#THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN CAS GODDAMNIT

[graciereadshannigram]

can we talk about how much the Amara plotline of season 11 is dumb as hell?

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Just Giving In

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, truth curses (with a silly twist!), light fluff, angst, smut (fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

Author's Note: It's amazing how I'm able to delude myself into truly believing that I'll actually write something short and only horny. No. We must write 3k of story and 5k of emotional smut. Enjoy!

Title from Never Let Me Go by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 8.6k

It’s past midnight when you get back to the bunker. 

You were supposed to be back that afternoon, but certain complications arose, and you’re back now. You’ll have a long, sleepless night to come up with an excuse for why exactly you were five hours late, didn’t text Sam and Dean that you were going to be five hours late, where exactly you were in the first place, and why the car looks like that. Scraped and dented and wrecked, like it had been put through a meat grinder and spat out in a hunk of metal that somehow didn’t explode when you drove it. 

You’re glad you didn’t take the Impala. If Dean yelled at you right now, you might start crying on the spot. Thankfully—in what should be a rare stroke of luck, but feels like a dagger right into your stomach—Sam and Dean seem to have given up on trying to wait for you to come home, so you’re free to retreat to your room and cry in private, like any reasonable adult who’s probably going to die within the week would-

“You’re back.” 

A light behind you flicks on as Dean snaps from across the room, and you grimace as everything inverts. Dean did wait up for you, and that’s tiny and electric high that goes right up your spine. You’re also not lucky, but that just feels like a given at this point. 

You will not cry in front of Dean. You have spent the whole night repeating to yourself that, no matter what happens here, you will not cry in front of Dean. He either think nothing of this week, and it will fade into the distance as you figure this out yourself and he never knows, or he’ll look back on it with nothing but simple grief and anger, remember you fondly and furiously instead of as a weak, emotional, manipulative bitch. Remembers you as the person you’ve spent so long proving yourself to be, instead of the feral girl they’d found you as. 

It doesn’t make turning around to face him any easier. He’s sitting in his usual chair, glaring at you with his arms crossed, and there are bags under his eyes that you put there. A tight line to his lips that’s your responsibility, because you’d fucked up and he knows it. He always knows it. 

Because you fuck up a lot.

“Hey, Dean, what’s up-“

“What’s up?” He snaps, and you have to force your body not to flinch. “You’re crawling back here at one in the goddamn morning without ever, I don’t know, thinking to fucking call when you realized you’d be late, and you’re saying what’s up?”

You swallow. “I lost my phone.”

“You, fuck-“ Dean rubs his jaw with a hand, giving you a look of pure disbelief. “You could’ve borrow someone’s, or prayed to Cas, or just, goddamnit-“ he mutters your name, looking at you with an exhaustion that makes your gut flail. “Where the hell even were you?”

“Um,” you glance down at your hands. “Hunt?”

“Hunt.” His voice is flat, and you wince. “That’s all you’re going to say.”

You nod. “Rowena called me. Needed help with something.”

“And you just fucking went with her, without telling anyone-“

“I didn’t just go with her, I brought a gun. I was careful.” you try to stand a little taller, looking back up to Dean, because you need to sell your half-truth of a story and get out of here. Out of where Dean’s just right there, and it’s making your skin crawl and your blood cold and your eyes push out of your skull the longer you lie to him. “And I did tell Cas-“

“Son of a bitch, that’s not enough.” Dean groans, pushing out of the chair to glower down at you. It’s an intimidation tactic you’ve seen him use before, where he makes himself large and furious, almost beast like. Sometimes it makes him look bigger than Sam, and he only pulls it out when he’s furious, and demanding answers. You don’t think he knows that, when he uses it on you, it does not have the intended effect.  

“Dean-“

“Cas didn’t tell us.” Dean hisses your name, stalking across the room and getting far too close for your brain to function properly. “You need to tell us, because we were, I was-“ Dean cuts himself off with a grunt, his whole body rigid as he scans over your face. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble, and it’s the truth, so it’s like clear, fresh water over your head and down your throat. “I didn’t mean to freak you guys out. I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal.”

“You didn’t-” Dean’s jaw is clenched, and his words seem pushed through his teeth. “Just go to bed,” he mutters your name, and you feel something in your chest snap. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

You nod weakly, and almost run away from him. But not to bed. You’ve already blown this up way too much to just go to bed. 

You go right to Sam’s room and bang on the door, keeping a careful eye over your shoulder for Dean to walk into the hall.

It takes a very long, tense minute, but eventually you hear a groan from the other side of the door, tired words muffled through the wood.

“Dean, she’ll be back, and you’re not helping anything-“ The door swings open to reveal a messy haired, bleary-eyed Sam, and he blinks at you with a frown. “Oh, you’re back. You should go tell Dean-“

“He knows.”

“Cool, that’s good.” Sam scans over you—bouncing slightly on your feet, every movement and breath feeling frantic and borrowed—and frowns. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Oh, uh, you need to talk about it-“

You don’t bother to answer, pushing past Sam into his room and dropping on the end of his mattress, watching him blink at you, his frown deepening every second.

“Yeah, you can come in-“

“Can you please close the door?” You whisper, like Dean might somehow hear from wherever he’d gone after your fight. 

Sam nods slowly, and the movement you hear the click of the doorknob, the words start to fall out of you like vomit. 

“I fucked up, Sam. I really, really fucked up, it’s bad, I’m fucking fucked-“

“Woah, slow down.” Sam moves across the room, running a hand through his hair. “Just, start from the top. Where were you-“

“Rowena called me for help. Some sort of coven drama, she said she needed some backup because her magic was weakened.” You take a long, shaky breath, unable to look anywhere but the corner of Sam’s carpet. “I told Cas, just in case it was a trap, and left. I owed her a favor-“

“Wait, since when did you owe Rowena a favor-“

“Mark of Cain.” You mumble. “I told her I’d owe her if she helped Dean. One favor, cashable on anything.”

Sam says your name slowly. “You didn’t need to do that, we would have figured it out. I mean, Dean wouldn’t want you to-“

“I know, I don’t need you to-“ You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut. “Can we focus on one stupid choice at a time, please?”

“Yeah, sorry, keep going. Why are you fucked.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, and decide to skip most of the details. Sam did not need to know about how the case was indeed at trap, or how you’d known it was a trap, but the favor had been a blood oath, so you weren’t able to run or call them. He didn’t need to know how you’d mowed down about five witches with the car—the sickening crunch still rattling around your skull—or how it wasn’t just blood and sweat on your brow, but something from an animal you’d really hoped you’d mistranslated from Latin. 

He just needs to know the reason you hadn’t killed Rowena when you’d escaped and taken out the rest of the coven. 

He just needs to know about the problem.

“It went to shit. Really big shit, Sam. I’m kind of… cursed.”

There’s a long moment of silence, and when you finally gather the confidence to look at Sam, he’s gaping at you, frozen in place.

“What do you mean,” his voice is low, every word slow and deliberate. “Kind of cursed.”

“I mean very cursed.” You mumble. “Really fucking cursed.”

“Shit.” He mutters, shaking his head. “I said you were probably fine, Dean’s gonna kill me-“

“No!” You stand up frantically, your voice almost a squeak. “Don’t tell Dean!”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I tell Dean?!” Sam snaps, looking at you like you’ve gone insane. “If you’re really cursed, we need all hands, and Dean-“

“He can’t know, Sam, please.” You might start crying, every word choked in your throat. “Don’t tell him.”

“I…” Sam trials off, his face dropping into a deep frown that seems to be mostly made of worry as he says your name. “What, exactly, is the curse?”

You sigh, hugging yourself as you speak. “If I don’t resolve my deepest secret, I’ll die.”

Sam blinks. “Like, die die? Death die?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” His eyes widen as the situation fully sinks in, his whole body going slack as he pulls the pieces together. “Fuck.”

You hum a soft agreement. “Fuck.”

“And why can’t I tell Dean? I mean, he’ll want to help-“

“You know why.” You whisper. “Please don’t make me say it.”

“Fuck.” Sam groans. “And you’d rather die than-“

“Yes.” You lower yourself down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you stare ahead at nothing. “I’m sorry, Sam, I just. I can’t. I don’t-“ You taste the sting of metal as you bite through your cheek. “I don’t know what to do. I’m going to d-“ You cut yourself off with a choked sound, and hear the bed shift as Sam drops at your side and pulls you into a gentle hug.

“We’ll figure it out.” He mutters your name, and you make another weak, strangled noise. “I promise. You’re going to be okay.”

Over your first, weak sob, you don’t hear the door open. You only know it opens because Dean clears his throat, and your blood turns white-hot in your body, caught between embarrassment and nerves and a deep, soft and starved piece of your heart that’s trying to climb into your limbs and rip your body away from Sam’s to fly to Dean’s.

“Sammy, she-“ He cuts himself off as he sees you, and you die a little at how he says your name. Like he hates it. “You’re in here.”

You nod, keeping your face angled down, and you hear Dean shift slightly in the doorway. 

“Why are you in Sam’s room.”

There’s no good answer for that, and Sam doesn’t seem to have one either. There’s no plausible lie for why you’re on the floor on Sam’s room, why you’re sniffling, and why he’s hugging you that doesn’t sound insane. Even the truth wouldn’t exactly be an easy sell.

And it hurts. When Dean just sighs and grunts that he doesn’t want to know—that you and Sam can go back to fucking braiding each other’s hair or whatever—and stomps out of the room, it’s like a knife to your gut. But you can’t tell him. Not the truth. Not any of it.

So this will only be the first knife. And you’d worry about what you would be telling him when this was over—how you could possibly explain yourself—if you had any faith you were going to get out of this. 

But you don’t. The week crawls on, and it all only gets so much worse. Vague illness starts to feel like you’re being mauled from inside, and Dean’s anger turns to bullets.

You spend most of your days in the library with Sam, combing through book after book, looking for anything about how you can fix this, and every time Dean walks in, he looks like he wants to punch someone. Like he’s disgusted by your very presence where he can see you, like you’re a spider that’s crawled into his house and he can’t even stand the sight of you. 

“I’m getting dinner.” He snaps on the third night, and when you look up from your book—Sam standing behind you, having hunched over your body to read the passage you’d been pointing to—Dean’s jaw is clenched, his fists curled at his side. “Neither of you got groceries, so I’m ordering. What do you want.”

His voice is flat. It makes your chest feel like it’s being run over by a train.

“I’ll take whatever you get.” You offer him a small smile, because you can’t help yourself, and it just makes him glare more. “But can I please have a milkshake as well?”

Dean narrows his eyes at you. “You don’t know where the hell I’m going.”

“You’re going to the diner, Dean.” You shrug. “You always go to the diner.”

He grunts, something hot flashing over his face that you don’t understand. “Fine. Milkshake.”

He doesn’t bother to ask any follow-up questions. He doesn’t bother to wait for Sam to say what he wants. Dean just marches up to the garage, vanishes for an hour—the diner is ten minutes away, and you start to feel your stomach and heart twist the longer he’s gone—and returns with a slam of the door, throwing a salad at Sam and placing a burger and milkshake in front of you before stomping out of the library.

Dean got your favorite flavor. You hadn’t told him to, but he had.

It tastes like chalk. And you’ve never hated yourself more.

After that, he barely speaks to you. Just low grunts and glowers at you whenever you cross paths, his presence in the bunked suddenly scares. He’d usually sit with you and Sam while you read, cracking unhelpful jokes that make Sam roll his eyes and you giggle, but he’s just gone. Locked in the Dean Cave or the garage, shuffling around the kitchen with a sullen expression, swallowing his dinner whole and refusing to really even look at you.

It hurts more than any anger could. It’s lonely and cancerous the longer it goes on, because you’re still talking to and hanging out with Sam, but he doesn’t count. Your whole heart isn’t orbiting around Sam. The curse is completely indifferent to Sam. The curse doesn’t care when Sam grumbles or frowns at you. It cares when Dean hates you. You think it can feel that this won’t be resolved—because it won’t be, you grow more and more certain with every passing day that this is how you will die—and takes the opportunity to root deeper into your body. Every sneer or glare Dean gives you sits under your nails to claw at your skin. It covers you in sweat in the dead of night, and chokes you when you’re in the shower and the water’s burning your skin.

Sam keeps trying to convince you to just do it, just say the thing to Dean because the worst that can happen is that you’re heartbroken but alive.

“And I really don’t think it would even come to that.” He tells you from across the table at 2am, because you’re running out of time and sleep isn’t something you can even remember how to do anymore. “I mean, it’s Dean-“

“That’s the problem, Samuel.” You hiss. The curse has started to make you mean, and if you make it out alive, you’ll have to buy Sam a million bottles of hair gel to make up for what you’re putting him through. “It’s Dean. He already doesn’t like me-“

Sam frowns. “Why would you think that-“

“Because I’m a responsibility.” You’re spitting, and it tastes like venom. “I’m your kid shadow, I’m Dean’s kid shadow, I’m a burden-“

“You’re not a burden,” Sam says your name slowly. “To either of us. I mean, if what you said about Rowena is true, you saved Dean from the Mark-“

“That doesn’t count. That was just a deal I made-“

“A deal you made for Dean.” Sam’s pushing back. You wish he’d stop. “Most people in our lives wouldn’t have done that for us. And Dean doesn’t think you’re his kid shadow, by the way. I mean, I’ve only ever-“

“Sam.” Your voice is flat. A little broken. “Please don’t. Even if he doesn’t hate me, I- I just can’t-“

“But Dean-“

“Please.” You’re going to cry again. “You won’t convince me.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Well, we need to try something. I’m not just going to let you die.”

You don’t think that’s up to Sam. You don’t think it’s up to anyone anymore. You won’t tell Dean, because you’ve scanned over book after book about spell phrasing, and decided that telling Dean wouldn’t even help. You had to resolve your deepest secret. Rejection that burns your heart to ash, that clouds your lungs and makes you cower and falter won’t be resolving anything, and then you’ll just die in more pain.

You let Sam convince you to try something. More for him than for you. You lock yourself in the bathroom and stare at your hideous reflection in the mirror—your skin a little sunken, your eyes lined with red, your lips raw from being chewed until they bled—and start speaking a whisper, because you can’t stand the sound of your own voice.

“I love Dean Winchester.” You tell yourself, as if you’re not so deeply aware of how your love is tattooed onto your every breath and heartbeat. “I love him. I am going to die, and I love him, and I am very-“ You choke slightly, your eyes stinging as the world blurs. “I am very, very sorry. Not for loving him, but for forcing him to be loved by me. I’m sorry I don’t know how to stop loving him. I’m sorry I’m leaving him. But I am not sorry for loving him. I… I spent a lifetime surrounded by cruel animals who called themselves angels, and he’s the only person I’ve ever- I could believe- I just-“ You drop your head, turning up the faucet to drown out every weak sob and apology. “I love him. And he… he’s too good be obligated to love me. So I think I’ll just…”

You trail off, and crumble onto the tile floor. When you dry your tears and yank yourself back together, Sam’s waiting for you a little down the hall. You shake your head, his shoulders slump, and that’s it. For Sam it’s not—he turns around and marches right back to the library—but for you, it is. You’re done. 

You’ll hole up in your room and die alone. Like how’d you’d been meant to all along, lent only a little bit of extra time by Dean saving you to begin with.

And that time had run out. So you’ll just go die alone.

lay flat on your bed as your vision starts to dance with spots, and spend your time trying to image what a heaven you’re not allowed into will look like. Cas has told you every person gets their own, but you don’t really want that. It sounds like more of your life, and it’s pointless to worry about because you’re headed nowhere but down, but you’d still rather spend eternity with someone.

One person. You’d like to spend eternity with one person. 

The same person who had somehow gotten into your locked room, and is snapping your name as he stands at the foot of your bed. You’d be angrier he’d just barged in if you could remember how to be anything but in pain. You’d snap back if your mouth knew how to be anything but numb. 

“Dean-“

“What the fuck are you doing.” Dean hisses, and you close your eyes, the light suddenly painfully bright. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“Nothing.” You whisper, and he scoffs. 

“Nice shot, sweetheart. I’m not an idiot.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot, Dean, I just don’t feel well.”

“That’s fucking bullshit-“

You sigh. “It’s not. I’m sick.” 

There’s a moment of silence, then, “how sick.”

“Fever.” You mumble. “Stomach bug. Maybe the flu. You should probably leave-“

“No,” he grunts, and you hear his steps. He’s coming closer, and your skin might be boiling off your body. “I’m not leaving you-“

“It’s not leaving if I ask you to go.” You mumble, and you can feel the heat of his body off to the side, can hear his breathing—maybe even his heartbeat—and it’s making everything worse-

“I’m not going.”

“Dean, just, please-“

“No, I’m sick of you fucking ignoring me, and I- I don’t even care what’s going on with you and Sam-“

You frown. “Nothing’s going on with me and Sam-“

“I have eyes,” Dean sneers your name, and there’s a tone in his voice that’s almost wounded. “You were hugging in his room, you’re always fucking whispering and hanging out-“

“That’s not-“ You swallow, dragging your eyes open to find him glaring down at you. He looks wounded too. “It’s for a case.”

“What case? A case that I’m not allowed to know about? Because that’s not a case, sweetheart, that’s a secret-“

You almost throw up, just from that word. “It’s- I’m not keep any secrets, Dean, just please go-“

“No!” He’s almost shouting, and the sound is like a cannon into your gut. “I don’t know what the hell is up with you, but you’re suddenly putting yourself in danger, and stuck to my brother, and you’re not talking to me anymore-“

“You’re not talking to me, Dean.” You whisper, his gaze burning you right down to the cavity of your chest. “I’m always in the library-“

“Yeah, I know, with Sam.” Dean scowls, and you’re too tired to think almost anything, but that’s strange. Dean never says Sam like that. Like it’s a horrible word. 

“It’s not a big deal,” you say, watching Dean carefully. “He’s helping me with something-“

“Something I can’t help you with?”

You blink, ready to lie and say no, but your mush of a brain doesn’t appear to be up to that task. “No.”

Dean’s brow furrows slightly. “So I could help you.”

“I-“ You feel a stab in your intestine, and your voice grows hoarse. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“Why-“

“Because I- Just go away, Dean-“

He shakes his head, saying your name in a stern, unwavering voice. “Could I help you-“

“N-“ You swallow a groan as your lungs contract, and this is dangerous. You’re too far gone to lie anymore, and that’s the only chance you have. If Dean keeps poking at you, you’ll tell the truth. You can’t tell the truth. “Please just leave me alone-“

“I’m not leaving you alone.” He snaps, dropping onto the side of your bed to prove his point. “You never left me alone, with the Mark-“

“That’s not-“ You can’t swallow your next sound of pain, or the whine that leaves your throat when Dean’s hand grabs your thigh. “Dean, please go-“

“Do you want me to go.”

“No.” You say it before you can think, and hate that the pain over your muscles lessens when Dean stays, and when his hand starts to rub slow circles. “But you- you have to-“

“I said I’m staying.” He grunts. “And you’re not changing my mind, sweetheart. Tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“I did.” You whisper, closing your eyes again. Looking at his handsome, annoyingly determined face isn’t helping anyone. “I’m sick.”

“Fine. What’s making you sick.”

“Curse.”

Fuck.

Dean’s silent for a long moment, then-

“What the fuck do you mean, curse.”

“Me.” You mumble. “Curse on me.”

“And how did a curse get on you-“

“Rowena.”

“That fucking bitch.” He mutters, and you feel his grip on you tighten slightly. Almost protectively. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me-“

That was probably a rhetorical question. Your sudden truth-telling streak doesn’t seem to care at all. “I was worried you’d hate me.”

“I- what?”

“I was worried-“

“I heard you,” he grunts. “I just, why the hell would you ever think I’d hate you-“

“Because I suck.” You whisper. “And I can’t- I don’t deserve you.”

Dean’s silent again. You wish he’d stop doing that. “You think you don’t deserve me?”

You nod, barely a movement at all, and Dean groans. You’re still not strong enough to look at him.

“Sweetheart, you- I’m not-“ He cuts himself off, his hand resuming his circles, you’re not sure he knows he’s doing it. “I’m going to ask you something, and you need to tell me the truth. Got it?”

You hum. Like you’d even have a choice.

“What will cure the curse.”

“I need to,” you try to fight down the words, but you’re light-headed and faint and Dean’s hand is really warm, so you fail. “I need to resolve my deepest secret.”

“Oh.” He pauses. “What’s your deepest secret?”

You’re going to bite off your tongue. And when Dean says your name again, his voice a little rougher, it drags your eyes open to stare at him. Watching you with a focus you can feel in your bones, that’s prying the truth out of you, and he’s just looking at you and you can’t do this-

“Dean, I-“ You digs your nails into your skin, something flashes in his eyes, and you can’t look away. But you can’t stop yourself either, and if you have to watch Dean’s disgust, that might kill you right here. “Please turn around.”

He frowns. “What?”

“I need you to turn around.” You whisper. “Please.”

He nods slowly, twisting away from you, and it’s like a green light to your stupid, traitorous mouth. The words fall out of you like vomit, and if this is the end, at least it might be fast. 

“I love you. I’ve loved you for years, and I’m sorry, but I can’t stop, and I don’t want to stop, and I love you. Only you. Just you. Can’t remember how to love anyone else, because I love you. I love your jokes and your grumpiness and how protective you are because you make me feel safe, and I love that you’re kind of a dork and a loser but you’re also so hot, I love your voice and your face and your hands, and I and I want you in a, um-“ You squeeze your thighs together, staring at the suddenly rapid rise and fall of Dean’s back. “A way that I shouldn’t talk about-“

“How do you want me.” He grunts, his voice low and a little gruff, and you can feel the heat in your cheeks.

“On me.” You whisper. “In me. I want you on my face and in my hands and fuck, I want your inside of me. But I also want to wake up next to you and hold your hand and fall asleep in your lap, and fuck-“

You cut yourself off with a whine as something sharp hits your right in the heart, and Dean’s silent. He’s not turning around, or leaving, or doing anything but sitting and breathing for so long, for too long-

“You-“ He shakes his head slightly, and you could swear he’s leaning slightly backward. “You want me.”

“Yeah, I- yes.”

“You love me.”

“Yes.” Too late to go back now. “I love you, Dean.”

“Why- why didn’t you tell me?”

He sounds broken. He sounds sad.

You’re so confused. It’s almost enough to distract from the pain racking your whole body.

“I- I didn’t think you’d-“ Not care. Dean couldn’t not care. He cares too much. “I wasn’t sure what-“

“What I’d say?”

“What you’d do.”

“What would you-“ He’s definitely leaning back. He’s closer, too. “What would you want me to do?”

“What would I want?” 

Dean nods.

“I- it doesn’t matter-“

“Yes it-“ He sighs, twisting around to face you. You can’t read the expression on his face. It’s lost and it’s afraid and it’s… hopeful. There’s this small light that’s so deep in his eyes that seems like real, true hope. “Please,” he mutters your name, and you might be melting. “Just, entertain me. What would you want me to do?”

“I’d want to tell me you love me.” You whisper, and if this curse is going to kill you, you hope it does it now, right before you lose all your dignity forever. “Like I love you.”

Dean shakes his head slightly, and your heart might be splitting in half. “But I- I tried to kill you-“

“The demon tried to kill me. That wasn’t really you-“

“Yes, it was-“

“No.” Your voice gains a little strength, and you push up on your elbows. “You saved me, Dean. You rescued me from the angels-“

“Anyone would’ve done that-“

“But they didn’t.” You snap. “You did. And I don’t love anyone, I love you.”

“That’s-“ He groans, his voice growing hoarse. “You- why?”

“What do you mean, why-“

“Why would you love me? I mean, unless this is some sick, fucked up prank-“

“It’s not a prank-“

“Well why?” He shouts your name, and he looks distressed. Like this is shredding him apart. “Why the hell would you love me-“

“Because I like loving you.” You grab his hand, his own panic starting to set into your own body, making this all the worse. “It feels right. And I- I know you don’t love me-“

You’re not sure what’s happening. Dean’s hands are cupping your face, and his mouth is on yours, and he tastes like whiskey and coffee and pecan, and you feel okay. You really feel okay. All the pain and sickness is dissolving from your body, and Dean is kissing you. Kissing you with an unforgiving, demanding desperation, his tongue down your throat and his body lowering down over yours, pinning you to the bed as he groans against your lips.

The sound jumpstarts something in you. Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck right before he can pull away or hesitate, and you throw everything he’s silently offering you back to him. Biting on his lower lip and wrapping your legs around his torso, grinding up into him as he makes a deep, satisfied noise and moves one hand to wrap around you waist, holding you steady against him as he rises up, moving you to stay in his lap.

“You’re, shit.” Dean lets out a low chuckle, pressing a small, gentler kiss to the tip of your nose as you breathe in ragged time. “You’re such a fucking idiot, sweetheart.”

You lean back to frown at him. “No I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. But I am too.” He sighs, dropping his head to the crook of your neck and speaking against your skin. “Seems like we’re made for each other, huh.”

“Dean, I-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean kisses up the column of your throat, ending right behind your ear, and his voice a low sound that falls right down into your core. “Gimme a second.”

“Dean-“

“Please,” he mutters, and when you pull back he looks nervous. It’s strange, but adorable, and you nod. He needs a second, you’ll give him a million. Anything to keep him here a little longer, to keep the ebb of the sickness going. 

“Okay.” You whisper, and—taking the biggest gamble of your life—lean forward to kiss him again. Just a light, almost innocent press of your lips to his. He tenses, his arms around you tightening, and you’d have panicked if it didn’t seem like he was clinging to you. Like he was afraid you were going to vanish. 

“I- uh,” Dean says your name slowly, and it’s odd. You’ve heard him say it exactly like that a million, but this feels deeper. Like a prayer. “I lo-“ He cuts himself off, his brow drawing tightly together, and you can feel your heart in your throat. Set to either explode or move into Dean as you hold your breath. “You. I- you- it’s- fuck.” He scowls, and you offer him your gentler smile, running a hand over the soft stubble on his jaw, even as you feel your blood start to go cold again.

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Yeah. I do, I-“ He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and speaking against them as if he’s trying to tell your body more than your mind. “I love you. A lot. So stop being cursed.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Did it work?”

It did. The curse seemed to vanish the moment Dean kissed you—like it knew that what he was trying to tell you before he even said it—but now the world is just color and light and Dean. It’s enchanting. He’s enchanting. He’s all genuine and powerful focus on you, and. worry that makes you feel warm, and love you can suddenly see everywhere on him. You don’t know how you missed it before, because it’s in his eyes and coating his lips and in every flex of his body around you. It would knock you down if he wasn’t holding you. 

“Yeah.” You smile at Dean, and his own mouth tugs up slightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He shrugs. “Any time. I, uh, sorry about getting pissed about you and Sam.“

“It’s fine, I-“ You paused, frowning at him. “Were you jealous?”

He scowls, his cheeks turning a little red. “Obviously.”

“Of Sam-“

“You were really close with him all the time.” Dean snaps. “And I- you seemed pissed at me, and super stressed, and usually you’d come to me for that stuff, but you were hugging Sam and talking to him instead of me-“

“Because I don’t love Sam. I love you, that’s why I told you-”

“I didn’t fucking know that.” He grumbles. “I- Sam doesn’t know everything about how I feel about you, but he knew enough, and I- I thought you were choosing him- And I- You’re not my girl but you felt like my girl and I didn’t-“

“Your girl?” Your face splits into a wide smile, and some of the tension seems to leave Dean as he nods. 

“Yeah. If you want.”

“Yes.” You squeak, and Dean’s hand starts to run slowly down your thigh. “Yes, please.”

“You sure?” He raises his brows, and it’s really hard to think when he’s so close, and this is suddenly overwhelmingly real. He’s really broad and warm against you, and he’s really touching you, and he said the thing but that doesn’t mean-

“Yeah, but are, are you sure-“

“Baby, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He drawls, and you swallow as he leans in closer, his nose bumping yours. “And I’d be very happy to prove that.”

“Prove it?” You whisper, your eyes trapped onto his glimmering, darkened ones. “I, um, that, how-“

“However you’d like,” he says your name with a smirk, and it’s amazing how any all insecurity he had only a minute ago seems to have vanished. “You wanna tell me how’d you want me to prove it? Or do you need some suggestions?”

You might be drooling. “Suggestions, please.”

Dean hums, holding you carefully as he rises on his knees, bends you down onto the mattress, and starts to trace slow, taunting hands over your body.

“We could start slow,” he mutters, playing with the hem of your shorts, broad fingers brushing over your skin. “I could take my time with you, sweetheart. Do the proper thing, take you out to dinner and movie, wait until the third date to give you everything-“

“No!” You yelp. “Not slow-“

Dean’s hand slides under your shorts, his palm resting right over your already sore pussy, and he chuckles at your high gasp. 

“Alright, baby, not slow.” He leans down to pull you into a long, slow kiss, smirking against your lips as you start to grind into his hand. “But we’re going on a date. I’ve had years to plan it, wouldn’t want all my hard work to go to waste.”

You nod a little stupidly, your nails digging into his arm braced near your head. “How- what do you mean years-“

“You’re not the only one who had that at first sight thing.” Dean mutters, shaking his head slightly. “I’ve lost sleep over you, baby girl. We’re going to do this right, no witches involved, but,” he drops his head to kiss right behind your ear, humming as a high moan escapes your lips. “I’ve got a million things I want to do you, and fuck me if I’m going waste time not doing them.”

“Yeah, good, do that-“ You gasp as Dean’s thumb finds your clothed clit, starting to draw firm, fast circles around it. “Shit, Dean-“

“That’s my name.” He growls in your ear, flicking against you and smirking at your high whine. “C’mon, sweetheart gotta get you ready for me-“

“I, I’m ready-“

He chuckles. “No, you’re not. Wanna make you feel good, not break you.”

“What if, fuck-“ You feel a brief, sharp moment of cold air as Dean pulls your shorts and panties down, shoving two fingers into your cunt. He’s watching you so carefully, like he’s studying your every hitched breath and blurred gaze, smirking as he begins to slowly move inside of you, scissoring and crooking and pushing in deeper every time-

“What if what, pretty girl?” He teases, his pace increasing slightly. “Use your words.”

Your back arches off the bed as Dean re-angles his hand, pressing his palm to your clit and starting to rub strong, sharp circles as his fingers reach a blissful, almost painfully good pace, but remain too shallow to hit that sensitive spot deep your cunt and send you over the edge. “What if I want you to break me?” You gasp, your arm wrapping around his neck as he groans, dropping his brow against yours. “Please, Dean-“

“You, fuck-“ He grunts your name, and you feel something prodding at your inner thigh. “Not now, baby, need to be gentle-“

“No you don’t-“

“Yeah, I do.” Dean’s movements still as he rises on his knees over you, and you’re pretty certain the authoritative thing is supposed to be stern and intimidating, but it’s mostly just making you grind on his hand and reach up for him pathetically.

“Dean-“

“Listen to me.” He snaps, grabbing your wrist and pinning it to the mattress, sighing as you moan again, squeezing around his fingers, still in your cunt. “Fuck, you nearly just died-“

“I’m okay now.” You whisper. “I feel great. I feel, fuck Dean, I feel so good-“

He hisses as you spread your legs, writhing on the bed for anything, at this point you’ll take anything Dean offers you-

“Fuck yeah, you do.” He mutters, his fingers starting to pump slowly again, scanning over your body with an almost awestruck expression. “Bet you feel like heaven, baby girl, but we need to go slow. I promise I can wreck you later, but today-“

“Slow.” You sigh, and he nods.

“Slow. But,” Dean’s free hand starts to trail under your shirt, palming at your breasts, rolling your nipples between calloused, strong fingers. “Doesn’t mean we can’t take care of you, sweetheart. I’m going to fuck this tight little pussy, still going to get you fucking cockdrunk. Okay?”

You nod, your eyes slightly glazed over, and Dean bends his fingers deep inside you, right one that spot, letting out a low gasp as you whine.

“Say okay, sweetheart.” He grunts, his hand moving from your breast, over your neck, to your mouth, pressing his thumb on your lower lip until it parts. You moan against him, your eyes fluttering slightly, and you’re already too high, too needy, to do anything but listen.

“Okay.”

“Good girl.” He coos, slowly pushing his thumb between your lips, his nostrils flaring when you start to suck on him with an abandon. “Fuck, so good, I can’t wait to ruin you, baby, you’re never gonna even think about another cock-“

You haven’t thought about another cock in years, and you haven’t even seen it yet. But Dean’s thumb is bumping the back of your throat, so all you can do is moan, give him your best pleading look, and let your head fall back as Dean’s fingers finally move inside of you, pushing and playing on the spot until your orgasm washes over you in bright waves of good. So good. Just, fuck, he’s good-

Dean’s thumb pulls out of your mouth with a pop, and he wipes a little bit of spit off on your upper lip before lowering his mouth to yours, this kiss far too soft and gentle for how you think you might die if he doesn’t fuck you now.

“Look so pretty, cumming on my hand.” Dean moves to the shell of your ear, his growling promise sending a shiver up your spine. “Bet you’ll look prettier fucking squeezing my cock.”

You barely have time to whimper when Dean yanks his fingers out of your cunt, rolls you over so you’re straddling his torso, and raises you up by your hips before pushing you right down onto his dick. You don’t even remember when he took off his pants, or where your shirt went, but those are worries for someone who isn’t being split open on Dean’s cock. Who doesn’t have him drawing small circles on their inner thigh, or isn’t being held up by his hand on their waist.

But you do. You have Dean everywhere, real and warm under your hands as you grip his shoulders, bumping deep against your cervix as he lets you adjust to the size of him, one broad finger reaching down to press—light and taunting—on your clit, and groaning as you squeeze around him.

“Shit,” Dean grunts your name, looking up at you under hooded eyes in a way you don’t think anyone’s ever looked at you before. As if you’re somewhere they’d always expected to be, and they’re still in awe that you’re there. “Gotta be careful, want this to-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you grind on him experientially, clenching again as he hits that electric spot deep inside you. He grabs you firm by your hips, stilling your every movement as he gives you a stern glower. 

“You need to listen.” His voice is gravely and lower than you’ve ever heard it, and you’d do whatever he told you to, but that doesn’t mean you can’t whine and scratch lightly at his chest. 

“Dean, move-“

“You gonna listen?”

“Yes, just, fuck-“ You gasp as he pulls you up with barely a grunt, slamming your right back down with a roll of your hips. 

“Want you to feel good, baby girl, but you need to be careful,” Dean drags one had down to squeeze your ass, his hand still on your waist drawing light circles around your clit. “Or next time might be more than wrecking.”

Your moan is vulgar and shameless, and you’re more than ready to devote sleep to figuring out what more than wrecking will look like, but right now you just fucking need this. 

“Need more, Dean,” you whisper. “Need it so bad-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He mutters, trailing his hand up your stomach to squeeze your breast, groaning when you squirm around him. “Think you’re ready to ride this cock? Think you can handle, shit-“

You’d stared to move the movement he’d said ride, rolling your body and arching your back, dragging every bit of confidence you have to grind down onto Dean’s cock, your nails sinking into his abdomen.

“Fuck, yeah.” Dean’s voice is a breath under you, and when you scan over him, he lookslike he’sa little wrecked himself.His eyes on yours are hooded and low, his voice dripping with that same dominating confidence, but something more delicate in the way he’s touching you. Not as if he’s afraid to break you, but afraid you’ll shatter him. 

And you did that. You wrecked Dean. And that lights a wildfire in your gut, running through your nerves until they’re sensitive and bare, and into your brain until it’s all just Dean.

You start to move. Slowly at first to test the waters, but—when Dean just groans and ruts up into you—quickly picking up pace until you’re bouncing on Dean’s cock, your thighs squeezing his torso and your clit rubbing on his abdomen, his ever grunt and hiss and bruising grip just making your need grow bigger as you slam him onto that deep spot-

“Shit, I’m- Slow down-“ 

Dean’s hiss is low, and you immediately obey, changing to long, slow movements as Dean hums. 

“There you go baby, such a good girl.” His hand moves from your ass to your lower back, rubbing soothing patterns as he praises you. “You’re so hot baby, fucking ruined on my cock-“

You make a high, breathless sound you don’t recognize, moving your hips in a circle to try and chase more friction, and Dean chuckles.

“You alright up there-“

“Good,” you moan, your eyes fluttering shut to try and focus your all on Dean beneath you. “So good, Dean, feels so good-“

“Need a little more?”

“Yes-“

“More descriptive than that, sweet girl.” He teases, and when this is done, you’re going to kill him. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to-“

“You,” the word falls out without thought, because most of you belongs to Dean. “Just you, only need you-“

“You love me?” Dean’s voice is low, and when you open your eyes to look at him, there’s a small chink in his armor. You don’t know if you pried it open, or if you’ve just never noticed, but you can see right into him, and he still doesn’t really believe that you love him.

And that’s the only thing you’ve ever really know. You loving Dean has been the only truly certain thing in your life, because Dean’s a given and loving him feels like breathing.

So you smile at him, reaching forward to cup his face, and tell him with everything you have, hoping he can hear how the words are in time with your heart.

“I love you,” you whisper. “And I’m yours.”

He blinks at you, shaking his head slightly even as his dick twitches inside you. “You don’t need to be, it’s- you know, dirty talk-“

“I know.” You shrug. “I’m still yours.”

Dean’s nostrils flare, and you know you’re not getting control back from him for the rest of the night.

You’re fine with that. Dean starts to rock you back and forth around him, letting you just fall into and around him, and your lost to any world that isn’t Dean. Isn’t his hand splayed on your lower back or his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and ass. Anything that isn’t his cock hitting part of you that you didn’t know existed and filling you up so much you’re not sure how you’re ever going to manage being empty again.

You don’t think you will have to manage. Dean’s holding you like he’s trying to brand himself on your body, like he needs you feel him for the rest of your life. And you will. You’ll feel the bliss Dean’s drawing from your body that’s better than any heaven you could have imagined, rising slowing below the surface, ready to burst at any moment.

You’ll hear him too. Hear every deep noise of his own pleasure, hear the slapping of his skin on yours, hear his low praise echo around your head and ribs for the rest of your life.

“You’re mine, baby girl.” He growls, the sound rumbling in his chest and rolling right into your pussy, making you throw your head back with a breathy whimper. “Fuck, you’re so hot riding me, feel so good around me, tight and warm-“

Dean cuts himself off with a hiss as you reach behind your body, your hand finding his balls to squeeze lightly. 

“Goddamnit, sweetheart-“ He groans, jerking slightly inside of you. “Fuck, keep doing that, so fucking needy for me, fucking soaking this cock-“

You grind around him, and his pace starts to lose rhythm. Even after he swats your hand away you know he’s lost his own self-control, and fuck he looks hot without it. Starting to rut up into you in uncontrolled movements, pulling you to pieces with a lustful, ardorous gaze and brutal pace and strong hands, moving back to your clit and rolling it between his fingers-

Your mouth falls open in a silent, needy cry of pleasure as your orgasm bursts over you. It’s not sudden, but you couldn’t never anticipated the power of it—like someone had doused you in gasoline that smells like whiskey and fruit, lit a match, and turned to into a star—or how it rides on and on, never seeming to crest or crash as Dean slams home inside of you, warmth coating your pussy and running down your thighs as he moans your name. 

Dean helps you float down to earth, leaving careful, deliberate touches on your skin and humming as his knees rising up to support you. You watch his gaze rakes down your body, lingering on where he can see himself spill out of your pussy, and moves to slowly drag through the mess, gathering some on two fingers before rising them up to your mouth. You open without hesitation and his throat bobs, his cock twitching inside you as you lick his release off his hand, your eyes never leaving his wide, reverent one.

“Son of a bitch.” He mutters. “How the hell did I get so lucky?”

You let out a soft laugh. “You stole my line.”

“Nah.” He shrugs, tracing a hand over your cheek. “You could have anyone you want, baby, but you’re here, with an asshole like me-“

“You’re not an asshole.”

“Yeah, I am.” He shrugs, like you can’t see how his own words pierce him through that chink. “Shit, I just accused you of sleeping with Sam-“

“And I’ve been lying to you for years.” You lean down, resting your chin on his chest, giving him your widest smile. “Neither of us are saints, Dean. And I happen to be the right kind of fucked up to let possessiveness hot.” You pause, giving him your best stern glare. “To a degree. I will slap you the next time you accuse me of fucking Sam.” 

Dean laughs, his around wrapped—gentle and relaxed—around you. “Yes, ma’am.”

You hum, resting your head to the side, and you might be here for a hundred years. Time blurs and slows until it’s just Dean’s heartbeat near your ear, his thumb tracing a pattern on your arm, and his face buried in your hair. The end of the world might have already come to pass when his hand moves to your chin and he angles your gaze to his, and you wouldn’t really care. You’re still where you need to be.

“Would you,” he lets out a slow breath, all his cocky arrogance gone, his eyes on yours nervous. The hope is back, but it’s wrapped in soft fear. “I’m not good at- shit-“

He’s going to hurt himself, and you take pity on him. You lean does to press a sweet kiss to his mouth, letting your tongue trail over his lips, and rising back up with a small smile.

“Can we go on a date, Dean?” 

He chuckles, nodding. “Yeah. Whatever you want, baby girl.”

Your smile strains at your cheeks, because you only want Dean. 

And you’ll have to write Rowena a thank you note, because you finally have him.

End Note: Me make a story with no prior lore challenge: impossible

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

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@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007

[alulangel]

french toast // G // deancas // 1459 words // prompt: figuring out

read on ao3

It happens gently, with a soft landing.

Dean dips the slice of bread–I need brioche, Sammy, yeah dude that specifically–into the bowl of egg and milk.  Little daubs of cinnamon (and just a dash of nutmeg, okay, this bitch is fancy) float on top, clinging to the bread as he lifts it out.  He lets the bread drip for a moment, wet droplets falling back into the bowl. From his fingertips, too, and he feels it wet and cold.

He puts it into the hot, buttery pan and it sizzles, starting to cook.

“That smells good,” a gruff voice says behind him.  “Are you making breakfast?”

Dean looks over his shoulder.  Cas squints at him, sipping from a mug filled with rich black coffee.  “Morning, sunshine,” he says, and he can’t keep the smile out of his voice.  “Yeah, I’m making french toast.  Brioche french toast, so you better strap in.  It’s good as hell.”

Cas hums.  “Breakfast of champions?” he asks, echoing something he’s heard Dean say before.

And Dean has to turn back around and watch the pan, unable to keep from grinning.  His cheeks are going to get sore from all the damn smiling he’s been doing lately.

Since Cas came back.

“Yeah,” he says.  “Breakfast of champions.  We gotta expand your human palette.”

Cas shuffles closer.  “What’s in it?”

He stands near, but not so close they’re touching, better with personal space now that he’s human.  Dean can still feel him, sleep-warmed and loose-limbed, a calming presence at his back.  His shoulders go tingly with awareness and he rolls them, clearing his throat.  “You get some bread–and you can use whatever, but I like the brioche like we got here, or it’s real good with challah, too, and then you get an egg, splash of milk, and add some vanilla and cinnamon.”  He licks his lips and glances backwards at Cas.  “And I added a little nutmeg too, y’know?  Don’t gotta, though.”

Cas breathes deep.  “It smells very good.”  He takes another sip of his coffee, and Dean can hear him sigh with quiet pleasure after he swallows.  “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, man,” he says, feeling lit up and warm at doing something for Cas, getting to take care of him.  “No problem.”

After another moment of observation, Cas goes and sits down.  Dean finishes the first piece and sticks it on a plate, then dips and cooks the second slice.  He wipes his hands on a dishtowel, then throws it over his shoulder, taking the plate to Cas.

“Breakfast is served,” he says, grinning at Cas and winking.  As soon as he does it, unintentional though it was, he regrets it, heat climbing up the back of his neck.  “Uh, gimme just a second to make mine and I’ll sit and eat with you.”

Cas smiles back at him.  “Okay, Dean.”

He hurries back to the stovetop, glad that he doesn’t have to look at Cas.  He wishes he’d stayed, though, just to watch him take that first bite.  He’s gotten his first piece submerged in the eggy mixture when he remembers something.  “Oh, hey,” he says.  He shakes off the bread and tosses it into the pan.  “Forgot this.”  He grabs the syrup from the fridge and plops it in front of Cas.  “Syrup.  You can get a little bowl for dipping, or drizzle it over ‘em like pancakes.”

Cas takes a bite, and Dean watches as his straight, white teeth show past his lips.  His head tilts as he chews, staring at the bottle of syrup.  “I don’t know, Dean.  This is already excellent.  I don’t know that your french toast needs anything else.”

Dean ducks his head, pleased, and says “Well, yeah, of course it’s awesome, Cas.  Doesn’t mean you can’t add a little extra sweetness.”

He finishes his own breakfast and then takes it to the table.  Cas has been working through his two slices with slow, methodical bites, looking like he’s studying the texture and composition of every piece.  

“Better than molecules?”

“Yes.”  Cas smiles at him, a little crooked and so human–and so Cas, goddamnit–that something in Dean’s chest cracks open.  “Much.  You should make french toast a regular part of our breakfast rotation.”  And then his smile goes a little tender, his eyes soften, and he goes back to his food.

For a moment, Dean just watches him eat.

It still feels unreal sometimes, to see Cas there in front of him.  Watching Cas go that final time, watching the Empty take him, had been one of the worst moments of Dean’s life.  And it’s not like he’s lacking in moments to choose from, his life has been one hot and ready buffet of trauma from the time he was four years old.  But something about losing Cas had felt like losing Sam, like a piece of him had been irrevocably taken from him.  He’d sat on the floor in the dungeon and had to reckon with that, with what it meant to lose Cas, with what it meant to be faced with the full, honest force of Cas’s love.  Somehow, despite everything they had been through and every wound they had ever given the other, Cas loved him.  Cas loved him.  And Dean had wanted to honor that love, had forced himself to get up and go to Sam and Jack and stop Chuck once and for all.  And they’d done it.  And behind it all, in this new foundational part of himself, Cas had loved him.

When they’d gotten him back, Dean hadn’t quite been able to believe it.  It seemed too good to be true.  Things didn’t work out like that, not for Winchesters.  Dean had found one of his people, his family, and then lost him.  So it goes.  But then he’d come back and Dean had him again.

Dean had found his person again.

There is a blob of syrup on the corner of Cas’s mouth.  He’d made a little puddle of it on the edge of his plate, and had dragged a few bites through to try it.  Dean stares for a moment.  He can see himself in his mind’s eye, grabbing a napkin and swiping at it.  He can see himself leaning forward and using the pad of his thumb to smear it across Cas’s lips and cheek, more a hindrance than a help.  

And then he thinks I want to eat breakfast with him every morning for the rest of our lives.

The realization hits him suddenly, but with no impact.  It’s as if he always knew.  It lands as delicately as a petal cupped in his palm, as softly as snow falling on his shoulder.  He’s not sure what took him so long to figure it out.  Cas is his person.

Dean loves him, too.

“What the hell, man,” he teases, “you’ve got syrup all over your face.  I gotta teach you how to eat, too?”

Cas glares at him and Dean laughs.  “It’s right—” He gestures to his mouth.  Cas wipes at the wrong side.

“Syrup is messy, Dean, I told you I didn’t need it.”

“It’s still there.”

Cas wipes harder, still the wrong side.  “I don’t think—”

“You’re not even close, let me just…”

“I’m fine, Dean, I don’t need—”

Dean leans over the table and kisses him, right on the corner of his warm, plush mouth.  He tastes like syrup.  It feels thick and warm like syrup, too.  Like breakfast together everyday.  Like finding your person and getting to keep them.  Like home.

“Oh,” Cas breathes as Dean pulls away.  His eyes are wide and his lips are parted.

“Still there,” Dean says.  He sucks his thumb into his mouth to wet it and then scrubs at the sticky corner of Cas’s mouth.

“Dean,” he says, frowning.  He tries to bat him away, but Dean pushes back and scrubs harder.  “Dean, that’s not helping.”

His hand moves from Cas’s face to the back of his neck.  He lets it rest there, gentle, as he leans closer.  “Think you can get it yourself, then?”  Cas is staring at his mouth.  He bites the swell of his bottom lip, just for the little shock of pleasure from watching Cas notice.  “Can’t leave your face all sticky.”  He leans closer.  “I just want to help.”

Cas cups his cheek with one large, warm palm.  “It’s okay, Dean.”  He pulls him in for one quick, hard kiss.  It lasts barely a moment, like a just in case, like Cas wants to take what he can before Dean pulls away again.  But Dean’s not going anywhere.  They’re still so close that their noses brush.  Still so close that Dean can feel when he smiles.  “I think I’ve got it.”

[sleepdeprivedsimp234]

~Minecraft incorrect quotes for the Main 6 cuz I love them~

=======================================================================

(To anybody that understands this reference, here’s a cookie 🍪)

Florida: COME GET YOUR MULE BITS!~ COME ONE, COME ALL!~

NY: *in the background* YOU PROMISED ME WE WERENT SELLIN’ THE BITS-

~Texas, California and DC walking up~

DC: Hey guys!

Florida: Ya want some mule bits?

Cali: Mule bits, please!

NY: (in the background) NOOO 😭 (x4)

Florida: What bit of the mule?~

Cali: Uhhh- the back :)

Florida: *walks into shop*

Texas: Ya really said- ya really said ya wanted the mules r*ctum Safe-Space you mother f*cker-

~inside the shop~

NY: NO!- I DON’T WANT TO 😭-!

Florida: Do it.

NY: I DONT WANNA….

Florida: Do it!

NY: *incoherent screams as he kills the mule*

~outside the shop~

DC, TX, CA: 👁️👄👁️💧…. *the cries of the innocent in the background*

Texas: What the f*ck?!

Florida: *walks out* Here’s your back, sir! *drops mule bits so Cali can pick them up*

Cali: What the fu-

Florida: *blocking off the entrance* We’re closed now.

Texas: *trying to hold it together* What- what part of the mules back is that 😏

*insert more sobbing in the background*

~later~

Texas: Tell you what- here’s what we do- this time we go and we save Empire (NY), alright? W-we are Child Protection Services.

Cali: I-i actually need food, im on one heart.

Texas: I don’t have any. *quite obviously has an apple in his hand*

Cali: Pfft-

~at the mule bits shop~

Texas: Ok- Florida, Florida-

Florida: Hello Texas~

Texas: Im so- W-What is this operation of yours then, eh? I can hear cries from behind you. I can hear CRIES, Florida! I can hear the CRIES of a distorted child!

Florida: Name a bit of the mule.

Texas: Oh- uh…. An*s :)

Florida: *walks into shop* New York?

Cali: Don’t make York do this!-

Texas: Wait Safe-Space- *gets some ladders* I have an idea.

~inside the shop~

NY: I NAMED THIS ONE 😭! FLORIDA I NAMED HIM 🥹!

Florida: Do it, New York.

NY: I NAMED THIS ONE 😭

Texas: *breaks roof so he can see inside*

NY: NOOOO 😭 *screams as he kills the poor mule*

Texas: WHAT THE F*CK IS THIS?! This is the SWAT, b*tch! THIS IS THE SWAT-

Cali: *falls off roof and dies*

Texas: AHHHHHHHH?!- OK- MAN DOWN (x2)! MIA MIA-

=======================================================================

DC: So…. This is what you’ve been doing while New York was apparently being forced to kill a mule by Florida?

Louisiana, standing in front of a very intricately built XP farm: Yup :D (he’s so proud of himself 😭-)

=======================================================================

Texas: No- STOP DYING PLEASE 😭

His horse: *is f*cking suffocating in a wall*

=======================================================================

NY: *bringing another dog home* Welcome to the pack buddy!

The other 32 dogs: 👁️👄👁️

=======================================================================

Loui: Hey Texas?

Texas: Yea Lou?

Loui: So y’know how we went fishing earlier?

Texas: Yea?

*insert several cats hoarding Loui*

Loui: Well I just have to say, I think I put my fish to good use :D

=======================================================================

DC: *getting attacked by phantoms at night*

DC: Damn Minecraft I get it already- Stop rubbing it in my face that I’m an insomniac-

=======================================================================

California: *finishes building his house* Finally done….

Florida off in the distance with flint and steel: :)

=======================================================================

*Florida and Loui building their house*

Florida: Should we put our beds together?

Loui: O’course sha.

Florida: No homo tho ;)

Loui: Yea no homo.

=======================================================================

NY: *bridging over the lava in the nether*

Florida, irl: *comes up behind him and grabs him from behind like the little a$$hole he is*

NY: *screams and falls* GODDAMNIT FLORIDA-

=======================================================================

[networksupported]

*Cas is sitting around, doing a whole lot of nothing, when for the first time in ages, the loudspeakers overhead come on. Initially, it's just static, but it eventually fades into two voices speaking to each other.*

(I TOLD you that there was a speaker set on this wavelength! You denied me, and you told me the book was the only way to find wavelengths, and you were wrong! Eat shit, and suck it!)

//Wh??? What did I do?? I wasn't saying that there wasn't one, I was saying that it's not one we SHOULD go on yet!! The dude here is like, dangerous the book said! Calm ya farm, Gamby!!

(I swear, if you call me that one more time, I'm breaking the damn micropho- we're coming over the speakers, aren't we?)

//Goddamnit. Well, hi Cas! I'm a big fan! I was gonna save narrating for my birthday, but someone doesn't know how to admit defeat. My name's guy!

(I'm Gambhorra'ta. Yo.)

@thereticentraconteur

> oh, please don't stop just for my benefit. that was getting fun.

cas, who had been lying flat on his back on one of the office desks (whether this was the desk of a certain employee #432 was, of course, irrelevant) (that is to say, it most certainly was) half turns his head towards the speakers. he wasn't quite sure why, given that the speakers were mostly used for putting noise out and not necessarily taking them in, but it kind of felt nice to have a certain, addressable point in the room. speaking generally at the seeking tended to just give one quite a neckache, and didn't really help matters in any way.

> nice to meet you both, i suppose. that, and-- what the hell.

> you know, if you didn't already seem to know me- though i do appreciate you being a fan, that's certainly a first- i'd be introducing myself as something like blentin quakesop purely for the fact it's the only worst thing in the universe to name oneself, right after "guy".

> i mean, no offense.

> okay, maybe slight amounts of offense. just a little. just a tiny bit. you do, however, seem to have befriended someone with a name that is almost in equal terms to you on the grand scale of terrible names, however, and honestly? i respect that. good for you, gamby. i highly recommend not looking up what your name translates to. because, i mean, that's no laughing matter.

> point of the matter at hand, though, dare i ask what you mean about this whole... "narrating" buisness?

[demonmary]

on dean and aging: weathered glass

Dean sat on the dock at the lake house, and the morning came up to greet him. He’d gotten used to rising with the sun, adjusted to the light pouring through the window in the bedroom he shared with Cas. Cas, who refused the completely reasonable request for blinds, shrugging Dean off with some rumbled nonsense about circadian rhythms and the nature of humans that Dean ignored in favor of pressing kisses to his neck. Cas, who Dean got to spend the rest of forever with, no strings attached, goddamnit.  

[read on ao3 or continue below]

Castiel was still asleep, for all his posturing about early rising still remained a late sleeper, still needed to be woken up gently with a cup of coffee and a kiss, and jeez, when did Dean get so soft? He’d never seen  this  as his future, always pictured going out in peak condition, kicking and spitting and swinging till his last, but now he was cradling a mug painted by his kid and sitting on a porch he built himself. 

Sure, his kid was literally God , and the property they lived on was technically owned by the guy who used to live inside the vessel that his husband possesses, but still. Dean had gone soft.  

He wasn’t sure what to make of that, wasn’t sure if he should pass judgement or if that voice sounded too much like his father, but the thought barely had enough time to crease his brow before he heard the front door swing open.  

Dean turned his face to the sound and was rewarded with a soft press of lips to his forehead. Cas still carried the weight of sleep in his limbs as he nudged Dean over to join him on the porch swing. Without a word between them, Cas topped off Dean’s mug with some coffee from his own cup and wrapped his free arm around Dean’s shoulder. The sun hadn’t warmed the air around them yet, but the chill disappeared with the angel’s arrival.  

It was quiet like that for minutes; Dean wasn’t sure how many, as he sat in that feeling of soft warmth with Cas and watched the lake’s small tide and the waves it pulled across the sand.  

Dean didn’t mean to break that silence, but his words always ran on their own track. 

“Do you miss the old me?” Dean interrupted the blanket of peace for that? “I mean… Not when I was being a dick to you. But the old me. Y’know, big, strong hunter me? Not the hunting, sure,” Dean clarified, knowing where Castiel’s mind went.  

Cas relaxed minutely at the reassurance, and Dean leaned against his side, tucked himself right in underneath the ratted arm of his husband’s robe.  

Dean scrunched his face up a bit, sorting his thoughts into some semblance of communication. 

“Like, do you think I got… soft or whatever?”  Close enough,  Dean thought.

Castiel was thinking. He was quiet, and Dean couldn’t see his face, but he could feel the way the energy shifted, how everything seemed to go still as Castiel regarded him.  

When Cas spoke, he did so with careful calculation, like he was saying something that he knew to be absolute fact. He donated that same intensity to most things he said, but that didn’t change the way it still made butterflies twist and turn and tumble for space inside Dean’s stomach when the words were directed at him. 

“Dean, I most definitely think you have gotten soft, and I think that there isn’t a single soul on the planet who deserves that as much as you do.”

Cas turned to face Dean, setting down his mug and twisting his body towards the man he loved. One gentle hand reached up to cup Dean’s cheek, and Castiel stared the way he always did.

“I think that this world has not always been as kind as you deserve, and for a long time, you needed to be stronger than is ever fair to ask of someone. You weathered your way through every single storm the universe had to offer, and you did all of it for love, Dean. Not for vengeance, or for reward, or accolades, or for yourself, but you did it for the world. You didn’t wear down; you just… smoothed out. You could have let any single one of the battles you fought be the one that broke you, but you’re here.” 

Dean had come far, clearly, as he managed to hold the eye contact with Cas even as a tear slipped from his eye. Castiel brushed it away with his thumb, hand cradling Dean’s face.

“I think that soft is a wonderful thing to be,” Cas added, his voice lighter, his hand dropping from Dean’s cheek to steal his mug for a sip. Dean didn’t mention that Castiel’s own mug wasn’t even a foot away where he’d just set it down. Cas turned back to face the lake, kicking off the porch into a gentle swing with his arm snugly around Dean once again.  

Dean took a deep breath, the air off the lake fresh in his lungs. He took another peek at his husband, at the hand-painted mug he cupped in his gentle hands, and thought about the privilege it was to recognize their gentleness. He thought back to years of battles, of knives and swords and heaven and hell and electric blue light behind the eyes that Dean now gets to see bleary with sleep, and Dean smiled.

If this was soft, Dean found he didn't mind too much.  

[audreydoeskaren]

History of Chinese standing collars (part 1: Ming & Qing)

So, a lot of people nowadays refer to a certain type of standing collar as a “Mandarin collar” but I'm not sure if that’s legit, because standing collars throughout Chinese history looked different. I was confronted by this topic when I was writing my post on 1950s Chinese fashion and felt like I had to make a separate post. I’m gonna do a quick break down of all the different types of standing collars in historical Chinese fashion from the 16th century to the present and how they developed.

Ming Dynasty  (1368-1644)

The first mature 立领 liling standing collars were applied to women’s robes in the late 15th/early 16th century. Before any garment with a standing collar was invented, both men and women in Ming China wore garments with either a 圆领 yuanling round collar, 直领 zhiling parallel collar or 交领 jiaoling crossover collar, with crossover collars being the more common in womenswear.

Source here

Early Ming Dynasty portrait of a lady in a crossover collar robe.

The development of a standing collar was in large part thanks to the invention/adoption of the 子母扣 zimukou metal clasp button. I wonder why the fabric knotted buttons used on round collar robes were not used on standing collars in this period? They were awfully similar to the pankous of later. Anyway, at one point in the 15th century, some women thought it would be cool to add zimukou to their clothes and it resulted in this (they were also used on 比甲 bijia, 半臂 banbi and 短衫 duanshan but those are irrelevant to collars):

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Part of 明宪宗元宵行乐图 (a painting depicting various Lantern Festival activities at the court of Emperor Xianzong), 1485. This lady is wearing a crossover collar robe with a zimukou at the middle.

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Modern reproduction zimukou. You could buy these for cheap on Taobao if you want to sew your own Ming style hanfu btw.

In the 16th century a fashion revolution took place in China: the standing collar, which came out of nowhere, began to suddenly dominate women’s clothing. This OG Chinese standing collar was very tall and form fitting, usually covering all of the wearer’s neck. It had sharp, rectangular edges and was closed by two zimukou, one placed at the bottom of the collar where it meets the bodice and another slightly above, not reaching the top of the collar. An important feature that set this apart from the collars of the 20th century is that it was unstiffened and made of the same fabric as the robe, meaning it was soft and could be worn with the top bit folded over, showing the lining which could be of a contrasting color. For archival purposes let’s call this collar style 1.

There are various theories as to why the standing collar was invented, e.g. because of colder climate during the little ice age, which peaked in the late 16th/early 17th century. Methinks it was just a fad which stayed.

Source here

Late Ming Dynasty portrait, collar style 1.

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Late 16th century/early 17th century aristocratic lady wearing a standing collar robe underneath a round collar robe. The top of her collar is folded over. Collar style 1 variation 2.

Qing Dynasty (1644-1911)

This style of collar became the norm for Han Chinese women’s fashion in the mid to late 16th century and stayed that way throughout the 17th and 18th centuries. While the clothing silhouettes and accessories changed, the shape of the standing collar remained the same.

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Late 17th century illustration for pornographic novel 肉蒲团 (1657). Collar style 1, but it became fashionable in the 17th century to have rows of piping around the neck for each button, so variation 3. Oh and wlw pride come throoouuuugh

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Early 18th century court painting, collar style 1 variation 3.

At some point in the late 18th century Han women decided it would be cool to use 盘扣 pankou, this fabric braided/knotted button of Manchu origin (more on Manchu dress later) on their collars instead of zimukou. The decoration also became more extravagant, with often rows of thick binding, piping or trim, corresponding to the decorations on the rest of the robe. It’s also slightly shorter, the upper button being at the very top of the collar. Let’s call this collar style 2.

Source here

(Presumably) late 18th century reverse glass painting showing collar style 2. The late 18th century deserves more attention, it’s such an important transitional period but also charming in its own way. This is true of European fashion of the period as well, I honestly love both places in the late 18th century.

In the beginning of the 19th century, the fashionable collar shape suddenly changed for some reason. It became extremely low, approximately only 1-2cm tall, only tall enough to accommodate one button. It still had crisp, rectangular edges. You could say this is another variation of collar style 2 but it is so iconic to the 19th century I think I’ll call this collar style 3.

Source here

Reverse glass painting ca. 1830. Han lady wearing a robe with collar style 3.

Now a brief look at Manchu womenswear.  I am not an expert on Manchu historical fashion so tell me if I’m wrong. So the Manchus, who were apparently a confederation of Jurchen tribes from the area in what is northeastern China nowadays, invaded China successfully in the 1640s and remained the rulers of China until 1911 when they were replaced by the Republic of China. Throughout most of the Qing Dynasty Manchu women wore collarless robes, it was not until the mid 19th century that some Manchu women started to wear detachable collars to emulate Han women’s fashion, and not until around 1908 (!) when standing collars were actually added to their gowns themselves. Yes, period dramas did Manchu women dirty, poor gals have been dressed in the wrong costumes this, entire, time. The misrepresentation of Manchu historical fashion in the media in general is just fucking infuriating, but well, topic for a future post.

Source here

Late 17th century/early 18th century portrait of a Manchu lady. She is wearing a 衬衣 chenyi, a robe with straight sleeves, no slits and closed at the right side. It’s a casual gown worn for everyday activities. Her chenyi is collarless and the collar is closed by binding.

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1840s/1850s court gown.  She is wearing 氅衣 changyi (the bottom part of the first character should be 衣 not 毛 but this character is so obscure that it literally DOES NOT EXIST in the Chinese language anymore omg), a more elaborate style developed in the early 19th century with slits down both sides and wide trims along the collar, cuffs, side closure, side slits and hem. I have yet to see an extant example with a standing collar, all the changyi from the 19th century I’ve seen in museum collections are collarless, so the collar seen in paintings must’ve been detachable. Maybe some Manchu women liked Han women’s fashion and wanted to wear a detachable collar. I have, however, seen Manchu women’s vests and jackets with standing collars. These were similar to late 18th century Han women’s collars, so collar style 2.

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1890s/1900s women’s vest with collar style 2. 

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Ca. 1908. Chenyi with standing collar. If the passage of time is still not clear, notice the Western fabric used. Collar style 2.

At first glance this might look like a cheongsam but it is not. Chenyi did not have slits down the sides, unlike most 20th century cheongsam. It may have been a source of inspiration for cheongsam though, as I have explained in one of my 1930s posts, although the more obvious prototype for cheongsam was the changyi with slits and standing collars.

Let us now turn our attention to Manchu menswear, which is where things get complicated. In the 17th and 18th centuries, the Manchu riding habit, 行服袍 xingfupao, was a form fitting calf length robe with form fitting long sleeves and 马蹄袖 matixiu “horse hoof cuffs”, closed at the side with pankou. It was constructed in the same method as Han Chinese clothing. This original Manchu robe was collarless----I cannot stress this enough. The Manchus did not come barging into China wearing robes with standing collars goddamnit, get your facts right period dramas.

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Portrait of Emperor Kangxi in a xingfupao. This is from the early 18th century already but the style didn’t change much so you get the idea. I love this color btw I think he looks great in it.

The xingfupao was an informal riding habit and only one small part in the gigantic system of Manchu court dress, the rules of which are well documented but I don’t bother to look them up. If you would like to do that, Google 大清会典.  At one point in the early 18th century some Manchu dudes decided it was cool to add a collar to their xingfupao (like... Han women??) and it resulted in this:

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An early example from the Kangxi era (1661-1722), a xingfupao with a standing collar of a contrasting color. The hem is detachable for horse riding (horse riding was an important aspect of Manchu culture and that influenced many of their fashion decisions). Judging by the fur lining I assume the standing collar was added for warmth in winter? I also saw some xingfupao with fur trim attached to standing collars so maybe that was the purpose.

Standing collars on xingfupao was constructed in a similar way to Han women’s collars, with rectangular edges and closed by two buttons. Pankous, which were unique to Manchu dress, were used instead of the Han zimukou. It appears that this collar was also soft and unstiffened, so it could be worn with the top bit folded over like in ye olde times (the 16th century). It’s important to note that xingfupao with a standing collar were not common at all, maybe a 1/20 probability to see in museum collections. Construction wise it’s similar to collar style 2 but it appeared earlier and was exclusive to menswear, so let’s call it collar style 4.

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Qianlong era (1735-1796) portrait, xingfupao with standing collar of the same color folded over. Collar style 4 variation 2.

Another garment with a standing collar was the dress of the officials, known by white people as “Mandarins”. From the artworks and photographs I’ve seen, the collar only appeared in the outfit with a 行服褂 xingfugua, a button down tunic with straight, wide sleeves and slits at the front, back and sides. It was usually worn in combination with xingfupao, like how a shirt and vest are fixed combinations in European menswear. However, the collar of this kind of outfit was separate from the tunic itself. A plastron with an attached collar was worn underneath the robe and tunic (completely detachable collars were also used I think??) and the collar was buttoned from the inside. Not sure if this qualifies as a standing collar at all since it isn’t even attached to the robe itself, but anyway let’s just call this collar style 5.

Source here

19th century portrait of an official. He is wearing a blue xingfupao, an indigo xingfugua and a blue detachable collar; a standard ensemble (well he’s also wearing pants and boots and stuff but that’s not the focus here). Collar style 5.

Oh I forgot to mention, after the Manchus took over China, they enforced their dress code on Han Chinese men but not Han Chinese women, so in the Qing Dynasty Han and Manchu menswear were one and the same but Han and Manchu womenswear were not.

I’ve only been talking about court dress so far, educated/well off civilian Han men would wear 长衫 changshan, a floor length robe, sometimes with a 马褂 magua, a short riding vest (derived from xingfugua), whereas poorer Han men would wear 短打 duanda, a short button down shirt, and pants. Well people who wore changshan also wore pants underneath but they’re not visible. All men wore pants tbh (incoming tangent), a while back when Harry Styles in a dress (which I stan) was making the rounds on social media some well meaning people were trying to find historical precedents for men wearing dresses and they named Chinese historical clothing as an example. I just wanna say, while I appreciate the sentiment, the harsh reality was that historical Han Chinese fashion was extremely gendered (except for a few brief time periods and a few select garments). Pants were reserved for men and skirts for women, the long gown like garments seen on men in historical portraiture were all robes, not dresses; you wouldn’t consider a long coat or bathrobe a dress nowadays, would you? Men always wore pants as undergarments while women wore petticoats. However I think that’s great for illustrating how our perception of whether a garment is masculine/feminine could change over time and that gender is socially constructed. Back to the main topic, to my knowledge, magua never had collars because it was a vest, changshan commonly had collars and duanda sometimes did too. I’m not sure when the standing collar began to appear on changshan, maybe when the court xingfupao gained collar style 4 it stuck in civilian fashion, maybe it was some point in the 19th century.

Anyway, fast forward to the late 19th century, the men’s changshan had a tall standing collar but again it was different to everything we’ve seen so far. It was exceptionally tall and had a smoothly tapering edge closed by only one pankou at the bottom. This resulted in a huge v shape gap down the middle. It’s still unstiffened but because of the lack of a rectangular edge it couldn’t be worn folded over. Let’s call this collar style 6.

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Late 19th century/early 20th century portrait of a man. Changshan with collar style 6.

Let’s finish this part with Han women’s collars in the 1890s and 1900s. Around this time Han womenswear began to modernize and become simpler, but that trend did not apply to collars: the collars of Han women’s robes suddenly became unnaturally tall. They were so tall that they touched the wearer’s cheeks and couldn’t be closed at the front at all, kind of resembling Regency era European men’s collars?? This style of collar was oftentimes called 元宝领 yuanbaoling, ingot collar, or 马鞍领 ma’anling, saddle collar, after the object it resembles. Let’s call all of these tall collars that touch the wearer’s face collar style 7, but bear in mind these had a lot of variations.

Source here

Photograph from the 1900s. This could be categorized as a cursed variation of collar style 6 judging from how it only has one pankou and a tapering edge instead of a rectangular edge. But like, belle époque Chinese collars are a whole other species, so let’s comfortably call it collar style 7.

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More collar style 7 representation. This collar style will never stop being funny to me, like just look at it it’s so tall.

So, in summary:

Collar style 1: OG Ming Dynasty standing collar, in fashion from the 16th to mid 18th century. Tall, unstiffened, rectangular edges. Closed with two zimukou. Could have piping (17th & early 18th century). Could be worn with top bit folded over (16th & early 17th century). Worn by Han women.

Collar style 2: developed from collar style 1, popularized in the late 18th century. Medium height, unstiffened, rectangular edges. Closed with two pankou/other fabric buttons. Commonly has binding, piping or trim. Worn by Han women in the late 18th century, partially adopted by Manchu women in the late 19th century.

Collar style 3: developed from collar style 2, exclusive to the 19th century. Extremely short, unstiffened, rectangular edges. Closed with one pankou. Commonly has binding, piping or trim. Worn by Han women.

Collar style 4: collar style 2 but simpler, appeared in the late 17th/early 18th century. Tall, unstiffened, rectangular edges. Closed with two pankou. Commonly plain. Worn by Manchu & Han men.

Collar style 5: detachable standing collar, a staple of official’s uniforms throughout the Qing Dynasty. Medium height, unstiffened, rectangular/rounded edges. Buttoned from the inside. Always plain. Worn by all officials (exclusively men in this era).

Collar style 6: civilian men’s collar characterized by v shape gap at the front, I don’t know when it first appeared, some point in the Qing Dynasty. Tall, unstiffened, rounded and dramatically tapering edges. Closed by one pankou. Worn by civilian Manchu & Han men.

Collar style 7: cursed belle époque (1890s & 1900s) women’s collars that touched the wearer’s face. Extremely tall, stiffened, both rounded and rectangular edges existed. Closed by one pankou at the bottom but sometimes had more pankou for ornamental purposes. Worn by Han women in this period.

Join me next time as we dive into the Republican era where things get extra complicated.

[sunforgrace]

Actually you know what we should have gotten the Mac iasip character arc with Dean where he would come out of the closet and then go immediately go right back in and no one would say anything about it. It should have started with him having his “I’m going to drown in this ship” moment in season 3 where he tries to cope with dying and going to Hell by having his “it’s like we’re gay we’re straight we’re tops we’re bottoms” moment. He comes back from Hell and insists that he’s straight if Sam so much as fosters the implication of bringing it up he just immediately shuts that shit down. He calls men beefcakes but no ones allowed to say shit about it or he’ll go on a three minute long excruciatingly stilted rant about how appreciating the peak male human form is not gay it’s the manliest thing ever, actually. Sam catches him sneaking into the bunker in only a t-shirt and jeans - covered in glitter - and Dean says there was a bachelorette party at a Very Straight bar and what can he say, the ladies love him. They lean into the “Dean loves wrestling” concept waaay harder. Also Dr. Sexy. Eventually he does come out and informs everyone that this time he’s staying out for the Supernatural dumb equivalent of coming out so you can keep lottery earnings and be “rich gay Mac.” After this he does weaponize his sexuality but only to win every argument with Sam and sometimes complain that the reason Cas has been gone for a few weeks and hasn’t answered any of his messages is probably because he’s not straight. :/ He may or may not come close to kissing Cas several times in this version but always, always swerving. Perhaps as frequently as Jackle’s tried to get in a face caress past the censors. Dean DOES have his “Goddamnit! I don’t know how to express myself unless through anger and personal attack,” moment where Cas strokes his hair and neck to soothe him.

[clandestinegardenias]

talk about your social theory thoughts i wanna hear about the he asked for no pickles/your son calls me daddy now dichotomy

THANK YOU for asking this I now have an excuse to burden everyone with my Thoughts on this post (even though it took me a few days to form them fjdslkak sorry)

SO Cas was never socialized to interact with humanity - he has an extremely tenuous grasp on social norms! He lacks the mental schematic humans rely on to stage public interactions. 

Like, think about when you’re tired, and sad/angry, and the last thing in the WORLD you want to do is interact with another person. But you do really want a hamburger. Fortunately for you, there are standard social scripts to get you through that interaction so that you can acquire a hamburger without expending a ton of effort. You know the script: “I’m good, how are you?” “I’d like a Big Mac, no pickles, with a medium fries” “No thanks, that’s all!” “Oh, sorry, I asked for no pickles?” “Thanks so much, have a great day!” Boom, done. You slip into a front stage, public persona that can deal with mundane social interactions on autopilot. CAS DOESN’T HAVE THAT, or at least is still learning/not very good at it. He’s his backstage, private persona pretty much all the time! Dean moderates that and provides the normative scripted interactions Cas is missing - he acts as the public-facing persona FOR Cas! 

He pulls out the script and says, for Cas, “Hey he didn’t want any pickles”

DEAN, on the other hand, is VERY good at the front-facing public persona--at hiding behind social norms and scripted interactions. He’s SO good at it, in fact, that it’s hard for him to turn that off and slip into his private, backstage self. His public self has become more or less a cage around him. He struggles to break norms, to say no, to leave obligations unfulfilled, to criticize others or prioritize (even acknowledge!) his own inner wants and feelings ESPECIALLY when those go against what he and others expect of him. 

I think a lot of this goes back to his relationship with John--about the expectations placed on him from a very young age, the responsibilities he had to shoulder, the extreme masculinized identity he was expected to take on, the emotional punishment for any deviation from those expectations. Dean has been so conditioned to ignore his own wants and needs, and more or less everyone in his life has expectations of the role Dean SHOULD perform, so he gets locked into that. But Cas doesn’t have those expectations, doesn’t even get social norms anyway, doesn’t need Dean to be any specific idealized role. 

Cas, I would argue, is one of the few (if not the only!) person who really understands who Dean is, backstage, in his own, private self. He doesn’t NEED Dean for anything, doesn’t need him to BE anyone, and he sees the damage Dean does by ignoring his inner self. So Cas intercedes for him, gives him permission to be something other than the expectations and normative social roles that have been forced on him. He allows him to confront his deep-seated need to live up to the expectations of others and never challenge how those relationships have hurt him--in particular his relationship with his father. 

He looks Dean and John’s relationship right in the face and says “He calls me daddy now” -- he rejects your negative influence, disempowers your role as a father, slaps your heteronormativity right in the face, redefines the social norms that govern Dean’s life, allows Dean to be something other than daddy’s little weapon. 

Dean moderates Cas’ relationship with society, smooths it and eases the way.

Cas moderates Dean’s relationship with his own internalized expectations of himself, smooths it and eases the way. 

That’s love, right there. That’s caring, caretaking, softness, soothing, intercession on your beloved’s behalf. They complement each other so, so well -- they make each other more comfortable, they make each other better people. They CHOOSE to soften each others’ harsh experiences of the world through their actions. 

Goddamnit they’re beautiful!! They should have kissed!!! Declared mutual undying love for all eternity! HAD A FUCKING SOFT ENDING. This is a television show!! GAH!

[mostribelle]

Bulletproof

You're Dean Winchesters teenage daughter who is trying to have a fun night out with some friends, but it never seems to go how its supposed to go...

Gif not mine, credit to owner.

Warnings: mention of alcohol

Words: 2604

The brunette swayed to the loud beat of the club as people passed by her. Tonight was her one night off from hunting and she was ecstatic. Her dad and uncle were back at the bunker, just having a relaxing night in with Castiel and her grandpa. Being seventeen and having a dad who does illegal things such as fake IDs was great. She could get into any club she wanted since she had the classic Winchester look. Now, of course, she hadn't told them she was headed here, or else her dad would for sure ground her for life. So she lied and said she was going over to Kallies house- which wasn't entirely a lie since she was there and they did get ready together. She never told them that's where she was staying. So as she ran her hand through her long hair, she felt a hand grip her waist and she turned to look over her shoulder and snickered when it was her friend's older brother.

Kallies older brother, Damon, was twenty-one and their DD for the night. He made sure not to let the girls out of his sight, or else his mom would kill him. Bailey turned around as she swung her hips side to side, "Thought you were supposed to be watching your little sister," she wouldn't lie. He was insanely attractive- but never did anything despite her friend saying it would cool to have her bestie and her brother together. Then again, Kallie was into cliches and all she read were books on Wattpad.

Damon grinned like a Cheshire cat as he lowered his hands so they rested on her hips. "-Well, if you paid any attention in the last fifteen minutes, you would have noticed that she is sitting down with one of her besties in the corner." He smirked at her crestfallen expression. The brunette paused her dancing to glance for her friend and when she spotted the girl snoring in the corner with one of Damons friends, she smacked the man's chest.

"You ass! I-I thought she actually found someone else here.." She tried to frown, but when he gripped her chin so she was forced to look up at him, she smiled shyly.

Damon's black hair shone purple as the lights changed and an older song came through the loudspeakers. He chuckled with a shake of his head. "Sorry baby, just thought to shake you up a little." He grinned when Everybody by the Backstreet Boys came on. The girl's eyes widened as the song came on and she immediately dragged the man out to the center of the dance floor. She started grinding her hips all over and tensed a little when he stepped closer so she ground on him. When he bent down to her ear, he whispered, "S'okay Bails... Just go with the flow of the music and if you feel uncomfortable, tell me alright?" He backed up a little when she nodded in understanding.

The music grew quieter she swore as he grabbed her softly. She would usually never be like this, but she blamed the alcohol that she had consumed. She was so into the music that she hadn't noticed her phone ringing in the dress pocket. Damon felt something buzz and when he looked down, he saw a light emitting from the small slit and he reached down to grab it. Panic rose in her chest and she tried to pull away but he gripped her tightly to his chest as people danced around them.

"Damon! W-what are you doing?" She turned around just in time to see him raise the phone to his ear and answer. He heard Dean on the other hand and inwardly cursed. The man held his finger up to silence her and that's when she noticed it was her phone and it was probably her dad. "Fuck!" She cried out and pulled him away through the crowd and into a dark hallway. With an extra push, she opened the exit door and they stood outside.

She watched Damon's facial expressions twitch every so often as if Dean was going off.

Damon nodded, "Sir she's fine. We are in the basement with a few other of my friends and hers-"

Silence until the man nodded again.

"Yes, do you want to talk to her?" He shot her a curious look to which she waved her hands as no. Her dad would know for sure she was drunk. She could never lie to her daddy. Before Damon could say she was busy, Dean immediately said yes. He shot her a knowing look. "Uh okay, she's right here-"

The phone was passed to her and she inwardly cried. This would not end well.

In a sickly sweet voice, "Hiya, daddy!" She winced at her loud voice. He either ignored it or already knew she was wasted.

"Hey baby girl, you busy at the moment? Damon seemed out of breath." Eyes wide, she slapped the man's arm and he cried out 'what did I do?'

"Ah, no way! You crazy old man-" she hiccuped and bit her lip quick after. "I'm totally fine. He just came down the stairs and you know him, outta shape." She joked lightly.

Dean sighed into the phone. He rubbed his eyes before glancing at his dad and brother. The three men in the room all shared a knowing glance. "Baby girl?" He received a small 'yeah' before responding, "Where are you really. I know you're drunk so tell me where you are." He heard her swear loudly which made him chuckle. He was pissed. But he knew she just wanted to have a little fun and he wouldn't be so harsh on her.

She mumbled her coordinates and heard Dean curse.

"You're at Lights?!" The girl winced at his loud tone but meekly answered him. She heard a voice in the background before he spoke again. "Look, just stay with Damon and Kallie... I'm on my way." He hung up and she felt terrible.

She not only lied to her dad but also went to the club where she had gone missing one time during a vampire case. Damon wrapped his arms around the crying girl, she just sobbed. Her makeup was smeared, her heels were off and she wore his jacket as they stood in the front of the club. It had been fifteen minutes since she heard from her father and now she was scared. Damon told her that Kallie was just with a few friends of hers and their boyfriends so she relaxed.

"I'm sure it'll be okay. He's just worried and it didn't help that you lied," he tried to joke but she was so deep in her thoughts she hadn't noticed. 

The girl heard a familiar rumble of Baby and she tensed up. Damon rubbed her arm soothingly as if it would help but she was so terrified of what her father would say. These were the times she wished her mother was still here. To calm down her dad when she did stupid teenage rebellion things. When the car came into view, she gently pushed away from Damon and walked to the edge of the curb. The door slammed shut and out walked her dad, she peeked into the car and saw her uncle in the passenger side with pursed lips. Bailey's bottom lip quivered when he neared her. She went to open her mouth to say how sorry she was but turned around to vomit. Damon backed up and frowned as she cried.

Dean rushed over and wrapped his arms around her but not before wrapping his flannel around her shivering body. The sobs wracked her frail body as she turned into her father's chest. Dean's harsh glare found the eldest Fritellie's eyes and mouthed to leave them. With one last glance, Damon walked back into the building and the door shut behind him. Dean's temper eased as he was left alone with Bailey. The young girl mumbled apologies to her father but he just shushed her and ran his hands through her hair.

Dean could see how the nightmares affected how she behaved. She had been withdrawn from her whole family since she was kidnapped. That was three months ago. Sam and John had just brushed it off as her being a rebellious teenager. Dads know best.

Slowly but surely, she grew tired and rested her cheek to his heart. Dean bent down a little at the knees to pick her up bridal style and carry her to Baby. Sam saw the pair come closer and he got out to open the door. Dean kissed her forehead before letting her down and onto the seat. She turned into the flannel and yawned before letting herself fall back asleep.

Shutting the door quietly, Dean turned to rub his face when Sam opened his mouth. "I think she should see someone, Dean. This- This was okay for the first week but now it's going on three months. Three, Dean." At his brother's words, the elder Winchester scoffed and kicked the dirt.

"Ya don't think I know that Sammy?! Of course, I do. I was there when she was found goddamnit," he sighed and placed his hands on his hips and pondered over the next move. "I'll talk to her in the morning about it. I ain't forcing her though. Maybe Cas can help her." He said the last part more for himself than Sams.

The pair stayed silent all the way back to the bunker.

Dean drove into the garage and parked Baby before getting out and picking up his baby girl. She groaned a little but nuzzled into him again. John was in the den with a cigarette and a bottle of beer when the door opened and he heard heavy footsteps. Dean walked by with Bailey in his arms and Sam turned into the room. The younger Winchester sibling sat down with a sigh and shook his head at his dad.

"She's not well. Dean says he sees it, but he hasn't done much to help her. Maybe I should just-"

John cut him off with a glare. "You will not be doing anything, boy. Bailey is your niece and his daughter. You know how your brother is. He will do something on his own terms. That's how he's always been." He grumbled into the beer. Sam huffed out in annoyance for his dad taking his side.

Inside Bailey's room, were polaroids of her and her friends hanging on the walls. A family picture hung above the teen's bed along with some tickets to concerts she had been to with her dad. Dean had taken off her shoes and threw them onto the ground as he tucked her under the covers. He grabbed her hand and sat on the edge of her bed, watching over her. He wished his mother was here to help him out. He knew his little girl felt lost without a mother figure in her life, but he also felt that if he did find someone, she'd think he was replacing her.

Dean loomed over her before placing a chaste kiss on her head and walking to the door. He closed the door softly, before walking to his own room. He would have gone back to the den and sat with his dad and brother but he was angry at Sam for telling him what he already knew.

Dean took off his clothes, climbed under the blankets, and closed his eyes.

His mind wandered to if he'd been a terrible dad lately, causing her to rebel and sneak off without his permission. Or lie straight to his face at your whereabouts. He never really believed in God until he met him, nor did he really ever pray. But he now silently asked the heavens what to do to help his little girl out.

Sleep caught Dean in its warm embrace and his dreams were plagued with what to do with Bailey.

---------------

Sam stood by the counter with his earbuds in as he mixed his early morning post-run drink. John sat at the kitchen table across from Dean, both had coffee mugs in front of them- one laced with whiskey. The eldest Winchester kept his gaze on the newspaper, looking out for any new hunts or leads for one. The trio heard light footsteps come down from the hallway and towards them. Bailey entered the silent room and walked over to the coffee pot. Reaching up she grabbed her favorite mug- it was a family picture along with Cas.  She poured some creamer into the mug before the coffee.

John was the first to speak. "Have fun last night, baby doll? Sure seemed like it when we called you." Dean shot his dad a quick glare but just shook his head.

Bailey looked down into the mug with shame in her soft eyes. "I'm sorry pops. I-I have no idea what went through my head when I disobeyed you guys," she mumbled out and stirred her coffee before speaking quieter, "I'm up for any form of punishment."

At her words, Sam set down his smoothie and ripped out his earbuds. "Sweetheart, you do not deserve to be punished for being a teen." John shot his youngest son a confused glance, for last night he was up to damage. Sam must've noticed because he spoke again, "I felt different last night but I then realized that you're a teen. Hell, when your dad was your age he was ten times worse!" They all share a small laugh except Dean who rolls his eyes. Sam continues with a softer tone, "I- We all know how hard it's been since the incident... You're only seventeen, baby girl. We are worried about you." When he finished, Dean released a sigh and scooted his chair back so Bailey could sit with him. The girl plopped herself down onto her father's lap and sipped her coffee before setting it down.

Dean wrapped one arm around her waist and began to speak, "Even though we were very upset last night, not for the reason you were there, but the fact that you lied straight to my face. I know how it is baby, you're young. You've never done that before, not that I know of," he muttered the last part soliciting a laugh from Bailey.

"Let me cut this shit short- we are all worried as hell about you baby doll. You're our everything. Our main goal in this short life is to make sure you live it to the fullest. You can't do that if you're dead at the bottom of a ditch." John was straight to the point, and it scared Bailey. She had never seen her pops this serious. The brunette reached her hand out to wrap it around his own.

John squeezed it with a tightlipped smile.

"You should see someone baby girl. I know it will suck at first, but if you won't talk to us or your friends about it, it will never go away. Trust me. It haunts you forever. Please baby, for me?" Dean spoke sadly and watched as his little girl nodded before a tear slipped down her cheek.

The girl continuously nodded, which made her dad wrap his hands around her tighter. He kept mumbling "I love you" into her ear, resulting in her sobbing into her father's shirt.

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Stranger

I Am Sorry

Summary - Alone in your room, you try to figure out how your past life had been.

Pairing - Dean x Reader (??), Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warning - Angst, mentions of drinking, swearing and did I mention angst

Word Count - 2066

Square Filled - Bunker ( @spndeanbingo )

A/N - So I know I have been a little MIA for a over a week now and it has been a lot time since I have updated any of my series. But I finally got my motivation to continue this part and my other series so hopefully I won't abandon this series again. Regularity and me - we don't have a good relationship.

Anyways happy reading!

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

Spn divider by the talented @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist

There were no more tears left to cry. You had spent the whole evening crying, trying to think of any possible reason as to why Dean would do such a thing, trying to bring yourself forgive him, but you couldn't. You needed to know why Dean took such a drastic measure to erase himself from your life.

Your stomach grumbled. You sat up and rubbed your face with your hands. You didn't know what time it was, but you assumed it was sometime around midnight, considering how long you had been in the bunker. You needed food in your stomach. There was a knock on your door. You hoped it was not Dean. You couldn't face him right now.

“Y/N, it's Sam,” the voice called from the other side of the door, making you sigh in relief. You got out of your bed, and walked up to the wooden door, opening it.

“Hey,” you said.

“I got you food,” Sam smiled.

“A literal angel.” You said.

“I figured you might be hungry after everything you have been through and I also got you a drink.” He gave you a knowing smile.

“Thank you. Do you want to….come in I guess,” you told him.

“If that's okay with you.”

“Sure.” Sam followed you into the room, a plate of food in one hand, and some clothes on another.

“I hope you still like junk food.” Sam chuckled.

“Oh yeah!” You grinned, smiling for the first since the fallout.

“Here,” he handed you the clothes, “You need some fresh pair of clothes. They might be a little too big.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm sorry.” He said.

“What're you sorry for? Your brother's a dumbass,” you scoffed.

“Cas said that what he did is irreversible.” He said. “He said something about grace and how magic done by grace can't be reversible so-”

“I won't remember anything.” You said.

“I called Rowena-”

“The witch?” You asked.

“Yes. She said she will pay us a visit tomorrow. Maybe she can come up with a solution,” he hoped.

“I don't think so, Sam.” you exhaled loudly.

“Listen I am not supporting his stupid decision but Dean, at that time he thought he was doing the right thing,” He sighed. “We'll figure somethin’ out, Y/N/N.”

“He could have talked to me. We could have come up with a different solution other than me having to live without remembering half of my life,” you bitterly laughed.

“I know.” Sam walked up to you and suddenly pulled you into a tight hug.

“Sam, c-can't….breathe,” you gasped.

“Sorry,” he sheepishly smiled and let go of you, “I missed having you around. I really hated the decision Dean made. He didn't think of anyone. You were like my little sister I never thought I needed. I really missed you Y/N/N.”

“Wish I could say the same.” You gave him a sad smile.

“Eat up. You must be starving. Maybe we can reverse the spell….or whatever it is,” Sam said.

“Yeah. Thank you….for everything, Sam,” you said, as he smiled and turned to leave the room, “Sam, wait.”

“Yeah?” He looked back at you.

“I-”

“What is it?” He insisted.

“How is he?” You blurted out.

“Dean? He's, you know, holed up in his room, drinking. I'll check on him on my way out to make sure his liver survives the night.” Sam said.

“Okay.” you said and wished him goodnight as he left the room. After taking a swig from the bottle of beer, you finished off with the burger Sam had brought for you before retreating back to the bed.

Sleep didn't come easy that night. Mind plagued by various thoughts, you kept tossing and turning in your bed. Not only the thoughts about how your previous life was but also the dream you had, when the Djinn had captured you, kept you up all night. Dean said those monsters show you what your heart desires, then why did you dream about a life with Dean? He was just a guy at the bar for you. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realised a big chunk of your memory was missing and you wouldn't probably ever get it back.

You wanted to scream and punch Dean for playing with your life, playing with your relationship, but right now, lying in your bed in which was supposed to be your home, you felt helpless. You got out of the bed finally giving up on sleep and started to rummage through the drawers of your nightstand - searching for anything that would possibly bring back your memory.

Nothing significant caught your eyes until you saw an old leather-bound diary and small black box. Climbing back into your bed, you looked curiously at the two things in your hand.

You opened the box and found a bunch of pictures inside it. Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked at the pages. There were four pictures in total, all of them of you and Dean. There was this one picture, which was probably clicked by Sam of you and Dean laughing in the backseat of his car but what made your heart break was the diamond ring which was clearly visible on your left hand. An inaudible sob left your lips as you saw the next picture which completely shattered your heart. You didn't have any memory of the happiest day of your life. You stared at the picture of you standing in a white dress in front of a mirror, lips curled up into a small smile and eyes sparkling with hope and happiness. You saw the reflection of Dean in a black tux in the mirror as he stood behind you with a camera pointed at the mirror, as he clicked a picture of his bride. You got married that day, you were happy, you both were. Then why did Dean have to go and throw out every good thing he ever had?

Picking up the diary, you started to look through. It was some sort of a journal you used to keep. You flipped through the pages until a certain entry grabbed your attention.

‘This is frustrating. I should be able to maintain my cool! We were on a damn Rugaru hunt. If Sam wasn't there to save my ass, I would have died. Stupid Dean with his stupid gorgeous face. There were so many times I wanted to tell him everything but what if he doesn't feel the same? Goddamnit! I think I will take off for a few days. Clear my head so that I stop daydreaming about that green eyed son of a bitch!’

You chuckled at your bluntness. You flicked through the pages and started reading another entry.

‘I feel numb. I don't know what to think anymore. He's gone. Just like that. I don't even know if he's dead or not. Sammy went out for a drive leaving me behind in the motel room. That was three days ago. I don't know what to do anymore. Bobby's dead. Cas is gone too and Dean is, I don't know anymore. I need him to come back. Please. I can't live without him. Please, come back.’

You had so many questions about what had happened that day. From the diary entries, you could feel how much love you had for Dean. He said that he still loved you. The same question haunted you again, then why did he push you away? You flipped to the last entry in the journal.

‘I am scared for him. He won't talk to me. He would barely look at me. The mark is eating him alive on the inside. I am scared and confused. I don't know how to help him. This is not the Dean Winchester I married. I need my husband back.”

That was the last entry in your diary. You read it a few times but couldn't understand anything. What was the mark? What happened in the last few days? You needed to talk to Sam, hoping he would tell you everything.

You had spent your entire night or what was left of it reading through the journal and rummaging around your room for any other clues or snippets from your forgotten life. Three short knocks on the door made you jump out of your skin.

You hesitated a little before opening the door. After everything you had learnt overnight, you were in no state to face Dean. You had questions that you needed answers but you didn't want to talk to him.

“You okay, Y/N?” A voice asked and you sighed in relief when you realised it was Sam. You went over and opened the door.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Why?” You casually asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Nothing….I was going out for my morning run and heard sounds from your room. Why are you up so early? You-uh, you never were a morning person,” Sam said.

“Can't sleep.” You replied.

“This all must be very overwhelming for you.”

“And confusing. I have so many questions,” you frowned, “I need answers, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes sparkled as he heard you call him ‘Sammy’, and he smiled at you.

“What?” You cocked your head sideways.

“You called me Sammy.” He said.

“Is that-did I do….did I say something wrong?” You asked.

“No no no, you always used to call me that. You picked up that name from Dean and then you hardly called me Sam anymore,” he chuckled, “you want to go with me for a run? It will clear your head and I know you still don't want to….meet him.”

“Uh-huh. Give a few minutes to get ready. Maybe you can give me the answers to the millions of questions I have,” you said.

“Sure.”

“So he became a demon?” You asked, panting as you tried to keep with Sam’s long legs. You were honestly shocked to learn about how your life had been. Demons, ghosts, werewolves, vampires - that's all that you knew in that life. The Winchesters were on a run from law and some assumed they were dead, and they did die a number of times.

“Yeah. And that's when things started to go downhill,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?” You asked as you both approached the bunker door. Sam kept quiet.

“Sammy?”

“I think you should ask Dean. It's not my place to say,” he whispered.

“But-” Sam shook his head and went down the stairs and you followed him.

Dean was still nowhere to be found which was a relief but you were also a little stressed out about his condition. He was cooped up in his room since the previous night with a bottle of Jack - as told to you by Sam - which was definitely not healthy.

“I know he is probably the last person you want to see right now but you should talk to him. He is the only person who can speak for his actions.” You nodded your head at the younger brother.

“I need a little more time before I can even look at him.” You sighed.

“I know.” The low grumble from the other side of the room, caught your attention. You turned sideways, your heart dropping to your stomach when you took in the sight of the man in front. He looked like he had aged ten years overnight. His red rimmed eyes were heavy with guilt and sadness. His scruffy cheeks were sunken and pale. “I couldn't find any of you in the bunker.”

“We went for a run.” Sam replied.

“Run? I thought you-” Dean looked at you.

“People change.” You averted your eyes, making him wince at your coldness. He knew he deserved it but he still loved you.

“Well, I took a shower so I don't reek of whiskey anymore. You never liked the smell of alcohol on me.” Dean said, trying to make small talk to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Good for you.” You needed to leave the room so you turned on your heels to leave.

“Y/N-” his voice made you stop in your tracks. “I'm sorry. You-you don't have to forgive me but….please, I-I need you to know that I'm sorry.”

“I know.” And that's all you said before you went to your room.

Let me know if you want to be tagged in this!

Feedback is highly appreciated!

[huggybearsunshine]

One of a Kind part 1

Chuck offers Dean a deal. He’ll get Cas out of the empty, if Dean brings him something in exchange. It seems easy, but nothing’s easy for a Winchester. Set after 15x18 but Sam and Jack go to the bunker to find Dean and decide to crash for the night. Just go with it.

“You know what, Dean, I will let you have Cas back- I’ll do that…” Chuck’s eyes narrowed, “But the empty would notice and your buddy, there- made an impression in the worst way. So, in exchange for him, you just have to get me one of my other Castiels to swap out for yours.”

“Other Castiels? Like from the other dimensions?” Dean questioned, brows furrowed and bristled.

“Yeah, any one will do,” Chuck waved it off like it was nothing.

“So, let me get this straight-” Dean gritted out, and leveled the deity with a murderous glare when he snorted out a laugh.

“Sorry,” Chuck relented, waving him on.

“If I want Cas back, I gotta bring you a replacement,” he finished the statement dryly.

“Exactly,” Chuck clapped, “Quid pro quo!”

“From the dimensions you just wiped out of existence…” Dean pointed out.

“I only wiped them from that moment forward,” Chuck shrugged, “Past is still in the past, you just gotta get there…”

“Deal…” Dean agreed without pause, “But how do I get to them- the… ghost of other dimensions past?”

“I’m sure you and Sam can figure it out.”

“Right,” Dean smirked darkly.

“Good luck, Dean,” and with that, Chuck had vanished.

“Sammy!” the hunter called out as he ran down the hall toward the library, spilling as soon as he rounded the corner and their eyes locked, “We have to open a portal! Summon Rowena, get whoever we need-”

“Dean, what are you talking about?” Sam jumped to his feet, “What’s going on?”

“We have a plan,” Dean added, irritated by having to clarify, “We’re getting Cas out.”

“Slow down, now what happened?” Sam crossed the room to where Dean stood nearer to the entranceway, “I saw you like- an hour ago…”

“I was angry, ok?” Dean started, wincing at the effort it took him to have moments like these, “I prayed to Chuck to bring Cas back…”

“Bring Cas back to what, Dean?” Sam asked incredulously, “What about everyone else? Did you forget about them?”

Dean’s eyes dropped, brows knit tightly together.

“You did, didn’t you?” Sam looked at him practically awestruck.

“I didn’t actually think he would answer!” Dean’s voice burst out, eyes drawing up again, “I was angry and venting, and then he was just there, making me a deal-”

“What’s the deal?” Sam asked with trepidation.

“Go to the past, open a portal to an alternate universe, and get that universe’s Cas to exchange for ours,” he explained, keeping his face as neutral as possible.

“No big deal, should be simple,” Sam quipped, “And let me guess, no instructions on the ‘how-to’ part of this plan, huh?”

“No, that’s on us,” Dean sighed.

“Well, it’s not like I don’t want Cas back, but Dean, this is really kind of a selfish priority considering the state of the world…”

“When is the world not ending?! I mean, I know this is different but goddamnit- we never get to just be selfish and need and I do, I am…” Dean’s frustration mounted and he turned to fling a stack of books from the closest table, “He died not knowing he was important- so yeah, I’m putting him ahead of everything, Sam! The entire world can wait a fucking second as far as I’m concerned!”

“Dean, Cas knew he was important to us…”

“Did he?” Dean’s voice came out hushed and broken.

“What happened when he died?” Sam asked the question that had been so far left unanswered.

“He said some personal things… feelings he had-”

“Feelings for you?” Sam offered softly.

Dean’s eyes just slipped closed and he took in a sharp breath, “You knew.”

“Not really knew, but… yeah,” Sam nodded, “I mean, I have eyes and spent a lot of time around you guys…”

“So I’m just thick, I guess, cause I sure as hell did not know,” Dean shook his head almost bitterly.

“You really didn’t?” Sam asked skeptically, then another question seemed to hit him like a ton of bricks, “What did you say after he told you?”

Dean looked down at his hands as a nauseous feeling he was becoming increasingly more familiar with crept up and threatened to spill a lunch he hadn’t even allowed himself to have.

“Nothing,” he finally admitted, “I said nothing… just stared at him while that thing took him.”

Understanding flooded the younger hunter’s face, and he looked around him to try to mentally sort through the surrounding resources for leads on where to start.

“Okay, Dean,” he paused to reach over and grip Dean’s shoulder, “You work on summoning Rowena… I’m hitting the books… We’ll figure this out.”

[wayward-wlw]

Pamela shouldn’t have died in season four. She should have been dying, and then Dean calls out to Cas, demanding that he show up and fix her, because he owes her, goddamnit, he owes Pamela that much, especially after she helped them save a seal.  Cas does, and this is what leads to his superiors thinking he’s “Become too close to the humans in his care” during On The Head of a Pin, because he dropped everything to do a miracle healing, just because Dean asked him too. 

And, because I know it’s hard to have powerful psychics on TV shows, because then there’s always the question of “why don’t they just call Pamela?” they can have her tell them to go screw themselves for nearly getting her killed, and she fucks off to Florida, telling them that if she ever sees them again, she’ll kill them. 

Maybe she turns up in the Lilydale episode, but it’s just to flip them off and leave town immediately. 

[luiginoidtank]

Audio log 3183 Aug 10th 2056:

Larry: .... Hey guys it’s... Dr. Larry Luiginoid here. Things.... haven’t gone very well over the past month, I haven’t gotten any progress on making an antidote for Chemical X-1t3, I just can’t figure out what in the HELL induced this GODDAMN psychotic lunatic split personality in my head. It shouldn’t of even happened but that idiotic head researcher in charge of the project then just decided "oh it seems like this one guy who shows potential to outshine me is in a vulnerable state because he recently got divorced! MAYBE I CAN GET RID OF HIM BY MIXING IN THE TESTED LEATHAL COMPONENTS OF THE ORIGNIAL FORMULA INTO THE UPDATED ONE AND HE'LL FINALLY-"

Unknown female voice: L-larry? W-what's going on here?

Larry: ...! Th-that voice! Caroline?!?! What are you doing here?!?

Caroline: I should be asking you that! Why are you back at Lunatic Labratories when some kind of monster almost killed everyone in here last year? Only a handful of people survived and they wouldn't tell me if you were safe or not so I had to go searching for info and-

Larry: C-caroline... y-you need to leave. Immediately.

Caroline: No you need to leave! That creature is definitely still around here! The surrounding cities and towns have had reports of people being murdered by that horrible creature! I know we've went our separate ways but goddamnit I still care about you!

Larry: C-caroline you don't u-understand.

Garry *staticy?*: Come on Larry, just let loose~ After all... SHE'S the one who broke your heart~ She put you in such a vulnerable state to be encouraged to test Chemical-X1t3. She's the reason you're. Stuck. With. Meeeeee~

Caroline: Larry? What's wrong? What has been happening with you in this lab?

Larry: Caroline. You. Need. To. Leave. NOW!

Garry *staticy?*: Oh Larry, it's cute that you think you can hold me back. But don't you remeber? When you're emotions become sooooo unbalanced and out of control.

Garry *normal*: I'M the one that calls the shots.

Caroline: Wh-what the!?!? What the hell just happened? What did you do with Larry?!?! What the hell are you?!?!

Garry: *tsk tsk tsk* Oh Caroline, I'm pretty sure we BOTH know that you know what I am~

Caroline: Y-you. You're that creature that's been killing all those innocent people! What kind of demonic monster are you?!?

Garry: How rude! Don't go around spoiling the surprise for everyone! You don't see me spilling your little secret to anyone who can hear~

Caroline: What?!? I-I don't know w-what you're talking about...

Garry: Oh Caroline! You should know exactly what I'm talking about! After all..... you're the reason I exist at all~

Caroline: J-just get out of Larry's body now you d-demon! I don't want to use force!

Garry: As if I could if I wanted to! Thanks to you I'm stuck with Larry here since we're only HALF-demon. And not just that but a whole different kind of artificial half-demon than normal! We're a scientifical wonderment of both humans and demons! And I wouldn't have it any other way~ Of course that means you try to hurt me or just RIP me out of Larry and you could possibly kill him! And we both know you won't do that~

Caroline: ....

Garry: Now then I have business to attend to~ But first I should turn off this recorder~

*end of audio log*

[amaniaclikenoiz]

Since Coda’s are the only thing keeping me sane, have a tiny one of my own

This was it, wasn’t it?

His drive was over, Sammy finally joined him and everything should be the way that would make Dean truly happy.

Should be. 

Something was still clearly missing though. Something that disturbed all this supposed peace from somewhere deep within Dean’s own heart. 

Unfinished business. He was able to re-connect with just about anyone, knew where to find them, had them by their side. Except for one, rather significant person.

He didn’t dare reach out though. Didn’t want to learn that maybe, even though everything was supposed to be perfect, he’d just been too hopeful at Bobby’s words. 

If there was a way, wouldn’t he still have lived, at least a little?What if he truly was to hold is tongue forever? If he understood things the wrong way? Or if...

If, if, if and maybe all over the place. Was this really what being at peace in eternal happiness was supposed to be like? 

All the while driving to what would be his new home, right in proximity to Sam’s, Dean threw these doubts around. 

His mind was racing in circles, and he barely noticed how lovely his new home was. It still all felt empty. 

He felt empty. 

“Hello, Dean”

His heart would have stopped, if that was still an option. 

All this thinking and he still wasn’t prepared.

“Took you long enough,” he greeted the angel, not daring to turn around and face him yet, “ what’s the hold up? Traffic jams in heaven? Thought you worked out the kinks.”

“Dean”

“No, no it’s alright, I get it, you’re busy.” 

He heard the angel step closer. He was treading lightly, hesitant. “I wasn’t-” Cas let out a heavy sigh. “I just wasn’t sure you even wanted to see me.”

What? Dean spun around, finally looking the other man in the eyes, looking for signs that he was at least joking. 

“That’s the most ridiculous- Cas, of course I wanted, no, needed to talk to you.”, he refused to break his gaze directed straight to those blue eyes. There was no room for doubt here. “I need to.”

“Well you didn’t say anything last we, uh, talked so I thought-” the pain in his voice was near unbearable

“Well you thought wrong, Cas. There was a lot going on. Everything was crashing down around me right then and there. I didn’t know which emotion to feel first, what thought to chase- I, it was overwhelming, ok?” He tried softening his voice, knowing full well that the volume he was using was just not to choke up.

But if he didn’t allow himself, allow Cas to see his true condition, his true feelings now, then when the hell would be the right time?

“Cas,” much better, “I swear, all I needed was more time.”

The mixture of bittersweet emotions on the angel’s face made Dean’s stomach knot. “You have all the time you need, now.”

Dean could feel that Cas misunderstood him, that he was turning to leave. Again. Not this time. 

“Goddamnit Cas, stay. I’m done thinking. Just listen.”

So Cas stayed, his shoulders tense,  with a face full of tiny hints of fear.

“All those things you said, about me, about, how you think of me, feel about me” he didn’t have a pulse anymore, why could he hear it in his damn ears? “ I almost couldn’t believe it. I never thought it was possible.”

He’d fought God, saved the world more than a couple times over and yet this was the hardest thing he’d ever done. “You said you wanted what you thought you couldn’t have. Well. So did I.” He took a deep breath. “So do I. I love you.”

The smile that graced Cas’ face was everything. This made all the last remaining dams and worries float away. 

Both mean just stood in silence for a minute, until, ever so slightly, Cas shifted his weight, starting to make his way over to Dean. 

They met in the middle, embracing each other, finally. Neither of them could hold back tears, and that was ok too. 

“What do we do now?”, Cas asked, only moving back enough to look into Dean’s eyes, his own beaming with joy.

“Anything we want. We have eternity to figure this out.”, he answered, a smile carrying in his own voice too. Carefully, not wanting to push too far too soon, Dean leaned his face closer to Cas’.

And eternity started with a slow, soft kiss.

This was not an end. It was a beginning. 

[katedrakeohd]

My Own Favorite Dialogue and Why

Drake and Liam may be best friends in TRR canon, but for me the dysfunctional bromance that I've created between Maxwell and Drake is my favorite friendship. For this one from The Lake I loved the angsty/comedy so much I couldn't just select a small part, so I had to post all of it.

From The Lake

Out in the middle of the lake the air is still, the water smooth like glass. It's been an hour since the men cast their fishing lines, and for Maxwell an uneasiness was setting in.

"Are you sure there are fish in this lake?"

Drake looks up from the magazine he's reading, his last bite of sandwich in his hand. "Of course I'm sure. I oversaw the stocking of trout myself."

Maxwell looks down at the half empty can of low alcohol beer in his hand, resenting the lack of buzz he was feeling because of it. "I thought we would have gotten a nibble by now."

Drake shrugs, popping the last piece of his bread crust into his mouth. "You just have to be patient, Max. Sometimes they bite, sometimes they don't."

Maxwell shades his eyes with his hand and gazes off toward the Manor in the distance, it was so tiny and the shoreline seemed so far away. He tried not to imagine how deep and cold the water was beneath them, but it still gnawed at him anyway. He squeezed the backpack between his feet, its contents giving him a slight sense of reassurance.

Drake glanced down at Maxwell's backpack sitting in the belly of the boat. Since leaving the shore he's seen him take out a tube of sunscreen, a granola bar, his mobile phone to take pictures, and repack his sweater when he got too warm. Each time he set it back down there was a strange heavy thump against the wood, and so far it didn't seem to belong to any of the things he'd seen.

Drake shifted his ass on the boat seat, trying to combat the numbness he was feeling. The boat rocked slightly, causing ripples in the water, and for Maxwell to snap at him.

"Hey, man. Don't rock the boat."

Drake rolls his eyes, "Jeez, Max. Paranoid much?"

Max rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen up but he can't, "Seriously, you don't find it creepy? The whole time we've been out on the lake I haven't heard or seen a bird, you'd think there would be some ducks or geese or something."

Drake takes a deep breath and looks around, squints up at the sky, and then looks over to the mountains and trees in the distance. He listens for anything other than the sound of the water lapping at the side of the boat.

 "I suppose it is a little odd. Just yesterday there were lots of geese and ducks paddling along or flying and honking over the lake."

Maxwell lifts and bobs his fishing rod and line in the water. Looking down into the depths he's struck by how it goes from clear to pitch black so quickly. He scoffs and makes a joke, feeling uneasy as the words leave his mouth, "Maybe Gaga ate all the fish, and scared the birds away."

Drake chuckles, "Say, what now? Who or what is Gaga?"

Maxwell's eyes go wide and he looks at Drake with disbelief, "You mean you haven't heard the legend of Gargantua? The monster of Lake Valtoria?"

Drake shakes his head and opens the cooler to get another beer, "You can't be serious, Max. Not every big lake has a monster living in it."

"Trust me, Drake. My house sigil is a giant squid remember? I know my monster legends. How many years have you been stocking the lake, and have you ever caught any of the fish afterwards?"

"As a matter of fact, I caught a fish standing on the dock yesterday. So I know there are fish in the lake." Drake insists as he opens his beer and takes a long swallow, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Ok, well what about the lack of birds?"

Drake sets his beer down with a sigh, scrubbing his forehead with his hands and then raking them back through his hair, "So, now you think some monster is yanking ducks down into the water from underneath?"

Maxwell shrugs, "You never know. Maybe Gaga has a taste for water fowl and fish?"

"Now you're just sounding crazy, Max."

Maxwell shifts forward in his seat, causing his pack to fall forward and make another thump, Drake looks at it again and frowns. Maxwell points an indignant, angry finger at Drake. "Don't you dare call me crazy!"

"You're the one talking about lake monsters, when there's probably some logical reason to explain everything." 

Maxwell picks up his backpack again and hugs it in his lap, his hand finds the weighty item from the outside and shifts it carefully. Drake looks at him suspiciously, "Max?"

"What?" he asks, nervously.

"What's in your backpack?"

Maxwell shrugs, "You know, just the usual 'day out on the lake' sorta stuff."

Drake's eyes narrow, "Why don't I believe you?"

Maxwell hugs the backpack a little tighter to himself, he tries to avoid looking at Drake. Off in the near distance, behind Drake, there's an odd rippling splash on the surface of the lake. Maxwell gasps, trying to swallow the sudden fear constricting his throat.

"Why won't you believe me when I say there's something creepy about this lake?" Maxwell croaks out, pointing over Drake's shoulder.

Drake sighs, turning in his seat to see what Maxwell's pointing at. "I don't see anything."

"There..there was a ripple and a splash on the water. Like..like something big moved it."

When Drake turns back around Maxwell has his hand buried in the backpack, fishing for something. "Max, what are you doing?"

Maxwell's eyes are wide and he's scanning the surface of the lake for more movement. "Ssshh, Gaga will hear you."

Drake frowns with concern and then sits up straighter in the boat to look around again.

"It was probably just a big fish, Max," he says quietly. "Maybe we're finally going to catch something."

A breeze ripples the surface of the lake, and the boat tugs at its anchor line. Maxwell jumps when their fishing rods shift as well. He jerks his hand out of his bag and pulls out an antique pistol.

Drake braces his foot against the end of his fishing rod and puts his hands up and waves them back and forth frantically. He looks at Maxwell and can't believe what he's seeing, "What the Fuck?! You brought a gun on a fishing trip?! Put..that...away."

Maxwell breathes rapidly as he searches the water, swinging the antique firearm from his home's armory back and forth. "It..it was Bertrand's idea. Remember his bachelor party all those years ago, when we met up with that bear, he insisted I take it with me." 

He imitates his brother's voice as he quotes him, "No Beaumont will ever go out adventuring in the wilderness again without protection."

Drake ducks as Maxwell swings the gun back in his direction, "Seriously, Max! You know how I feel about guns. I've already been shot twice, and I'll be damned if I'll let you shoot me by accident while we're fishing."

Maxwell's hand shakes as he continues to look around nervously. Drake reaches forward with fear grinding at his stomach, he pleads with him quietly.."Max....just hand over the gun, okay? We'll pull up the anchor and just go back to shore. We don't have to fish anymore."

Nodding, Maxwell loosens his grip on the weapon as Drake wraps his hand around the barrel. Something splashes the water nearby, making Maxwell jump, causing them both to let go and drop the gun. It hits the bottom of the boat and fires. Drake screams out in pain as the bullet tears through the side of his rubber boot and lodges in the wood of the boat beside him. Water starts to trickle in, and warm blood starts to run down into his boot.

Drake yanks his boot off and pulls his foot up onto the seat and clamps his hands around his bleeding calf. "What the fuck?!" he screams, glaring at Maxwell angrily. 

Maxwell picks up the gun from the bottom of the boat and throws it overboard. "I..I'm so sorry Drake!"

Drake leans to the side, his hand shaking as he gets his pocket knife out of his back pocket. Maxwell panics and chops at Drake's wrist with his hand, causing him to drop it when Drake pries the blade free. 

"What are you doing?!" Drake barks at him with surprise and reaches for his knife again, it's now wet from the lake water pooling in the bottom of the boat.

Maxwell folds his hands over his chest, feeling embarrassment flooding his face with heat, "Oh..oh my God, I thought you were going to stab me with it, or something."

Drake grumbles as he cuts open the bottom of his bloody pant leg below the knee with the blade, "There's still time. Now either get with hauling up that fucking anchor, or calling for help before we sink goddamnit!"

Maxwell trips over the drink cooler, and soggy picnic basket as he stands up, trying to pull the anchor rope up out of the water. It won't budge, and his efforts are now causing him to rock the boat side to side dangerously. 

Drake curses to himself as he cuts a strip of denim and wraps it around his bleeding leg tightly. "Careful now, Max."

Both fishing rods teeter into the water and disappear. Drake keeps a close eye on the oars, praying they don't go next. Maxwell tries again to pull the anchor up by the rope but the nylon burns at his hands and he hisses in pain and then lets go. He stumbles back to where he was sitting and flops down heavily, wiping his sore palms on his thighs.

"I...I ca..can't. What the ..heck..did you..anchor...us to?"

Drake rinses his bloody hands in the lake, and then dries them on the sleeves of his denim shirt. "Ok then, I'll try the anchor and you try calling or texting for help."

 He cuts strips from his denim sleeves and then wraps his hands for padding. Wincing in pain he swings his leg over to straddle his seat and then reaches for the anchor rope.

Maxwell holds up his phone trying to find bars of service, "You've gotta be kidding me! Oh, wait there's a blip. I'll try sending a text to see if I can get through. Who should I try?"

Drake grunts as the rope finally starts to come up out of the water, but it was a lot heavier than it should be. Sweat bloomed on his brow and stung at his eyes, he swiped his face against his shoulder, "Preston... is standing by..in case of emergencies."

"What's his number?"

Drake rhymes off his number and grits his teeth, pulling the wet rope inch by inch into the boat. The burn in his calf muscle is intense and he wonders what ancient dirty projectile that antique pistol was loaded with. He could see Maxwell frowning down at his phone. 

"Well, did you get through?"

He shrugs, "I sent it, but don't know if it went anywhere."

Drake looks down into the water, wondering what his anchor could be tangled around to make it so heavy. He pauses to catch his breath, and feels the rope vibrate in his hands and then go still. It's almost as if something rubbed up against it and then moved on. His heart starts hammering in his chest and cold fear creeps into his gut. His throat goes dry as he takes a deep breath and drops the rope back into the water. He didn't want to see what was down there anymore. Maxwell was still trying to send panicked texts to anyone who could receive them.

"Fuck it," Drake mutters and uses his knife to cut the anchor free. 

The nylon rope floats on the surface of the water for a few seconds and then disappears into the darkness as if it were yanked. Drake jumps back with surprise and then watches, holding his breath, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Several feet down at the deepest point that was reached by sunlight, where the clearest water went dark, an even darker shape slowly sank beneath the boat and then disappeared.

............

I've written many first time moments for Drake and (MC) Kate in various timelines and stories. But it wasn't until I started writing "What Happens in Paris.." from Kate's point of view that I found my favorite passionately charged moment between them. Feeding off the emotional evening with Drake that included Liam's second bachelor party and the never have I ever scenes, I found a way to push Drake over the edge and succumb to the mutual attraction between them.

From What Happens in Paris..

"Uh, Darling?  What do you think you're doing? You know we can't..." he says, although the look in his eyes betrays the way he really feels.

"We can't what, Drake?" I say, stepping away from the door and pressing my body up against his. He's still holding onto my hands, and now our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. 

"Darling…" he warns, as I flex my hands out of his grasp and undo the next button of his shirt. It's such a tease how he's already left the top button undone for me. My thumbs push the material aside and I slide my hands in. He takes a sharp breath in when I touch him, and I feel his chest rise and fall along with the rapid beating of his heart.

I pop another button out of its hole, and lean in to kiss his throat as my hands continue to explore his chest, tugging his shirt out of the waist of his pants. He hasn't stopped me yet, and I look up at the darkness in his eyes and the pained expression on his face. 

"Kiss me, Drake." I plead. "I know you want to."

Cupping my head in his hands, he tilts my chin up and leans in. I close my eyes. But instead of feeling his lips on mine he plants kisses along my jawline and I hear his voice rasp in my ear, hitching with desire, "And if I want to.. do more than kiss you?"

I gasp, bunching the fabric of his shirt in my fists as his nose traces the shell of my ear, and his stubble bristles against my cheek. "Ye -..."

But my reply is swallowed up by his mouth as it captures mine, and he presses me up against the door.

His kisses are hungry and I struggle for breath as he grabs my wrists again and pins them up above my head. His knee parts my thighs and I can feel how hard he is underneath his jeans.

When he finally releases my mouth, and presses his forehead against mine we're both panting. "Tell me.. to stop," he groans between breaths.

....

Drake is my favorite Choices character and thus he's the one I abuse and make suffer the most. 🤣 This next dialogue is from Cordonia 1885 between Drake and a hotel employee when they share a "holy/what the f*ck" moment that confounds them both.

Because of the grisly, graphic nature of this vampire fic I will just post a link and you can read it if you want. Cordonia 1885 - Chapter One

...

There are so many other favorite scenes/dialogue that this post could go on forever..LOL

Thanks @dcbbw for the tag, it's been so much fun to revisit some of my older stuff and experience it again. I look forward to next week's Monday Funday prompt.