#alpha!john winchester

[holylulusworld]

SPN Omegaverse Week Masterlist

Masterlist for the SPN Omegaverse Week April 14th - April 20th 2024

All stories are written for the @spnkinkevents SPN Omegaverse Week

Day 1, 14.04.2024 (Heat/RUT) - Tear you down (Dean Winchester)

Day 2, 15.04.2024 (Scenting) - Fragrances (Sam Winchester)

Day 3, 16.04.2024 (National Anal Sex Day) - Tight fit (Soulless!Sam Winchester)

Day 4, 17.04.2024 (Submissive Alpha and/or Dominant Omega) - A gentle scent (2) sequel to A gentle scent (Dean Winchester)

Day 5, 18.04.2024 (Mating/Claiming) - Tear you down (2) sequel to Tear you down (Dean Winchester)

Day 6, 19.04.2024 (Slick) - Ready for harvest sequel to Hungry like the wolf (Sam, Dean & John Winchester - no Wincest)

Day 7, 20.04.2024 (Alpha/Omega for Hire) - Faking it all (2) sequel to Faking it all (AU!Dean Winchester)

[kickingitwithkirk]

Winchester’s Folly

Masterlist

*Updated 3/24

AO3

*Prologue Part XI

*Part I Part XII

*Part II Part XIII

*Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX

Part X

[lambmotifz]

sam isn’t an alpha, he’s a feral, rebellious omega. you know this stereotype that all omegas are sexually passive and naturally submissive? sam never fitted into the ideal omega image and he only willingly submits to his mate (dean), no one else

[profoundbondfanfic]

The Manny

The Manny by tale_to_tell Rating: Mature Word count: 81k

Castiel has had twelve nannies quit on him in the past three months, and by now he's at the end of his wit. He's overworked trying to deal with Amelia leaving, Claire chasing away ever nanny that Castiel hires, and his mother pestering him about the family image. With his patience drawn thin, Castiel decides to go against tradition and hire a male omega by the name of Dean Winchester. Castiel expected the omega to be gone by the end of the week. He certainly did not expect to fall in love.

Torn between work, dealing with the fact his wife left him and his four-year-old and his stuck up mother, Castiel certainly doesn't have it easy. Especially when little Claire can't seem to really connect with any or the nannies that comes along.

It turns out to be quite a surprise when the new hire not only turned out to be a man he has seen before and felt attracted to, but also apparently very good with Claire.

Still, Castiel has no time to relax as his mother insists on playing matchmaker. It takes him a long time to figure out what is really important and to learn how to say no.

At first, Dean is a riddle wrapped in an enigma, but soon enough, we learn more about his life. It is a true characterization of him as we see him take care not only of Sam but of Adam as well.

Things are definitely rough, but in a true Dean manor, he keeps a happy mask on, and only the ones who know him well notice when something is amiss.

Neither of them have it easy, but after their lives become a bit more tangled, some things slowly start to work out, despite the miscommunication and them being idiots.

This is definitely one of those stories that will make you stay up until 2am, saying "just one more chapter", it is simply that interesting and exciting. Each chapter leaves you hungry for more, eager to learn how things will get resolved. And when they finally do? You are going to wear that grin on your face for days.

[avada-kedavra-bitch-187]

Tryna find a fic where John Winchester used to be with reader but now she is either with Sam or dean and she had his baby and he didn’t know till she showed up married to Sam/dean at his wedding

Like he wouldn’t acknowledge that they were together and engaged and he gets with someone else

Its disposable by @holylulusworld

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

Tagging:

@hungrh4yyy, @mstarajoy, @dilfmommy

If you want to be tagged when I update this fic, send me an ask or leave a comment on this post.

[samanddean76]

Title: One Night Only

Pairing: John Winchester/Dean Smith

Word Count: 1,497 | Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings: None Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - It's A Terrible Life, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha John Winchester, Omega Dean Smith, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Knotting, One Night Stands, Hotel Sex, Mating Bites, Top John Winchester, Bottom Dean Smith, Kinktober 2024, SPN Kink Events Kinktober prompt: Free Day

Summary: John travels for business frequently, but he never gets lucky. Until tonight, when he meets Dean Smith. The gorgeous Omega comes back to the penthouse suite with John, and then the fireworks begin.

Written for @spnkinkevents October 31st Kinktober prompt of Free Day - and I used One Night Stand.

Story on AO3.

[eileenguy]

no lucifer because. well. i don't consider him a dilf or particularly attractive most of the time. no chuck because again not one of the best dilfs on spn, no dean because he's in the milfs poll, benny is included for my mutual @butchbennylafitte and mary is included because like, i have my third eye open and perceive the truth 🙏

also no inc/st shippers please!

[the-queen-of-hell-666]

2024 Kinktober Masterlist

I'm so sorry for not posting like at all this year but it's been a very long year. College classes started up again this fall and I'm swamped with work. This is my list for Kinktober this year. I will do my best to keep up but anywho, I hope you enjoy!

Banners by @vase-of-lilies

Key: Fluff; 🌙 // Angst; 👿 // Smut; 🔥 // Dark; 🕸️

Day 1: Deepthroating/Facesitting (Daryl Dixon (Prison Era) x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 2: Semi-Public Sex (Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader)🔥

Day 3: Knotting (Alpha!Jim Hopper x Assistant!Omega!Fem!Reader)🌙🔥

Day 4: Phone Sex (John Winchester x Hunter!Fem!Reader)🌙🔥

Day 5: Squirting (Obsessive!Perv!Billy Hargrove x Bimbo!Fem!Reader) 🔥

Day 6: Cuckolding (Shy!Jake Jensen x FemmeFatal!Fem!Reader x Franklin Clay) 🌙🔥

Day 7: Biting/Marking (Possessive!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 8: Morning Sex (CACW!Steve Rogers x Avenger!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 9: Praise Kink (Insecure!Geralt of Rivia x Healer!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 10: Mommy Kink (Needy!Johnny Storm (CE) x Mommy!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥👿

Day 11: Caught (Daryl Dixon (Prison Era) x Fem!Reader) 🔥

Day 12: Sex Toys (Lawyer!Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 13: Virginity Kink (Professor!Logan Howlett x Virgin!Mutant!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 14: Shotgunning (Needy!Ransom Drysdale x Nurse!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 15: Tentacles (Part-Kraken!Steve Rogers x Princess!Fem!Reader) 🕸️🔥

Day 16: Spanking (Johnny Storm (CE) x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 17: Breeding (Wolf-Hybrid!Geralt of Rivia x Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 18: Tittyfucking (Wade Wilson x Plus-Sized!X-Men!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 19: Hate Sex (Erik Lehnsherr x X-Men!Fem!Reader) 👿🌙🔥

Day 20: Edging (Young!Logan Howlett (X-Men1) x Professor!Mutant!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 21: Dub-con/Non-con (Dark!Lloyd Hansen x Innocent!Fem!Reader) 🕸️👿🔥

Day 22: Stripping (CEO!Nick Fowler x Stripper!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 23: Anal Sex (Dark!Steve Kemp x Innocent!Fem!Reader) 🕸️👿🔥

Day 24: Pegging (Brat!Wade Wilson x Mean!Dom!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 25: Lactation (Dad!Steve Rogers x Mom!Pregnant!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 26: Age Difference (Older!Daryl Dixon (Alexandria Era) x 20s!Sunshine!Fem!Reader) 🌙🔥

Day 27: Gagging (Mob!Bucky Barnes x Bimbo!Fem!Reader)

Day 28: DP in One Hole (CEO!Married!Stucky x Assistant!Fem!Reader)

Day 29: Gloryhole (Jim Hopper x Fem!Reader)

Day 30: Panty Raid/Panty Kink (Shy!Perv!Jake Jensen x Slight!Perv!Fem!Reader)

Day 31: Videoing (Camboy!Eddie Munson x Girlfriend!Fem!Reader)

[holylulusworld]

After the rain

Summary: You run into an alpha.

Pairing: Alpha! (AU) John Winchester x Omega!Reader

Warnings: fluff, meet cute, May–December romance, flirting, a/b/o

Written for: Winter Break Advent: Day 5 - Meet Cute (couple)

Written for: @j3bingo (former JDM omega verse bingo): Square 6: Free Space – Meet Cute

Written for: @anyfandomfluffbingo: Square 8: The Olive Theory

Words: 1130+  

It wasn’t in your plans to lose your composure in public and cry. Especially not at a wedding that isn’t yours.

Maybe it’s because you watched your ex gets all cozy with your best friend, or the fact that now that your cousin is married you are the last unmated omega in your family.

You never gave much about tradition and getting married or mated before turning thirty. Some omegas even freak out if they don’t find a mate before they turn twenty. You never were this kind of omega.

But now that you sit at the table, cheering for a cousin you haven’t seen in years, tears roll down your cheeks.

“Aw, you are moved to tears from the speech,” your aunt coos. She smiles and pats your hands. Your aunt is proud of her daughter, and you don’t have the heart to tell her that your tears have nothing to do with your cousin’s wedding.

“It’s a,” you choke on your tears, “very moving speech. I’m sorry.” You lie and give her a cracked smile. “She must be very happy.”

“My dear, I’m sure you’ll find your mate,” she says. You know that your aunt means well, but she just added another stab to your vulnerable heart. “The right young man is waiting just around the corner.”

You’d like to roll your eyes at her words. Your mate doesn’t wait around the corner. And you won’t meet him at any moment. “Sure,” you say, and force a smile on your face.

“Where are you going?” She asks when you get up from your chair. The speeches are over, and people are busy stuffing food into their mouths.

“I need to use the toilet,” you whisper. “I’ll be right back.” Another lie easily rolls off your tongue.

The truth is that your stomach churns, and you’d like to throw up watching your ex-boyfriend nip at your friend’s neck. If you don’t leave the room now, you’ll do something you regret.

It’s worse enough that you cried. You won’t give them the satisfaction and watch you lose control. Even though you’d like to scratch her eyes out.

You try not to run out of the room but walk fast enough to struggle not to slip on the floor. Goddamn high heels. Why did you have to choose the most uncomfortable shoes you own to wear today out of all days?

“Fuck,” you almost made it out of the room when you slip and end up face first in someone’s chest. “Great. My fucking luck!”

“Watch out, doll,” he easily helps you steady your wobbling legs. He gives you a warm smile and chuckles as you stare at him with wide eyes. “You good? Did you hurt your ankle?” His eyes drop to your feet, and he shakes his head at your choice of shoes. “These shoes are no good. You could easily break your neck.”

“You are telling me,” you huff. “I had to wear them because of the wedding but-“ you lean closer to whisper in his ear, “I’m hiding a pair of sneakers in my bag.”

He smirks at your admission. “So, do you often run away from weddings to crash into people?”

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you splutter as you take your time to drink his appearance in.

The man catching your fall is very handsome. Sadly, he’s older than you, at least twenty years. His salt’n’pepper beard, the grey in his hair, and the lines around his eyes tell you so. Which means that he’s likely married or at least mated.

You sigh. This is not the right place nor the time to mourn the loss of a man you didn’t have in the first place. “It’s fine. I love getting run over by a pretty dame. How about I help you get a drink? You look thirsty. I guess I’m too hot to handle and you need water.”

Giggling at his corny pick-up line you consider him. “If you invite a lady for a drink, it should be at least a Martini.”

“Dry or extra dry?” He cocks a brow.

“I guess in your presence no woman stays dry,” you bluntly reply, making him chuckle. His cheeks turn pink, but he plays it cool. Damn him. He makes you drop your gaze to look at his hands to search for a ring.

“Cute,” he remarks. “I bet you taste even sweeter.” Oh, he’s a player. “Name’s John, doll. What’s yours?”

“Y/N,” you hold out your hand and give him your sweetest smile. If he wants to play, who are you to tell him to stop? “Nice to meet you, John.”

“Dito, sweetness,” he shakes your hand and holds it a little longer than needed. His thumb brushes over your skin, making you shudder. “Now, let’s get you a drink. We want you to stay hydrated.”

“What are you doing?” He watches you take the olive picks out of your drink to place them on a napkin. “Don’t waste them.”

Your eyes widen when he takes the olive pick to drop the olives in his mouth. “You like olives?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles and flashes you an irresistible smile. “You hate them, I assume.”

“Yes and…I mean…” You lick your lips as John takes a sip of his drink. “Did you ever hear of the olive theory John?”

“No.” He cocks a brow at your question. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

“It’s…forget it.” You shake your head. “It’s nonsense.”

“It was important enough for you to mention it, Y/N. Come on, tell me about it. I don’t want to get my glasses out to search for it on my phone.”

“Okay,” you lick your lips. “If you laugh about me, I’ll go.”

“I promise not to laugh, doll.”

“There was this show. It’s called…” You clear your throat. “That doesn’t matter. There was this cute couple. One of them hated olives, but the other one loved them. One of their friends developed the theory that this fact makes them a great couple. A perfect balance, you know.”

John nods thoughtfully. He looks at the abandoned olive pick, considering your words. “I’m much older than you, doll. Do you know what you get yourself into when you tell me things like that?”

“No, but enlighten me,” you take the glass out of his hand to take a sip. “It’s only a theory from a TV show.”

“Hmmm…maybe we should test the theory,” he takes the drink out of your hand to down it. “How about we get out of here? We could go for a walk.”

“Maybe after you got me another drink,” you lean closer to run your hand over his hand. “I’m not a girl for one night.”

“Of fucking course not,” he grins. “You’re a keeper…”

Tags in reblog.

[spnexploration]

Ooooh we've met the Omega!

Winchester's Folly

Summary: When Dean gets into trouble John decides to hide the truth for his family

Word Count: 1026

Warnings: A/B/O, subjugation, pandemic, mentions of nudity, leering, mention of collaring/leashed, sexual/slavery, rut/heat, physical altercation, murder conviction, parental dominance,

*Additional warnings will be added

*Dark! Fic-don't continue if you are disturbed by the subject matter.

Square filled: @spnkinkbb -DeanJohnSam @anyfandomdarkbingo -Free Space

A/N: Each part follows in sequence

*Divider by @firefly-graphics

*No Beta-all mistakes are mine

Part III

Sam found himself standing in a T junction.

The back of the building had been altered, now a mixture of original storage spaces on the left and prefabricated rooms to the right with the loading dock straight ahead. 

His wolf led him down one of the hallways towards the scent of home intermingling with blood, seeing light pooling out a doorway, hearing the sounds of cursing and bodies impacting each other.

A quick look-see around the door jam revealed harsh fluorescents bathing everything in stark, washed-out colors: a dying Beta lays in a pool of their blood not far from a very pretty, blonde Omega who’s weeping, kneeling next to a richly attired Alpha holding her leash. They’re passively watching two other Alphas engaged in a fight.

One Alpha abruptly spun, sending arterial spray across the back walls, dead before they hit the floor while the remaining Alpha redouble their efforts to restrain a naked, bloodied female who’s holy fuck..an Omega killing Alphas! 

Sam watches astonished that the O, while tiring, wasn't giving up when another Alpha barreling past roughly shoves him bludgeoning the O with a blackjack, knocking her over, and repeatedly strikes to make sure she stays down. 

The Alpha then drags her across the concrete floor stuffing her in a heavy-duty, wire dog crate picking up a hose cranked the faucet full blast rinsing the blood before turning it on the caged Omega.

“Sammy!”

The voice skids into the room.

“What the fuck is the matter with you..you can’t just disappear like that, you had us freaking out!”  

Dean flashed to when after he turned sixteen Sam disappeared on his watch, shuddered, remembering their sires' reaction when he got back. Two weeks later he found Sam unharmed in Flagstaff.

He exhaled like then in relief, adrenaline ebbing, the scent hitting his system, grabbing his brother and dragging them both down the hallway spots John standing at the junction relieved before reverting to norms.

“If you ever do that again,” John admonishes in a tight voice not expecting the, “but sir, I found the right one,” response.

“What are you talking about son?” Sam points towards the room, “I saw an Omega fighting three Alphas and offed two of them!” 

“Are you sure it was an Omega?” John sounded doubtful when the scent hits him, making his wolf jolt seconds before his hunter's instinct flipped. 

The palatable taste of the O was so thick, along with the fresh blood overloading his senses felt his canines begin to elongate, and quickly wrestles control back, hears his eldest growl, and his eyes flash red...

“Dammit Dean, get back here!” 

John found him arguing with an expensive suited Alpha and in his peripheral, a leashed Omega was reaching into a wire cage shaking another one’s arm.

“Winchester, you have no right to be back here!” Helms yells as he marched into the room and the suit stopped arguing with Dean and turned on the dealer.

 “You think you can try and sell me damaged goods Helms,” pointing to the cage, ”I have no use for that thing!!”

John looked back at the cage and saw Sam trying to communicate with the leashed Omega but she was too frantic and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

Shit!!

John rushed over to move him out of harm's way before the suit realized the young Alpha was touching their newly acquired property orders, “step away from them.” Reluctantly Sam shifted, angrily growling when the injured O moaned and the other started crying harder as his sire squats down to inspect the O’s.

The caged one appears larger than her blonder sibling, John’s unable to tell by how much since she’s curled in the fetal position but can see her full, pink lips, cinnamon-freckled skin, and smelled nothing like the other.

Helms thought he could pass off these O’s as twins? No wonder the suits pissed.

She turns her head towards them, partially opening one fox-tilted eye revealing the same mosaic as Sam’s, and said pups' scent deepened, smelling like rutting Alpha. 

“Dean, take your brother to t..” John didn’t finish as his eldest green eyes widened and doubled over wrapping his arms around his middle moaning in pain.

Fuck, she’s triggering them both!

“Dean! I gave you an order!” he commands in his Alpha voice. 

“Sonuvabitch..come on Sammy!” Dean groaned tugging his dazed brothers' jacket, each using the other as a counterbalance, and stagger for the door felt the blonde O touch his leg and heard her whisper, “please help, he’ll kill her!”

He eyed the suit still arguing with Helms, who was going on about some contractual blah blah blah when a painful noise made John look back at the injured O reach out, stroking the other’s arm in a comforting manner reminiscent of what Dean did when a young Sam had one of his nightmares. 

She’s got strong protective instincts, he thought, that’s why she took on Alphas manhandling her twin.

The suit loudly exploded, “I paid a lot for twins..you promised you could deliver!”  Helms continued babbling something about a deal being a deal and it was never stipulated the O’s had to be identical blah blah blah.

“Hey! What are you doing over there?” 

The suit marched over and John felt his hackles go up expecting an altercation instead tugged on the O’s leash leading her across the room, and tethers her by the door before addressing John.

 “I understand you need an O to keep your son out of jail so I’ll make you a deal. You can have that thing for a dollar, save me the effort of getting rid of it.”

“You can’t go making side deals in my establishment!” Helms screeched. 

The suit uses his status dominance over the Beta, “you lied about the product, and since I’ve signed all the contracts, as you keep pointing out, I can do whatever I want with my property,” address John again, “are you interested or not?” 

John can see the beaten O heading into shock and her twin's eyes pleading for help.

“You have a deal,” John says solemnly.

Part IV

SPN TAGS: @donnaintx  @lyarr24  @flamencodiva  @b3autyfuldisast3r  @lassie-bird @nancymcl  @spnbaby-67  @leigh70

Sam/Jared: @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen: @thoughts-and-funnies @stoneyggirl2 @akshi8278 @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirl @siospins2

Sam/Jared:  @idreamofplaid

Dean/Jensen:  @thoughts-and-funnies  @stoneyggirl2  @akshi8278  @beabutterfly987 @smoothdogsgirll  @siospins2

[lambmotifz]

dean saying john stalked sam when he was in college and jensen saying dean did too + dean stalking and hunting sam down in when the levee breaks ♡

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

If you want to be tagged when I update this fic, leave a comment on this post or send me an ask!

[ebenelephant]

Absolutely will be reading that fic ty for the rec x

My thoughts with regards to Mary are that, yes, she is the maiden in the nightgown, but we know that this is something of an act. She's looking to escape the hunter life and all it's trapping, she wants to be 'normal'. 'Normal' is settling down with an alpha man, having kids, loving them, being a sweet woman and a mother. She can fulfil this role, and is happy to, but ultimately she is unable change her presentation. I think in the 70s, John and Mary fall together very easily: she's not a perfect woman, and he's not a perfect alpha (too teary, too doting, too soft in his belief in 'happy endings' to fit fully into the regressive social roles). In this potential world, the Winchesters only become the perfect nuclear family with Mary's death – hardened alpha father, two boys, mother who exists as the idolised figure in the virgin white nightgown. It's easy to be the perfect mother when you're dead.

I imagine the fact his mom is an alpha is something Dean's sort of aware of in the back of his mind, but actually seeing her standing there in the flesh throws him for a fucking loop. He says shit like "mom's a babe" because he Cannot acknowledge anything else – she has ruined his view of 'woman as mother', so instead he tries to box her in as 'woman as sex'. Not sure Sam would know, though? Maybe not until after Jess died – the Winchesters don't talk, and they especially don't talk about Mary.

I'm going to be honest, I didn't really realise I had this many Thoughts about the omegaverse until I got this ask. Like, I read it sometime, but I've not really been all that interested in writing it. This may be food for thought though lol

Happy Wincest Wednesday! This week, I come to you all with a humble request: non-traditional omegaverse wincest. Aka: anything that isn't alpha/omega. Do you think about it? Do you have headcanons? How does that impact their dynamic, the way they were raised, the way john treated them, the way other people look at them now, whether everyone still knows damn well that they're together or if they couldn't possibly suspect because they aren't alpha and omega?

(I will also count female alpha/male omega as non traditional because it's my ask and i make the rules)

If you don't like omegaverse, you can just ignore this. But I still sent it because i didn't want you to feel left out this week.

Catch me taking 2.5 weeks to respond. Thank you so much for including me! This is my first Wincest Wednesday ask and it sparks such joy, I've been ruminating on an answer for like 3 days.

Okay so general premise: alpha!Sam and beta!Dean. Alphas are generally expected to be bigger (taller, better at putting on muscle mass), and are regarded as more sexual and aggressive beings than their counterparts. It's almost taboo for alphas and omegas to date within their alignments, but there are also all sorts of stigmas regarding the ways they date and are in general. E.g., an alpha woman is simultaneously unfeminine and also less of an alpha than a man would be. Misogyny, homophobia, and whatever you call the omegaverse version of sexism all tangle together, and there are particular notions of sexual dynamics and acceptability. Dean wants to absolutely dominate his baby brother; society has many issues with this.

More on Sam and Dean's neuroses and other worldbuilding notes below!

In my mind, Sam, John, Mary, and Jess are all alphas. Dean, predictably, has a complex about this. Your dad, your god, is more man than you'll ever be. Your tiny baby brother is the one people respect. You know, logically, that Mary was murdered, but there's a small part of you that resents her; of course an alpha mom wasn't there for you. Even your brother's college girlfriend who looks kinda like you is a better dude. So there's Dean: John's son-wife; Sam's brother-husband-mother. I don't buy into that 'Dean was changing diapers at 4 years old' thing, but he was parentified, half required to fulfil the role that should've been his mom's, and with the dynamics at play here, that fucks him up more than anyone anticipated – certainly more than his dad ever intended. For his part, he raised them equally where he could, but they were not a family who talked about things. So Dean's so ready to be John's loyal follower forever, but Sammy wants to boss him around? Sammy? What, just because he's got a bigger dick? What right does he have?

So Dean just constantly emasculates him.

Sam has never cared – why would he worry about Dean's misinformed notion of what an alpha is? Besides, he'd never say it to anybody else, but even before The Horrors he would sometimes wish he wasn't one. Maybe then he wouldn't be angry at dad all the time. Maybe he wouldn't have these awful thoughts about Dean during his rut, when he just wanted to soothe the pain. Maybe no one would've given a shit about him and Jess. That was one thing John had sympathised with late season 1. People can be cruel.

Dean has thoughts about Jess. For his part, he's a giver, not a taker – he wonders if Sam's picky? – but it's weird enough for an alpha to take anything but an omega, let alone take is from a beta. He loves his little brother, but sometimes he wants to remind him who's boss. And it's not Sammy, with his is comforting scent and protective personality. He's barely even a fucking alpha in the first place.

worldbuilding notes:

just like angels and demons don't have to eat or breathe, they don't need to exude pheromones or any particular scent. it's a strange, almost uncomfortable absence.

heats/ruts aren't inherently a lack of inhibitions, though the sex drive is higher, but much like periods they have a variety of symptoms that vary in intensity. sam looks like someone who should have cramps. it's important to me.

fairly standard sexual implications: alphas expected to be larger, stronger, more aggressive; omegas expected to be smaller, weaker, more nurturing. fantasy bioessentialism! knotting is a thing, as are scent glands and pheromones on all presentations. people have their secondary sexual organ in addition to their primary sex organs if these things do not align, ie a cis female alpha and cis male omega both have a penis & a vagina

it's impossible to distinguish a child's secondary sex at birth without genetic testing (which most don't do), which causes most problems for the aforementioned alpha girls and omega boys, because i'm sorry, but babies are indistinguishable. so are a lot of young kids. pheromones don't usually differ enough to tell until puberty, at which point parents discover whether their son is an alpha or a beta, or, in very rare cases, and when the pheromones present before the body starts to develop significantly, whether their child is a male or female

seriously can't emphasise how fucked the sexism in this world is. yeah we didn't even know you were a girl until you were like 8 and we still sort of doubted it until you were 12 but now we know and you're never going to fulfil our expectations. you never had a fucking chance. i feel like there is probably a special slur for alpha girls and omega boys - indistinguishable for years, disappointing on all fronts.

being intersex becomes way more complicated when there's a second sex to contend with

you better believe the forms of transphobia and transmisogyny in this world are WILD. i genuinely think more omegaverse fics should explore that.

mating bites over the scent gland are a thing, but they're going out of style – look at divorce rates and tell me how many people would be comfortable permanently scarring themselves.

[samanddean76]

Title: Roaring To Life

Ship: John Winchester/Sam Winchester

Word Count: 551 | Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Tags: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Sam Winchester, Alpha John Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Anal Sex, Knotting, Bottom Sam Winchester, Top John Winchester, Kinktober 2024, Into The Omegaverse Prompt: The Beast Within

Summary: Sam needs his Alpha's knot. Whether John wants to give it to him or not.

Written for @intotheomegaverse 's October 21st prompt of The Beast Within. *** Note*** The rape/non-con is non-graphically described.

Story on AO3.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Stops Along The Way, Exit 1

Series: Holler Me Home, part 3

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Mature

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: Short scenes from the 'Holler Me Home' AU series. Slices of life as a perspective Winchester, as You and Dean try to figure out the whole relationship thing.

Tags:  Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Dean Winchester, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Sam Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Mary Winchester, Omega Mary Winchester, Housebreaking Sam And Dean, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Mary Winchester's A+ Parenting,

AN:   Domesticity, Winchester style. Or what's a girl to do when she moves in with her not-entirely-housebroken lover and his brother? All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

Chapter 1

0130 hours

"Holy mother of God!"

"Huh!"  Your hand slaps on the nightstand and grabs your trusty Glock 17.  Or it would if you were in your own bed.  Instead you fan empty air and fall out of bed onto a stone hard and stone cold floor.

Concrete, you mentally correct yourself as your brain catches up with your reflexes.  You're not in your own bed.  You're in the Winchester Brothers' super-secret hideout.  Specifically, you're on the floor next to Dean's bed. "What the fuck."

"That's it," you hear Dean mumbling through a pillow.  "No more bedtime snacks."

"Fuck you.  I get hungry, I get insomnia."

"You eat after ten, I get insomnia.  You're worse than Sam after those spinach burritos."

"I am not!" you shrill, despite unmistakable evidence to the contrary still hanging in the air.  Certain things, you'll deny to your dying breath.  Such as still owning your babyhood snuggle sheep Lambie, watching Velvet Goldmine because full frontal Ewan McGregor . . . and farting in your sleep.

"You are too!  This is the third night in a row!"

"Hey!"  Sam knocks on the door and opens it a crack.  "What's going on?"

"Don't come in here!" Dean tries to warn him.

"Guys it's like--"  Sam's face tries to turn itself inside out.  "Aw Jesus!"

"Just . . . go hit the head," Dean orders you as Sam flees. He hauls himself out of bed and starts airing up the covers. "Now."

0300 hours Hot.

Hot.

God it's hot.

You shift away from the heat.

The heat follows you.

You shift away further.

The heat sticks, like nacho cheese on a clean white shirt.  Worse, it grows tentacles.  Thick and strong and wrapping around you, cooking you alive in your skin--

You throw an elbow and thrash yourself out of its grip.

Straight out of bed and back on the floor.

"Ow!"  Rubbing his chest, Dean peers down over the edge of the bed.  "Baby what the hell?"

Sitting up, you snap, "What are you a lava monster?  It's like a million degrees!"

"No it's not!  It's cold in here!  We're underground, it's always a little cold."

Now that he mentions it, this floor is freezing.  And why are you freaking out over it being hot?  Or cold?  Your temperature tolerance is usually pretty good.  It has to be, your home's up off the ground.

Dean sighs.  He looks more tired than you do.  "You okay?"

"Yeah," you grunt.

Sam raps on the door.  "You two okay in there?"

"Fine," you sigh.  "Go back to bed.  We're fine."

Muttering something that's probably not Good Night And Good Luck, Sam shuffles off.

You pull yourself vaguely upright and fall in the general direction of bed.  Dean oofs as you land mostly on him.  "You're a clingy sleeper you know that?"

"Never had any complaints," Dean says a mite defensively.

"How many women have you shared a bed with you didn't fuck them out first?" you ask.  Dean's quiet, so quiet you have time to replay that in your head and cringe.  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

Rolling his back to you, Dean mumbles, "Never mind, go back to sleep."

0500 hours "Drop!" Peg shouts.

You fling yourself on the ground as Peg's shotgun coughs out two barrels of rocksalt.  The ghost screeches as it wisps out of existence and the shot hits the wall of the tool shack.  You cover your ears as the building shudders and starts coming apart, collapsing around you in a grinding roar of wood and galvanized steel, warm wind puffing sour air into your face--

Opening your eyes, you get an extreme close-up of Dean's morning whiskers, a snootful of his morning breath, and a skull ringing with his morning snoring.  Slurring out a curse you put your lips next to his ear and say, "Roll over dude."

It's probably not a good thing he doesn't respond.  Normally, you know, Dean's awareness is on a very tight tripwire.  "Dean," you say a bit louder, "turn on your side."

That seems to get through and Dean shifts to his side, curling up a little and dropping straight back to sleep.  You close your eyes and fatigue sweeps you back under.

For about fifteen seconds.  Then your eyes pop open when Dean's sinuses make a noise you're sure registers on the bunker's Richter scale.  "Jesustofuck," you groan, scraping yourself off the sheets, "that's enough."

Dean jumps halfway to Heaven when you yank the blanket and he flips out of bed and crashes to the floor.  "What the fuck?!?"

Snatching the second pillow off the bed, you shuffle for the door.  Sam's there, raising his fist to knock and scowling so hard his face might stick that way.  "What's going on?"

"Couch," you grunt.

0900 hours You sit at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around a cup of coffee.  The bunker doesn’t have a couch per se, so you’d curled up in one of the library’s armchairs and gotten a couple hours of naptime.  Not enough. Your eyelids are lined with sandpaper and your brain’s full of steel wool.

It stands to reason, you suppose.  You’re not used to sharing a bed, not just to sleep.  Drift off snuggled close to Alpha, his scent and his warmth.  Until you wake up, and you’re waking up on the floor way too damn much.  You haven’t fallen out of bed since you were three, God dammit.

The short nights are beginning to tell on everybody.  Even Sam.  Every time Dean wakes up, so does he.  It’s almost a compliment, in a lefthanded sort of way.  Sam Winchester thinks you’re dangerous enough he’s not completely at ease you’re in his brother’s vulnerable space.

Okay, this just bears out that not bonding while in the grip of your first mating cycle together was a sound decision.  You’ll just have to figure out if you can be together like a bonded pair while living apart.  It’s not like you’ve even had sex since your heat passed.  You haven’t initiated anything and neither has Dean.  You shouldn’t have to.  Normal people can keep their drawers on long enough to get some damn rest.

Some dark and angry part of you snarls No.  Your common sense says you got no call to feel possessive; your Omega instincts disagree.  Violently.  You really feel yourself losing it.  Breed-crazy Omega slut is not a good look on you.

You don’t realize you’ve spoken that last thought out loud.  “Don’t say that about yourself,” Sam says quietly, sliding into the seat opposite yours.

“Why not? It’s technically true.”  You finish your coffee.  The caffeine just sort of skates over your nervous system and jitters straight into your heart.  That wonderful combination of exhausted and wired.  You deeply regret throwing out your last half-pack of cigarettes.  “This isn’t working.  If a case dropped right now,” you hold up your trembling hand, “I don’t know if I’d be safe to work it.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Sam asks.

“Hit me.”

“When we were kids,” Sam explains, “we had to all sleep in the same room a lot.  It was hell whenever we got stuck in the Midwest in the fall, because Dad had a bad ragweed allergy.  He snored loud enough to rattle the windows.  Dean asked him once how he and Mom managed, and he said he moved into the spare bedroom until his allergies cleared up.”

“That doesn’t solve the core problem Sam,” you tell him.  “You’re an Alpha too, you know it doesn’t feel right unless you can scent your partner while you’re sleeping.”

“Simple,” he says, smiling that aren’t-I-clever dimpled smile.  “I checked Dean’s room and all we have to do is take the filters out of the vents between his room and the one right next to it.  His scent should come through nice and clear.”

You stare at Sam a moment.  “You are entirely too gorgeous to have that many brains, Sam Winchester.”

He grins.

2100 hours You finish putting fresh sheets on the bed and lie down.  You’re so tired even the extra-firm mattress feels cloud-soft, welcoming as a mother’s arms.  You take a deep breath.  Sam was right, you can smell Dean’s warm and sweet scent, feel it wrapping your brain in a cloak of safe and strong.

Closing your eyes, you fall asleep.  For an hour.

You wake up feeling more rested than you have in days.  So rested, in fact, your brain refuses to let you go back to sleep.  You dink around on your phone, turn on the light and knit a couple rows of your latest project, thumb through your copy of The Rise And Fall Of The Roman Empire-- nothing works.

Around midnight, you hear feet shuffling outside the door and a soft knock meant for your ears only.  You open up and there’s Dean in his robe, hair sticking up everyways.  “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” you move aside and close the door behind him.  You turn around and Dean seizes your face in his hands, tipping your head up for a tender kiss.

Something under your heart, some tension you never even realized was there, unfurls.  Dean sucks the breath from your chest as you cup him through his jammie pants.  He’s hard and getting harder under your hand.  God, why exactly have you been holding back?

The two of you sink to the floor.  The concrete’s just as cold in here as it is in Dean’s room; Dean shrugs off his robe and spreads it out.  “Such a gentleman,” you tease.

“I’m not a goddamned barbarian,” Dean grumbles in between kisses, laying you down, slipping off your sleep shorts and tank, slipping inside you.  It’s all holding and clinging, whispering nonsense into each others’ ears.  It’s sweet, and you bury your face in Dean’s chest as you come and his knot locks into you.

0030 hours “I couldn’t sleep,” Dean confesses, holding your hand in his, playing with your fingers like a little kid trying to figure out how hands work.

“Me neither,” you admit.  “I’m shit at co-sleeping, I guess.”

“You think this’ll work?” Dean asks.

“It has to,” you say.  “Even if we make it a point to have sex every night--”

“--a plan I do not object to--"

“What, sex as a sleeping pill?  No thank you.”  You kiss him, soft and lazy.  “I never want to feel like making love’s an obligation.  Especially not with you.”  You kiss him some more.  “I just want to be with you, and we can’t do that if we’re so strung out on no sleep we get sloppy on the job.  I’ve been through too damn much to go down just because I need a damn nap. You?”

“Same,” Dean says.  “Okay.  We’ll try it your way.” Kissing you, he sits up.

You keep your grip on his hand and tug him back down to the floor.  “We’ll do that.”  You smile into his eyes.  “Tomorrow.”

Dean pulls the blanket and pillows off the bed, wrapping you both up snug.  “Tomorrow.”

0700 hours What a difference a decent night’s sleep makes.  You’re on coffee detail while Dean works the stove, throwing together breakfast with a casual ease you envy.  Your pancakes never come out that golden brown and delicious.

Dean practically glows with pride when you tell him so.  “It’s all in the,” he flicks the skillet and the pancake flips over perfectly, “reflexes.  Check the bacon.”

As you pull the sizzling rashers from the oven, Sam marches in.  Holy hell he looks pissed.  Without a word he grabs the nearest cup of coffee and bolts it, slams something down on the kitchen counter, and marches out.

“Sam?  Sam!” Dean calls after him.  The note just says 'BACK IN A FEW DAYS.'  And there’s something else, something about his red face and stiff stride, something--

“Oh no,” you groan as the scent cuts through the smells of hot oil and cooking bacon.  “Dean, tell me-- isn’t Sam’s room right behind mine?”

Dean takes a sniff.  “Oh no.”

Two hours later the two of you are in Sam’s room installing heavy-duty scent filters into every air vent. ---

Chapter 2

"How many times do you want me to fucking apologize for this?" you yell.

"It's disgusting! It's gross! And you should know better!" Sam roars.

"Once again," you say, rolling your eyes so hard it hurts, "I'm sorry!  And while we're on the subject of gross, I haven't said a damn word about you hanging your dirty athletic supporters up to dry in the goddamn bathroom!"

"Those can't go in the dryer!"

"Neither can my bras!  So I hang them in my room like a civilized person sharing living quarters with other civilized people!"

"Oh yeah, civilized," Sam says.  "That's why you're leaving your . . ." he gestures at the thing on the table, "supplies out all over the place."

"It was in the trash!  Where it was supposed to go!  Jesus Christ why the fuck were you going through the trash to begin with?"

"I was not going through the trash! I was emptying it! It . . ." you'd swear Sam turns green, "it stuck to the side of the trash can!

The 'it' Sam refers to is a folded up sanitary pad, heavy with blood and ick.  You use tampons when you're on the job because it makes it harder for monsters to track you by smell, but off the job you stick to pads.  You forgot to wrap up your last pad before you dropped it in the bathroom wastepaper basket, Sam found it, and promptly threw a shit-fit.  "You've shacked up before Sam, excuse me all to hell for thinking you knew how human bodies worked."

Sam gets all up in your space, practically standing on your toes.  "Don't you dare treat me like a baby about this!"

"Don't behave like one you overgrown excuse of a twelve-year-old germophobe!"

"All right that's enough--" Dean tries to get in between.

You and Sam both turn and glare.  "Shut up!"

Throwing his hands up, Dean pivots on one heel.  "Fuck this shit-- I'm out."

"Just-- I know you've been living alone but have some consideration for other people for God's sake!" Sam orders.

You shut your eyes.  "I told you," you tell him through gritted teeth, "that I am sorry and I am sorry.  I'll be more careful from now on.  Now can you please get off my tits about it you territorial dick?"

"I'm territorial?"  Sam has to pace that one off.  Kind of a relief.  You're tall for a woman but he still eclipses you, and unlike Dean you've seen Sam get all Alpha-aggressive.  "You come into my home, start messing with my stuff--"

"The books aren't your exclusive property Sam."

"-- you blast your music all hours of the night--"

"Seven AM is not all hours of the night."

"--you help yourself to my food--"

"I replace everything I eat."

"--you don't clean up after yourself in the bathroom and leave me to deal with all your gross shit--"

"I've apologized for that.  Several times already."  You can appreciate Sam's frustration and yet you can also find a hard kernel of Wrong in every facet of his pique.  You'd needed to double-check a reference and messed up one of Sam's cataloging projects.  You had no way of knowing that day was one of Sam's rest days and he'd been sleeping in.  You'd made lunch using some of Sam's special organic soup and he'd found the empty carton in the trash before you'd had a chance to stop by the grocery store.

All of it coming to a head with this.

"All I'm asking for is a little consideration!  I don't think that's too much to ask!"

Reminding yourself that you're the big sister and it's on you to be the mature one in the face of whiny children -- no matter how big they are or how many ways they can kill things -- you grab a paper towel from the dispenser and a plastic baggie from a drawer, wrapping the biohazard up and sticking it in the baggie.  In the trash it goes.  You grab the spray cleaner and wash the table where Sam threw it.  "There.  Sanitary.  You've made your point.  I'll be more considerate in future.  Now let.  It.  Go."

Glowering, Sam goes for the fridge and you go for the coffee.

"Motherfucker!" you yell, at the exact same time Sam shouts, "Son of a bitch!"  You grab the empty coffee bag and whirl to see Sam brandishing the empty bottle of special acid-free orange juice at you.

"I hate that stuff--!"

"I didn't drink--!"

The realization hits you both the exact same second. "DEAN!!!" ---

Chapter 3

You park the RV in the deepest middle of nowhere you can find within three hours of the Kansas state line.  You’re stocked with shelf-stable supplies, the batteries are in good shape, the clear water tank’s full.  It’s still good and hot outside but there’s trees for shade and a breeze.  Not a bad place to sit tight for a while, sipping beers and committing sins.

Speaking of which, Dean’s on dinner detail.  He’s setting up outside, with your grill and some good T-bones.  You carry your battered old boombox outside to where Dean’s set up shop, the charcoal lit and the steaks sitting on a plate waiting for the fire.  “What do we feel like?"

Dean shrugs.  You fiddle the FM dial and giggle when you find ZZ Top.  "Choice is up to you cuz they come in two classes," you sing along.  Dean joins you on the last line, peeking at you over the top of his Terminator shades, "Rhinestone shades and cheap sunglasses."

“How rare do you want it?” he asks, grabbing tongs.

“Medium rare.  Rare enough I know I’m eating flesh,” you drop your fangs in a carnivore’s grin.

“Awesome.  Be another few minutes,” he says.

Dean was right about your cycles falling into synch with each other.  You can feel the heat-sweat starting, feel your temperature rising.  Careful not to startle him, you hug Dean from behind and scent from his neck.  Leather and caramelizing fruit and sweet things.  Stretching to tiptoe you kiss the back of his neck.  Gorgeous man, open fire, grilling meat.  This shit’s straight out of your fantasies, and you are fucking hungry.

“Baby-- fire, beef, food,” Dean says.

“So feed me,” you order him.  “Before I throw you down and we get stuck explaining to the local Fire Marshall why we were too busy to douse our coals properly.”

“Get the sand bucket cuz we are . . . done," Dean tells you, plating the steaks and covering them to rest while you take fresh beers out of the cooler.  You hand Dean one and sit down to your steak.  It's charred outside and raw inside and tastes like it was special delivery from Heaven.

Dean moans in pleasure.  “When did you find that butcher shop?” he asks through a mouthful of beef.

“Guy name of Texas Jesus, operates around the border.  Cousin of his runs the place.  Where’d you find the beer?”

“Joe, in Lebanon.  He owns that bar on 36?  His brother-in-law brews his own.”

You sip and belch one.  “Good stuff.”

“Yeah.”  You and Dean look at each other and bust out laughing.  It is a certain relief, knowing in a little while you’ll be fucking like minks and it’ll be good.

God Dean’s beautiful when he laughs.

You quit gnawing at the T-bone.  “Go on inside, wash up.  I’ll take care of the fire and the trash.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean says, picking up your plate on the way by.  The still hot coals go in the galvanized steel sand bucket for a thorough dousing plus more sand.  The grill gets left where it is for the time being.  Everything else gets put away.

Your body’s getting warmer.  You can feel your skin . . . blooming with heat, putting your enticing Omega scent to the air for Alpha to catch.  You look up and see the first star peek through, as the sun takes the blue of the sky away.  You raise your hand to catch it and make a wish.

Your whole body blushing under your clothes, you go inside.  Dean’s waiting at the table and pulls you close for a kiss.  He's warm, he tastes like peppermint candy, and he smells awesome.  “You said something about,” he cocks an eyebrow, “meat?”

Giggling, you say, “Get naked Winchester, I wanna fuck the guy who killed Hitler.”

And he says it, for the first time, spontaneous and graceless and real, “I love you.”

---

Chapter 4

You sit Indian style on the map table next to the all-in-one, sipping coffee and staring at the two evidence boards you just finished setting up.

“Hey,” Dean says as he ambles in, laptop under his arm.  “What’choo up to?”

“Waiting on a fax from the cops in Buffalo,” you say, staring into the dead faces tacked up on the boards.  Magda Peterson, her eyes half-closed and a puddle of blood under her lips, and Kristoph Nauhaus, collapsed on a tile floor with two neat holes in his back.  “Ballistics report.”

“For the record,” Dean says, pulling a chair up to the table and booting up, “I still don’t think there’s anything here.  Nazi Junior was probably ganked by some Thule asshole with a grudge.”

“I know that Dean.  Believe me, my heart’s not exactly breaking for baby Himmler.  There’s just something about this that bugs me.”  You tap a pen against your knee.  “The Thule are not professionals in any sense of the word.  That,” you point, “is the work of a professional.  Magda didn’t have anything worth stealing.  Nauhaus did, but his wallet was still in his pocket and he was still wearing his watch.”

“Two victims, who never met, never laid eyes on each other, and have nothing in common,” Dean counters.

“Except they were witnesses in cases we worked,” you say.  “Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence.”

“You need three to make a pattern.”

“Three is enemy action,” Sam corrects as he walks in with sandwiches.  “Why are we quoting Ian Fleming?”

“Because my trick knee says enemy action,” you tell him, accepting the sandwich.  Roast beef and Swiss, heavy on the mustard.  Delish.  You shrug as you chew.  “Or maybe I’m being paranoid.”

“Hey in this job, paranoia’s just common sense.  Meanwhile,” Dean turns his attention to his laptop and Sam buries himself in the library.  You hope you can scrape together enough data to kickstart a proper investigation.  Sam had taken a shine to the young Alpha psychic, and her murder had hit him hard.  You too.  You’d been getting snacks from the vending machine outside and hadn’t even heard the gunshots.  Poor kid.  She never even got past the Great Divide.

A bit later, your phone tolls the theme from Dragnet.  “Agent Samus.”  You listen, and as you scribble notes pages start crawling through the all-in-one.  “Thank you Officer, I appreciate you getting back with me so fast.”

“Well?” Dean asks as you hang up.

“Plot thickens,” you say, getting your Shooter’s Bible and flipping pages.  “Preliminary report confirms both victims were shot with a . . .” you find the page and turn it Dean’s rightside up, “Sig Sauer P320.  Based on witness reports the lab techs hypothesize the shooter used a custom-tooled suppressor.  However, they can’t definitively match the bullets to a specific weapon, because-- get this-- someone broke into their Evidence vault.”

Dean looks up.  “Don’t tell me.”

“Give the man a kiss Janice.  The case evidence is missing, including the bullets.  Now if one had a suspicious nature -- and one does have that -- one might think--”

“--it’s a hitman covering their tracks.”  Dean stares off into space a moment, tapping a beat on the table.  “Okay, say you’re right.  What do we do about it?”

“For the time being,” you say, “watch each others’ backs.  Stay aware.  Put out some feelers.  Hope whoever this professional is, they fuck up.”  You hesitate before saying, "Call Mary too.  If these professionals are following our backtrail they might be following her too."

"You think she might be in danger?" Sam asks quietly.

"I don't know.  So far nobody's made a move against you guys directly."  Dean doesn't look up from the laptop, but he's got that stony look he gets whenever somebody mentions Mary.  To be honest, you're not sure how you feel about the whole Mary situation.  It's worth wondering, if Dean's really serious deep down about wanting to Bond or if he's just looking to soothe some longstanding abandonment issues.  Because some time backstage with the Winchester Brothers' Perpetual Disaster Machine's shown Dean might be the loneliest man you've ever met, and Sam runs him a close second.

On the other hand, you think, studying Dean, how anybody can hold back from loving Dean is beyond you.  God knows you fail at that, a little more every day.

Something on the computer catches Dean's attention.  “Got something.”  You set aside the report from Buffalo and listen good as Dean presents the Daily Weird.

---

Chapter 5

“Woah woah woah stop stop stop stop stop . . .”

Dean pulls Baby to the shoulder.  “All right, stopping!  Stopping!  Where’s the fire?”

“What fire?!?  Where fire?!?” Sam demands, going from Naptime Sam to Fight Response Sam.  Well . . . almost.  The end result’s more like Needs His Snack And A Hairbrush Sam.

“Dude!  Dudes!”  You point back the way you’d been traveling.  “Yard sale!”

The boys look at each other with that The Woman’s Lost Her Damn Mind look they get sometimes.  You roll your eyes.  It shows sometimes, growing up broke’s different for boys than it is for girls.  “Yard sale means cheap furniture, gentlemen.  Important, if one were, say, trying to put together a rec room?”

“Aht-ah!” Dean holds up a hand.  “Deancave.  It’s not a rec room, it’s the Deancave.”

“No it’s not,” you and Sam say together.

"Why bother?" Sam yawns.  "We can always stop by the WalMart in Hastings."

"What's the rule?  Never pay full price, for anything," you recite your mother's first sacred rule of life.

"I'm with Sam on this," Dean says.  "I am very into one-stop shopping."

“Weakling," you mutter.

"Hey!"

"I’ll make you guys a bet,” you say after a moment's thought.  “How much cash have we got between us?”  The guys go for their pockets, pulling out thick wads of tens and twenties.  Between the three of you, you have about five hundred dollars American.

“Why do you carry Canadian money?” Sam asks, spying Her Majesty on a few quarters.

You shrug.  “If you live in Michigan, half the change in your pocket’s Canadian.  Stores’ll take it at face value up to a couple bucks.  Then they have to exchange it at market value.  I’ve got pesos in the RV too.  You never know when shit like that’ll come in handy.  Anywho, if I can come out of this sale with enough stuff we need to get a U-Haul, you two owe me coffee for a month.”

“You’re on,” Dean says, handing over his cash.

“What do we get if you can’t?” Sam asks.

“T-bones from this butcher shop outside Wichita Falls.  Dean knows the place.”

“Best beef I’ve ever had in my life, Sam,” Dean confirms.  “All I had to do was put ‘em over the coals for, like, two minutes per side.  Melt in your mouth.”

“Come on gentlemen,” you say.  “Let’s go shopping.”

Half an hour later Dean marches back to the Impala looking up the address of the nearest U-Haul place and moaning something about always choosing Scissors.  Sam's stretched out in a threadbare recliner, long legs propped up and eyes closed against the autumn sunshine.  All he needs is a beer in one hand and a mutt in his lap and he'd be the picture of contentment.  It's a good look on him.  "My chair," he says.

"Want a blankie and a pillow?" you tease.  "That afghan looks nice and warm."

"I'm good," he says, smiling.  "What's the haul so far?"

"Well the couch is a no-go.  Somebody snapped it up before we got here.  But there's your chair, that mahogany coffee table, the DVD-VCR combo player that just needs cleaned, that knockoff Tiffany floor lamp, the TV, that cute little secretary, and I know that loveseat's the ugliest thing this side of Creation--"

"I've seen worse," Sam shrugs.  "Ask Dean about the disco themed motel we stayed at in Fort Lauderdale this one time."

"Disco themed?"

"With a light-up floor."

"Jesus Christ.  All tolled," you say, "we spent about three hundred fifty dollars cash.  If we didn't already have dishes the lady only wants fifty bucks for the china set, and it's good stuff.  I got to talking with her; she told me her husband's got Parkinson's.  They're moving to an apartment in a retirement community and they need to downsize."

"That sucks."

"Yeah."

Sam uncranks the recliner, frowning into your frown.  "What's wrong?"

"Sorry.  Just . . . my mom used to drag me and my sisters to sales like these every damn weekend.  God knows why, Dad threatened to divorce her if she brought one more lamp into the house.  We had a basement full of the damn things."

Sam doesn't say anything for a moment.  "When did she pass away?"

"About four years ago," you say.  "Stroke."

"Oh God," Sam says quietly, putting a hand on your arm.  "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

With the exception of Dean if it'd been anyone else you would've brushed them off.  Consciously shoving down the reflexive I'm Fine, you cover his hand with yours and squeeze.  "Anyway, having worked my magic, we now have some actual furnishings for the den and can now fully realize Dean's dream of getting his ass kicked in weekly Monopoly games."

Sam laughs.  "Unless you want an argument that'll last all night," he tells you as he shoves himself to his feet, "let him be the racecar.  He will fight for the racecar."

"He can have it.  I get the cowboy."

Sam does a double-take.  "I'm . . . I want the cowboy."

You cross your arms over your chest and give him a big sister glare.

"I'm always the cowboy," he adds.

"We will discuss this later," you tell him, spying Baby pulling past the house's driveway, a slat-sided hauling box labeled U-HAUL hitched to the back.  Carefully, his head stuck outside the window, Dean backs the whole works up the driveway.  You go find the lady of the house while Sam waves Dean back.

Packing up the haul takes about ten minutes.  "Gentlemen," you say as Dean finishes latching up the box, "I take my coffee--"

"Columbian dark roast four sugars no cream blueberry bagel double cream cheese," Dean recites.

"Bagels were not a part of the deal," Sam complains.

"Nobody loves a cheapskate Sam," you say.

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Chapter 6

AN: For anyone keeping track, this scene takes place during part 4 in the series, 'Calculate And Pray.'

“Where are you?”

 You glare, even though it’s wasted on the empty, night-dark landscape through the VWs windshield.  “Somewhere else.”

“Not even a--" Sam’s voice cuts off as, you imagine, Dean loses patience and grabs the phone.

“Look, you’re gonna tell me what the hell is--”

“WATCH THE ROAD!” you hear Sam yell.

“Where the hell are you two?” you demand.

“Oh nowhere, just going to beat the Devil.  Which we could really use you here for, but you’re off God knows where, doing fuck knows what, with who the hell knows,” Dean snarls.

“Woah-woah, wait a second-- please rewind to the part where you’re doing what to the Devil?”

Sam’s voice, speaking overtop Dean swearing, “We’re on our way to LA-- the word is Vince Vincente’s trying to reunite Ladyhawke and score a new record deal.”

“Psh,” you scoff.  “Poison’s playing casinos and Van Halen had to cancel their last tour.  There ain’t enough nostalgic wine moms to support new Ladyhawke shit.  The only reason Maiden gets away with it is South American metal fans are fucking nuts.  And Maiden’s music is actually good.”

“Crowley says he’s got an in with the record label,” Sam says.  “We’re going to see if maybe we can get close to Lucifer with the angel cuffs.  Rowena says if we can catch him when he’s between vessels, she can send him back to the Cage.  The Vince Vincente vessel’s gotta be wearing out fast.”

“And we’re trusting her on this.”

“We’re trusting she hates Lucifer more than she hates us,” Sam corrects.

“Point taken.”  You do the math.  “Shit.  The soonest I can be in LA is five days.”

“Five days?  Where the hell are you coming from, Outer Mongolia?” Dean asks.

“I can’t fly either, you jackass.  I don’t have papers.”  Which isn’t strictly true, but the full explanation why you can’t just catch a plane is . . . complicated.  “Who else is your backup?”

“Well Cas is already there,” Sam says.

You wait, but Sam doesn’t elaborate.  “What about Mary?”

“What about her?” Dean asks.

“Extra gun on site might not be a bad idea.  Just saying,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” Dean says.

“Cas had a point the other day,” Sam says.  “Lucifer’s our problem.”

“He’s Satan.  By definition he’s everybody’s problem.”

“Except yours,” Dean fires back.

You take your bearings.  Getting close.  “I’ll call you on the way back,” you say to your potential mate and maybe brother-in-bond, hitting End because you’ll be damned if Dean’s going to get the last word.

Which is childish and stupid and you start swearing at yourself and the night-black Mexican countryside and the perfect starscape above and any stray gods that might be in the neighborhood.  Though you take back the last part after a moment’s thought.  No point offending any potential friendlies in the neighborhood.

Your phone starts ringing with an electronic version of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairies.  You take a deep breath, putting Dean and Sam and the Devil as far from your mind as you can manage.  They are not welcome where you’re going.

You pick up.  "Yeah?"

“Are you a friend of our friend?” a heavily accented voice asks.

“Da.  Ty mozhesh' govorit' na russkom.  Ya ponimayu,” you say.

“Spasibo.”  You listen carefully to the directions, glancing at the bag in the VWs backseat.  Time to go to work.

Still, if you’d known then those would be the last words you and Dean would say to each other for almost two months, you might’ve been kinder.

AN: Russian: "Yes. You can speak Russian. I understand." "Thank you." Translation errors are mine; I don't speak Russian and I'm relying on Google Translate.

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