#I would like to get it’s not as if cas is WRONG framed and hung next to the Mona Lisa.

[carebeardean]

THE cas pov fic of all time. everybody else go home

[dandydrunky]

Dog days are over

Ill!Rafe x gf!reader

Summary: Rafe's your patient

Content warning: fluff, symptoms consistent with a cold, soft-ish Rafe, medication, meditation, and some TLC, Cameron sibling dynamic

A/n: Happy Valentines Day

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Something is off.

You felt it.

With infrequent visits from your boyfriend, texts over calls, and no contact otherwise you were concerned.

He's expressed a text is nice, but it doesn't properly demonstrate his disapproval, if any. That and he doesn't like to miss you on the phone. If you needed to talk then and there he'd do it.

You usually see him around when you're not hanging out, but the last two weeks have been different.

Last week you caught him at the bonfire, and he kept you in his sight while chugging a barrel of beer, and Tuesday he arranged lunch plans for you two, but that was the last time you actually saw him.

Since then he makes sure to send a text a day at least, in between those. It's not always coherent, but it's something.

Today would mark the third quarter of a week in which you haven't had physical contact.

Rafe, on the other end of that was miserable. His head was killing him, palm pressed up to his forehead as he sat in the kitchen, squeezing the life out of a water bottle, letting some of it dribbling down his chin.

He was encouraged before seeking a medical fix to try drinking water since he and hydration have history.

Advised by you, the one time you played doctor.

Maybe you could cure him, you've done it before right?

But, by the way your phone hasn't rang, he's decided against it. Until you got a text from an unknown number.

Unknown

Unkn: Please come get my brother

You: Sarah?

She's who you immediately thought of because you were considering a house visit.

Once she confirmed it was her, you immediately edited the contact name.

Sarah <3: Yes

You: what's wrong?

Sarah <3: I'll call you

And when it rang you picked up. Sarah initially didn't say something, but you could hear her footsteps, and the wind faintly in the background.

You listened on, curious about what was happening, and then you heard it.

A suppressed cough followed by a sniffle, but that wasn't all. "Sarah, get out," Rafe rasped on the other end, his voice clear in the background.

And then her retreating steps.

Once she was out of earshot she adjusted the camera to face time, her blonde hair whipping into frame.

"How long has he been like that?" "Who knows?" She shrugged, adjusting her shirt. She didn't have much to say on the matter, she simply flipped the screen around, revealing Rafe on the couch.

He's on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow and a blanket pulled up to his waist. Visually his surroundings were clean, no tissues, pill bottles, no indication he's been on the couch longer than it looks, but if you squint you could see the crease in his forehead, and chest moving with his labored breaths.

Then it switched back to Sarah, "get him out of here, please."

"I'll see what I can do," you said, kicking off your covers.

You were on the road soon enough, driving to the Camerons's house.

When you arrived, you pulled into the driveway, backing symmetrically against the curb, turning off your engine.

Sarah tip toed outside, skipping over to your car with the biggest grin. "So?" She asked, hopefully placing her hand on her hips.

She had a lot of faith in your ability to influence Rafe to do anything.

"I need to see him first," you dodge, stepping up to the porch. Your knuckles rapped against the door, stopping when you heard a groan from the other side.

You pressed your ear to the door, hearing Rafe's grumbling and dragging feet. The lock clicked against the door, Rafe's fingers gripping the door frame, a couple inches above his head, which was hung low.

You looked up, your fingers sifting his hair out of his face, your eyes looking up to meet his tired, droopy ones. He straightened his lousy posture, turning his head away, "What're you doing here?"

Sarah called, but that's not what he wanted to hear. "I've been meaning to visit," you step closer, wedging your foot between the door. "Let me in?"

He again grumbled under his breath, shuffling back, keeping an eye in you as you walked through the door, closing it behind you.

Now you were looking around. You could see Rafe's makeshift palate on the couch, the living room furniture spotless, and an air freshner fuming in the corner.

Mint?

"So, how are you feeling?" "Fine."

You had dropped your bag off on the loveseat, across the way, sitting down in the corner, keeping him in sight.

You figured your staring had made him uncomfortable with how much he shifted around once he "settled". Not long after for the one second you turned away he got to his feet, gathered his blankets and lugged them over his shoulder, heading up the stairs.

You waited to he disappeared to give him a semblance of space, too getting to your feet.

Sarah peeked her head back in, scanning the coast landing on you, shimmying the belt of your jeans up a little higher. You shot her a playful look, unhooking your car keys from the chain of your purse, tossing them to her.

"Got it," she whispered, popping out.

And so you went up.

Rafe's room was in poorer shape than the living room. Bed disheveled, laundry tossed over, his pillows stripped, curtains tied, his closet had seemingly flooded into the room, and the picture above his bed was crooked.

"Rafe..." You offered a sympathetic look, tilting your head at him. He rolled his shoulders back, plopping onto his bed, hands folding over his abdomen.

This was so unlike him, the bed like him, but everything else was usually neat. Some superstition about the state of your mental. Right now his is crowded, stuffy, and in need of a little tidying up.

You trudged through his sock pile, stepping into the clear tile of his bathroom floor, eyes immediately drawn to the trash overflowing with tissues. Empty boxes parked on the sink, floor, in the tub.

Unlike some people, he's not too kooky about being sick. In fact he'll lie in it.

You didn't need to check his temp to know he was burning up, despite the goosebumps littering his arms.

He was sick. Not a doubt in your or his mind.

You peeled back his foggy mirror, looking at the many yellow prescription bottles he's got lying in a row, twisting the labels around.

Some of these are for low blood pressure, not of course prescribed to him.

"Bae," you called, swiping a couple up, "which one of these is Tylenol?" Probably none.

And you were right, not Tylenol, ibrouprophen, not acetaminophen, nothing you could think of off the tip of your brain. "Okay," perhaps you were being too specific.

"Which one of these is a painkiller or reliever of sort?"

Finally, Rafe thought. A broader spectrum to work with. Over the counter meds wouldn't do it for him. Part of him wanted the high.

"White pills, red label," he coughed.

White pills red label, white pills, red label, white pills, you repeated to yourself, swatting the other bottles away. You found it far off in the corner. "Vicodin?"

"Yeah,"

"Two, right?"

"Three,"

"Nice try," you chuckled popping the pills into your palm. You know he'd take one every 30 minutes if he didn't feel they were kicking in fast enough.

Before you could ask about water you stepped forward until a mound of them, all crinkled up, empty, there had to be at least 10.

Poor baby, he was really suffering.

"Sit up and lean back," you instructed, holding your hand out, watching him look down at the pills then to you.

He attempted to grab them, but you closed your hand making him grumble, "I'm fine where I'm at," he grumbled for the umpteenth time.

"Choke," you wished, tossing them at him.

He wheezed out a broken laugh, making you almost regret your request, "if you insist," he smirked, watching you scramble to the edge of the bed, reaching for the medicine.

He pulled away.

Of course.

Your knee slipped beneath his as you climbed on top of him, sitting on his thigh, the other leg propped up beside you. "Finally, some urgent care," he leaned forward, abs crunching beneath your hand pinning his waist down.

"Not that kinda rodeo," you insisted, slipping your fingers over the crevice of his shoulders, squeezing them, pinching at his collarbone.

His brows unfurled, loosening at the feel of your attentive touch working over some tense spots.

Once you got him mellowed out you scooted off his lap, settling beside him, running your fingers through his hair.

You would've made tea, or got an him an ice pack, but his body temperature was so out of wack he may not be able to handle anymore chemical changes.

When you were done your fingers found their way through his hair, sweeping it back from over his eyes, combing it back, giving his scalp a nice scratch the had his head tilting over your shoulder.

He huffed against you, defeated the simple act had tamed him considerably.

"This all you wanted? Just a little loving?" He opened his eyes, cocking his head back, "Why are you talking to me like I'm a dog?"

"I think all partner talk was derived from talking to dogs," you concluded, shrugging it off.

You sat there for a while, acting out terrible scenarios of how talking to a partner could feel like treating/taming a dog.

While you were talking, you put the rooms trash to use, sifting through what you could reach from the bed.

And Rafe made a game of shooting balls of socks into his laundry bin.

"This feels poguey," he comments, leaning his head back against your lap with a genuine smile.

"Doesn't make it less fun," it just meant he wouldn't admit to anything that's happened in the last two hours.

His wrist flicked back, hurling the white socks towards the bin, landing beside it.

"Oh, big talk there," you winced, pinching his side.

"Alright, hotshot, let's see you make a basket," he challenged, looking up to you.

All was in good fun and while kisses may have been contagious you stuck to scratching his chin, placing your palm over his forehead and kissing the back of it for the time being.

[dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy]

Rearview - Prologue

Summary: After Cas helps you move into a friend's apartment under unfortunate circumstances, he offers his support and an invite to a party in his apartment complex.

Pairings: Dean x Reader, Cas x Reader!Platonic

Characters: Cas, Charlie (Mentioned), Jo (Mentioned), Nick (Mentioned)

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: cursing, implications of sex, bad writing probably

Author's Note: this is my first time ever writing a LONG ass series like this, so you can be brutal. also this is not beta'd so i apologize if this is not thoroughly scanned

Song: Go Slowly by Radiohead

Series Masterlist - Chapter 1

The noise was so much worse on this side of the city.

You loom over the pathetic two-by-two window set in the middle of the bedroom, staring off into the rush-hour traffic. Bumper-to-bumper, you watch and wonder if it ever slows, or if 2:00 P.M. was a common time for classes to get out over here, or if that damn blue hatchback will recognize that the green traffic light means go so that the grey truck can stop furiously honking. You catch yourself.

I have no right to complain, I’m lucky to be here, you scoldingly thought to yourself.

You can’t afford to be selfish, not at a time like this when Jo and Charlie took you in without a second thought when you would've been scrambling for a place to live two months before school started again. Not when they offered to make their two-bedroom closet into a three-bedroom. The last of the boxes in your hands grows heavy along with your guilt, and you mindlessly place it by other boxes close to your twin bed frame, which has a piece of copy paper attached with your name handwritten on it along with a heart drawn next to it. You carefully tear it off, smiling at the gesture, Charlie’s doing, for sure.

You and Charlie met freshman year. There was a prerequisite class you shared during your first semester at school, and the professor placed the two of you in a group project. The connection was almost instantaneous, bouncing back and forth on each other's obsessions and new bands, talking for hours after class. You loved, and still love, her character. She was sunshine on a rainy day- one of the most radiant girls you've ever met. Eternally positive- something this world could use a little more of. The two of you were inseparable that year, even though you've both found your small circles of friends here and there during sophomore year. Charlie is part of the Dungeons & Dragons Club, and a Coding Club, while you were in the Youth Education & Mentoring Program. Although both being rather involved in academics, there was always a time to catch up at the campus Starbucks or grab a bite together after class.

Jo, however, was more of a recent acquaintance. While you met via Charlie (since they have been roommates from the start), you've really only hung out with her a handful of times. Never one-on-one, just with Charlie as a trio. And she was alright. Just alright. She was nice to you when you would visit- talkative, friendly, and such...but never quite as warm as Charlie was. She had personality though, she was tough shit. And quite a stunner. When you and Charlie would watch TV in her room, Jo would be walking guys in and out of hers. And you never judged, not once. A girl has needs, you understand. But, you were deeply curious about why Jo never really secured a meaningful relationship with any of them.

“I fear that I’ve pissed off some of your downstairs neighbors,” Cas warns, pulling you out of your thoughts as he horizontally drags the mattress from the hallway to your empty frame. He had offered to help move you out of your ex's apartment the moment you had mentioned it to him. Charlie offered too, but her and Jo had class, and there had honestly only been a couple of boxes. There was a bit of urgency to get out, or escape, rather. “They didn’t think it was feasible to fit this in the elevator.”

You turn to him, holding back a small laugh, “And?”

“They were wrong.” He confirms, unbothered by the situation. He places the mattress on the frame, ensuring it fits properly and evenly. Backing away from the frame, he wipes the slight perspiration beginning to form under his hairline, turning to read you, and his face softens, “This may seem like a lot but… I have faith this will be a good change for you.”

You nod strongly, pushing away the negative memories that would inevitably arise from this transition, “No, you’re right, Cas. You’re absolutely right. I mean,” you huff a quick laugh, “I already know my roommates, the rent is cheap, I'm a semi-walking distance to my classes… life is good.”

Cas doesn’t buy it, but at least he tries to conceal his disbelief, “No one said you had to pretend everything is okay. You went through a lot-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s done with.” You cut him off with a grin, that might’ve passed more as a grimace. He studies you, quietly sighing before adding, “If you feel unsafe, or uncomfortable…or need to-”

“Then I know who to call.” Only a ghost of a genuine smile is what you could muster, even though the thought means more than he'll ever know. “Thanks, Cas.”

Cas acknowledges your gratitude with a quick dip of the head. It was almost unsettling to see how much concern he's openly portrayed towards you. Not to say Cas doesn't care, not at all, but it's rare to see the couple of seconds of his face twists with pain when he looks at you, a reminder of all you've had to overcome the past summer. It's a weird feeling, having being studied under a microscope, peering through the slips and cracks of the walls you've built with distraction and repression, waiting to see when you'll break, if you will. But, his hyper-attentiveness isn't out of his own discomfort or fear. Cas has an innate care for his connections- with everyone in life. It's otherworldly. He was one of a kind that way. You knew it the day you met him, too, at your part-time job at one of the local restaurants of the city, Silver & Flame. As the youngest servers there, you were drawn to each other and got along well. And as soon as your problems with Nick started to escalate, he was there for you, every time and until the relationship crumbled from it's foundation. And you feel indebted to him after his kind favors and words and offers and presence and protection. You would be stuck if it wasn't for Cas. And even if he knew that... he didn't show it. He didn't help you for anything in return, nor would he want anything but your normalcy back.

He opens his mouth, hesitant to speak, but offers, "You know, the apartment building three blocks down on Bay Street, where I live," he pauses, trying to gauge a reaction, "One of the tenants throws a 'Welcome Back' party the week classes start. Open invite. The food is mediocre, and the drinks are far too strong, and the music is atrocious..."

You and Cas give a quick chuckle at that, he continues with slight hope, "Maybe you would consider coming. Bring Charlie and Jo, if they haven't already heard." It's clear he had thought of inviting you for a bit, but wasn't sure if you were ready to come out of the corner you've been hiding in.

"I'd like to introduce you to one of my good friends if you'd allow me to." Cas finishes, the offer becoming more of a persuasion.

You sway on your feet for a moment, your facial muscles tightening slightly, "I don't know."

"I'll be there, and by all means, you wouldn't have to stay long."

You inhale, glancing at anywhere but his pleading eyes, finding a stain on the beige carpet underneath you, before relenting and meeting his gaze again, "I'll get back to you."

Cas presses his lips together, before dipping his head slightly, knowing it's most likely a losing battle. "Alright." He places his hands on his hips, taking in the boxes left to unpack, "Do you need any more help?"

"No- no, that's okay, you've already done so much, Cas." Your eyes are full of appreciation, "Thank you."

His face warms, a soft grin paints his face, "Of course."

He takes a few steps backward, giving you a second chance to ask him to stay. At your quiet farewell, he turns to face the door, walking himself out.

The hum of the A/C and distant traffic are the only real ambiance in the congested room. You don't bother looking back down at the boxes left, falling onto the naked mattress.

Your mind stirs, a rough pattern of waves crashing over each other in your head. Things are better.

Aren't they?

Why does this sudden peace feel more like a mirage than anything? You're safe now. You're out of Nick's dingy apartment, away from him and his ring of criminals, on a completely different side of town. Your friends have been there to help before you even had to ask...and things have gone your way. But just...

Why...

Why does it feel like you need to hold your breath?

[onmyyan]

Okay, Hia! I’m hate to ask y/n’s friends trying to seduce Caspian! Idk if you had done this already but I was Caspian meet our friends and it’s obvious that they wanna fuck him

A/N: apologies for the wait! Loved this request bec Cas gets feral when you're relationship is tested, let me know if y'all want a smut to this!!NOT EDITED

TW'S: Yandere, cursing, horny Cas, shitty people/ friends, suggestive towards the end, Cas gets mean but don't worry never to you

You nearly buzzed in place from your ever growing excitement, not only were you about to go out looking as fine as you were, but you were going with Caspian!

A few friends of yours texted you last minute asking if you wanted to join them at the club, they asked if you could be the designated driver as they all wanted to drink and despite the small voice in your head telling you not to, that they'd only asked you to join so you could drive, the people pleaser in you won out and just like that you were scrambling to pick an outfit.

This particular group of women were more work friends than real ones, and the urge to belong was stronger than the odd vibes they gave off, this is the main reason you tiptoed into the kitchen that afternoon.

"Hi honey- what's wrong?" His tone went from joyous to concerned in a matter of seconds, he all but abandoned the pot he'd been diligently stirring for the last hour in favor for cupping your cheeks. "I'm fine my love, just- you free tonight?" His shoulders relaxed at the question, his large frame tilting down so he could steal a kiss. "For you? Always."

"Welllllll I know you didn't have the greatest time with my friends the last time we hung out with people I know but they invited me to the club- they need a designated driver see, and I was wondering if maybe you might wanna go with me?" Your nerves were apparent from the way you played with your shirt sleeve and it almost made him chuckle, as if you ever had to worry about him saying no to you.

"I'd love to go, and if you want to drink I can drive, you shouldn't have to limit yourself so others can party." He may have been smiling in the moment but his temper began to flare at the idea of you being so clearly used by people who cared little if at all for your wellbeing.

He knew how much you loved to dance and he could tell how happy you were to be apart of something so he bit his tongue and prayed to the universe he didn't loose his shit in front of you.

The two of you got ready together, the process being halted many times so he could kiss your neck or lips, whichever he had better access to at the moment the urge struck him. He made sure his outfit complimented your own, before you left he attached the prettiest necklace to your neck, making sure to leave a trail of kisses as he pulled away. The pendant was an adorable set of intertwined rose gold hearts, your initials carved in the shining metal, he giddily pulled a matching dainty chain from beneath his shirt, showing off his own.

"So we match." It was a subtle way to keep his possessive urges in check. Plus the way you lit up when he put it on was reason enough on it's own.

Caspian made a habit of racing to get out before you so he could hold the door open as you exited his sleek black car. He gave his keys to the valet with a finesse that seemed practiced and immediately slipped a large hand around your waist, his grip tightened subconsciously searched for the harpy's. The group appeared in no time squealing in what he deemed was a fake display of excitement.

"You came!! You're such a lifesaver (y/n)! What would we do without you huh?" He didn't bother listening to her name so he didn't exactly who had their disgusting arms around you despite your obvious discomfort. You giggled gently taking them off your shoulders and started to respond before another cut you off, "You didn't tell us you were bringing such a fine plus one- hi I'm Sandy." She held a hand out for him to take which he simply waved at.

"Caspian, and I'm her boyfriend actually." He didn't even try to hide his displeasure at her choice of words. "My mistake." She said in a sultry manner, her hands placed on her chest in mock sympathy.

His fist tightened before he made a move to hold your hand. "Ready honey?" He kissed the back of your hand as the group went for the door, not even bothering to wait for the two of you. "As I'll ever be." You responded, trying to breathe through the sudden onslaught of anxiety. He made sure to press kiss the side of you head as you two entered the dark club.

He fell for your kindness but damn did you give it to the wrong people.

At first things were as good as could be, you and Caspian wrapped up with each other in a darkened booth, him whispering sweet nothings against your skin, he was having a perfectly wonderful time until about an hour in, two of the women he didn't bother introducing himself to had randomly appeared out of nowhere and pulled you from his arms out on the dance floor. He pouted to himself before he caught the genuine smile on your face, he'd endure anything to keep it there. After a while the three of you trotted off to where he assumed the bathroom was, much to his displeasure. Just as he was about to whip out his phone to see exactly where you were, he caught sight of someone coming towards him.

His irritation only grew as Sandy sauntered her way up to Caspian with confidence, two drinks in hand. "You look like a whiskey guy." She slid the cup over with skill and sat on the table before him. Her finger danced around the rim of her glass and he couldn't help but gape, was this bitch foreal right now? He could laugh at the audacity but instead he pushed the drink back towards her.

"I'm not." She huffed playfully at him, as if he'd told a joke and knocked back the glass with an exaggerated moan of appreciation, knowing damn well the cheap shot tasted like gasoline. His heart began to pound in anger as he searched the crowd for you.

"Okayy well do you dance big guy?" She leaned across the table to give him a full view of her chest, the delicate bat of her lashes always got her what she wanted, so you could imagine her surprise when he stood up to his full height, nearly knocking her over with the speed. "I sure do, with my girl." He didn't try to mask his distain for the woman who claimed to be your friend.

Her embarrassment wasn't enough to stop her in her quest though, "What she don't know won't hurt her- c'mon my girls have her attention for as long as we need." She wrapped her arms around his midsection from behind with surprising speed, it felt like broken glass and salt everywhere she touched. His face twisted into a snarl as he ripped her hands from his body, all but throwing himself away from her shocked form.

"You're disgusting- what kind of woman throws herself at a taken man? Her so called friend at that?" Sandy's face fell with every venomous word he spat, not at all prepared for the man before her.

"I'll tell you what kind of person does that. A miserable one. One that could disa-fuckin-ppear and the world would be better." With every word her body seemed to shrink in on itself. "You're lucky she didn't see that shit you just pulled- if she so much as thinks I'm skeevin' cuz a cheap thing like you I swear on everything I love it'll be the last mistake you make. Are we clear? " His tone left no room for arguing, that paired with the mean ass sneer had the teary eyed nuisance nodding her head wordlessly and before she could speed walk away he grabbed her forearm in a vice, "Matter of fact this is gonna be the last time you or any one of those wastes of spaces you call friends bothers my baby again- lose her number. Fast." He made a point to wipe his hand on his pants after he released her. Cas felt somewhat better at the sight of the woman's misery but his blood was still boiling.

His eyes searched for you desperately, his pulse only calming once he spotted your happy form bouncing over to him from the crowd. "This place is amazing Cas! The bathroom was so boujie I had to take like a million pictures- I didn't make you wait too long right?" He smiled down at you, leaning against the back of the booth, he pulled you into his chest with a content hum. "You're worth any wait honey, also I want those pics, I need a new wallpaper."

The sweet moment would be ruined when he caught sight of the hag you called friend glaring at your back. His gaze would sharpen before he returned his attention to who mattered most.

He'd burn you in place with his stare, the sudden intense look had your knees shaking, you knew that look, it was almost always followed by a few rounds on whatever available surface was closest. His adrenaline still pumping, he gently grabbed the nape of your neck and pulled you into a searing kiss, the kinda kiss that was always followed by trouble.

After a few seconds you pulled back just a bit, intending to question the sudden PDA but he didn't give you a chance, after fighting his way in, he sucked long and hard on your tongue, moaning into the kiss like a pornstar, the fingers not playing with your hair snaked their way down to grab a handful of ass, grinding his growing bulge into your core had the both of you letting out the softest moans. "Fuck- what's gotten into you Cas?" You giggled against his panting mouth, visibly flustered, he licked a stripe across your bottom lip causing your exposed skin to flare with goosebumps.

"Just showing everyone here they can look-" A hand gently lifted your chin, his stare holding you in place, "but only I get to touch." He leaned down to trail searing kisses into your neck, glaring at the still embarrassed woman watching the two of you.

Like a dog marking his territory he began to nip and suck at the spot just below your neck. Your giggles and little whines being the only thing holding him back from tearing into that woman who after all she'd done had the nerve to still be in the same room as you two, you suddenly pulled away to look him in the eye.

"C'mon you horndog, let's get outta here before you try to fuck me on the dance floor." You joked tugging him towards the door.

"Hear me out-"

"Absolutely not."

[babyboywilson]

Tinsel and Tourists - Chapter Ten

Word Count: 1,811 (another long chapter, I’m sorry)

Dean’s POV

Link to ao3 / Link to masterpost

“For God’s sake, Dean. Snap out of it, lover boy. We’ve got a real case here that’s far more complicated than a salt-n-burn. Could you quit staring at your phone with heart-eyes for five freaking seconds so we can actually do our jobs,” Sam said, crossing his arms and snapping his computer open with a poignant look thrown Dean’s way.

“You’re the one who set me up with him in the first place,” Dean shot back. “You’ve been deliberately pushing us together, and just when I’m about to kiss him, you had to interrupt.”

“Dead body showed up and we needed to check it out. Pretty damn important if you ask me,” Sam said.

“You couldn’t have waited one extra minute? You clearly saw I was milliseconds away from finally kissing him-”

Sam loudly slammed a book down onto the table, effectively cutting Dean off. “Five times, Dean. Five times tonight so far you’ve given me crap for interrupting. I’m sick of hearing about it. Go out there and find Cas and kiss him right now or shut the hell up and get to work, unless you want whatever this is to take Cas and kill him, too.”

Damn. That was a sobering thought. If any monster even so much as looked at Cas, Dean swore he was going to lose it. He couldn’t stop his mind from screaming mine; a protective streak burning inside his gut and wrapping up into his chest.

Placing his phone back down on the table, Dean opened his own laptop and sighed. “How do we even begin to start narrowing down what this thing is? Is there any connection between Callie and Oliver?”

Sam pushed both of the files across the table towards Dean. “Other than the fact they were roughly around the same age, 28 and 29, that’s all I’ve got. Callie worked at the local theater. Oliver was a second grade teacher. They live in different neighborhoods and run in completely different social circles. Oliver is well known in town and is one of the most popular teachers at the elementary school. Callie was quieter. Both of them have helped out with work around the town in different ways- Oliver volunteers at the local animal shelter and Callie helped out at the elderly home. As far as I can tell, both of them are pictures of model citizens, just in different ways.”

Flipping open the files, Dean scanned the contents as he listened to Sam rattle off the big details. “So either they’re both hiding something and that’s why they were targeted, or they both really were squeaky clean and that’s why they were taken.”

“This whole town is filled with good people, Dean. That doesn’t exactly narrow it down for who could potentially be taken next. And we can’t exactly protect an entire town,” Sam said. “Something about it still feels sacrificial.”

Dean sighed, dropping his head down to the table before muttering, “We’ve talked about this, though. No signs of a God in town. No happy success stories or flourishing town.”

They lapsed into silence for a few minutes, and all Dean could hear was the clacking of Sam’s keys as he typed. He let his eyes close, mind wandering back to Cas and their date tomorrow night. God, he was so freaking whipped it was unbelievable. How was he even supposed to tell Cas he’d never been ice skating in his entire life? He was going to look like a complete idiot falling on his ass on the ice tomorrow. And yet, despite the impending humiliation, Dean’s heart was hammering against his chest just at the mere thought of seeing Cas again.

He replayed the almost-kiss over again for probably the hundredth time that night, and he felt himself flush. Cas’ lips… God, even just the briefest brush had been enough to have Dean breathless. He’d been half tempted to walk out of the motel and find Cas when Sam suggested it, merely because he could barely get his brain to focus on anything except kissing Cas and how damn good those chapped lips would feel sliding against his own.

When his phone buzzed on the table, breaking his wandering thoughts, Dean all but hurled himself to pick it up, hoping it was another text from Cas. When he saw Bobby’s name, he scoffed and dropped the phone back down again; trying desperately to tamper down the disappointment that it wasn’t Cas.

“You’re like a lovesick teenager,” Sam muttered from the other side of the table.

“Shut up, no I’m not,” Dean snapped back instantly.

“Sure you’re not. That wasn’t a predictable reaction to thinking your crush has texted you only to find out it wasn’t him,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow.

“Go screw yourself. I don’t have a crush. I’m not twelve.”

Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes. “You’re so transparent you might as well be translucent, Dean.”

Pushing his chair back, Dean stood up. “I’m done having this conversation.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get a beer from the fridge because I’m way too sober to be dealing with your crap right now,” Dean muttered, storming off to the small fridge in the room.

Just as Dean got the cap off the beer, a thought flittered into his head. “You keep saying it feels sacrificial, right?”

Sam looked up from his laptop as Dean approached, taking the beer that Dean held out to him as a peace offering. “Yeah, but as you keep pointing out, there’s no signs of a God.”

“Right, but what if the sacrifices aren’t being done by a God, but being done to appease a God? Something that was protecting and serving the Gods. Almost a middle man between the Gods and the people.”

Sam thought about it for a second before nodding. “We are days away from the winter solstice. And all the patterning shows the sacrifices leading right up to that time frame. And you said it when we left the scene, the way her body was cut up, it was precise; extremely ritualistic.”

“No blood left in her, either. And no obvious signs of vamps draining people around here. A blood offering?”

Sam hummed, before he started typing with renewed interest. “You might be onto something. I’ve got a couple theories. Why don’t you put a call out to Bobby to see if he knows anything, and I’ll hit the lore.”

“Got it,” Dean said, grabbing his phone and taking his beer with him as he stepped outside to call Bobby. After explaining everything that was happening with the case and the details they’d picked up so far, Bobby promised he’d do some research of his own and call if he found anything useful.

By the time he’d finished his call with Bobby, Dean had finished his beer and he was pleasantly warm inside despite the cold wind.

In the morning, he’d blame it on the alcohol, which was a weak excuse when he’d only had the one beer. And yet, after he hung up with Bobby, his finger moved to hover over Cas’ contact. And before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed call.

The second the dialing tone rang in his ear, Dean panicked and went to hang up, but Cas answered on the second ring.

“Dean?”

Dean’s heart instantly kicked up in his chest, and he felt the air in his lungs stutter at just hearing Cas’ voice through the phone.

“Hey Cas,” Dean said.

“Did something happen? Is there- has there been another death?”

Dean shook his head, kicking a small bank of snow as he began to walk around the motel. “No. No, I just- I uh, I missed you.”

Shit. As soon as the words came out, Dean winced. What was wrong with him? He really was a lovesick teenager. One date and a botched first kiss and Dean was so smitten he could barely go five seconds without thinking about Cas. Just hearing Cas’ voice made Dean yearn, and the words had slipped out without his control. And yet, he meant them. Even the case was barely keeping his attention right now. He’d already began an internal countdown to their date tomorrow night, which was pathetic and desperate and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

“I’ve kept my phone with me all night since you texted me,” Cas said quietly, before he laughed softly.

Oh God. Was Cas waiting by the phone for him? Jesus. Why was that so cute that it made Dean’s chest ache?

“My witty humor just so good that you were waiting for more?” Dean said, automatically switching to teasing.

“Something like that,” Cas replied, and Dean could almost feel his smile through the phone.

“I um- I have absolutely no idea how to ice skate, by the way,” Dean admitted, reaching up to snap an icicle off the roof just to keep his hands busy.

“You’ve never ice skated before?” Cas asked, shock bouncing down the phone.

“Nope, never.”

“I’ll teach you,” Cas said earnestly.

“Only if you promise not to let me fall on my ass,” Dean said with a laugh.

“I promise I won’t take my hands off of you,” Cas replied instantly, before the weight of his words seemed to settle in the air. Dean swallowed thickly, his stomach twisting on itself at the thought of Cas’ hands lingering on him.

“And what if I can’t keep my hands to myself?” Dean said, words raw and yet filled with an emotion he couldn’t quite name.

“Is that a promise, Dean?” Cas asked, voice slipping an octave lower; sending a thrill down Dean’s spine.

“God, yes,” Dean found himself saying, words ripped from his throat as he was overcome with the urge to grab Cas right now and kiss him. “Swear to God, if you don’t bring mistletoe-”

Cas laughed and the sound made Dean’s chest feel tight. “As long as you don’t leave me standing underneath it alone again.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dean said. Just as he was about to say something else, his phone buzzed in his hand and a text from Sam flickered across the screen. Time to get back to work. “Listen, Cas, I gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“7 o’clock, Dean. Don’t you dare be late,” Cas said.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean replied, before handing up; heart racing from the call and his hands sweaty just from flirting with Cas again.

As he made his way back to the room, his eyes flickered to an oak tree near the motel; a clump of mistletoe hanging from one of the branches. Reaching up, Dean snagged a few pieces, smiling to himself as he slipped them into his pocket. Just a little bit of extra insurance to make sure he got that kiss with Cas tomorrow.

[shrkbaithoohaha]

We’re Just Numbers!

A crackfic, inspired by a very wild chat on the clone discord server, with clone accountants! I’d say it’s the au you never knew you needed, but maybe you did know....

 beta by the lovely @missinashkin :)

   Trig was one of the best strategists in the GAR. But after the end of The Clone Wars, the death of the Chancellor (the staircase was too steep, may he rest in peace), this specialized group of clones found that without war, their efficient strategies aren’t needed. However, their math skills couldn’t be put to waste, and after seeing Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi’s tax forms, they decided they had a new war to fight!    A war against tax evasion!

   Getting called into work was not the way Trig wanted to spend his weekend. He knew leaving Pem to close the Order’s books last week by himself was a bad idea, but after a week full of Kah’rens, he just wants to stay home. After all, how hard can writing numbers be? All Pem had to do was finish recording the Order’s expenses, make sure their credits were being distributed correctly, and close the temporary accounts.

   That’s not what happened. Somehow, the Jedi Order is short on funds for maintaining their crèches.

   So now Trig is pouring himself a much-needed third cup of caf, and trying very hard to not punch his brother in the face. Even Error and Chaos were looking scared to get close to Trig, and he’s pretty sure he heard them whispering that he’s in one of his “moods” again. Something about them not seeing anyone this angry since Commander Cody caught Waxer and Boil smuggling all those loth-cats on board The Negotiator. Or something.

   Trig had never seen such a mess, or his commander so red-faced.

   “You know the sum of 7 and 2 right?” Trig sips on his caf and leans over Pem’s desk, the latter currently trying not to break the datapads in front of him out of frustration. At the question, he puts his head into his hands, muttering something in Mando’a. Pem’s fingers slip through his auburn hair as he leans back to face his brother, almost in a stand-off.

   “It’s 9!” Chaos perks up from where he is hunched over some takeout. His desk is all the way across the room and effectively tunes all the vode into Pem’s mistake.

   “Yeah, I know, Chaos!” Pem refuses to stop sending sulking looks towards Trig.

   “Then why did you write 5?” Trig asks, picking up the stylus and pointing to the number in question.

   “I misread the file, I thought it said they had emptied 2 crèches, not filled 2 more!” Pem is already pulling up the files to fix his mistake, but the commlink at the front desk starts ringing. Error is already rolling back to his desk, opening the channel.

   “Thank you for calling We’re Just Numbers! This is CA-3404, how may I help you?” Error has his customer service smile on, but it changes to mild panic as he turns to face Trig, “Unfortunately no, I can transfer you to my supervisor if you’d like? Fantastic, please hold.” He puts the mystery client down, “Trig, it’s the lady from earlier.”

   Trig wipes a hand down his face in frustration, finally breaking the staring contest between him and Pem, “I’m going into my office and taking this comm, you need to fill out your Correcting Journal Entry before I get another comm from the Jedi.” Pem responds with an affirmative as Trig walks towards his office, chugging his caf on the way, and calling for Chaos to grab him another. 

   A flashing light is on his comm when he takes a seat, scooting up and pulling out a datapad, knowing who waits for him on the comm. Trig heaves a sigh, then presses the commlink, hoping the force is on his side today.

   “Thank you for calling We’re Just Numbers, how may I be of service?”

   “Oh, that’s not even funny! I thought you were connecting me to your supervisor?” Kriffing Kah’ren’s. 

   “Ma’am, I am CA-0314, supervisor to CA-3404, is there something wrong with that?” He smiles humorlessly, knowing what comes next.

   “You sound just like the clone who answered the first time!” Gee, he wonders why.

   “Ma’am, we’re a clone accounting firm. We all sound the same, look the same, and have the abilities to help you. If I am correct, you commed yesterday about becoming one of our clients?” He looks through the notes Chaos took yesterday, remembering his complaints about her.

   “Yes, but I thought you had some.. real people working there.” According to his brother's notes, she was apparently this dense yesterday too. He sets down the datapad and rubs the bridge of his nose.

   “No, ma’am, we are all clones. Hence the name ‘We’re Just Numbers!’” The war has been over for nearly a year, but he is still baffled by some people, “Would you like to continue the application process?”

   The silence on the other end makes him wish he didn’t come in, but is broken eventually, “No thank you… I think I’ll find an AD.” And without another word, she hangs up. At the mention of an accounting droid, he’s happy she hung up before he could say anything very unprofessional. A knock on his door frame interrupts his anger, but the smell of caf breaks it first. He leans back in his chair as Chaos walks in and sets down a mug in front of him. 

   “She sucks, right?” Chaos grins, sitting in a chair across from Trig. Trig smirks, sipping his caf.

   “Now, vod’ika, she was a possible client, we shouldn’t talk about her like that.” No matter how much Trig wants to get angry, it wouldn’t do them any good, “Some people aren’t ready to accept that clones have rights now, and that we are just as sentient as them.” 

   Pem pops his head in, waving a datapad, “The CJE is done, no need to call in the cavalry.” Trig chuckles as he moves to take the datapad, checking over his work, “I adjusted the crèche quantity so that the 5 is now a 9, so the Jedi should have the funds for 2 additional crèches from here on out until something changes.”

   “Good, I don’t need Cody complaining on behalf of his crèches. The only thing scarier than Commander Cody is Crèche Guardian Cody.” They all nod in agreement, Trig passing the datapad back. He sips his caf, “Thank the Force Master Koon found the mistake before he did, Pem would have deflated if Cody came running in.” Trig and Chaos laugh as Pem tries to defend himself, but every clone in the firm knows the wrath of a protective Commander.

fin

[sbtlns]

Home, part one

Summary: Reader gets back from a hunt to find out Dean has kicked the newly human Cas out of the bunker.

Warnings: angst

A/N: This is my first fic so feedback is greatly appreciated!

“Hey guys I’m back!” you called as you stepped inside the bunker. “Y/N!” you heard Sam respond. You raced down the stairs, threw your duffel bag down, and jumped into his arms. He pulled you into a hug and suddenly the stress from the hunt you just completed melted away. You insisted on going alone because it was supposed to be a milk run salt-and-burn, but what you and the brothers determined to be a ghost turned out to be a ghoul. It took you nearly a week to track it down and kill it, and you had been gunning to get back to the bunker.

You pulled away from Sam’s embrace to see the older Winchester step into the room. “Y/N! You made it back in one piece,” Dean grinned while pulling you into a hug. “Yeah, barely,” you laugh. Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the room, looking for your favorite angel. The brothers seemed to notice this and Sam cast his eyes to the floor while Dean nervously shifted his weight to the other foot. 

“Uh, Y/N, you hungry?” Dean’s voice suddenly pulled you away from your thoughts. You opened your mouth to respond but the sound of your stomach gurgling cut you off. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Dean laughed and walked into the kitchen. Sam asked you questions about the hunt as the two of you followed Dean and sat down at the kitchen table. Dean opened the fridge, pulled out three beers and some leftover take out from the night before, and set them down on the table before you. You took a sip and noticed how uncomfortable the two brothers looked. Sam looked down while fidgeting with his fingers and Dean looked around the room as if he’s desperately trying to find something to start a conversation with. 

“So, uh, where’s Cas?” you say, trying to break this awkward silence, but it only seemed to make them more uncomfortable. Sam looked expectingly at Dean and Dean looked down at the floor. Several seconds passed before Sam cleared his throat and gave Dean his signature bitch face. Dean let out a shaky sigh before mumbling, “gone.” 

You almost choked on your beer before setting it down and repeating “gone?” with an edge to your voice. Dean sighed again. “Yeah, gone. He left a few days ago.” You could not believe what you were hearing. “Why the hell would he leave? He was safe here!” You bark, standing up from your seat. You’ve always had a soft spot for that angel, and the thought of him, newly human, and out on his own terrified you. What if something happened to him? What if the other angels found him? Your mind started running through every worst case scenario before Dean ripped you away from your thoughts.

“I asked him to,” he said, standing up a little straighter. Now you really couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You felt your cheeks heating up and the anger boiling up inside of you. “Let me get this straight,” you hissed. “You told Castiel to leave. The same Castiel that pulled your ass from hell,” you pointed at Dean. “The same Castiel that rebelled from heaven to help a couple of humans. The same Castiel that consistently saves our asses when things go wrong on a hunt. And when he needed us the most you told him to leave?!” you spat in Dean’s face. He looked taken aback and you saw a flash of hurt spread across his face before he regained his composure.

“The angels are after him.. it wasn’t safe for him to be here, Sammy’s still recovering,” he replied, standing his ground. Your jaw hung open. You glanced between the two brothers. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, walking out of the kitchen. You picked up your bag from where you had thrown it when you first got back and made a beeline for your room. Once you got there, you exchanged your dirty clothes from the hunt for as many clean clothes as you could fit. Next you gathered all of your toiletries and threw them in as well. You were so focused on getting the hell out of the bunker and finding your angel that you didn’t notice Sam step into your room. 

“He’s gonna be okay, Y/N. He always is.” You turned to see him leaning against the doorway with a small smile. Sam knew about your feelings for Castiel, you had drunkenly spilled the truth to him after a hunt one night while Dean was flirting with the bartender. You knew Sam meant well and was just trying to calm your nerves, but you were still in shock at the fact that he was okay with Dean kicking Cas out. Your attention turned to the framed photo of you and Cas on your nightstand and felt a pang in your heart. You glanced back at him before returning to your bag. “Yeah, well that was before he was human,” you said coldly. You picked up some last minute personal items before zipping your bag and throwing it over your shoulder and turning toward the younger brother. A wave of understanding washed over his face before his eyebrows knitted up in concern. “You’re leaving?” he asked softly, giving you his puppy dog eyes. 

“Yes I’m leaving. Someone needs to look after him,” you spat, pushing past him into the hallway. You tried to ignore the regret you felt for speaking to him like that as you made your way down the hall to the garage. You hadn’t meant to hurt him but you were so worried about Castiel that you couldn’t think straight. How could they have done this? After everything Cas has done for them? You were so caught up in your anger that you practically ran right into Dean. He stood between you and the garage door with his arms crossed.

“Move,” you spat, glaring up at him. He glared back at you for a moment before his features softened and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Stay for a while, sweetheart, we just got you back,” he looked at you with pleading eyes. You bit your lip debating putting your bag back down and resting for a bit, that hunt had really taken a lot out of you. The sudden realization that Cas had been on his own for days before you even got home dawned on you, snapping you out of your inner debate. You shrugged Dean’s hand off before pushing past him into the garage. 

“I have to find him Dean. Who knows what could’ve happened to him by now,” you said, throwing you bag in your trunk. Dean opened his mouth to argue, but saw the desperation on your face. He looked at you for a few moments before sighing and running a hand over his face. “Call and check in so we know you’re safe,” he said as you opened the door to your car. You nodded in reply before starting the car and pulling out of the garage. You looked in the rearview and saw Dean run his fingers through his hair before turning and walking back into the bunker.

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

It’s Alright - (aka Ahsoka and Obi-Wan comfort Anakin ca TCW season 3 oneshot)

“Master, what’s wrong?”

Ahsoka pursed her lips as she inched closer to Anakin’s spot. He sat huddled up in the corner of the freighter, legs pulled up tight against his chest and head hung low. Narrowing her eyes, she noted that he was trembling. Huddling down, the padawan scooted swiftly on her knees, shifting gracefully as she tuned into his Force signature. It was dark, heavy and oppressive. It felt mournful, riddled with guilt and sorrow. Painful, like a thousand pins and needle pricks.

“Master?”

Cautious, Ahsoka reached with one hand to tentatively grace his shoulder. Flinching, he jerked away from the touch and seemed to be pressing further up against the wall, trying his best to get away. To become invisible.

“Anakin,” she tried again, dropping all formalities in favour of using his first name.

That spurred a reaction, as Anakin feebly craned his neck to peer up at her through sweat soaked, wavy golden bangs. He was so pale but for the flush of embarrassment staining his cheeks red, the mark of his inner turmoil etched into his boyish features. His blue eyes brimming with unshed tears, glassy and wet. She noticed how he grimaced, and sensed his direct shame over allowing her to see him like this. Ahsoka shook her head when he once again retreated back into himself, covering his face with his hands.

“Anakin, we need you out th--”

Obi-Wan’s sudden words were cut off mid sentence, as soon as his eyes got used to the semi darkness of the lounge, and he took note of Anakin’s state. Ahsoka met his fair eyes, and noted how his shoulders sagged as he sighed quietly. Giving him a pleading look, before turning back to Anakin, she hoped he knew what to do. She’d never seen her master in such a vulnerable state before, and she felt lost. His disarray was worrisome and she found herself concerned, and fearing for his well being. The Anakin she knew was cocky, and snarky, and fun. The Anakin before her now was small, shaken, and broken.

Swallowing hard, Ahsoka did the only thing she could think of to soothe her master. She remembered Anakin had spoken briefly of his mother, and the tender embrace she’d hold him in on the cold Tatooine desert nights. It was only a passing comment, but it had stuck with her. Anakin spoke very little of his past, Obi-Wan had been the one to let her in on his upbringing as a slave. For the first time, she found herself wondering whether that dark experience had left a deeper scar than she’d imagined when contemplating her master’s unfortunate childhood. He certainly never wanted to speak about it in depth, and she had tried to press him. He’d become moody, and almost mean towards her so she had decided it wasn’t worth the bother.

Ahsoka shifted to settle down closely beside Anakin, pulling her own legs up under her and wrapping one of her slender arms around his tense frame in an awkward, but tight embrace. She felt him wince and tremble against her, at first expecting him to withdraw and back away. He seemed to be debating over it, and Ahsoka let one hand gently stroke the top of his head as some of her insecurity began to wane. When Anakin relented, melting into her strong hug, she let out a breath of relief. She made a soft, hushing noise as she continued to stroke his hair; the concern visible in her eyes as she kept eye contact with Obi-Wan across the room.

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan’s began, always formal and reprimanding but he too, spoke with a tinge of palpable uncertainty as he trailed off.

“Obi-Wan,” Ahsoka simply said, scowling at him as she judged him for his inaction.

She could tell he too was debating his next step, always resisting emotional attachment. It was the Jedi code, and she knew Obi-Wan was one to follow it to the extent he could. Indeed, she had seen him break its vows when he felt his moral compass demanded it - but despite his meticulous repetition of the dogma, Ahsoka could feel that he too was very fond of Anakin. At times, it was her care for Anakin that made her connect closer to the Jedi master, as something to connect them despite their vastly different world view. They both knew comfort, and reassurance was something Anakin needed inherently. Perhaps not always physically, but by subtly seeking approval, and praise. Wanting to be accepted, and loved, and worthy.

Ahsoka noticed how Obi-Wan’s hands curled into tight fists, opening his mouth to deny the silent request - but instead, he opted to shut it; pinching his lips tightly together. On the brink of saying something that might damn him, he restrained himself. Instead, to Ahsoka’s surprise, he opted for tentatively approaching. Apprehensive, he sank down across from Ahsoka, looming uncomfortably by Anakin’s right side. She saw the tired look in his wise eyes, the creases at the corners, and in that moment Obi-Wan seemed so much older than his true age.

“Anakin, we must not…” he began, but trailed off into hushed nothingness.

Ahsoka knew what he was trying to do, but she also knew that it wouldn’t work. Anakin was beyond that now, beyond reasoning, beyond another tirade of how this wasn’t his fault. They always lost men in battle, it was inevitable. If Anakin hadn’t been unnecessarily careless and messed up, someone else would have. Even Rex and Hardcase has forgone blaming their general, knowing none of what transpired was in his hands. War was harsh, cruel, and unforgiving. Ahsoka herself had realized that when she lost her first squadron, not so long ago. Anakin had been there to cheer her up then, to help her put aside the blame and do better. She felt she owed him the same, and it hurt her to know how Anakin too would carry around the same burden of guilt. That he too would blame himself for any lives lost.

Ahsoka pressed her cheek to the crown of Anakin’s head, as she felt him shiver. In the pregnant silence, she caught a weak, muffled sniffle as one of his hands grabbed a firm, almost painful hold of her forearm. She didn’t complain or protest, as he clung desperately to her for security. To her surprise, when Ahsoka looked back up at the reluctant Obi-Wan, his Force signature and his sombre expression spoke only of comfort and care. He planted one hesitant hand on Anakin’s shoulder to gently squeeze it, his thumb rubbing in slow, stilted circles.

“It’s alright,” he assured, hand slipping further down to stroke Anakin’s back in languid, encouraging motions.

Anakin didn’t reply, and for a moment Ahsoka feared he may crumble and spiral further into this black void he seemed to have fallen into. Instead, she was relieved to see Anakin was beginning to get his breathing back under control. He was still digging his nails into her skin, leaving marks but she didn’t mind. She simply smiled, a sad gesture of affection as she regarded Obi-Wan’s forlorn features.

“Anakin,” he said, voice firm yet sympathetic. “It’s alright.”

‘‘‘‘

I just wanted to write something sad but cute, so I came up with this. I have post TCW feels after rewatching the entire show, and I  love this trio of disaster siblings. I hope you enjoy some sappy fluff!

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28015587

[berensroadhouse]

(ao3 link)

           Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

           Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

           He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

           He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

           Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

           “I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

           He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

           “Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

           “Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

           “No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

           Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

           He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

           While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

           Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

           “Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

           “It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

           Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

           “Would I what?”

           “Want to get married?”

           “If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

           Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

           “I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

           “When we already live next to the beach?”

           “A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

           Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ‘delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

           Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

           “Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

           “Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

           “Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

           “Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

           Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

           Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

           Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

           “Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

           Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

           “Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

           “But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

           “Cold spots?”

           The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

           Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

           “Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

           “Cas!”

           Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

           “He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

           Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

           Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

           “Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What’s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

           “No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

           “Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

           “Dean!”

           “And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

           “What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

           Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

           “Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

           “It did, at first,��� Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

           Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

           He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

           “You don’t know that.”

           “I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

           “You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

           “I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

           “But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

           Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

           But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

           “That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

           “Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

           “Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

           “I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

           “What about us?”

           Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

           Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

           “Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

           “No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

           “That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

           “Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

           “Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

           Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

           “It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

           Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

           “Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

           It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

           “The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

           Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

           “Cas –“

           “So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

           “Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

           “Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

           Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

           “Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

           Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

           Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

           “You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

           “Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

           “Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

           “Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

           He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

           His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

           Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

           “I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

           They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

           It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

           Berens’s is in good hands.

[bktynes-writes]

It didn't matter that it was the end of the world. It didn't matter that Dean and Sam had spent their entire lives fighting against exactly this, only for it to happen anyway. It didn't matter that the angels had fallen and Cas and Jack had lost their grace. Because the end of this world means that everything can start anew.

Dean stood inside infinity. It was warmth and comfort and safety, the likes of which he had never felt. It was a sense of peace he hadn't known since he was four years old and his mother held him over Sam's crib to kiss him goodnight, and his father lifted him up in his arms and tucked him into his own bed. It was Hey Jude, and tomato and rice soup, and the warm leather of the impala's seats as the scent of Midwest hay fields drifted through her open windows on a warm summer breeze…

He reveled in the feeling, in the bliss of absolute peace, so much so that he almost missed the voice speaking to him through the warm glow of the nothingness around him.

"Hey, Dean."

His eyes snapped open. In front of him stood Chuck. Dean wanted to feel angry. He wanted to feel hatred towards the man, the God, who had been torturing and toying with him and his brother and everyone they've ever loved through their entire lives...but he couldn't.

"Chuck?" Dean asked quietly. "Where am I? What is this place? What have you done with Sam? And Jack? And where is Cas?"

"They're here too. Well, not HERE here, but they're safe. We're all on the same plane of existence right now, you and I are just riding a different ripple for a bit." Chuck said. "I needed to talk to you…"

Dean looked at Chuck, confusion spreading across his face as Chuck continued to speak.

"You remember how everything in the world has to have balance? Heaven and Hell? Me and Amara? Well, this place is a part of that balance. The Empty, it's nothing. It's endless, endless nothing. This place is...well everything. This is where all the worlds I've ever made started. It's where every Sam and Dean that have ever existed have come from. This is where it all begins. You could say, it's my writing room."

Chuck stepped closer to Dean, the smile on his face not malicious or spiteful, but benevolent and kind, the way God should have been from the beginning. Dean allowed himself to be taken in by his words. He listened and tried to comprehend, but it was like he was hearing Chuck through a fog, the sense of his words just out of reach…

"I still don't understand…" Dean said slowly.

Chuck looked at him long and hard, and a sadness passed over his face.

"Oh Dean...I'm sorry. I've been so cruel to you, and your brother, and Castiel...so many times, so many worlds...I've watched you try and fail and live and die so many times, all for the story. But it was never good enough...the story was never *perfect*..."

Chuck put a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Maybe it's time I let the characters take control. Maybe it's time to try one last time to get the story right...Dean? What do YOU want your story to be? What kind of worlds do YOU want to build?"

Dean's eyes opened wide, a powerful force tugging at his heart. What did HE want? Only a couple of people in Dean's entire life had ever asked him what HE wanted. And it's not like it had ever mattered anyway; Dean Winchester didn't get to have what he wanted. There was always something else more important.

He thought for a long time about Chuck's question. Thought long and hard. In the end, only one thing could come to his mind…

"I want...I want to be happy…" He said, eyes slipping shut in the warm glow of The Everything that surrounded him.

Chuck smiled and laid his hand over Dean's heart. He could feel every emotion that Dean had ever felt. Every burden, every heartbreak, every fleeting moment of joy, every happy memory. Every desire Dean's heart had ever dared to dream of was laid bare before Chuck's eyes, and he knew exactly the world to create for him.

"It's okay, Dean. You can be happy now."

And then Chuck was gone, and Dean was filled with the sensation of falling. When he dared to finally open his eyes again, he was no longer standing in that bright, light filled place, but instead, on the porch of a small house.

He looked around, confusion spreading through him. In front of him was a garden full of flowers growing in carefully planted beds. Flowers he had never seen before in vibrant shades of every color he had ever thought of. Around them buzzed hundreds of bees, floating lazily through the summer heat that wafted the sweet floral aroma over him. In the distance, he could hear the sound of cars on the freeway. Closer, a bicycle bell, and the sounds of children playing…

"Hello, Dean."

Dean turned quickly, hardly daring to believe his ears as the deep, gravelly voice spoke his name, the same as it had a hundred times before.

"Cas?"

Behind him, in the doorway of the small house, stood Castiel. Dean lurched forward, his feet moving of their own volition and embraced the man before him. He breathed in everything that was Castiel. The faint scent of cinnamon and watermelon filled his nostrils as he wrapped his arms around Cas' shoulders and buried his face in his neck, holding onto him like he was the last tether binding him to earth. Dean stepped back and looked at his angel, reverence and confusion in his eyes.

"Cas...Is this...are we dead? Is this heaven?"

Cas shook his head. "I don't know. I don't believe so. This doesn't feel like Heaven. It feels like...earth. It feels like home…"

"What happened? Chuck, he said he was going to try the story one last time…"

"I know." Said Cas. "We were there. We were inside Creation. We heard him." Cas cocked his head to the side. "He said it was your turn to be happy, Dean. Is this...is this how you would write the world?"

Dean slowly walked inside and looked around at the house in which he stood. Trinkets of their past adorned the walls and shelves; memories of hunting preserved in stasis, as though they were simply remnants of a time long since passed. On a wall above the mantelpiece were newspaper clippings framed and hung with pride, handwritten letters of thanks from people they had saved, graduation photos and wedding pictures of children who had had the chance to grow up. And in the centre, a photo of five people, together, leaning against Baby, took pride of place on the mantel. Jack kneeled in the front, grinning widely, his innocence and carefree spirit visible. Sam stood next to Eileen, bent low and kissing her cheek as she laughed at him fondly, her arms wrapped protectively around her clearly pregnant belly. Next to them stood Dean, his arm slung over Cas' shoulders, while Cas wrapped one of his own around Dean's waist. His head rested on Dean's shoulder, while his other hand was placed proudly on Jack's.

Dean picked the photograph up and held it carefully in his hands, as if afraid that if he dropped it, this world, this illusion, might shatter into pieces as well.

"Do you like it?"

Dean spun around. There stood Chuck, hands jammed into his pockets awkwardly, a small grin playing across his face.

"I don't understand…" said Cas, moving to stand beside Dean.

"In every other version of earth I've ever made, The Winchester Saga ends in tragedy. Sometimes you all die, sometimes Dean is left to wander the earth alone, sometimes I send you all to different places to suffer alone for eternity. Depends on my mood...but, like I said, the ending is never perfect. And so I thought, what am I doing wrong?! Why can't I get this right?! And then it hit me. I'm forcing the plot. A truly great author lets their characters write themselves. So, what better way to test that out than to let the hero write the ending?"

Dean looked down at the photograph again. He did say he wanted to be happy, and the Dean in this photo looked happier than Dean thinks he'd ever dreamed of getting to be.

Chuck continued, "So when I looked into Dean's heart to see what he desired, it was pretty simple. You wanted Sam to have a family, and he does. Sam, Eileen, and little Rowan live in the house next door. By the way, congrats on being an Uncle. You wanted Jack to get to experience life. He's off at college. He's studying world religions and philosophy. Personally, I don't think it makes for great career prospects but, hey, better than being a writer."

He chuckled at his own joke. Dean's heart grew fuller with every word Chuck spoke. Sam had a house, and a wife, and a son. He had a nephew. Jack was living a normal life at college…

"...And anyway, he's not my son. He's yours."

Dean's head snapped up as Chuck spoke.

"What are you talking about?" Asked Cas, and Chuck grinned. He reached behind him onto a shelf and held up another photograph. This one was just Dean and Cas, together. Cas Has a wide grin on his face and his arm once again wrapped tightly around Dean's waist. Dean held a bottle of champagne in his hand, which presumably is what the two of them were drenched in. His other arm was wrapped firmly around the back of Cas' neck, and Dean was kissing him on the cheek firmly.

"It's your wedding day."

The air escaped Dean's lungs like he had been hit in the chest with a two-by-four…

Chuck smiles even bigger now. "See, more than anything else, the thing Dean's heart ached for most, the thing that was going to make him happiest...was you, Castiel. It was always supposed to be you."

Dean looked at Cas, then down at their hands. Sure enough, each of them wore matching silver rings on their left hands. Dean gulped hard as he felt tears rise up behind his eyes.

Dean stuttered, "Chuck...I -"

Chuck raised a hand to silence him. "Save it. You write your own stories now. I'm not the author any more. I'm just a fan." And again, he was gone.

Dean looked up at Cas, his eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side, and yeah, Dean thought, maybe this was how he would have written the world if given the chance.

"Cas, listen man, I'm sorry...I guess I can lie to you and Sam and everyone for ten years but, when it comes to God...well I guess he had to earn that 'all-knowing' title somehow…" Dean laughed nervously. "I should have told you sooner, Cas. I should have told you the moment we left Purgatory the second time that I loved you. Hell, I should have told you a lot sooner than that…" Dean hung his head, not wanting the look in Cas' eyes to shatter the world of happiness he was yearning to be able to get used to.

"Does that mean, I'm no longer just an 'honorary Winchester'?" Said Castiel from far too close. Dean looked up and his breath caught in his throat as he realized that Cas had crowded into his space in the not-unpleasant way that he had long gotten used to. His blue eyes were twinkling with something akin to joy as Dean regained his composure.

"Um, I...I guess not, no. Not if you took my last name anyway." He quipped. And suddenly, Cas' lips were on his and oh god if he had thought that Creation had felt like bliss, it was only because he hadn't had THIS yet. Cas kissed him like the sky was falling down around them, like tomorrow would never come, and when he pulled away, there were tears shining in his eyes.

"You know Dean, there is stupid, and then there is Winchester stupid. I was an angel for longer than I was human. I could hear your desires too. I have known your feelings longer than you yourself have."

And Dean threw his head back in the most genuine laugh he had had in years. He laughed at Cas because of course he had known this whole time. He laughed at himself for being 'Winchester stupid'. He laughed at the fact that Sam was a dad. He laughed until he was crying and couldn't breathe and then he realized that this? This was what happiness felt like.

He regained himself and wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes. Reaching out, he pulled Cas into his arms again. This was okay. He was allowed to do this. There were no monsters that were going to burst through the front door and try to hurt them. This wasn't a dream cooked up by some djinn so it can trap Dean here forever. God, for the first time in his life, wasn't messing with him.

He pulled Cas to him and pressed their lips together again enjoying the moment for all it was worth.

It didn't matter that it was the end of the world. It didn't matter that Dean had spent his entire life fighting against exactly this. It didn't matter that the angels had fallen and Cas and Jack had lost their grace. Because the end of this world means that everything can be made better.

[serasvictoria]

So @mercurygray had an idea for a Weekend Workshop and the whole point of it was to Set A Scene. To write a piece as if you’re watching a movie and to take the location and surroundings into account.

I really struggled with this and ended up with something that I’m convinced missed the point entirely, but I never know what I’lll end up with when I start writing anyway. In the end, this basically turned into preparation for something that I know I’ll have to write at one point in the future.

This is my location by the way.

The Fall

Waving at her brother as he drove off, she made her way up the pathway to the large building. There always seemed to be a flurry of activity near the entrance. Visitors that came to take their relatives outside to enjoy the sunshine and patients who were being discharged and sent back to the care of their families. Seeing the smiles and hugs always managed to tug at her heartstrings, because she had no idea when she’d be able to do the same thing. She took a deep breath to settle herself before passing through the entrance.

It was painfully obvious that the walls had been painted in colours that had been deemed calming. Yellow at the top. Green at the bottom. The hospital that one of her brothers had been in when he had broken his leg when they were children had seemed to operate on a similar principle, but those walls had been light blue instead of the two tones that they had gone for here. But not even the supposedly soothing colours could do anything about the hospital smell that seemed to waft through the corridors at all times. Antiseptic mixed in with the sweet smell of oranges that were delivered from the orchard nearby. The combination was so odd that it had made her nauseous on many occasions.

As soon as he was well enough, she’d take him outside, park him outside on the green grass so he could sit in the shade of a palm tree. Maybe peel one of those oranges for him that they had a surplus of in this place. First thing he had to do was wake up however and no one seemed to know with certainty when that would happen. If it would even happen at all.

The x-rays look good, they’d tell her. Everything is as it should be.

The doctors, both the older one and the young ones, kept offering her reassurances and even showed her the pictures that she couldn’t make heads nor tails of. The nurses with their sympathetic eyes. Even the young priest that seemed to pass by her husband’s bed more times than he did the others. Always lingering near his bed whenever she came round for a visit, pretending that he was there for different reasons. He was always merely checking up, keeping tabs on the patients, but that couldn’t possibly be part of his job description. Whenever she’d pull up a chair and sit down next to the bed, she’d sometimes catch him shaking his head and frowning. That couldn’t be a good sign, could it?

Talk to him, they’d say. The sound of your voice will do him good.

So she brought him newspapers yet again, the sinking of the Lusitania by a German submarine was very prominently featured today, but reading to him about the horrors that happened at sea was probably not what staff had in mind when they had told her to read to him. Maybe it would be better to read from the automobile section. She’d seen something about that racecar driver that he liked and a fire truck running 15 miles in 23 minutes when she had skimmed through it that morning. He’d probably like that a lot more than if she told him that a Vanderbilt was amongst the many people that had died when the Lusitania sank.

Making her way through the largely empty corridors, she reached the room that he shared with two other people that were absent at the moment. The older man in the second bed frequently wandered the halls and the man in the first bed had been on one of the benches with his family when she had entered here. The fact that he wasn’t around was a very comforting thought, because he spent most of his time complaining about how ill he was and that he was positive that he was dying when it was clear as day that there was nothing wrong with him. How he could even say such things when there were people in the hospital who were a lot worse off than him was simply mind boggling.

Picking up a wooden chair that stood near the door, she put it on the right side of his white iron framed bed. Always on the right side. Sitting down, her eyes briefly flickered to the 3 that was painted over his bed before gingerly running her hand down his arm and checking the bandages around his head. They had stopped coming away all bloody a few days ago, but she had never seen what kind of mess lay underneath. Shaking her head, she turned the pages until she found the right section, cleared her throat and started to read.

“There’s an article in here about Teddy Tetzlaff. You remember him, right? Terrible Teddy?” He was in that short movie that he liked, The Speed Kings, with that other racecar driver Earl Cooper. “Well, he went on a 1500 mile trip to Big Pine with his Maxwell 25 and got caught in a big blizzard…”

From the corner of her eye, she could see him shift on the bed next to her, but that wasn’t unusual in and of itself. He had remained passive during the first three days, but after that he had started to move. During one visit the muscles in his leg had spasmed so violently that she had screamed and had to be led out of the room by one of the nurses. They’d taken her into one of the quieter rooms and had called her brother to pick her up, because she was in no state to continue her visit. Not after seeing that.

The car ride back to the house that her brother occupied with his wife and their two kids was still burned into her memory. That was the first time that she had broken down over this. All that time she’d kept herself together, kept pushing herself to stay strong. Not just for herself but also for the man that lay in that bed and for the life that was growing inside her that she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him about yet. Surprise.

Her poor brother had taken the brunt of everything that had been on her mind, but hadn’t told anyone about until then. Listened to her scream about how she didn’t know what to do, how to cope with this, didn’t know what he would be like if he woke up, how broken he would be. That was the main issue. What would he be like if he ever came out of this? No one had been able to give her a definitive answer. The doctors who kept going on about those damn x-rays didn’t know jackshit about what state her husband would be in if he ever came to.

He’ll be fine. But how did they know? Just keep talking to him. But did he even hear her at all?

“They were warned to turn back, but Teddy decided to keep pushing on…”

She’d been about to quote his words directly as they had been printed in the paper, something about Teddy saying that it was the worst blizzard they had ever seen in the valley, but the words suddenly started swimming in front of her eyes. Without even realising it herself, she’d dropped the newspaper from her hands, the pages sliding down her lap and scattering on the floor. A pair of bright blue eyes that she hadn’t seen open for eight days were looking right at her and not just that, but they actually seemed to be registering her presence as well.

“Hey.” Reaching up to wipe at her eyes which were already stinging with tears, she then took his hand in hers and squeezed. “Hey, handsome.”

“C-C-Ca- Cath-” He swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and sounding like his throat was lined with sandpaper. “Ca-Cat-”

His throat needed moisture. That much was clear. Turning around, she wildly reached for the basin and pitcher that were always right there in the corner, but there was no cup that she could put the water in. Her eyes were drawn to the cup that was on the cabinet on the other side of the bed and it was almost a mad dash to get there fast enough. Her hands shook as she clutched to the ceramic cup tightly and when she was back where the pitcher was, she dropped the damn thing and it rolled under the bed. Swearing under her breath, she dropped down on her knees to pick it up when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. Looking back up at him, he was still trying to find words which didn’t seem to be coming.

“Oh Christ.” Her eyes darted up to the crucifix that hung on the wall and said a silent prayer for using the lord’s name like that. “You had an accident.” Where he wasn’t able to find words, she had no problems and suddenly unleashed a torrent of words on him. “You… you… it was that last job of yours. Your boss told me the scaffolding wasn’t secure, the whole thing just… collapsed. You fell and hit your head. It’s… it was bad. Probably still is, but I’m not an expert. Lord, I should get the doctor. Tell them you woke up or something.”

“R-r-re-” Again he tried to search for words which weren’t coming. Squeezing his eyes shut, he took a deep breath. “Fuck.” She couldn’t help but suppress her laughter over that. Naturally that would be the word that wouldn’t cause him any problems. “Re-rel-l-ax.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Reaching for the cup, she got back to her feet and started filling it for him. “It’s just… I didn’t think you’d…”

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she held the cup to his lips and helped him drink. His right arm seemed to be fine, a bit shaky, but there was movement there as he reached for her hand to ensure that she didn’t pull the cup away before he had drained it of its contents. When she was finally allowed to pull it away, his eyes kept following her as she moved and his hand had tightened in her dress to ensure that she couldn’t get up.

“Glad you’re back.”

“C-c-co-couldn’t l-l-le-”

“I know.” He didn’t have to finish that particular sentence since it was something he regularly said. A shared joke between them. Unbeknownst to him, those words which he usually uttered without thinking about it, had turned into some kind of indication to her that maybe things weren’t as bad as she had initially thought. Maybe he would be alright. “Can I go get the doctor now?”

“N-no. S-st-stay.”

“Fine. But only for a couple of minutes, okay? They probably want to know that you’ve come round.” A brief look of annoyance crossed his features, but he kept his words to himself. Leaning into him, she pressed her lips to the corner of his mouth and pressed her forehead against his temple. “I really missed you, Chuck.”

[hannahcoursey]

Fragments Part 3 Finale

Author: Hannahc56

Word Count: 2,440

Request: Hi hi hi, do you think you could do one where the reader loses her memory? Thank you - I can’t wait to see what you do with it!

PART ONE PART TWO

You blinked heavily a few times.

The insides of your head pounded hard, your hand finding its way to rest on your temple. Through squinted eyes, you peered around the dimly lit room. Weaponry of all sorts hung on carefully placed nails, scattered over the walls of the room. A dark flannel hung, draped over the back of the chair at the desk across the room. To your left was a dresser, different types of whiskies lining the top of it. And the smell. The smell of Dean Winchester. 

You shot up, the thin blanket falling from your lap as your feet landed on the cold bunker floors. Your heart beat rang in your ears, your fight or flight anxiety skyrocketing. How had you gotten here? You looked down and saw you were in old, worn out clothing that didn’t belong to you. Or did it? Before you could pull the pieces together, the door opened slowly in front of you. Sam eyed you up before throwing his hands up in surrender.

“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me.” His expression pleading with you to calm down. You stood still, staring at him as he watched you carefully. Your mind was racing a million miles a minute, trying to haphazardly mash the broken timeline and your patchy memories together. You furrowed your brows and stared up at him, your glare hard.

“What the hell happened?” You questioned angrily, your voice suspicious and forewarning. The cafe. Amy, your waitress friend. All of these things flooding back that didn’t add up. Seeing Sam made your heart flutter, like as if you missed him with every part of your being, but why would you miss him? You lived with the Winchesters, you wouldn’t miss them. You blinked hard, anger filling your blood. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m missing something, hm?” You questioned, stepping forward, your blood boiling. “Did you wipe my slate clean?” You cocked your head to the side, your skin on fire, “Because something isn’t clicking here,” You motioned to your head. Sam hesitated, his chest heaved. “Sam?” You asked, your anger growing at the silence your questions were being met with.

“Y/N, just listen, he had a good reason for doing it, alri-” He started, but you weren’t having it.

“HE? Sam, you mean to tell me Dean wiped my slate clean?” Your voice rose as the pieces came together, “Are you kidding me, Sam?” Your eyes were wide and your hands balled up into fists, shaking with rage. As your voice rose, heavy footsteps stormed down the hallway. Before Sam could warn him, Dean’s tall frame filled the doorway. 

All you saw was red. 

“I am gonna friggin’ kill you, Winchester!” You growled as you lunged forward at him, your body colliding with his as you took him to the ground. He grabbed your fists and disarmed you as you tried to fight him, but with his strength, it was no use. Sam’s large hands wrapped around your shoulders as he dragged you off of his older brother, crossing your hands across your chest and picking you up off the ground so your feet dangled. You thrashed in his grip, but he hardly broke a sweat to keep you subdued. The anger dissipated into frustration, and it soon became tears slipping down your cheeks as you let yourself melt into Sam’s arm’s.

“Who do you think you are? What the hell is wrong with you?” Tears blurred your vision, as Dean stood up in front of you. You slowly stopped fighting Sam’s grip and hung your head. You sobbed as your feet met the ground again. Sam’s hands gently found their way to your shoulders and you felt him lean down and plant a small kiss on the top of your head. Just as quick as it had happened, it was over and he turned to leave Dean and you. Dean’s hands reached for you and you pushed them away.

“Don’t fucking touch me, okay?” You stared up at him, your eyes spilling with hot tears. He stepped back, his head towards the ground. You knew your words stung, but you felt violated; The man wiped your memory clean, he messed with your mind and body in a way that made you feel small and unimportant. “What makes you think you can do that to someone? To me? Who died and put you in charge, Dean?” You shoved him and he staggered back. He refused to meet your stare, the only noise in the echoing hallway was your heavy, angry breathing.

“You.” He whispered, his eyes cast down.

“What did you say?” You asked dominantly, “Come on, you let me go months without my memory and what, are you suddenly ashamed?” You egged him on. He said nothing. “Say something!” You yelled, begging for something to come out of his mouth, something to make sense of it all.

“You did, Y/N,” He took a deep breath that shook in his lungs, “You died.” He finished, his voice hardly above a whisper. Silence fell between the both of you and you shook your head. All of the choice words you had compiled to unleash on him melted away. 

“Dean, I-” You started, but he cut you off.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Y/N? Honestly think back and tell me what you remember.” He looked up at you, his eyes brimmed with fresh tears that threatened to fall. You stared back at him and tried to think back.

“I-I don’t know,” You swallowed hard and racked your mind, “I-I remember the vampires and then getting cut up real bad,” You squeezed your eyes shut, “But you patched it up and it was okay, right?” You questioned, desperately grasping to fill in the holes of your memory. Dean’s stare never wavered. “Right, Dean?” You pleaded, but he said nothing. And it said it all.

“No, Y/N,” He ran a hand over his face and took another breath, “We got you in the car and,” He paused and cleared his throat, “God, Y/N, you looked like a friggin’ ghost, you were bleeding so bad, you wouldn’t keep your eyes open anymore” He said a little quieter, “There was so much blood everywhere, so much of your blood everywhere,” He repeated, his voice shaking slightly, “I-I didn’t know what to do,” He stuttered, looking off as if he was still sitting with you across his lap, bleeding half to death, “You told me to not let you die. Alright? You looked me in the eyes and told me to make sure you didn’t die.” Tears slipped down his freckled face and he had to bit his lip to stop it from quivering, “You didn’t see what I saw, you don’t get to pretend to know what it’s like to look into your eyes and see nothing,” He raised his voice as he finished his sentence, “Because I did. You were gone.” He shrugged his shoulders in defeat, “And I promised you that you wouldn’t die. So, yes, when Cas was healing you, I told him to take out a few of the details so that this life wouldn’t get the best of you again, that I wouldn’t be the reason you were gone again, okay?” He stood straighter and stared you in the eyes as he stepped closer. “And I would make that same choice every damn time.” He finished, his voice weak. 

You were speechless. You searched his face and all you found was a man full of hurt and guilt, it clouded the green from his eyes. You reached up your hand and rested it on his cheek. He immediately leaned into it on contact as your thumb brushed away the endless tears that seeped past his eyes. 

“Dean,” You started, regretful of the anger you let get the better of you initially, “I’m sorry, I-” You began, but his lips on yours interrupted your apology. The passion, the hurt, the remorse and relief he got across to you in one kiss left you without words. His one hand snaked around your waist while the other one grabbed the back of your head, holding you flush against him. When you pulled away, he kept his eyes closed, sadness radiating from him.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” You whispered, your hands on either side of his face, “I shouldn’t have put that weight on you,” You shook your head and his hands cupped your cheeks. 

“Y/N, that’s my job. You, Sammy; that’s a part of the deal. You’re not dying on my watch. I’d rather you live a normal life, even if it means I don’t get to have you, as long as you’re alive.” He blinked hard and a few leftover tears slipped down his cheek and onto your hands that held his face. “But that look on your face when we saw you in that cafe,” His lips formed a tight line, “You had no idea who we were, who I was, you just looked terrified of us, like as if I was gonna hurt you,” He cleared his throat, almost shivering at the thought, “I would do anything to never see that look in your eye again.” He finished. You let your hands drop and pulled him in, hugging him tight. 

“You never will.” You reassured him, as you rubbed circles into his back. Sure, you had every right to be upset with him for taking your free will from you, but he had every reason to do it and all of them came from a good place, from a place that only wanted to keep you safe.You weren’t the only one that was struggling, the boys were going through it too and it was selfish of you to think you were the only one affected by the chain of events that had gone down. When you broke from your hug, his eyes were still red but considerably less teary and you took it as a good sign. Giving his hand one last squeeze, you turned around and walked down the echoing hallways to find the younger brother that you no doubtly needed to apologize to. 

When you walked through the library doors you saw him. He sat with his back hunched over, his head in his hands, staring at the grain of wood in the table he leaned on. A pain cracked through your chest.

“Sam,” You started and his head instantly whipped up in your direction, “C’mere.” You said, as you walked forward. His eyes searched yours, curious of what you were going to do, pleading with you to understand. Once you reached him, you could see that his eyes were glossy and filling with tears. You leaned down and wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as he sat in the chair. His head fell to the crook of your neck and you could feel his hesitant breaths as a few singular tears slipped onto the collar of your shirt.

“We thought we lost you,” He said, his voice stiff from trying to hold back and suck it up, “I thought you were gone,” His hand on your back tightened, “God, you were so pale when we got you to the hospital, I’d never seen Dean’s hands shake like that, like when he was handing you over to the doctors,” His head shook in disbelief as you pulled away and looked at him. He quickly turned and rubbed at his eyes, before casting them down towards the tile floor.

“Sam, I’m sorry,” You found yourself feeling guilty at the outburst you’d had, “I didn’t even stop to think about the other end of this, it wasn’t just me.” You grabbed his hand and squeezed it before letting it go. He nodded.

“I’m just really glad you’re back and you’re you again.” He sniffled lightly and forced a smile, always trying to be the brave one. You returned his grin and nodded.

“Yeah, me too.” You patted him on the back and watched as he calmed himself down, brushing off the slight emotion he let peak through. The boys had been through so much when you were gone, it was time you made up for it. 

“Dean!” You yelled, your voice bouncing across the cold tile room. You glanced around, looking around the room. Everything was the same as you’d remembered and it made you feel more at home. You put on your biggest grin when Dean walked in, “Well, I don’t know about you, but I think this would be a great time for a movie night,” You nudged Sam’s shoulder, causing him to laugh. It echoed in the room and it filled your heart with a sense of home, reminding you that hearing Sam’s laugh was one of the things that brought you closer to remembering the boys. You looked at Dean who shrugged. “And I think I get to pick the movie tonight, I deserve it, alright?” You said, your voice dripping of sarcasm. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Please tell me it’s not another Adam Sandler movie.” He begged.

“Oh, you better bet your ass it’s another Adam Sandler movie, baby.” You laughed, throwing your head back. “Nothing like the Sandman, am I right?” You winked at Dean. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but smile watching you. 

“As long as you don’t try to beat the crap outta me again, I’m down,” Dean threw his hands up in surrender and headed for the couch. As you stood up to follow suit, Sam laughed behind you.

“Dean, you just got your ass kicked by Y/N, you’re never living this down,” He laughed, patting your shoulder with his calloused hand. You giggled at the thought.

“Yeah, I kinda did kick you on your ass, didn’t I?” You grinned to yourself.

You didn’t know what the future held, or how it would be to readjust to being home again with the boys, but you looked forward to every second of it. The three of you sat on the couch, Dean’s arm fell around your shoulders comfortably, while Sam kicked his feet up on the other side of you. You melted under the crook of Dean’s arm and looped your hands in between his and gave it a squeeze. You didn’t have much. But you had them. You silently promised yourself that you’d make sure to call Amy the first chance you got. But until then, in the presence of the people you loved, you kicked back and for the first time in six months, finally let yourself relax.

-----

Hope you liked it! Requests are always open, I’d love to do more!

[kyber-kisses]

Hung The Moon (1/2)

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings; violence, gore, character death (maybe), cursing, nooses and everything that entails, some sketchy surgery, Sam playing doctor, cricothyrotomy. (Please consider this a DARK FIC)

Bad Things Happen Bingo

Square filled: bound and gagged (kind of)

Summary: after a hunting accident that takes one of the things Dean holds most dear, he is desperate to put the pieces back together (Takes place in s12)

It happened so fast.

It was like the moment they took you woke up from your drugged state your senses increased tenfold. You felt the rough canvas material of the sack being pulled over your head, your hands and ankles had been bound with cloth as you now teetered on the edge of what could only be a chair. The old wood creaking under your weight as you tried to shift.

But it was the rope around your neck that really had you scared. It was like every cell in your body was vibrating as your mind tried to hatch an escape plan. But in all truth, how were you supposed to get out of this mess? Sam and Dean were probably out looking for you- but the chance of them getting here before whoever had taken you decided to kick the chair out from under you was slim to none.

“You can give up the thought that they’ll actually save you.” A sudden voice spoke up from behind you, her accent immediately informing you on who exactly had captured you. “We have the Winchesters running in circles as we speak. They’re miles away.”

Fucking British men of Letters. Could you ever catch a break from them?

“Toni. I wish I could say it’s good to see you.” You swallowed, attempting to wriggle your wrist out of its binding. “But seeing as you put a damn bag over my head-“

“Goodness, I can see why the Winchesters like you so much. You’re a sarcastic chatter box just like the older one.”

“You wanna tell me why you got a noose around my neck? I thought you assholes were trying to recruit us, not kill us.”

The crack of her heels against the pavement gave way to where she walked, her shadow passing over the fabric of the bag over your head. If you could just keep her talking, you could buy yourself some more time.

“That was the original plan, yes. But you American hunters are too stubborn and reckless. It’s better to just wipe you off the playing field all together.”

Even with the canvas pulled over your eyes, you couldn’t help but roll them. It was like she loved hearing herself talk. “Well alright, Bonnie. Where’s Clyde in this whole situation? I thought for sure he’d be here too.”

“Ketch is busy with those flannel clad idiots of yours. Leaving them false breadcrumbs leading far, far away from here.” She quipped, the constant clack of her heels telling you she was somewhat occupied, giving you a chance to continue working on weaseling your hand out of its binding.

“So it’s just us girls? We should make a girls night of it. Order pizzas, paint each others nails-“

“Oh do shut up.” The sound of her heels quickly drew closer as she suddenly picked up her pace, your hand came loose and she struck the chair with her foot, kicking it out from beneath you and leaving you hanging. . . Literally.

It just happened so fast.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

“I’m telling you man, she has to be around here somewhere!”

“Dean, this is the fourth farmhouse we’ve checked tonight. She’s not here. Plus, Cas is searching for anything suspicious. He’ll give us a call if he finds anything.”

“She could be dying for all we know, Sam! Now we ain’t stopping until we find her!”

Dean spun around, throwing his fist into the rotting wood of the old abandon house. They had spent the last few hours searching for any clues to your whereabouts but it was like everything they found was steering them further away.

“So whats your plan? tear apart every abandon building in Georgia until we find her?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah!”

He knew something was off the minute he and Sam had stepped back into the motel room earlier. Not a single thing was out of place and you were nowhere in sight. Everything about it screamed unusual. If you were to leave you would have texted him, informed him that you were going out. 

“You know, this has those British bastards written all over it.” he growled, pulling the keys to the impala from his pocket, the older Winchester stormed back out the door. “Now c’mon, we gotta keep looking.”

Sam watched his brother go, letting out a deep sigh. As each minute ticked by Dean was growing more impulsive in his behavior. The second they realized something had happened to you he could see the fear cover him like a blanket. He knew how much his brother cared for you. You were like the sun and moon to Dean Winchester. . .and yet you had no fricken clue about it at all.

“Sam! You coming or what?! We don’t got all day!” Deans voice echoing through the threshold and pulling him forward, his phone also deciding it was the perfect time to go off right then and there.

Fishing the device out of his pocket, Sam quickly answered, ignoring the impatient look Dean was giving him from over the hood of the impala.

“Cas, you got anything?”

“I might. But I’m not sure. The place is heavily warded against angels.” His voice loud enough through the speaker to gain the jade eyed hunters attention, resulting in him throwing open the drivers side door and sliding in, the engine roaring to life in a matter of seconds.

“Where is he?” His voice heavy with urgency as Sam slid into the car, almost hitting his head on the window when Dean threw the car into drive at a record speed, peeling off onto the two lane road. “Sam! Where the hell is he?!”

“Cas, where are you?”

There was a muffled answer, drowned out by the thunder of the impalas engine, the older Winchester taking his eyes off the road to look wide eyed at his brother. “Well?”

“He said he’s just outside of Barnwell.”

“Barnwell? That’s the opposite direction in which we’ve been traveling!”

With another click, Sam put the angel on speaker, holding it up for better sound. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe the clues that you have found were deliberately placed? Put there to send you in the wrong direction?”

Sam watched as his brothers head fell foreword in defeat, eyes closing momentarily as he rested his forehead against the steering wheel. “God. I’m so stupid! I’m so damn stupid.”

“Dean, no you’re not. We just couldn’t see things clearly in the panic. It happens.”

“I swear I’m gonna slit the throats of whoever took her.”

Shifting slightly in his seat, Dean pressed down harder on the gas, the world beyond the windows becoming a dark blur as he cut across the state. If anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself. He need you safe. He needed you.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Adrenaline flooded through Deans system as he slammed against the front door, splintering the door frame in one go as he tumbled into the dark.

“Check every room. She has to be here somewhere.”

Flashlight beams danced across the dusted surfaces of the vacant homestead as the brothers searched for any signs of life. The drive would have normally been around an hour long but Dean had managed to narrow it down to a clean twenty five. The house that Cas had found had long since been abandon, so overgrown with honeysuckle and kudzu that the building looked like a cocoon of greenery. The only signs that anyone had been there were the tire tracks in the driveway.

“Y/N, you in here?” Dean whispered, taking light footsteps through the house, Sam splitting of to check the basement. Cas was still out of commission due to the warding, resulting in him hanging back on the front porch.

Eventually the hunter fell back after finding no evidence of you,instead opting to follow the direction in which his brother had gone. The old stairs creaking under his weight as he descended into the dark of the basement.

“Sam, you find anything?”

His feet had barely touched down on the cement floor before the mass that could only be Sam barricaded him from going anywhere, his younger brother taking his shoulders in a vice grip and pushing him.

“Dude what the hell? You scared of the dark now?”

“Dean-“ Sam struggled, the words sticking like cotton in his throat. “go back upstairs.”

“Sam, just let me through. I’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m telling you, You don’t want to see this. Just get out of the house.”

The tone and words hit like an icy shock to Deans system, the hunter drawing his eyebrows together as he pushed against the hold Sam had on him. Alarms going off in his head as every muscle in his body felt like it had been bound tightly with wire. Maybe if his flashlight hadn’t illuminated his brothers face he wouldn’t have been so scared all of a sudden- but his face was pale and his eyes were wide and glassy.

And then his flashlight beam fell across the silhouette just beyond his shoulders and Dean felt his heart stop in his chest. The paralyzing fear spread through his body like icy liquid metal, jade eyes widening in dread as the flashlight slipped from his palm, clattering down the last two steps.

“No-no.” The word came out of his mouth shaky, his voice cracking. If it weren’t for the rotting banister and his brothers quick reflexes his buckling knees would have sent him to the ground.

The fallen flashlights beam now acted as some morbid spotlight to your fate. If it weren’t for the pair of bright yellow converse on the set of feet, neither brother would have guessed it was you. Your feet dangling a good foot above the floor, your body suspended like a puppet from the rafters.

No.no. this wasn't right. this was just some nightmarish landscape that his mind had cooked up. You weren't dead. You couldn't be. Not here. Not now. Not this way. You were supposed to always be there. The one thing that he would never lose. You were supposed to stay and he was supposed to find the courage to tell you he loved you.

You end wasn't supposed to be met with your neck in a noose.

“We gotta- we  gotta cut her down.” he stuttered, finding that his tongue had practically gone limp in his mouth. They couldn’t just leave you there. “She---she-”

And then it was like a sudden adrenaline rush went through the hunter and he was pushing past the man blocking him from you. Maybe a part of him still didn’t believe what he was seeing, or that he could allow himself to really believe you were dead. 

And He didn’t know what made him reach out for your wrist, but when he did- he found something he didn't expect to actually find. he found a pulse.

Eyes widening, he took a step back. “Sam, she’s still alive!” Letting go of your wrist, Dean whipped around, eyes finding the knocked over chair in the dark and racing to stand it up, jumping onto the base of it as he pulled out the knife tucked into his waistband. Sam was beside him in matter of seconds, ready to hold your body the second the rope was cut. As he did you dropped like an unstrung marionette into the hunters arms, the younger Winchester sinking to the floor. The sack was pulled away from your face and the noose was quickly loosened.

“How is she even still alive?”

“Her hand-“ Sam breathed, lifting up your left hand to show the bruises around your fingers. “She managed to wedge it between the rope and her neck before it could fully choke her.”

“We need to get her to Cas then!” Deans voice thundered around the otherwise empty room as panic overrode his system.

“If we move her I don’t know what will happen. I need you to go and grab Y/Ns emergency kit from the car. Along with the straw from your drink earlier.” Being as gentle as he could, Sam lifted the noose from around your neck, his hands shaking as he did. Meanwhile Dean was paralyzed with fear, also slightly confused as to why his brother wanted the fucking straw.” Now, Dean! Go!”

Another switch was flicked in his brain and the speed at which he took the stairs probably would have impressed most people. He ignored the shouts from Cas as he blew past, throwing open the trunk of the impala and rummaging around until he found your kit. And then he was flinging open the passenger door and ripping the straw from his cup, deciding it was better to not ask questions at this point and just grab what Sam told him. He didn’t bother closing the doors to the vehicle as he sprinted back into the house once more, almost falling down the stairs in the process.

Breathlessly, he fell to his knees and ripped open the kit, his hands shaking worse than his brothers. “Sam, what do you need?” His words falling out of his mouth rapidly. He didn’t know how to help you or what to hand his brother and he was on the verge of passing out from fear alone. “Sam!”

“I need you to cut off about a two inch piece of the straw. I also need your pocket knife.” His words earning a panicked look from Dean, but he did as he was told, handing over the objects quickly.

“What the hell are you going to do?!”

“We need to puncture her airway. Get air into her lungs.”

“And you know how to do that?!”

There was a pause. “Kinda. Read about it in a book once.”

“Kinda? What if it doesn’t work?!”

“Then she dies. Now I need you to shut up and trust me because this is the only chance we got at saving her. Now hold her head steady for me.”

Despite his whole uneasiness with the entire situation, Dean complied, moving to hold your head in place as Sam brought the pocket knife to your throat, being as steady as he could when making the incision. Everything in the older Winchester wanted to tear his eyes away, but they seemed glued to what was happening. There wasn’t exactly a gentleness either as he put the small piece of straw into the incision, having to of course make sure it reached your windpipe.

Suspense blanketed the three until there was a stuttered breath from your unconscious form and your chest ever so slightly rose as your lungs wheezed with lost air.

“Was that it? Did it work?”

“Yeah, yeah I think it did. But we need to get her up to Cas. Hopefully he still has some juice left to help fix her.”

Dean let out a sigh of partial relief, shifting so he could get a better look at you, his calloused hands moving to cup your face, still shaking from the whole ordeal. Through the blurriness of the tears in his eyes he could still make out the rope marks on your neck. He wanted you to wake up, tell him who did this to you. He wanted you to really confirm that you were still with him. But he knew it was better for you to stay unconscious.

“We’re gonna get you to Cas, okay Sweetheart? You’re gonna be fine. You're gonna be Just fine.” 

Read part 2 Here

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[shadowywerewolfqueen]

Take Care of Your Husband

Cas picked his phone up and answered Sam’s call. “Hello Sam. What can I do for you?”

“I know you and Jack have been planning this trip for the two of you for weeks but for the love of all that is holy, I need you to come back to the bunker and take care of your husband,” Sam shouted.

Cas held the phone away from his ear as Sam was shouting extremely loud. “What is wrong with Dean? He was fine when we left a few days ago.”

“He’s come down with a cold and he is being a whiny asshole about it! He argues with me every time I try to help him, and he’s only getting worse. I’m about ready to strangle him or knock him into unconsciousness, I haven’t decided,” Sam said frustratedly.

Cas sighed but couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Let me talk to Jack and see if I can convince him to leave. He’s enjoying his trip to Disneyland immensely.”

“You don’t sound like you are,” Sam said.

“It’s so loud and crowded. I hate to tear him away, but I’ll be glad to be back home in the quiet of the bunker,” Cas explained as he started pushing through the crowd, looking for his pseudo son.

Sam was silent for a minute before saying, “Why don’t we trade places. I need a break from Dean, and you want away from the theme park.”

“Do you care if I fly you? Even after being together all these years, Dean still complains when I fly him anywhere.” Cas rolled his eyes at the thought of his husband’s bitching.

“I don’t care how you get me there, just please get me out of here. If I have to hear Dean whine like a little girl one more time, I’m gonna claw my ears out. The guy can nearly get his leg chopped off by a vampire and not complain but god forbid he gets a cold,” Sam complained.

Castiel chuckled. “I see Jack. Let me tell him what’s going on and then I will be at the bunker.”

“Alright, see you in a minute. Bye.”

“Bye Sam.” Cas hung up the call and slipped the phone in his trench coat pocket.

Jack turned to look at Cas, his lips stained blue from the cotton candy he was stuffing into his mouth. He waved at Cas as the older angel walked up to him. He held a handful off the sweet confection out in front of him. “Hey Cas, do you want some? It’s delicious.”

Cas shook his head. “Thank you but no. Jack, would you be upset if Sam joined you for the rest of the trip? Dean has come down with a cold and needs somebody to take care of him that isn’t his younger brother.”

Jack shoved the cotton candy in his mouth as he said, “I don’t mind. Sam will probably go on the rides with me. You go take care of Dean.”

“Thank you. I’ll be right back with Sam.” In the blink of an eye, Cas was gone. He returned barely five seconds later with a bewildered Sam.

“Give me a warning next time, Cas,” Sam grumbled as he tried to steady his tall frame.

Cas grabbed Sam’s arm to keep him from falling. “I’m sorry. You said you didn’t mind this form of travel. If you’re ok, I must return to Dean.”

Sam waved him off. “Yeah, yeah, go tend to your sick husband. Jack and I have some rides to go on.”

Jack’s face erupted into a large smile at the mention of riding rides. He grabbed Sam’s arm and pointed to the first one he wanted to go on. Cas watched as the two of them walked off, talking excitedly. With a flap of his wings, Cas was flying away from the park and towards his home. He landed in the bunker’s kitchen.

He was startled when he heard a loud sneeze echo through the hallways. Cas headed towards their room; as he got closer, he could hear Dean’s sneezes, coughs, and curse words. The door to their room was wide open and Cas leaned against the doorway and stared at the man he loved. Dean was laying in their bed with his back turned to Cas and was buried underneath no less than five blankets. His body was wracked with insistent coughing and Cas flinched at how painful it sounded.

“Stupid, fucking cold!! This fucking sucks! How do people handle this shit?? I feel like I’m dying,” Dean shouted into the room. He started to say something else but was for forced to stop as he was overcome by sneezes. “A-choo! A-chooo! A-A-CHOO!!”

Cas walked over and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Dean immediately turned his head over his shoulder. His eyes widened when he saw Castiel sitting there. “I thought you and Jack were at Disneyland.” Dean’s voice was scratchy and thick with mucus.

Cas reached out and ran his fingers through the sweaty locks. “Sam said you were sick.”

“No shit sherlock,” Dean snapped before breaking into a coughing fit. “It was just a cough a few days ago and now I’m coughing and sneezing, and my nose can’t decide if it wants to let me breathe or suffocate me. I can’t taste a damn thing and I can hardly move a muscle without hurting.” Dean grabbed a tissue and blew his nose into it before looking at the snot. “Ugh, that’s disgusting.”

Cas scrunched his nose. “Why did you look at it?”

Dean shrugged. “Why do I do half the shit I do? I’m just glad you’re here. If I had to shove down another bowl of chicken noodle soup or cup of ginger ale, I was going to throw it at Sam’s face. I haven’t had a burger or a beer in days. Hell, he threatened to hide the keys to Baby if I didn’t lay my ass down.”

“He was just trying to take care of you,” Cas replied as he grinned at his husband’s antics. “Maybe I should let you suffer for a while longer for being such a grouchy patient.”

“No, please, don’t! I’ll apologize to him and thank him for putting up with me, but please don’t make me have to deal with this any longer. I’ve been miserable,” Dean whined.

“You are to be on your best behavior for the next two weeks and you have to apologize to and thank your brother. Otherwise, I’m going to make you sick again and you will have to let it run its course, am I understood?” Cas used his Dom voice to let Dean know he was being completely serious.

Dean shivered as Cas’ voice lowered and he stared at Dean with a cocked eyebrow. “Yes sir, I promise! Please, just make me better.”

Cas chuckled as he placed two fingers on Dean’s forehead and sent a surge of grace into the hunter’s body, eradicating all traces of the illness that plagued Dean’s body. Dean took a huge breath and relaxed against the bed. “Thanks angel. Gah, I don’t know how people without magical angel husbands deal with that. It was awful!” Dean kicked all the blankets off now that he wasn’t freezing cold anymore.

“You’re just lucky your magical angel husband hates your whining as much as your brother. You also need to thank Jack for letting me come to you,” Cas said as he shed his trench coat, suit jacket, tie, and shoes. He then slid into bed and Dean curled up against him.

“I will, I promise. I’m sorry to pull you away from your trip with Jack. I know he has been looking forward to it for weeks,” Dean replied as he let his head rest against Cas’ chest.

Cas started trailing his fingers through Dean’s hair again. “Honestly, I wasn’t enjoying it very much and I was taking the fun out of it for Jack. I think he will have a lot more fun with Sam. When I left, they were rushing off to ride rides, something Jack had been begging me to do.”

Dean reached across Cas’ chest and grabbed his free hand. “Yeah, Sam is like a big kid when it comes to theme parks. I’m not a huge fan of them myself. The food is good but that’s about it. The games are rigged and if I won’t fly on a plane, you think there’s any chance of getting me on a friggin roller coaster?”

“Well, I’m sure Sam will be far better entertainment than I was.” Cas pressed a kiss to the top of Dean’s head. “Whatever shall we do to occupy ourselves while they’re gone?”

Dean grinned at Cas, delight dancing in his eyes. “I’m sure we will think of something!” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to his husband’s.

“Are you going to my good boy until your brother gets back?” Cas asked as he smiled at Dean.

“I really don’t wanna be sick anytime soon, so yes sir, I promise to be good,” Dean replied quickly.

Cas pulled Dean’s head back and nipped at his exposed neck. “For some reason, I don’t believe you but that’s ok. I always enjoy turning your ass a bright red.”

Dean shivered in anticipation. “Who said I had to be in trouble?”

“Oh pet, we are going to have so much fun,” Cas whispered seductively. Dean couldn’t wait.

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @multifandom-fanatic @flowersforcas @cockleslovesdestiel

[stusbunker]

An Olive Branch and a Crossroads

For Better or Worst Series: Chapter Ten

Gif found on Tenor

Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester (OFC)

Other Characters: Castiel, OC Bandit

Series 14 AU

Word Count: 2196

Summary: Castiel interrupts, Sam questions and Emery reveals.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

Urgency hung in the air as Castiel roamed through the crowds, his eyes somehow his strongest asset in a search now. Time marched on and he grew older and Heaven’s light waned from his being more rapidly than both, exponentially so. He was anxious because he had been on the West Coast when the news came through and he didn’t want Sam to be subdued again. They couldn’t keep dragging their feet, not with real progress after so long without answers. He was overdressed in the bright sunlight, trench coat earning him glances he was once unaware of but had long since minded. The booths were filled with every local delicacy, smells and voices overwhelming in their temptations. He misheard his name with every cash only vendor and each whisper about finding an ATM.

Eventually, he felt he had lost his chance, having searched through every face in the sea of affluence. Dejected, Cas stepped out of the stream of foot traffic to text on his phone just to be jostled by someone as they collided with his sturdy frame. A canvas bag fell at his feet and he bent to pick it up.

“Uh, here, you dropped—.” His body instantly stopped moving, thoughts rolling in panic.

“Sorry, God, I’m so sorry,” exclaimed a hand covered mouth beneath mischievous eyes. Castiel softened as he saw how worried she was, sensing honest concern in her.

“It’s alright, Emery, no harm no foul.” He shook his head, brushing off the awkwardness, holding her nearly empty bag out genteelly.

She hesitated, before taking the bag and tucking it back onto her shoulder, brow knit in confusion. She crossed her arms, “I’m sorry--- do I know you?”

Cas swallowed, just as he was about to take his turn with apologies, Sam caught up with them. Eyes darting amongst them until the tense moment evolved into a nervous stalemate of confusion and disastrously avoiding setting Sam off.

“Uh, guys?” Sam’s deep voice shattered the bubble of quiet.

“Sam—” Cas began.

              “What’s up? We just bump—” Emery started explaining.

Sam’s eyebrows did the thing where his forehead jumped two more inches, though he leaned in so far, he effectively shrank. “Cas, what are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

Cas focused Sam with his quintessential exasperated expression and sighed, “I don’t know, Sam. Is it? You texted me.”

Emery bit her lip as she watched the men huff at each other and communicate so thoroughly without saying anything of consequence. Sam ran his hand through his hair and the man in the jacket stood impatiently. She was almost concerned, if the whole thing wasn’t so suddenly intense; she found it all funny by sheer bafflement.

“Did you---?” Sam held up his hand waiting to see what had transpired before his arrival.

“No,” Castiel said flatly. “I didn’t say anything, in fact, she ran into me.”

“Well, you did say my name, so that was a bit of a faux paus,” Emery muttered, sneaking in a slight challenge as she raised her eyes at Castiel’s renewed annoyance. Sam bit his lips and slammed his eyes shut.

“Fine, whatever. Emery, this is Castiel. Cas, this is my-- wife,” Sam spat the last word at the angel like it was his fault.

Cas nodded at Emery. “It’s nice to meet you, finally.”

Sam shook his head at Cas’s words, but Emery perked up, holding out her hand for him to shake.

“I don’t understand, I thought--,” Cas smiled despite himself at the warmth in Emery’s eyes.

“Oh, he’s still pissed. But, it’s nothing new for me. Now, how do you know Sam?” Emery leaned in to conspire with Cas as they walked out of the farmers’ market.

“Well, uh, we go way back. You could say we used to work together?” Castiel suggested feebly.

Emery laughed out loud, “No. But, really? I mean, he’s texting you, risking a whole fucking lot, in the process. Who are you?”

“Guys? Maybe we should have this conversation in private?” Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, the telltale headache that Cas’s presence brought flaring up again.

“Sure can! So, Cas? How do you feel about pheasant?” Emery chirped overtly cheeky.

^*^*^

              An hour later, the at odds couple and the persistent angel were seated in the den. Bandit lay, unimpressed, between Emery and Cas on the large sectional. Sam sat on the steps, forearms resting on his knees as he didn’t drink his beer.

              “What do you remember?” Emery shoved the ball into Sam’s court, fierce and frank, cherry bombing them to the crux of the conversation. He inhaled and closed his eyes, “I remember a lot, Emery, but most of it isn’t real. I remember us dating up to proposing on Christmas Eve. I remember you getting the offer to move here. Our whole relationship, before.”

              “Where would all of that come from?!” Emery stared back at Cas, shocked. Before circling back to Sam. “Do you remember the real stuff too? The deal, Naomi, the wedding? Any of it?”

              Sam cleared his throat and stretched his neck, “Yeah, that’s there too. But some of it hurts? Like it’s been buried.”

              “We need to know more about the deal, Emery. Why did Sam have to leave? What exactly are the stakes?” Castiel leaned in, squinting as Emery tried to keep herself calm.

              She nodded, smiling sadly at Sam. “I don’t know what Sam promised, exactly. I just know that neither of us could go back to our old lives, if we went back, even one of us, everything was lost. No do overs or take backs. They bound us together, to keep us accountable. Because we would have already sacrificed ourselves as the means to our ends. Depending on each other kept us each invested. I feel like I’m not being very clear. But, um, so, whatever Sam needed help with was huge, right?”

              Sam and Cas shared a look, but Sam answered with a tight, “you could say that.”

              “Okay, me too. But they knew we wouldn’t stop badgering them--,” Emery gave a knowing look to Sam. “On our own, so to keep us in line, they stuck us together. If I go back or after them, or anything like my old life. Sam could die. If Sam goes back or starts nagging them or whatever his equivalent is, I could. It’s all soul deep stuff, instant repercussions without them having to be here to witness it.”

              “True marriage?” Cas said softly. “A soul bond? That is very old magic.”

              “Can it be undone?” Sam asked Cas, ignoring Emery’s slight intake of breath.

              “Not by any means I know of,” Cas answered with wide, pressing eyes. “If the deal is fulfilled, perhaps, but I don’t know how they did it in the first place.”

              “Hold on!” Emery sat up; arms raised to the men on either side of her. “The deal isn’t the problem, that we both agreed to. The problem is Sam doesn’t remember what’s real. He doesn’t--- we don’t--- we need to sort out what or who is messing with his head. And why.”

              Sam watched Emery as she finished off her wine, setting the empty glass on the coffee table with a tightness in her every move, snapping back into the corner, watching the entire room.

              “Were you a hunter?” Sam’s question landed heavy, deflating their momentum.

              Emery’s eyes dilated, but her voice came out evenly, “No, what does that have to do with anything I just said?”

              Cas watched them, untold emotions warring within each Sam and Emery, and with their untrusted halves.

              Sam shrugged sarcastically. “I was. And I’m not talking Bambi.”

              Emery stabbed her tongue into her cheek and glared at Sam, “I know what you meant, Sam. We’re having drinks with your buddy the renegade angel. I get the whole spectrum of things that go bump in the night, okay? Stop treating me like a victim. You don’t have to ease me into it. I’ve been here.”

              “When did Sam, stop acting like himself?” Cas broke in before they raised their voices. “Did something happen? Did you meet someone new? Have any uninvited guests?”

              “You mean stop acting like an asshole?!” Emery replied tersely. “Because as soon as that spell was set, wooo, let me tell you, he picked up a bottle of Johnny Walker and didn’t look back.”

              “Not exactly,” Cas floundered.

              “It’s okay, let her get it out. Maybe she can remember when I started acting like a love drunk teenager. So demented that I suddenly became—”

              “Kind? A gentleman? Not some bitter slob, who needed to blame everyone but himself. Even Heaven, you know, the ones who were just trying to help?!

              Sam stood up, bracing himself for a thorough verbal onslaught. Emery tisked at Sam’s position as an overreaction and rolled her eyes.

“When, Emery? Don’t worry about him,” Cas pressed, arm out as if to restrain Sam. They bore into her with attention as she looked forward, and unfocused her eyes. Slowly she relaxed and just when she couldn’t seem to place when the shift had occurred; everything fell into place.

“Our anniversary,” Emery spoke into her fingertips, like a kid catching themselves do something wrong. She looked up to Sam, who waited for more, clearly not remembering what she had. “It was one month here, and I didn’t know why, but you remembered. Surprised me with a gift but never mentioned it. From then on, you were different. Nice even.”

              Cas glanced over to Sam, who was visibly swallowing, throat tight. “I don’t remember buying you anything.”

              “What was the surprise, Emery? Where was it?” Cas asked softly, the realization clearly affecting her.

              She looked up at Sam, eyes glistening with tears and attempted to smile. “Perfume.”

              Sam slammed his eyes closed and nodded. “Of course, God, yeah, that’d do it. Fuck!”

^*^*^

              Emery had surrendered their bedroom to a thorough investigation by Sam and Cas before they delved any deeper. Cas promised to have the perfume examined to see if its origin could be established. Finding nothing else sinister, they gave in and humored Emery by sitting down to dinner. Hesitant, yet desperate, Castiel approached Emery’s loyalty to the deal.

              “I know you want to believe they are helping you, but I assure you, Naomi only does something if it benefits her cause,” he warned.

              “Castiel, I know you have your own history with Naomi. But I have to believe this will work. If everyone benefits, why question it?” Emery had the soft forgiveness to her expression that Sam had grown to love and hate in equal measure. Perhaps not hate so much as envy, he longed for her blind faith like a child missed a cherished blanket.

              “Emery, there’s things you need to understand about us,” Sam started.

              “I’ve lost too many brothers and sisters trying to fix Heaven’s injustices,” Cas’s voice was low, yet not quite patronizing. “I will not lose Dean, too, because you refuse to listen to reason.”

              Emery recoiled at the suggested vengeance in Cas’s tone. Sam instinctively rubbed her back, trying to soothe them both. Emery didn’t miss that it was the first time he’d touched her in days. When he realized it, he pulled back in clumsy movements.

              “Cas? Let me explain it to her?” Sam offered, waiting for Cas to understand what he was implying.

              “You want to do that alone,” Cas surmised after a few beats. “Very well. But I’m not going to remain idle.”

              “Nobody is saying you have to, man. As for us, Emery and I—.” Sam looked to his wife trying and failing to see any leeway.

              “We’ll be in touch,” Emery finished. After Cas begrudgingly said goodbye, Sam and Emery sat eating with nothing but a faint playlist to break the silence.

              “I’m going to ask, just because it will gnaw at us both if I don’t--- but, Em, you have to be straight with me,” Sam, who had been speaking at the lazy-Susan, finally met Emery’s curious stare. “Did you have anything to do with the love potion? Do you know anything about where it came from?”

              Emery shook her head at Sam’s questions, eyes locked on his face, open, honest. He wanted to trust her in a way that made him frustrated to be inside his own skin. How could he be so upset and still determined to stick to her side? How long before he could trust himself around her again? Sam licked his lips and nodded, acknowledging her answers without pressing for more.

              “Can you do me a favor while I clean up the kitchen?” Sam stood, stacking their plates.

              “Sure? What’s up?” Emery perked up at the casual direction the conversation took.

              “Mind taking a shower?” Sam requested. “It’s just--- I have a lot to tell you and I want to be sure that I get the reactions you’re having and not the ones I want to see.”

              Though slightly off put by his diligence, she agreed, letting the last traces of the cursed fragrance disappear with a fresh bar of soap and plenty of hot water.

^*^*^

Read On: The Wife She Was Never Meant To Be

[h-o-l-l-i]

Love Never Hurt So Bad

Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: feelings, language, mention of injury and blood

Author’s Note: Requests are OPEN! Let me know if you would like to be added to any of my tags! This is the 6th installment of a 10 part series.

SPN tags: @coffee-obsessed-writer // @roonyxx // @mrsjaxtellerfan // @princessofthefandomrealm // @witch-of-letters // @lauravic // @destielhoneybee

Series tags: @coffee-obsessed-writer // @roonyxx // @mrsjaxtellerfan // @holylulusworld // @flamencodiva // @suvikamahes98blr // @paintrider13-blog // @squirrelnotsam // @eves-library // @coffeebooksandfandom // @teller258316 // @babykalika2001 // @deansgirl79 // @princessofthefandomrealm // @tftumblin // @sasbb23 // @darylsbxtch // @mirandaaustin93 // @divadinag // @adoptdontshoppets

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7*| Part 8*| Part 9*| Part 10*(final)

Part 6

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Dean remained silent but nodded his head steadily, Sam’s arm squeezed Dean’s shoulder tightly before he stood to leave his brother alone to think about everything, knowing that some time alone will help Dean get his mind straight, allowing him to focus instead of being impulsive.

“Cas, I need you buddy…” he paused, “Sammy and I are in some deep shit with Y/N; I messed up, bad. I—I don’t know what to do.” He bowed his head, “I mean, usually if I mess up she’s right there, the first person to knock some sense into me and help fix it, but, this time…she’s gone Cas.”

___

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Sam; listen I know you probably want far away from this place but this is your home…” he cleared his throat and sighed heavily, “Things are rough right now and we don’t know what to do…you always were the one to figure things out during times like these and we need you back here,” he paused again, the worrisome crease indenting his brows, “You should come home.” He shook his head, unsatisfied at his message he just left, “Call me.” He hung up his phone and grabbed the two beers and headed into the library. “I hate leaving voicemails.” He slide Dean his beer on the long table, “I always forget what to say and then I just ramble an—”

“She’s not comin’ back, Sammy.” Dean growled and angrily sipped his beer, “I ruined it.” He bowed his head and then tipped it back gulping the liquid.

“Maybe Cas can talk to her or something, Dean. She’s family; she won’t just leave—” Sam adjusted himself in the seat and pulled out his vibrating phone, he held up the screen to Dean’s sulking face, “See, I told you.”

“Oh well, good for you.” He mocked, the alcohol began to numb his feelings and allow his inner sass shine through. Sam rolled his eyes in response to his childish older bother, giving him a pass because he knew that he was heartbroken. “Y/N, I’m glad you called—”

“Sammy. Have you left Poughkeepsie yet.” You said flatly, “I’ll meet you and Jim Rockford tomorrow night in your hometown, okay. I have to go, I have something stuck to the bottom of my shoe.” Your voice rushed.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sam’s face furrowed.

Dean’s eyes perked at the sound of your name coming from his younger brother’s mouth, heavy with concern, “What’s wrong?”

“She’s in trouble, Dean. Something bad…” He stammered.

“What?! Where is she? How do you know this? What did she say to you? Sam!” Dean’s voice echoed through the eerily quiet bunker, his heart thudding deeply inside his broad chest.

 “She didn’t say, but we need to go to Lawrence; she said Poughkeepsie, Jim Rockford and something stuck to her shoe.”

Dean grabbed the keys to baby and tossed them to Sam, “Not a word, you haven’t had any of your beer yet.” He sat in the passenger seat of the impala, “Just drive.”

“Lawrence here we come.” Sam said roaring the classic black car to life.

___

You put your phone into your back pocket and picked up your pace a little, the sidewalk slick with fresh rain, the petrichor heavy in your nostrils. Your eyes looked over your surroundings noticing a few other figures across the street. “Shit balls.” You muttered under your breath and took a sharp turn down an alleyway. You ran down the dank alley as fast as you could, your heart rate pumping your vessels full of adrenaline, fueling your boots to carry you faster.

Your head turned around at the sound of rapid steps chasing after you. Your hands gripped the lip of a garbage can and tipped it over causing a small barrier in hopes to gain you more time to get away. You approached the end of the alley and you realized it was a dead end, they were rushing closer to you; you were frantically looking around to find an exit as closed in on you.

“No where to go, Y/N.” His eyes flashed black and a wicked smile gleamed in the yellow light that hung in the alley.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” You sighed through your teeth, your hands reached into your cross body bag and pulled out your demon blade. They laughed at you as two more demons walked up behind them, creating a second layer blocking your only exit.

“Four against one; I’m flattered, boys really.” You said sarcastically with a smile, tightening your grip on the tang of your blade.

In a split second one of them pounced on you, his fists jabbing quickly at you. His rough closed hands punched your jaw, busting your lip open, the blood dripping from it. You lifted your head from the hit you just endured, the demon gripped the collar of your army green jacket and brought his large fist down on your brow bone. You grunted in pain, feeling your eye begin to bruise and swell.

Your studied your balance snapping your arm up breaking his harsh grip he held on your clothes. You brought your booted foot up to kick the demon’s stomach, knocking him back and gaining some distance again. You picked your knife back up off of the ground and darted to him, pushing the sharp metal into his stomach a bright yellow and orange flash flickered out and his meat suit slumped onto the gravel. “Demon’s, zero; Y/N, one.” You cocked your eyebrow, antagonizing another fight.

You leaned your head back on the brick wall, your back pressed flush against it as well, you brought your knees up and rested your elbows on them. “Demon’s zero; Y/N, four.” You huffed and slowly got to your feet. You limped over the bodies that layered on the ground and slid out of the alleyway, your head swirled from side to side looking for more of Crowley’s demons or any other witnesses.

___

The door to the office opened with the chime of the bell that hung on the hinge. The man behind the desk turned around his smile disappearing instantly, “Jesus, are you okay?” His eyes bugged out, “Should I call the police? An Ambulance?”

You frowned and shook your head, “Just a room please.” And dug in the depths of your pockets for cash.

“Name, please?” He opened the book and readied his pen and glanced up at you through his small framed glasses, waiting for your response.

“Rockford, Jim” you answered with a sigh. He furrowed his eyes at you, “I know, Dad really wanted a boy.” You convinced him with a soft smile and you tapped your fingers on the wooden desk.

“Here you go, ma’am. Room 13.” He handed you a key, “Its just down the hall here.” 

You took the key into your bloody hand and nodded lightly. “Thanks.” You walked down he long hallway, the numbers increasing, you inserted the key and twisted, pushing the door open, “Home sweet home.” You locked the door and dug into your duffle bag and started to mark the entire room with warding symbols against Crowley finding you again.

You flopped down backwards onto the bed and inhaled deeply and winced in pain as you lungs filled with the dingy motel room air, “Son-of-a-bitch!” You rolled from the lumpy mattress onto your tired feet over into the bathroom. You lifted the hem of your t-shirt and settled your eyes on a massive bruise from the beating that you received whilst fighting them in the alley, “Alrighty then.” You slumped, releasing your shirt, you stepped back towards the door and turned, catching your full appearance in the broken mirror. You raised your eyebrows in shock, “Guess I better clean myself up before Dean gets here.” You covered your mouth as if you were attempting to stop the words from escaping your lips, “It’s over with him, Y/N. Get over it already.” And started the shower, occasionally running your hand through the stream of water to test the temperature.

___

“How much longer?” Dean asked Sam who was holding his phone tightly in his large hand.

“Uh,” he furrowed his brow, “This says about 4 hours.” He looked over to the driver’s seat of the impala.

Dean’s grip on the street wheel tightened along with his jaw, “Damnit Sam, I should have never listened to—”

“You shouldn’t have; but you did.” He interrupted his older brother. “What’s important now is that we are going to fix this.”

___

The warm water washed over your bruised skin, the small flood gently washing away the blood and sweat, you relaxed your head back, the water beating down on your head. You washed your hair free from the old dried blood that seeped from your wounds and grabbed the small white cloth and washed your body. The soap leaving paths of white suds as it passed over your injured skin, you traced over your anti-possession tattoo that you got with the boys back when you first started hunting with them. You felt a pang of anger and anguish fill your heart, your tears hidden by the drops of water from the shower head; you leaned against the shower wall and slid down slowly and curled into the fetal position; there you sobbed in the tub of the shower until the water ran cold.

___

“How much lon—”

“Dean, I swear if you ask me again, I will punch you in the face.” Sam closed his eyes trying to contain his frustrated outburst. He sighed, “about 20 miles.” Dean pressed down on the gas petal, jolting the impala down the road at a very fast pace.

___

You walked out of the bathroom and scrunched the towel into your hair, squeezing the water from your hair and dried off your body. You tossed the wet towel onto the floor by the door and picked out some fresh clothes that you had packed in your emergency hunting bag. You pulled out a black bra that, let’s face it, was all but broken from how many times you’ve worn it; you clasped it behind your back and you pulled on your panties and moved your wet hair over to one shoulder, the beads of water dropped onto your skin from the ends of your hair, creating small rivered that moistened your sore body.

You tugged your old ACDC band t-shirt on and wiggled into your ripped jeans and an old flannel with some buttons missing and replaced your boots before you climbed onto the bed and sprawled out holding your gun and demon knife closely.

___

The wet towel weakened the tacky, red paint that was hiding your whereabouts from Crowley and his demons. You slept as sound as you could on the lumpy mattress, you startled away by the abrupt sound of knocking on your door, making your heart skip inside your chest.

___

The bell rang out once again, the man behind the large wooden desktop greeted them with a groggy smile, “Hello, gentlemen. How can I help you?”

Dean approached the other side, “Jim Rockford, what room?”

“I can’t release that type of information to other guests.” He babbled.

“We aren’t guests.” Dean held out his false credential badge, “She here?”

“Oh,” a look of worry overcame his round face, “yes, room 13 just down that way.” He pointed, “Is there something I should be worried about?”

“No,” Sam smiled, his sweet dimples imprinting on his scruffy face, “Thank you for your time.”

Dean was a step away from sprinting down the hallway to reach your room, Sam had no time catching up to him with his long legs. Dean raised his hand and knocked four times; it was your signal knock, one for everyone; Dean, Sam, Cas, and Y/N.

___

The door creaked open with the pressure of Dean’s knocking. Both of their faces creased with worry, their chests tightening. Their eyes taking in all of the extra warding that you made all over the walls, floor and ceiling of the room you rented out. “Y/N?” Dean’s voice boomed as he and Sam walked past the threshold of the room. “Y/N, are you in here?”

“Dean.” Sam’s voice grunted from the kneeling position he was in by the doorway. “Her warding failed, Dean.”

“I said no metaling didn’t I boys?” A rough accented voice got their attention.

“Crowley you son-of-a-bitch, where is she?” Dean charged at him and Crowley raised a hand and he and Sam were suddenly unable to move.

He replied, rolling his eyes, “Oh relax I didn’t kill your girlfriend squirrel, yet; you weren’t there so when I was so…” he snapped his fingers and the brothers adjusted to the dark and cement filled throne room in hell, “I wanted you to see it.”