#Dean winchester is saved !!!

[caplanbuckybarnes]

In The Lonely Shadows (2/2) Dean W.

Summary: Crowely's always there to help convince you everything's going to be okay after Dean leaves with Lisa & Ben.

the first part of this was requested by my beloved wife @midnight-moonlight-and-mars sometime back in March.

Request: I've got a Crowley request! It can be platonic or romantic. It takes place the year Sam is resurrected and dean is living with Lisa. The reader was close with the Winchesters but after the fight with Lucifer dean abandoned the reader to be with Lisa and cas never answers ( unrequited love maybe?) so the reader teams up with Crowley and becomes like a bounty hunter for him for Lucifer loyalists. 

A/N: It's technically not Crowley x reader since she's pining for Dean. Oops, but I hope you enjoy this all the same, my love.

A/N #2: people were rabid about asking me for a part two. So please, enjoy!

WC: 1.7K

Warnings: mentions of loneliness, and blood, the reader feels abandoned and unloved, crowley’s nice, dean returns. sassy & protective crowley

[READ PART ONE HERE]

Read on Ao3!

--

Dean watched as your chest heaved up and down with every breath you took. The wind was howling outside, with rain pouring down. He was only partially soaked, having run for cover under teh pitiful awning above your hotel door. A suitcase was tucked into one hand and a backpack filled with supplies slung over the shoulder. He'd wanted to say goodbye before he left. But he couldn't. He was a coward, after all. He'd had a few visits from Castiel and Crowley, neither of them saying a word about you.

Though, he asked. He hasn’t spoken a word about Sam, either. The horror of watching Sam fall into the pits of Hell with Adam devastated him. So he ran away. He ran away to the person who would get him away from the hunter’s life, Lisa and Ben. He played pretend for as long as he possibly could.

Until he couldn’t keep up with the facade anymore. All he did was think about you, and the life the pair of you could have had. He’d find himself hovering over your name in his cellphone but never pressing the call button. Oftentimes, he’s stay up late at night, while Lisa laid peacefully next to him sleeping.  He knew he couldn’t lie to her forever about what - or who - truly had his heart.

Oftentimes, when he dreamed, it was about you, your face and your hands wrapped tightly in his as you started behind him on hunts. Thats what he loved about you the most, how much you trusted him to protect you.

So months after he departed, he located you in this dingy motel, where rodents and garbage littered the parking lot, and a few street lamps flickered dangerously in this damned storm. He’d gotten a replacement key to your room, claiming to the sketchy old man at the kiosk that he was your husband and you didn’t leave the key outside for him. So, on the threshold of the hotel room is where he stood, his fight or flight response kicking in the moment he laid eyes on you again.

He hadn’t seen you in months, far too long. But not long enough to forget the way your cheeks puffed out while you were embarrassed or the way your hair always fell into your face when you’d laugh at his stupid jokes. He couldn’t forget the way you would shuffle into his warmth at night, either.

God, did he miss the way you infected all of his clothing with your perfumes. 

He hesitantly stepped into the room, only to stop midway through in almost a panic. What if you moved on? What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you shot him? He wondered at that moment if you held any protection on you, or if you’d thrown all of it away.

But he took the chance anyway and stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him quietly. He quietly toed out of his shoes and turned around before fully surveying the room. He couldn’t see any other person’s belongings in the room, so he assumed you were indeed alone.

Nervously, he tiptoed to the bed and studied your face for a long moment. He remembered everything about you-- your eyelashes, the dimple on your cheek. He wanted to reach out to you, nearly stopping himself as he felt his arm move without his command. He brushed his fingers against your cheek before he knew what he was doing and stepped back as your eyes had flung open in terror.

“Y/N,Y/N, it’s me, it’s Dean,” he said, reaching behind him for the pistol he always carried with him, though, he would never attempt to hurt you in any sort of way. “Hey, hey.”

“Dean?” you blinked through the darkness of the room. You must have been sleeping. Because you thought you heard Dean’s voice. And you thought you seen him standing mere inches away from where you slept on the bed.

Before he could get the chance to respond, another voice filled the room, a voice you’d come to recognize and acknowledge throughout these last few months.

“She doesn’t need you, Squirrel. She’s doing great without you.” Crowley’s voice echoed in the small room. 

Pulling yourself into a sitting position on the bed, you wiped at your eyes before switching your gaze between the pair in front of you. Crowley had been watching you over the weeks, which you had grown weirdly accustomed to, so it was no surprise that he had appeared out of the blue. What had startle you, was the other man standing mere inches away from you. If you just lifted your arm a few inches, you would be able to clasp your hands together.

“You left her high and dry after Moose had fallen into the depths of Hell, where, mind you, he’s been shacking it up with Lucifer. You should hear the agonies and woes from him.”

You could see the agitated twitch in Dean’s cheekbones, even in the poor excuse of light shining through the cracked window curtains.

“But now, back to the matter at hand, hmm?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and the two-night lamps turned on, casting the room in sudden brightness that none of you was prepared for.

“How’s Lisa and Ben?” Crowley smirked as Dean looked entirely uncomfortable at the jabs. “Didn’t want to be a family man anymore, huh? Did she decide she didn’t want your baggage?”

“It’s none of your business, Crowley,” Dean quipped. He snuck a look towards you and almost melted at the sight of tears in your eyelids. He wanted to erase the heartbreak he had caused you. He wanted to erase the pain away from you.

He only wanted you to forgive him. He wanted you and only you. He wished he hadn’t run off after Sam had gone to Hell, but he was broken and insecure. He was scared that you would leave him as well, so he did the only thing he could think of doing at the time: He ran away.

He begged for Lisa to forgive him, and she did. She took him in immediately, even after he explained all that went down with Lucifer and Adam and Sam. She took care of him. And for a while, he could forget all the pain. He could mourn the loss of his brother in peace. But there had always been a hole in his heart that Lisa nor ben would veer be able to fill.

He hadn’t known it at the time until he had sat up the night before and wallowed in misery after having nothing but dreams and nightmares about you for months.

“No harsh words, Not Moose?” Crowley taunted as he took a step toward you, causing Dean to nearly topple backwards onto the bed you were still sitting on. “No quips? Nothing? What do you have to say for yourself? Because while you were playing house, I was left to pick up the piece of her broken heart! How noble of you.  Leave her behind to wallow in misery, and now what? You expect her to swoon because you're back? Pathetic."”

You never thought you would see the day when the king of hell would be red in the face at the Winchesters. But here he was, pointing a threatening finger in Dean’s direction while the other man looked like a kicked puppy. 

You wanted Crowley to stop the insults at Dean. But the fact that he was protecting you in this way meant so much to you. You never knew how much Crowley actually cared about you. 

"I bet she’s just thrilled to have you back. Nothing says 'I care' like a good old-fashioned abandonment, right?" Crowley scoffed.

“Crowley, enough,” you sighed as you finally pushed the duvet away from your body and stood up, causing Dean to look at you with hope. With your request, Crowley quieted down, though he didn’t cease the glare or scowl on his features. Ignoring him, you took a breath, taking Dean’s height in stride. “So, what? You show up at my doorstep and nearly scare me to death, for what?”

“I was wrong,” Dean swallowed, blinking slowly as tears piled against his eyelids. “I never should have left you the way i had. You were mourning Sam as well, and I was a coward for leaving you. I never once stopped thinking about you. I never once let you out of my mind. Lisa knew it, Ben knew it.’

“I’m not forgiving you, Dean.” you held your ground, even as you had to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “How could I forgive you? Do you know what the hell I’ve been through? You weren’t the only one to lose a brother, you know? Sam was my family as well.”

He opened his mouth, only for you to cut him off.

“It’s been fourteen months, Dean—fourteen long, terrible months. I celebrated Sam’s birthday without you. I celebrated your birthday without you. Crowley was the only one to check with me. Do you know he saved me from death on numerous occasions? That could have been you.”

He looked utterly defeated at the mention of the birthday celebrations. He could only imagine you singing to yourself with some cheap cake and a gas station lighter, wishing for the family you once held as you blew out the candles.

“Dean, I don’t know whether to hit you, kiss you, or put a bullet in you.” you scowled, pushing past him to walk over to the bathroom to wash your face. Leaving the door open, you heard Dean shuffle around Crowley to get to you again. 

“I can’t leave you, not again. Never again,” he watched your reflection as you grabbed for a hand towel and wiped the water from your face. 

Glaring at him momentarily, you sighed heavily before turning around and leaning against the counter. “Crowley will kill me for this. But I can’t help but think that I’m still in love with you. We can talk more about this in the morning. I had a long few weeks, and I’m absolutely exhausted.” 

Eagerly, Dean followed you out of the bathroom, barely noticing Crowley’s absence as he tucked you into the bed before he climbed in himself.

--

**totally up for a part three IF people want it. So please, please, please, if you enjoyed this reblog this & leave comments.

[qtepasacalabaza]

HAPPY CAS DAY EVERYONE‼️‼️‼️

[strawlessandbraless]

Dean Winchester is Saved!

Headcanon where Castiel broadcasted ‘Dean Winchester is saved’ twice. Once when he raised the righteous man from hell, and again when he sacrificed himself for the man he loved ✨

[vampiredaisiesss]

his love has teeth—and i want to be devoured

— castiel has been ordered to save god's righteous man. but will the angel of god save hell's brand new torturer or will he get saved instead?

They say God's righteous man traded his soul like a playing card. And when the night of the reckoning dawned, he obediently let hellhounds tear him open, all to bring his brother back from the cold earth.

What kind of righteous man deals with devils?

The desperate kind.

The Winchester kind.

Hell is a melting pot of everything vile. It claims sinner and saints alike. For thirty years, Alastair peeled him apart — skin to muscle to his psyche. For thirty years, Dean Winchester remembered how to scream his brother's name. Remembered why the pain mattered.

But there are nearly 1.89 billion minutes in 30 years. I don't blame him for forgetting, father. I don't blame him for becoming what he feared.

Does he?

I find him at his rack, picking apart another soul like a child picks the wings off flies.

The righteous man has learned Hell's language too well. His agony has teeth. It bites down hard when I reach out to save him, flesh searing where my hand finds his shoulder. But I am older than teeth, older than this damned pit, older than the first time a creature learned it could hurt another creature.

He flinches when I press two fingers to his forehead, but stays silent as his bones knit back together, as muscle and skin rewrap his frame. He isn't afraid of pain anymore; It is my mercy that terrifies him.

Father, forgive me.

I followed your orders. I restored your creation.

But no one warned me how saving one human soul can feel like swallowing a star, how it burns going down, how you never quite recover from the light.

I have remade him, but I fear he unmade me. Now something grows in me that has no name in Enochian. I can't describe it, but I can feel myself catching it like a fever.

Even his love has teeth, and I find myself aching to be devoured by it.

[cas-dyke]

i think maybe, as castiel was rebuilding dean from scratch and bearing his soul upward from hell, he thought about leaving out a bit of dean’s pain. like maybe he could remake dean, but make his memories a little brighter or his grief a little softer. make things easier for the righteous man.

but then that wouldn’t be dean, not really. and he’d already grown worryingly fond of the soul he was carrying. compromising it wouldn’t be right.

so he settled for removing dean’s physical scars. all but one, of course.

[kdogreads]

Happy Birthday, Dean

Dean x Reader smut

Summary: It’s Dean’s birthday and you’re celebrating by doing his favorite things: drinking beer and having sex.

Warnings: 18+ only content, very little plot just smut lol, please let me know if anything needs added here

Word count: ~1300

A/N: I can’t promise I’ll keep posting content this frequently, but right now I am on a smutty roll lol. For now, please enjoy our birthday boy’s gift ;)

————————————

Dean never wanted to make a big deal about his birthday, but you just couldn’t resist. You surprised him with some beer and snacks, and a few small wrapped gifts. A Kit Kat bar, Slim Jim, thrifted silver candlestick (to melt down into bullets), and a 5-pound bag of salt. He said he didn’t want anything but giggled like a school boy the whole time.

Sam and Eileen left the bunker shortly after the festivities concluded, adding a few gifts of their own. They were smart enough to know you two wanted some alone time.

As soon as the door shut, Dean walked over to you, took your beer out of your hand to set it down, and planted a warm, hungry kiss on your lips. You smiled into his mouth.

“Happy birthday to you,” You began while you worked on the buttons of his shirt. Dean’s eager hands grabbing your hips.

“Happy birthday to you,” You slid his shirt down his shoulders while he slid his hands under your own and pulled it quickly over your head.

“Happy birthday dear Dean,” He made quick work of the clasp on your bra and discarded the thin garment to the floor, pushing you up against the large table in the library. His rough hands lifting you easily to sit on the cool, wooden surface, pausing only to squeeze your round ass.

His hands moved to your breasts while he exhaled a sharp breath, cupping them and kneading them in his large hands. You crashed your lips to his and tugged the waistband of his jeans.

Moving frantically and sloppily you undid the button and unzipped the fly, shoving his jeans and boxers down in one swift motion. Dean followed suit and undid your jeans in record speed, his lips never leaving yours, and lifted you slightly with one strong arm so you could slide your pants and panties off and onto the floor.

Your folds were already dripping in anticipation, wanting Dean inside you filling your walls with his rock-hard cock. No other man could make you so desperately horny and wet without even touching you. The looks he gave you and dirty thoughts he whispered into your ear throughout the whole party had you biting your lip to keep from crying out all night.

Dean grabbed your hips and pulled you to him, his hard cock rubbing against your already throbbing clit. His hot breath danced down your neck and you threw your head back in ecstasy as he nibbled on the soft spot just above your collarbone.

He lined himself up with your entrance, one hand guiding it into your core and the other tangled in your flowing y/h/c hair. Your hands grabbing at his shoulders and the short hairs at the base of his neck.

He slowly slid himself into you, filling your wet center with his large member. He moved so slowly your body started aching for more of him. You gasped and let out a low moan as his hips met the inside of your thighs. A deep groan escaped from Dean’s throat.

“Happy birthday to you,” You sighed out as he pulled himself almost all the way out, leaving only his throbbing tip inside. You met his emerald gaze and dropped a hand to brace yourself on the table.

“Happy birthday to me, indeed,” Dean hissed as he slammed back into you. You inhaled sharply as the force of his hardness made your warm walls shutter.

He began thrusting in and out of you strong and steady. His arm held onto your waist so he could keep pounding into you while the other yanked on your hair, tugging your head back with it.

He sucked and kissed your neck leaving little red marks and pulling rhythmic moans out of your throat.

Dean let you out of his strong grip and pushed your stomach back until your back was flush with the table. He threw your legs over his shoulders before looping his arms around them to grab on both hips with a strong, powerful grip.

This was your favorite way to take him and he knew it. The new position made him fill you in an almost unbearable way. With each thrust he slammed into your sweet spot making you see stars and feel your walls begin clenching around him.

Within seconds you felt the white hotness of the most intense orgasm take over your senses. Dean smiled a wicked smile and began circling your clit with his thumb, never breaking his demanding pace. You shook in his grasp and rode the waves of pleasure through each thrust before coming back down and gathering your senses again.

“Fuck, Dean,” You finally breathed out, “God you fuck me so good.”

Dean let out a primal grunt in response and grabbed your right leg, sliding it back down to rest on the table so he could have easier access to your clit.

He continued plowing roughly into you, smiling as he watched your face twitch in intense pleasure.

“Cum for me, daddy, please,” you begged, wanting to feel Dean’s warm liquid spill out inside of you.

“Fuck,” Dean grunted, “Gladly, baby. But not yet.”

You dropped your head to the table while Dean worked eagerly on your clit. He circled it with his fingers and moved you in all the right directions.

“Dean,” you moaned, “Dean please I can’t- I’m s-so close.” You had barely recovered from the first one before you felt your walls tighten again, another wave of pleasure coursing through your veins.

You let out a loud moan and yelled Dean’s name over and over until the spasms inside you finally slowed down. He fucked you through the waves and dragged your intense pleasure out as long as he could. You could barely tell which way was up by the time your fingers stopped clawing into Dean’s strong forearms, and you let out a raspy, “Fuck.”

“That’s my good girl,” Dean cooed into your ear, pulling you up from the table and holding you close to him, “Such a good girl cumming all over daddy’s dick.” Still thrusting himself into you, just slower and more methodically.

You tangled his hair in your hand and ran the other down his back, scratching him with your nails the whole way down.

“Please, daddy. Please cum inside me,” You breathed into his ear, “Fill me up, daddy, please.”

Dean’s pace wavered for the first time as you felt his muscles tense up. He growled into your neck and let out a string of curse words. He tightened his grip around your waist as you felt him spill out inside you, filling your walls with his sticky warmth. You gasped into his ear as the new sensation sent shivers up your spine.

“Fuck, y/n,” He hissed, “God I love your tight pussy, baby” He kept thrusting into you, slowly tapering his pace, trying to ride every wave of pleasure he could deep inside you.

You sighed as he slid himself out of your sore, throbbing folds. His eyes met yours and he pulled you into a deep, passionate kiss. He held you tight as if he wanted to savor every single moment his skin felt yours.

You smiled contently as Dean grabbed his discarded t-shirt to clean you both up and plant another warm kiss on your lips.

“Happy birthday, Dean,” You whispered into his mouth, a smile creeping onto your face

“God, I love birthdays,” Dean exhaled and smiled.

“But you’re supposed to let me take care of you on your birthday!” You responded in protest, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“We’ve got all night for that, baby,” Dean bit playfully at your neck and you let out a squeal in surrender.

Dean stepped back and extended his hand to help you off the table. It took a moment before you regained your balance.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” you told Dean before turning in the direction of the bathroom. You kissed his lips one more time and squeezed his arm.

“I’ll meet you there, sweetheart,” Dean responded with a wink. You laughed lightly and headed on your way.

It was going to be a long night and you couldn’t wait.

Join my tag list! Thank you so much for the love ❤️ @this-is-me19

[itwasnightwhenyoudied]

dean winchester is (about to be) saved

[dessertbird]

Lazarus Rising

Lazarus Rising 18th September 2008

✨Their first meeting in that barn.✨

[nobite02]

The World Ender - Lord Huron

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Happy Dean Winchester is Saved Day to all who celebrate

[softhazyalone]

There has never been and will never be again a man that has me kicking my feet, foaming at the mouth, delusional like Dean Winchester.

The self loathing, the repressed emotions, the caring older brother, grew up too fast, never had a chance, his best is never enough, devoted to a cause, standing for nothing dying for anything, yearning for something he will never let himself have, giving love in the small details, the weight of the world on his shoulders, unwavering dedication to a fatally flawed father, self-sacrifice to the point of self-destruction, bone-weary, never enough, too much, a broken promise to never be vulnerable again, “you can have mine”, he would do anything to save you but he cannot save himself, thinking he is a means to an end, hands reaching out to grab with closed fists, stubborn, flawed, righteous, devoted, re-born, self-made, risen, human…………

I could quite literally go on forever, I have clinical Dean Winchester brain rot and there is no cure.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Freckles and Green Eyes (Dean W.)

Summary: You and Dean had a lazy morning.

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 227

Read on Ao3!

--

There was nothing to do today. No cases, no grocery shopping needed, nothing. Sam was researching msot of the night with nothing that deemed worthy of a case. You and Dean had called it an early night, instead deciding to fall asleep. You’d woken up to soft music blaring from the vinyl record dow nthe hall, presumably from Sam cooking breakfast.

Dean had his arms wrapped around you tight, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You loved the quiet days. They were the days where you and Dean could just be without needing to worry about a case or anything. Leaning up to lay on your elbows, you watched Dean as he breathed slowly. He looked almost angelic when he slept. His usually tense shoulders were relaxed and you could count the freckles across his cheeks easily. 

His hair was growing a tadbit longer than he usually allowed it to be, the back of head had slight curls wish you always adored running your fingers through whenever you drove the Impala with him. His eyes were closed as you leaned over to kiss his forehead, earning a soft groan in response before his eyes flickered open.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” yuo greeted with a soft smile as he blinked the sleepiness away. 

“C’mere,” he replied, pulling you into a hug before kissing your head in greeting.

[minefield-of-a-ninja]

28 DAYS: CHAPTER NINE

Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given a choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.

Chapter warnings/tags: mentioning thoughts of self-destruction

Words in this chapter: 2,100

Author’s notes: you might recognize a few nuggets (per Stuie) from SPN here.

Many thanks to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for pre-reads and for being my friends.

text divider by @talesmaniac89

CHAPTER NINE

“My buddy, Cas, he’s... well, he used to be my buddy,” Dean pauses, squinting down at the smoldering butt between his thumb and fingers. 

Meg remains silent next to him. 

Dean assumes she knows as well as he does that he can’t predict whether his friends before rehab will still be his friends after. Not to mention friends like Castiel, the authority Dean defied when he took it upon himself to burn his life and career to the ground in that high school fire three weeks ago.

“Cas is a widower with a teenage daughter,” Dean continues, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“He’s a weird little guy.” He exhales smoke and chuckles, looking at Meg sideways. “You’d like him.”

Meg snorts, flicking her ash before taking a drag of her own. 

“I, uhh... Cas was my boss. He’s the big chief.”

Meg quietly listens as smoke rolls from between her lips.

He and Meg are as close as he’s ever been with anyone. They share things, and he considers her to be a real friend. They’re all so fucked up, bleeding emotion right and left, that it’s taken no time to bond, even when they don’t know every central life point of each other. Until this moment, Dean didn’t realize that he had yet to tell Meg what landed his ass here in the first place.

He drags his gaze from her cherry lips and focuses on his shrinking cigarette. 

“I fucked up.” Dean bobs his head, then takes the last drag from his smoke before tossing it toward the bucket of sand as he exhales. “I’m a firefighter — battalion chief, 15 years of service, saved lives and homes — but I fucked up that day.”

Dean thinks about the stories everyone has and that Jack is so enthusiastic about. He’s not been forced to tell his story, but he’s hungry for that last connection with his newfound family here. The desire to share swirls in his chest, threatening to pop out, sloppy and chaotic.

When he peeks at Meg, she’s listening closely without a hint of judgment.

Dean slowly and quietly tells her what happened that day. How he’d been at Gordon’s until the wee hours, drinking and fucking his way between a couple of women he barely knew. How he stumbled home less than two hours before getting called in on a conflagration.

“What’s a conflagration?” Meg asks, lighting two cigarettes at once before exhaling and handing one of the smokes to Dean.

“It’s a... thanks,” he pauses, accepting the cigarette from her and taking a drag. “A conflagration’s a big fire that’s on target to destroy a lot of property, land... take a lot of lives.”

Meg exhales and nods, squinting through the haze of smoke. “So you showed up drunk to a killer fire?”

Dean slowly blinks and nods. “BAC of .23 six hours after leaving my drug dealer’s house, yeah.”

Meg whistles.

“Waltzed into that job with a vial of coke in my pocket and more substances in my system than a raver on a Saturday night. And Cas, my boss and best friend... he told me to...” Dean pauses and draws a deep, clean breath. “He told me to stop — to stand down — and I ignored him.”

He takes a long pull from his smoke, recalling that morning, not wanting to leave anything out.

“Do you know why you ignored him?”

Dean looks at Meg. She looks like she knows the answer already, even though Dean didn’t even realize it until now.

“I was in self-destruct mode.”

Meg nods and huddles in closer, narrowing her gaze.

“Two years ago, I’d never be out ‘til three in the morning, never test those boundaries.  But the farther I got from a real life, the less I cared about bein’ careful.”

His words hang in the air between them. He can almost see them mocking, shiny, and bubblegum pink like something out of an after-school special.

“Real life,” Meg hums. “What’s not real about your life right now?”

Dean shakes his head and takes the last drag from his cigarette. “I wanna settle down with someone. I want a house with a yard, not an apartment. I want Em... I want where I live to be her home.”

Meg nods, sitting back and finishing her own cigarette. “So now you know.”

Dean chuckles, tossing his butt toward the sand bucket.

The reason he brought Cas up, to begin with, was because he thought Cas and Meg would like each other. They have a similar sense of humor and have made Dean feel less awkward about different stages in his life with distinctive grace and compassion. He doesn't know if Cas will speak to him at this point, but he can’t keep himself from imagining two of his favorite people becoming favorites of each other.

Sam pulls out of the hug before Dean.

“Lydia said you looked good. She was right.” He nods, clapping a hand over his brother’s shoulder. “How’re your injuries healing?”

“Good.” Dean misses the embrace. He wishes he wasn’t so needy, but holding his baby brother has always been the best cure for his ills. “You sure I don’t look skinny? Lydia said I looked skinny.”

“No, man. You look great. It’s been a while.” Sam looks cagey as he glances around at the other patients and their guests.

Dean doubts Sam’s comment was meant as a kick to the gut, but it sure as fuck feels like one.  

When Sam was a kid, he looked up to Dean. He used to tell Dean that he couldn’t wait to be big and strong like him. Now Sam looks at him with pity. Dean wonders if one day he might earn back even a fraction of Sam’s admiration.

“Want a cup of coffee or anything?” Dean tries to be hospitable, but rehab isn’t exactly the Ritz.

“No, thanks, I’m good.” 

Dean also tries not to get pissy about Sam’s really fucking noticeable uneasiness. 

“Let’s take a walk, Sammy.” He doesn’t wait for Sam to argue; he turns and heads toward the trailhead he walked with Meg and Pamela earlier that morning.

Thankfully, Sam follows without further ado. Once they’re on the trail and other voices are a distant hum, Sam relaxes, and Dean breathes a sigh of relief.

“So,” Sam starts. “You’ll be out of here in, what, a week?”

Dean chuckles, dropping his gaze to his booted feet on the packed trail. “Sammy, you and me both know that you know exactly when I’m gettin’ outta here. You’re the one who set this all up, remember?”

Sam bobs his head, matching his brother’s stride. “Just trying to start a conversation, Dean.”

His voice is quiet and contrite, and Dean feels like an ass for calling Sam on the bogus question.

“Sorry, man. I know this ain’t easy. But, yeah, eight days, actually.”

Sam nods, looking over at Dean. “How d’you... how are you feeling about it?”

Dean smiles up into the partly cloudy blue sky. “Scared.”

Sam slows to a stop, and Dean does the same.

“Do you need more time?” Sam asks, concern furrowing his brow.

Dean shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter, dude. Gotta take the training wheels off sooner or later.”

Sam nods thoughtfully. “Have you found a sponsor yet?”

“Not yet. Next week.”

Sam gazes off into the woods, stress rolling off him like a stench.

“Hey.” Dean reaches out and tugs the wrist cuff of Sam’s flannel shirt to get his attention.

“I hate that you’re scared, Dean.” Sam holds Dean’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re being honest, but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

Dean nods, carefully choosing his next words.

“I’d rather be scared than what I was three weeks ago. Scared means careful. It means I got somethin’ to lose and to look forward to. It means I got my baby girl back, and this time I’m keepin’ her.”

Sam steps in and grabs Dean in another hug. This one lasts longer than the first, and Dean basks in it.

“My mom died in a house fire when I was four.”

These are the things that haunt him. He could be insolent and say they’re the reasons he drinks, but the truth is, they’re more than that. 

“After the fire, Dad changed; he, uh... followed a downward spiral.” Dean shakes his head and chuckles. “He was angry, usually at me.”

Dean avoids using the words he and Billie discussed. He avoids saying that John was abusive because this is his story, not John’s. And he avoids looking anyone in particular directly in the eyes.

“Started workin’ at the family garage before I was in middle school. Child labor laws be damned, I guess.” He huffs another sardonic laugh.

In less than a month, Billie Pilgrim has given Dean the space and permission to believe he was hurt and abused and has suffered trauma. Stating the facts out loud in front of a live audience solidifies that belief.

“It felt good, though, ya know? Like I was doin’ somethin’ special. And I was a quick learner.”

Dean genuinely smiles, remembering how Bobby would brag to John about what Dean had learned that day.

“I was never great at school. Dropped out during the 8th grade, settled into the role of Mom and Dad to Sammy...”

He pauses for a deep breath. 

“Sometimes I can’t believe how good he turned out.” Dean shakes his head and then continues. “When I was 17... I got caught with a couple high school girls doin’ what teenagers do when their parents aren’t home. Dad was... well, Dad about it. He shipped me off to Afghanistan.”

Dean briefly flicks his gaze up to Pamela, who nods, mouthing thank you.

“Later, Dad’d tell everyone it was my choice — to follow in the footsteps of my old man and become a Marine, but I was fuckin’ terrified, man.” He looks down at his hands in his lap. “I served two tours before Sammy graduated high school. He sent me a copy of an offer letter for a full ride to Stanford... I came right home — I knew Dad was gonna fuckin’ lose it.” 

Dean clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

“We fought — Dad and me. I was just tryna run interference for Sam to get his shit and... it was bad. I said some things. John... my dad, he was so mad, like red-faced, veins bulgin’ out...”

Dean finally looks around the circle. Everyone is listening; even Crowley is engrossed.

“Turns out he was in the middle of a massive heart attack. Killed him on the spot. Not even CPR brought him back long enough for me to say I was sorry and g’bye.”

Dean stops talking. There’s more to his story, but that’s all he can do for the day. 

“Thank you for sharing, Dean,” Cain speaks.

Dean nods, staring at his feet.

“Does anyone want to say anything to Dean?”

Jack immediately raises his hand.

“Yes, Jack,” Cain smiles.

“Dean, you should know that these are just things you’ve done and things that have happened to you, not who you are.” 

Dean looks up at Jack and smiles.

“Yeah, I know. But the mark... it’s still there, ya know?”

Jack nods.

“What’s Billie always say? No one’s a monolith?” Meg asks.

Dean grins at her. That was one of the first deep lessons he learned from Billie.

He wasn’t exaggerating when he told Sam he was scared. Hell, he still hasn’t looked at his email, and he deleted his text logs with Gordon and others like him without even taking a peek.

But Dean’s armed with tools from Billie and Cain, and he has a community to rely on in a way he’s never felt he had before. There are things and people — feelings that he wants to experience differently, or maybe even for the first time.

Maybe he did have support before, and he was just too numb to feel it.

Regardless, this is a new day.

Dean’s 16 years old. He’s sitting in the driver’s seat of the Impala, and John’s sitting shotgun. 

John’s teaching him to drive, to get his learner’s permit, and Dean is nervous and excited, hands gripping the wheel. 

This isn’t a memory; it’s a dream. Dean knows this because, in reality, John taught Dean to drive when he was eight. He put a couch cushion on the front seat and tied blocks to Dean’s tennis shoes.

In the dream, Sam’s in the backseat, begging to take a turn. 

Finally, they pull up to the house — the family house — and Dean parks in the driveway. 

John looks over at his oldest child then and says, "Perfect landing, son." 

Chapter 10

Please let me know what you think!

Series Masterlist

MJ’s Masterlist

[not-that-cas-lives-in-my-ass]

He did it for us 🥹

[cas-dyke]

the fact that “too sweet” can be sung from dean’s pov abt cas AND cas’s pov abt dean cuz they’re both Like That™️

[thoughtslikeaminefield]

28 Days: CHAPTER 4 TEASER

CATCH UP HERE BEFORE CHAPTER 4 POSTS TOMORROW!

“You know, I’ve heard of dry-out joints where they don’t allow caffeinated beverages of any kind.” Her eyes narrow, and her voice hollows like she’s relaying a dreadful urban legend. “That so?” He arches a brow as the liquid gold fills his cup. 

Meg, clearly better caffeinated than he is and dead set on engaging with him pre-coffee, makes a show of lounging against the beverage cart.

“Or cigarettes,” she adds.

Dean takes his first blessed sip with a deep moan and then realizes what she’s actually saying. “Wait- we have cigarettes here?”

Meg slowly nods with the most impish smirk Dean’s ever seen, then inserts herself between Dean and the carafe to top off her own cup.

“You can buy them at the commissary.” She turns to look up at him, taking a long sip. “Except they’re almost always out. I have my sister send them to me by the carton.”

For the second time in barely 5 minutes, Dean feels like crying from joy. He examines his tiny savior as she sips her coffee in what he assumes is her natural state of absolute mischief before taking his leap.

“I dunno how to tell you this, but I’ll do just about anything for a smoke right now. ”

Meg chuckles, dragging her gaze up and down his form. “Damn that pesky no-fraternizing rule.”

Dean narrows his eyes as he tilts his head and purses his lips. Turns out he doesn’t need to be all the way at the top of his game to charm the smokes out of even the shrewdest of holders.

“You’re adorable.” Meg purrs, reaching for her inside her jacket pocket. “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

Dean mocks up a thoughtful expression. “Not usually.”

She pushes away from the coffee bar, sticking a smoke between her lips and waving a second like a dog biscuit. “C’mon. Outside.”

@brrose-apothecary @stusbunker