “You’re name sir?”

“Singer, milady.  I serve King Oskar as his Emissary here in this land.” The man offered her a shallow bow.

“Then I am honored to have your help,”  Julie relaxed slightly.  “Please, lead the way.”

“Presenting Lady Julie and Sir Singer, your Majesty.”  The herald called as Bobby escorted Julie into the great hall.

“Sire, Lady Julie is here to speak on the Winchester Knights' behalf,”  Bobby spoke with as much eloquence as the old man seemed to be able to muster.

“Speak,”  The king spoke.

“King Michael, My King has sent these knights to you to investigate an unusual congregation of vampires that have amassed between his kingdom and yours,”  Julie spoke as she curtsied to the king, then presented Dean and Sam.

“My kingdom has no quarrel with the vampires, I see no reason to create one.”  The dark skin man boomed regally.

“Sire, you may not see the problem yet, but if left unchecked they could threaten to overrun your kingdom.”  Julie pleaded.  Sam took a protective step towards Julie that Dean noticed.  He then noticed that several members of the court had taken on a somewhat aggressive stance as Julie had tried to build their case.

“Do you think that I cannot protect my kingdom?!”  King Michael boomed, and Julie flinched.

“King Michael, if I may -”  Julie started.

“You may not!”  The king interrupted.  Sam placed his hand on Julie’s shoulder hoping to signal her to cut their loses.

“In that case,”  Dean took a step in front of Julie shielding her and his brother with his body.  “If it pleases you, sire, we would be most grateful for accommodations within your kingdom to rest and take stock before returning home.”

“You will stay here,”  Michael responded.  Julie seethed and attempted to calm herself.  She noticed Cardinal Crowley standing slightly behind the king and knew he held the king's ear.  She would get no further unless they saw her as something other than a pretty face.  “You will be my guests at a feast tonight in Lady Julie’s honor,”  The king continued.  If it wasn’t for Dean standing in front of her she might have offended the king with the look of shock on her face.

“We are most honored your majesty,”  Sam rumbled from behind her, but the way his hand tightened on her shoulder before pulling away made her think he had lied.

Bobby excused them, and they fled the Great Hall to regroup after such a terrible meeting.

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