#and he just clings to dean and sobs

[motelsnleatherseats]

i thought i lost you, dean...

[shyshitter]

it’s been discussed before but hear me out. dean confesses before cas. death has already gone for his heart and cas saved him. there’s a chair between them and his hand shakes as he decides to bridge the gap. he stares at cas’s concerned yet resigned profile and realizes death is going to take his heart again. god took his bravery and death will take his love before dean can do anything about it. he’s made up his mind when cas starts talking to him but cas has already interrupted dean’s speech once and this time dean’s gripping his courage by his bloody fingernails. before he can stop himself, before he can chicken out, he interrupts cas. he apologizes profusely, for everything, for getting cas into this mess, for dragging cas down with him, for treating him like shit, for treating jack like shit. he thanks cas endlessly, for helping him, for staying as long as he has, for choosing him, for forgiving him, for saving him, for saving sam, for saving the world. he pauses, the words nearly choking up in his throat, but he sees cas open his mouth to interrupt and that can’t happen so he keeps going almost mindlessly. “I love you,” he says, eyes wide and both hands gripping cas’s shoulders as if he’s keeping cas from flying off. “I think I’ve loved you for a long time but I didn’t know what to do about it, I didn’t want you to feel bad for not reciprocating. I tried to forget about it or drown it with something else but I failed. Just like I failed now. And now we’re both gonna die. I’m sorry I’m dumping this on you now but I needed to say it, I needed it to be real and my choice, not god’s, not death’s not—” something black begins swirling in the corner of his eye and cas is crying. is he that upset by dean’s feelings? cas removes dean’s hands from his shoulders and switches them so it’s cas clinging to dean. “You weren’t supposed to say it,” cas says between sobs. dean frowns and glances behind him at the black ooze. he knows that ooze. He says cas’s name when he turns back around and cas is still crying but solidifies his face. he shoves dean to the side of the room before using his grace to open the door and grant access to death. the ooze is growing and spitting thick black tendrils around the room. cas’s eyes meet deans. they’re both crying now although dean still doesn’t know why. a black tendril grabs death and drags them through the ooze. cas starts saying something urgently that sounds like “Dean, I lo—” before he’s gone too, stolen by the ooze. dean stares at the spot where cas stood and begins to understand. cas is gone and he doesn’t know why exactly but he had something to do with it. once again, dean felt too much and destroyed the one he loved in the process. he should’ve let death take him instead.

[anundyingfidelity]

SENSE OF DOUBT — Dean Winchester

Summary: Dean is gone, but one day he shows up at your door to see you one last time before it's over.

Pairing: Dean x female reader.

Word count: 596.

Notes: this is part of @artyandink Jensen's drabble marathon!! Also I'm barely on season 8 of spn but he died on a hunt in this fic (sorry for killing him again😩), also heavily influenced by 'The Winchesters' because it was the first thing I ever saw and now I'm hooked up with the whole spn universe, so thank you to that show and because Dean looked so fucking good

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

GEN MASTERLIST!

The knock on your door startled you for a moment. You were not expecting anyone at this time. It was night already, and you were going to bed soon, just to wait for another day of your miserable life. Ever since he was gone, keeping up with the future was an unbearable pain that you had to learn to control. For him.

Or else, you knew you'd be dead by now, because you were brave enough to kill yourself to die by his side.

It was a hard hunt you got into. Dean wasn't able to get out alive and for months you blamed yourself for it.

Sam used to be there for you, before he got married, letting you cry on his shoulder and cling into his arms. You mourned together, until somehow you were able to go through the sorrow together.

Your eyes filled with tears and a soft gasp left your lips once you opened the door. Seeing him there almost got you thinking it was a dream; one of those you used to have when the rain was pouring and the sadness and grief took over the most.

"Hey," he said, smiling softly. He had the same soft look on his eyes you loved so dearly. Dean noticed you froze in place, and walked even closer to you as you reached his hand to confirm he was real.

He was there. As if nothing happened.

"Dean?" you whispered, feeling the tears sliding on your cheeks. He cupped your face with his hands, wiping them off your skin as he nodded, pressing his forehead against yours in a lovely gesture. You sobbed, smiling through. "How?"

He pressed his lips on yours with love and care. "Just a last hunt."

With bright eyes, you were startled at him, watching every freckle and wrinkle on his face, memorizing his bright green eyes, just to think this was how you would have ended if things were different.

Maybe you would have retired already from hunting. You could have married, then have a family just like Sam did, visit him and his son and wife every weekend, have what neither you or Dean and his brother never had. A real family; something to protect and take care of. Too sad 'what ifs' were not real and all that was a long gone dream buried deeply in the back of your head.

You started to doubt for a second. You had very vivid dreams before, but this was different. You could feel the warmth coming from his body, his heart beating, and his touch was exactly how you remembered. Dean was exactly how you remembered him. And you accepted he was finally there.

"I missed you so fucking much, you don't have any idea," you mumbled, kissing him anew.

You pulled him inside your apartment after breaking the kiss, closing the door behind your back.

"You're gonna tell me everything," you said, hand on his stubbled cheek. "How much time you have?"

He arched a brow. "Being honest, I don't know... I've been around for some time, I guess I lost the count."

There was a glimpse of sadness in your eyes he noticed, but you swallowed the pain and nodded.

"Then we gotta take advantage of it before it's over, right?"

He nodded this time, softly grabbing your wrist as you continued to caress his cheek. "Yeah, we'll do, sweetheart."

Dean taglist (some of them can't tag them sorry 😩)

@thesilmarillionblog

@onlyangel-444

@daisy-the-quake

@jackles010378

@cassieriddle713

@deans-spinster-witch

@feyresqueen

@drasticemotions @stoneyggirl2

@sapnaploves

@k-slla

[wincestdailyheadcanons]

"I think it would do you both good to see each other." Jack says, taking the half empty beer from Dean's hand. 

The smile on Dean's face brightens his features up so much he looked 20 years younger. 

"I get to go be with Sam?" Dean asks. "Finally?" 

Jack shakes his head. "Not yet. It isn't your time." 

Dean scowled, grabbing the bottleback, taking a drink; "Then fuck off. Until I get to be with him again, heaven, hell, wherever, dont you talk to me. It shouldve been me in that barn, not him, and you fucking know it." 

Dean kept his body from shaking, his voice even, but he knew that despite the dim lights of the no name bar, Jack would see the pain 

in his eyes. The hurt, and loneliness in his soul that shined through the green that only Sam had ever been 

able to fill. 

"There's many worlds, Dean." Jack 

said, this time sitting across from Dean. The gesture meaning to show not only empathy, 

but equality. In this moment, he wasnt a God. He was just a guy trying to comfort one of the only fathers he knew. 

"In this world, Sam died. In another you do, in one you go on a different hunt and nothing happens." Dean looked up; "So, youre taking 

me to see a different Sam?" 

Jack nodded; "He's elderly in this world. Time is-" 

Dean held up his hand; "I don't need to hear the mumbo jumbo about time and space, just take me to him." 

Dean blinked, and found himself outside a well maintained brick house with large trees, and a well kept yard. Inside he could hear 

yelling. 

Dean rushed in, moving quickly through the house, and in the living room found a tall man with white hair, and a beard. 

"Why are you in here?!" Sam screamed at a young woman. "I want my brother!" 

"Mr Winchester, I'm your nurse, Hannah, your son asked me to he-" 

Sam grabbed a glass off and raised his hand to throw it. 

"Sammy?" 

Sam instantly responded to Dean's voice, the glass slipping from his fingers, and shattering on the floor. 

"Dean?" Sam asked, stepping forward, his bare feet moving towards the broken shards of glass. His eyes locked with Dean's. Dean and the nurse moved to stop him. 

Dean pushed Sam back onto the couch, ignoring Sam's tears of joy at seeing him. "Missed you, missed you." Sam sobbed, clinging to Dean's Jacket. Dean looked down at his sleeve. Dads leather jacket. Dean caught his reflection in a mirror above the fireplace. He looked how he did in 2005. 

Sam cupped Dean's face pressing their foreheads together. "I wanna go hunting." 

Dean closed his eyes, and sighed, taking in the moment. He hadnt realized he had forgotten what Sam sounded like, how it felt to hear his name come out of Sam's mouth, 

forgotten what it felt like to be home again. 

"Okay, Sammy." Dean obviously wasnt going to take Sam on a hunt but still the lie that he was a family friend, Sam's son had asked to come over was believed easy enough by the nurse. 

For the next two days, Dean took care of Sam. Fed him, bathed him, walked around the yard with him. Mostly though, they just talked. 

Sam seemed to be confused about what year it was, he mentioned Stanford alot. That was probably why Jack had sent Dean like this. 

"You wanna go for a ride in the car?" Dean asked, having found the keys hidden in a drawer and Sam immediately lit up, nodding. 

Dean took Sam to an empty field, 

and watched the stars. Dean clinked their beer bottles together. Sam didnt even notice his was non alcoholic. He just smiled; "Cheers, jerk." 

"Cheers, bitch." 

That night, Dean helped Sam into bed. Something in his gut told him Sam's reaper wasn't far off. Dean pulled up a chair to sit by 

Sam, and held his hand, squeezing it gently. He understood why Jack had brought him here. In the barn, there had been no time to say goodbye. The attack had happened 

so fast, so violently, Dean didn't 

have a chance to say anything to Sam. 

This was his chance. Dean kissed Sam's wrist;, "I am so very proud of you, how strong, and smart you are. How you never took any of Dads crap.”

Sam's eyes softened, he looked so tired. Dean continued. "You've always kept fighting, and I know how hard that had to have been for you." Sam closed his eyes, starting to drift off into sleep, a soft smile on his face. "Love you, De." 

"I love you so much, my baby brother." 

After a bit, Dean laid Sam's hand down, and stood, walking towards the door to sleep on the couch. "Goodnight." Sam called gently. 

"Night, Sammy." 

The next morning, he left before Sam woke up, catching Sam's son, who he had learned shared a name with him at the front door.

"Take good care of him." Dean smiled, chuckling to himself at the young man's confusion. 

"Do-do I know you?" He asked. 

Dean shrugged, and walked down the sidewalk. 

Dean Jr walked inside, setting his bag down on the floor in his old bedroom, before going to his dads room. 

"Hey, Dad." He said pulling a chair up. "Your nurse just left. He seemed pretty cool.”

There was a small framed picture beside the bed of his dad when he was younger, beside him sat the uncle he knew, but never met. He 

picked up the frame, analyzing it then looked 

towards the door. There was no way, no possible way.- 

But they were both wearing the same necklace... 

"Do I know you?" He had asked the man. 

"My big brother came and visited me." Sam told him. "We drove in the Impala" He smiled, stroking the amulet around his neck. "It was fun.”

[lost-between-letters]

Pick me up?

Pairing: Dean Winchester & daughter!reader (she/her)

Requested by: @gabrielasilva1510

Word Count: 798

Warnings: crying, hurt/comfort (heavy on the comfort though)

Summary: Your night makes a turn for the worse. But you have a dad who actually picks up his phone and listens

A/N: look who's not dead (me). I decided to abandon the tag list because I'm not sure how updated it is anymore

This was worse than any monster he had ever faced before, Dean decided. Certain death by the next most freaky thing this world could come up with? A piece of cake compared to this.

His little girl. His pretty, brave, witty daughter shaking with gutwrenching sobs, clinging to his jacket like her life depended on it - mere seconds after he'd stopped the car in front of the house she and her friends had gone to for the night.

Dean wanted to go back into that frat-house, and find the fucker who made his girl cry like that. But Y/N was here, holding onto him, and if there was one thing he had learned on the road, then it was to know when to pick your battles.

So he didn't act on the violent thoughts threatening to cloud his mind and instead hugged Y/N tighter. He cupped the back of her head, easing over the messy up-do that must have come undone at some point of her night out, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Seeing Y/N smile again was more important than finding the cause of her tears. For now.

But it was freezing here, and he had a perfectly functioning car right behind him. A car Dean knew his daughter loved just as much as he did.

"Sweetheart, how do you feel about getting out of here?"

She burrowed her head deeper into his chest and nodded. "Please, dad."

So he carefully extracted himself from the hug and followed her around the car to open the door for her. She slid in without another word and immediately curled up in the seat.

It tore at his heart. To see his outgoing daughter - the same girl who'd faced down a phalanx of angry ghosts while giving her uncle shit for his fighting techniques - so small. Dean took off his jacket, draped it over her frame and got in the car himself before she could comment.

The first few miles, he let the radio wash over them, pretending that he didn’t hear the quiet sniffles from the passenger seat. Dean didn't have a particular destination in mind - and he didn't need one. Y/N was much like Sam in that aspect - she didn't need space, she needed background noise, and a moving vehicle to stop her mind from spinning. And what was better than the low rumble of the impala and abandoned roads?

Soon, Y/N was drumming her fingers on her knees in time with the song, and Dean knew the worst was over.

He dared to look over at her fully now. "Wanna talk about it?"

She snorted. "That's Sam's line."

"Watch it," he threatened playfully, almost embarrassed by the all-consuming relief he felt at that little laugh.

"You watch it, old man." She shot back, but she was smiling as well.

The smile faltered as a thought, or maybe a memory, crossed her mind, and Y/N leaned her head against the window. The street lights illuminated the tear tracks on her cheeks. "I don't wanna talk about it."

No. That just wouldn't do. His daughter was not allowed to be sad, and Dean was about to find out who would pay for this.

"Sweetheart -"

"Please, dad." She tugged his jacket higher around her shoulders. "Not tonight. I don't want to think about it anymore."

After a long moment, Dean sighed. It wasn't like screaming would help. She'd just get stubborn and close off.

It wasn't even like Dean wanted to rage. Not at her, at least.

So he took a few deep breaths like Sam had advised him to (and gotten mercilessly ridiculed for) and nodded. "Okay. Not tonight."

Y/N smiled genuinely for the first time since she called him crying. "Thank you. For coming and picking me up."

Dean reached over and squeezed her knee. "That's what dads are for, Y/N. I'll always come when you need me."

He would. He'd promised her when she was just a wrinkly frowny ball of newborn, tiny eyes blinking up at him in that wretched hospital. Dean would be there for his daughter, whether it was guns blazing and fighting or nights curled up under blankets with only chocolate and heating pads - because growing up was a lonely affair without someone you could hold onto. But his little girl would never have to find that out firsthand. Dean made sure of that.

"So you'll agree to watch Mamma Mia with me?" She looked at him hopefully, knees pulled up on the seat, her eyes still red and swollen. "Auntie Charlie got me the DVD, and it really would cheer me up now. Please, dad?"

Dean groaned. Since when had she gotten so devious?

"Fine, you little monster."

[glassghoulette]

Vulnerabilities

Sam Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, not feeling good enough.

First time I've wrote something in awhile but I'm in my Sammy feels. Can be read either as platonic relationship or romantic whichever you'd prefer. Use of Y/N but no description of said Y/N. Please enjoy reading.

Everyone has their breaking points. We're human. We're built to only withstand so much before we break. It’s natural. What’s not natural, however, is just how far Sam went to hide the feelings he was keeping down in order for that to happen. So as you walk past and open the door to find Sam just… bawling. Bawling like he lost the most important person on Earth when just hours ago, he was good ol’ Sam, you feel your heart drop, and you make it your mission to comfort the poor guy. You rush in and sit on the bed, holding him tight but not too tight to hurt him just enough to let him know you were there.

"Oh Sammy, why didn't you say anything you big doof?" You chuckles slightly as you pull him closer. He melts into your embrace, burying his face into your shoulder as he continues to sob, making your top wet, but that's the last thing you're worried about right now. He doesn’t want to look weak and usually isn’t this vulnerable. This is the first time you've seen him like this in years. You've almost forgotten what he's like when he's in this state of mind.

"Didn’t wanna seem pathetic or be a burden…" He mumbles, voice strained and cracking. Your heart breaks at the sight of him.

"You're never pathetic or a burden not to Dean or me or Bobby or anyone." You brush the hair out of his face and look at him. "What's going on, Sam?" He sighs, leaning into your touch and wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. That touch alone was enough to help him calm down.

"Just having a hard time…" he mumbles, burying his face again. He moves his face so he’s resting his chin on your shoulder, still embracing you. He’s quiet for a moment, and you can feel him shaking slightly, which was a red flag in itself.

"Can I confess something…?" You nod and run your fingers through his hair. He shivers slightly when you run your fingers through his hair, enjoying the sensation and relaxing into you a bit more. He leans more of his weight against you, wanting to become as close as possible to you currently.

"I… god, I don’t even know how to start…" Sam mumbles, taking a shaky breath.

"It's alright, just take your time." You smile reassuringly at him. He nods ever so slightly, taking a moment to think while pulling you impossibly closer. He just needs the feeling of you, the smell of you, to help keep him calm. He takes another shaky breath, moving his face to bury into your neck, where you can feel his warm, quick breaths against your skin.

"I don’t feel like I’m good enough…" Sam finally mumbles, and you can almost feel his voice crack once again. You hold him tighter burying your face in his hair.

"Oh Sam, trust me, you're more than good enough. Dean and I would be nothing without you, Sam. Nobody could ever replace you. You mean so much to us, especially me, Sam." He shakes his head, burying his face further into your neck. He’s practically clinging to your right now. He can’t be alone right now. He needs you. He needs somebody, anybody, to keep him from drowning in these overwhelming feelings of self hate.

"Y/N… I don’t feel like I’m good enough for you… for anyone…" he mumbles, sounding borderline desperate, like he’s begging to be reassured.

"You are. Trust me, you are. Anyone who knows you is so lucky to have you in their lifem You are good enough, Sam Winchester, I promise." He lets out a shaky inhale, hugging you tighter. He clings to you like you’re the only rope keeping him from falling into a dark pit of self-doubt and hate. Your words mean everything to him, they always do, and especially right now when he feels so terrible.

"Y-you promise..?" Sam's voice is cracked, and a pitch higher than normal. It was absolutely gut wrenchingly to hear Sam, the strong, brave, Sam, sound so lost and vulnerable like he does now.

"I promise. You having this episode hasn't made me think anything less of you. You're human, Sam. we all have limits." He hugs you as close as he physically can, pressing you into his body. The feeling of you against him is doing wonders to help keep him grounded. You’re just what he needs right now to keep from being absolutely consumed by everything. He shudders as he holds back another wave of sobs.

"You swear you don’t think any less of me..?" Sam asks voice just above a whisper, in such a desperate tone it borders on sounding pathetic and needy, clinging to you like a lifeline.

"I swear, Sammy. How many times have you seen me broken down over the years, and you've never judged me for it, so I'm not going to do that with you." He nods, knowing that was true. He has lost count of how many times he’s had to comfort you on your worst days, hold and reassure you that you were good enough, that you were worth something, just like he needs right now. He squeezes you a little tighter.

"I know, but… I’m supposed to be the one with the ‘strongest mental state’… being broken down like this feels so pathetic, especially in front of you.."

"Stop it, Sam, you're not pathetic. This isn't pathetic. You've been through hell and back, literally. I'm surprised you haven't broken down as often as me. I'm so proud of you Sam so so proud of you. Nothing will ever change that." Sam's quiet for a moment. He has to hold back from getting choked up by those words. But of course, his heart does absolutely flip when you say that, and he can feel the tears stinging his eyes again. But not from sadness this time, no. This is different. It’s from just how absolutely undeserving he feels of the praise you’re giving him. He holds onto you tight, as if he’s begging you not to let go.

"God, how’d I get so lucky to have you..?" He looks up at you adoringly, and you brush the hair out of his face.

"I ask myself that about you every day as well." A small, soft smile forms on his face as well, one where you can just barely see the dimples that form in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s still holding you as close as humanly possible, needing the comfort that only you can give him right now, but his shaking has lessened now thanks to your comfort and your words. He still hasn’t let go, and you very highly doubt he ever will not when he's this vulnerable..

"I swear, just… don’t let go of me, please… I need you right now… I need to be close to you…"

"I'll be here for as long as you need me Sam. Don't worry about that."

[kryptid-writes]

Chapter 8 - Clipped Wings

Ashamed that Dean has discovered her wings, Y/N takes matters into her own hands to fix the problem.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter contains self mutilation of wings that may be triggering for those that struggle with the topic of self harm. I am not trying to romanticize the subject, please don’t be afraid to seek help if you feel unsafe. 

American Mental Health Hotline (1- 800 - 622 - 4357)

Global Hotline (212 - 673 - 3000)

My head spins as I clutch at my chest, willing myself to breathe in ragged breaths. My body shivers from the uncomfortable cold sweat that clings to my skin. My hands, feet, and tip of my nose goes numb, the feeling much like the buzz of a static TV.

I wobble to my feet and hastily pop open the buttons on my shirt with shaky hands. I shove the fabric off my shoulders and let it pool around my feet. Once again, I’m completely vulnerable. Staring myself down in the mirror, my eyes full of resentment at the twisted version of myself staring back at me.

How could you be so careless? Now he knows how much of a freak you really are! I scold myself, gripping the edges of the sink and hang my head in shame.

Taking a piece of bandage from the front of my chest, I carelessly rip it in half with the sudden strength arising from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I hastily unwind the wrap of musty bandages, revealing the tattered skin underneath which is now a blotchy red color from the lack of circulation. I cringe as I feel my wings pop free from the restrictive binding. Unsurprisingly, they’ve grown since the morning, reaching nearly a foot in length that now fall just above my hip. More feathers have filled in, some of them small, fuzzy, and gray, hugging the bone. And others that are long and white with a golden shimmer at the tips. They stretch out as far as their length will allow, trying to soothe the aching feeling from being confined for so long.

I glare at myself in the mirror, disgusted at how far I've fallen from the simple human I once was. This is what Lucifer wants. He wants me to become a monster just like him, trapping me into a life bound to my captor. This has been his plan all along.

I shake my head, my knuckles turning white from gripping the porcelain sink with the strength of a bull. Tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision and clouding my mind.

I know what I have to do.

Carefully, I grab the powerful angel blade off the bathroom floor, hugging it to my chest. If this is the only thing that can kill an angel, surely it will get the job done.

 I turn on my heels and tilt my head back to see my wings clearly in the mirror, and with that it’s decided: they must be removed by any means necessary. I take a deep breath, gripping the angel blade, just as Dean taught me and press the blade to the top of my wing, just a few inches from where they distend from my back. I hesitate for a few seconds, my body shaking with fear and doubt that lasts for a fleeting moment. With one swift motion, I slice the blade across, cutting through the thin layer of flesh.

“Fuck,” I hiss under my breath. I’ve been hurt before many times in my life and I have the scars to prove it, but nothing compares to the pain that radiates from my wings. They’re more sensitive than I ever could’ve imagined.

Blood dribbles down from the wound, staining the white feathers surrounding the area. The sound of quiet droplets hitting the tile floor below cuts through the silence of the room.

My breath comes in ragged and my heart beats a thousand miles per second. With renewed determination, I bite my lip and hover the blade, just above the incision.

“Y/N?” Dean asks from the other side of the door, startling me out of my trance. His voice is low and caring, but very clearly concerned.

“Go away Dean,” I reply weakly, biting back the sobs that so badly want to spill out.

“Let’s just talk about this,” he says in a kind voice. I hear a soft thud, presumably from him leaning his head on the door.

Part of me wants to stop what I'm doing and open the door for him, let him come in and comfort me like I know he can, but I don’t. This is how it has to be. This is how I break Lucifer's hold on me. This is how I reclaim my humanity.

Ignoring his pleas, I drag the blade further down the weeping laceration, sawing until the bone is exposed. I involuntarily hiss and drop the blade to the floor as agonizing pain surges through me. It makes a loud clattering noise that rings out like the chime of a bell. This time the results are much more severe. Blood pours out of the wound, drenching my entire wing in a sickening crimson coating. Feathers flutter to the ground in clumps, landing in the forming pool of blood below. The feathers that were once pure and white, now stained in my misery, forever corrupted by sin. 

“Y/N? What are you doing in there?” Dean asks in a distressed voice.

I don’t respond, partially because I don’t want him to know the answer to the question, and because I’m unable to make any sound besides weak groans. My knees give out and I fall to the ground, slumping forward and tucking my head into my knees. I can’t stop the heaves of sobs that shake my body as the pain and torment becomes too much to handle.

“Y/N OPEN THIS DOOR!” He demands, knocking incessantly.

A whimper escapes my lips as the world slowly starts to spin. Every ounce of energy in me feels as if it's draining rapidly. My whole body feels light and the need to keep fighting slowly fades away, the pain grows dim and my mind becomes a blank slate, the emptiness feels warm and inviting.

The quiet clicks and jingles of the doorknob fill the silence, becoming more imperative by the second. With one final tick, the lock gives in and the door swings open with a bang.

I cusp my hand over the injury in a pitiful attempt to hide what I'd done.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasps, immediately rushing to my side. He pulls me close and takes my head in his hands, panic taking over his features.

 My eyes are unfocused and my skin is pale as a ghost.

 He peels my hand away exposing the mess of flesh, feather and bone. His face drops.

I want to resist but I'm too weak to fight him. “Dean…” I groan softly, using all my energy to look him in the eye. Suddenly my eyelids feel heavy and my pupils drift to the ceiling.

“It’s me. I need you to stay awake, can you do that?” He says in a serious voice, lightly squeezing my jaw, keeping me grounded to reality.

I can’t manage a response as the words get caught in my throat. I blink slowly, widening my eyes as much as I can, trying my best to shake the sleepiness that so desperately calls my name.

He swiftly moves me to lie on the floor, dragging me away from the puddle of blood that stained my feet and hips. I should feel embarrassed that my half naked body is completely exposed to him, but it’s not even a concern that crosses my mind at this moment.

“I have to call Sam and Cas.” He states, fumbling for his phone.

“No!” I cry, “Please don’t tell them.” I meet his eyes with a look of desperation, silently pleading with him.

“Y/N -” He furrows his brows.

“I said no Dean!” I snap, followed by a soft, “Please….”

He thinks for a second before nodding his head and getting to his feet. With a sense of urgency he rushes to the cabinet and grabs the first aid kit, yanking it open with such haste that the flimsy plastic cracks and breaks under his touch. He rummages through the supplies, pulling out a needle and thread, as well as a travel size bottle of antiseptic. 

“You’re gonna need stitches,” he explains. “This is going to hurt a lot.” He looks at me sympathetically, then guides my head to lean on his shoulder. “Bite down, it’ll help with the pain.” 

I nod my head against his broad shoulder, trying to distract myself from the anticipation and anxiety riddling my mind. I can feel the nausea building in my stomach. I barely register his arms moving behind my head with precision as he threads the needle.

“Take a deep breath,” he orders.

I do as he says, attempting to control my breathing. The needle enters my sensitive skin, it feels like searing hot pain as he drags it through to the other side of the injury, pulling the thread taught. I can’t stop the scream that rips through my body. My wings tense up and fan out, trying to escape the pain.

“Shh, I'll make it quick,” he assures me, running a soothing hand down the feathers of my wings. The feeling it leaves is a pleasant surprise of soothing pleasure. I’m thankful for the contrast in sensations that temporarily distracts me from the searing pain.

I screw my eyes shut and bite down on his shoulder hard enough that I probably broke skin through his shirt as he continues to stitch me up. I sob in his arms, my tears stain his signature red flannel, but I'm too far gone to care. 

When the stitches are finished he opens the bottle of antiseptic and pours a bit onto the wound. It should hurt like hell, but at this point my body is too tired to even register the burn.

“All done.” He strokes my hair, letting me rest my head on him for as long as I need. “You made it sweetheart.” He places a tender kiss on the top of my head. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

I lean back, a disheveled mess, allowing him to stand up.

He grabs a fresh towel from the closet, running it under the tap until it's soaked in clean water. He takes a seat behind me, tucking his knees on either side of me and tenderly touches the rag to the bloodied area around the wound.

I hiss at the contact, it stings, but I bite my lip and let him work.

Carefully, he drags the towel down each feather, mopping up the crimson mess that paints my damaged wings like a gruesome crime scene. He takes his time, working his way from the top to the bottom til the feathers are nearly clean, leaving just a tint of pink behind. Without exchanging any words, he runs his fingers through the soft plumage, correcting the placement of the messy crooked ones until they lay neatly. 

I  can’t stop myself from sighing at his touch. His fingers radiate pleasure throughout my wings.

“Gorgeous,” he mutters under his breath, placing a soft kiss between my shoulder blades. 

“Th- thank you Dean,” I whisper, turning my head back to look at him, but still feeling a twinge of doubt.

“Don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he replies, his voice sweet and caring. He takes the excess of medical wrap and carefully wraps the cloth around the stitches, biting off the end with his teeth and tucking it away securely. He stands up and plops the dirty towel in the sink and washes away the blood that soaks his hands until the water runs clear, drying them on the sides of his jeans. Turning back to me, he lifts me off the floor like I weigh nothing to him and brings me to my bed, carefully laying me on the mattress, being mindful of my butchered wing. He scoots in next to me, pulling me close and wrapping his arm around my waist.

I rest my head on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing instantly calm me.

“Why?” is all he can say.

The question hangs in the air as I scramble for the right thing to say, but it’s difficult to explain.

“I tried to get rid of them. I had too,” I try to explain, but the words become lost in translation. “I’m tired of being a freak…” I say in a hushed tone.

“You’re not a freak Y/N.” His hands wander to my wings, carefully tracing each feather. “You’re beautiful,” he coos. “Promise me you’ll never do this again,” he says in a more serious tone, his eyes brimming with tears.

I falter for a moment, the thought of living like this for the rest of my miserable life leaves me feeling sick. But, perhaps one day I could also learn to love the wings that Dean finds so utterly beautiful.

“Promise,” I reply, tucking my cozying my head into his chest and wrapping a damaged wing around us. 

He strokes my hair and I melt into his touch. 

Despite the disaster I had just subjected us too, I feel protected in his arms, like nothing could ever hurt me.

“Sleep” He whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

And with that I drift off into a peaceful slumber, thankful for the safe haven that is Dean Winchester.

Series Masterlist

Full Masterlist

[daffodil-mania]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

Sam Winchester x fem!Reader. Hurt/comfort, fluff. This fic includes swearing and graphic descriptions of violence.

Author’s notes: This is my first fic; please be gentle (or don’t; up to you). I started this at like,,,, 5AM a week ago and have been slowly chipping away at it ever since. For context this takes place sometime between S1 and S2, although the time honestly does not matter at all. Might write more fics; might not. Who knows? Anyways, enjoy!

—

It always starts the same way.

He always flops down onto the motel bed, sighing deeply and closing his eyes as his limbs stretch out over the mattress. He inhales, burying his face in the pillow that your scent still clings to, hiding a small smile as he does. The shower’s on and he debates sneaking in and joining you. He rolls over, pondering. He stays like that for a few seconds, arms folded behind his head when he feels it.

Drip.

Something wet falls on the side of his nose. His brow wrinkles in confusion as it slowly slides down over his cheekbone towards his hair. Without opening his eyes, he wipes it away. It was raining pretty hard earlier; he can tell the ceiling has been cheaply and improperly repaired several times. They’re always shitty and damaged in places like this, no wonder it leaks…

Drip.

This time a droplet lands on his right eyelid. His frown deepens as he wipes it off and opens his eyes to look at his fingers. It takes his brain a second to process what he’s seeing.

His stomach sinks. He whips his head up to the ceiling as bile rises in his throat. And there you are. It seems you never even made it into the shower; you’re still in your clothes from earlier. Jeans and a white tee shirt. Your hair is spread around your head like a halo. Your mouth is open, your expression one of fixed horror. You’re looking right at him but you don’t see him, your gaze a million miles away, comprehending something too horrible for words. As he registers the weeping red gash over your womb, your eyes snap to his and he knows you see him now. He’s right there. So close. You start to mouth his name when you erupt in flames. His shouts merge with your sobbing shrieks. All he can do is sit and watch helplessly as you burn. The stench of smoke and smoldering flesh starts to fill his lungs, choking him. And then someone grips him tight, maybe Dean, calling for him to wake up, wake up—

And he does. But it’s not Dean holding him; it’s you. Sam gapes at you, panting hard as sweat and tears roll down his face. You’re saying something but he doesn’t hear it. He surges forward and wraps his arms around you in an attempt to calm his panicked mind and assure himself that you’re real. You’re here and you’re safe and—

“—Sam, baby, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re okay, we’re safe, honey, we’re safe, Sam please look at me—” He manages to peel himself out of your embrace, his eyes taking in every inch of your perfect, unharmed face. Your scared eyes are wet with worried tears, brow knitted in concern. One of his hands comes up to cup the side of your face and you eagerly press a comparatively tiny one of your own against it, holding it in place. “You’re okay,” he exhales. You nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He bobs his head in a nod and wraps his arms around you again. Your arms instantly go around him, one over his shoulders to cradle his head and one across his back. You start to stroke his back as he relaxes, nuzzling his wet face into your neck.

You break the silence by asking if he wants to talk about his dream. Sam murmurs his dissent into your neck. You nod again. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. What do you need right now?” You inquire quietly. “Jus’ need this.” He responds, his voice laden with sleep and sadness. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. He wishes desperately that he could talk to you about his dream but he just can’t. Maybe one day… but not now. He isn’t strong enough now to tell you how paranoid the dreams make him. How guilty. Because you’ve replaced Jessica on that ceiling and while he loves you a part of him still can’t let her go. And the anger… the hopelessness… it’s almost too much for him.

But the safety he feels in your arms makes those feelings vanish almost as quickly as they come… almost. He’s calmed down significantly but there’s still that gnawing anxious feeling in his gut. Sam pushes against it, willing it to go away, and wishes that the two of you could stay like this forever; tangled together between soft sheets and even softer I love yous. He doesn’t have to think when the two of you are like this; he can just let go for a minute. Well, except for you, of course. He won’t ever let you go.

He pulls you closer against him somehow and you let out an “oof” in feigned protest. You maneuver the two of you around a bit so that you’re both on your sides, his toned stomach pressed against your soft belly, legs comfortably intertwined. You wrap your arms around him and now its Sam’s turn to rest his chin on the top of your head. He wraps his arms around you; one snakes up and around your back so that his hand rests on your shoulder blade, the other is slung around your waist. A few minutes pass quietly in the darkness before you tilt your head back to look up at him. “Feeling better?” He nods, and cranes his neck so that he can gently press a kiss to your lips. A lump begins to form in his throat when you kiss him back, blocking all of the words he wants to stay from bubbling up and out of his mouth. So instead, you speak for him. “I love you, too.” You whisper softly. He presses your foreheads together, closing his eyes gently as he does. You rub soothing circles into his back and that coupled with the exhaustion that now rests heavily on him starts to drag him into a (hopefully) peaceful slumber.

As he starts to fade out of consciousness he can vaguely make out the sound of you humming. He forces himself to focus for a second and recognizes the tune; it’s A Mamas & The Papas song that you told him your mother used to sing to you as a lullaby. You’ve hummed it to him a few times before on nights like these. Satisfied, he relaxes, and falls into a mercifully dreamless sleep.

—

Author’s notes: Attached is the version of the song I referenced/borrowed the fic name from. I always found it slightly creepy when I was younger (and still kind of do, tbh). Check it out :)

[bingbongsupremacy]

Brothers Comfort

Pairing: Brother Sam & Brother Dean x platonic!younger sister reader

Warnings: Very cringe and short. I wrote this when I was in middle school. Originally from Wattpad.

Summary: Your brothers are there to comfort you when you wake up from a bad nightmare.

*Not Proof Read* Supernatural

********

Reader's P.O.V.

" Come out, come out, wherever you are, y/n. " A sinister airy voice calls. " I will find you! Wherever you are! Your brothers and dad will never be able to save you. They'll never help you. They'll forget about you. " The voice cackles and a shadow runs past my hiding place. I curl up tighter and whimper with tears in my eyes.

" Leave me alone! " I whimper. " Deany! Sammy! Daddy! " I scream as a dark head peer down at me. The eyes are a glowing red and the teeth on the creature are a mixture of white and sickly yellow.

" They can't hear you, N/N. " The creature laughs. " No one can hear you. You're mine now. "

Shivers run down my back. " H-how do you know m-my name? " I whimper in fear. What is this creature? How does it know me? What did I do to it? Why does it want to hurt me? Where's Daddy?! Where's Deany and Sammy? I want my family!!

" Oh, I know everything about you, Y/n. Everything. I know that you hate life on the road, that you don't like switching schools every week so your father can hunt my kind and others. I know you wish at times that you had a normal family. Oh, but you can't have a normal family, can you little girl? Such big thoughts for a tiny child. " The creature rushes towards me. Before it can grab me, it stops a few feet away with a wide evil grin. " Oh, what the others would do to get you, a Winchester. You and your family have been nothing but a pain for us these past years. You're going to grow up to be exactly like your father and brothers, and that I will not let happen. We don't need more of you in this world. That's why I'll be taking care of you now. Oh, child, this is your end. Your bloody, horrific end. " The creature lets out a sharp whistle that hurts my ears. I wince and my eyes widen as I see other creatures start to appear. There are shadowy creatures, like the one that spoke before, and many many other creatures. Vampires, Skinwalkers, werewolves, and more, all wanting to eat me.

I scream as they laugh and lunge at me. " No! Stop! No!! Daddy!!! Dean!! Sammy!! Help me! Help me!! "

" Y/N! Y/N!! Wake up! Wake up, kid! Come on! Y/N! Wake up! " I hear Dean's voice over the screeches of pleasure coming from the monsters.

" Help me! " I scream. My body is shaken wildly. My eyes snap open as the creature takes a large bite out of my neck.

Dean stares down at me, his eyes wide with worry and confusion.

" Don't let them eat me, Dean! Don't let them eat me! " I beg while sobbing. Big tears drip off my face and onto Dean's shirt as I cling to my older brother.

" Shh. You're okay, Y/N. You're okay. Calm down. You're okay. " Dean soothes. He pats my back comfortingly.

" Don't l-let them eat me. " I hiccup. " Don't let them eat me. "

Dean runs a hand through my hair. " Don't worry, Y/N. They can't hurt you. Nothing can get you. You're alright. You're safe here. "

" Dean? What's wrong with N/N? " Sammy asks sleepily as he stumbles towards us.

" Nightmare. " I hear Dean whisper.

" Oh. " Sammy climbs onto the bed next to me and Dean. " Are you okay Y/N? "

I whimper and shake my head. " N-no. They're after me. "

" What happened in your dream? " Sammy asks.

" Monsters. " I sniffle. " They ate me. And, and you, you guys didn't come. You didn't save me. Y-you didn't save me! " I cry.

Dean sighs. " It's just a dream, Y/N. Sammy and I are right here. The monsters aren't here. Okay? You're okay. "

I nod and pull Sam into the hug. " Don't leave me. Don't let them eat me, please. "

" We won't leave you, Y/N. We'll always be here to protect you. That's what older brothers are supposed to do. " Sammy smiles softly down at me. " We'll always be here to protect you. "

[melanieathene]

Suptober 2023 Day 10 - Close Shave

It was raining, Raindrops wove crooked tracks down the motel's windowpane, the weak light of a streetlamp casting their shadows on Dean's face: phantom tears, that he refused to shed.

Cas had almost died this afternoon. Dean had almost died trying to save him. Sam had almost died saving them both. It had been one hell of a day.

Dean raised the bottle he held clenched tight in one hand and took a swig. A trail of fire burned its way down his throat: the echo of a sob, that he refused to utter.

Bone weary, yet unable to sleep, he kept a silent, lonely vigil: watching lightning fork its way across the sky; trying to convince himself the only storm was the one raging outside.

Sam was okay. He was safe and sleeping in the bed behind him.

Cas was alive – though god only knew where he had flapped off to in such a hurry.

“I'm fine,” Dean whispered, and took another long swallow. The whiskey – and the lie – slipped down his throat with the ease of long practice.

It was easier to numb the pain than it was to confront the truth behind it. Cas had almost died this afternoon, and if he had... well, let's just say Dean would have preferred death too, rather than a life without him. That Sam had saved them both left Dean's head – and heart – in turmoil. When had Cas become so important to him? What was he supposed to do with the sudden realization that he had? He felt his world tilt on its axis; unbridled emotion struck him like a thunderbolt. Nothing would ever be the same.

“I'm fine,” he repeated, gritting his teeth.

“You are anything but fine,” a low voice murmured.

“Cas,” he breathed.

“Hello, Dean.”

He could hear the smile in the fond tone. Could feel the tension in his body easing with the familiar presence at his side.

“You're back.” He set the bottle on the table and turned to face the angel.

“I always come back.”

“You always have so far... But you almost didn't today.”

Castiel frowned. “And you almost died as well. I didn't ask for you to save me.”

“You didn't have to. Just as you didn't have to throw yourself away to save my life.”

“I had no other choice.”

“Neither did I.” Dean expelled a shaky breath that was closer to a sob than it was a sigh. “Self-sacrificing bastards, aren't we?”

“It would appear so.”

“Not the first time we've had such a close shave... and it probably won't be the last.”

“Probably not.”

“Why do we do it, Cas? Why do we find it easier to die for one another, than we do to face the fact that we – ”

Castiel's head tilted to one side. “That we what, Dean?”

This was it. This was the moment to set himself free, to spill his newfound truth and damned be the consequences. But the words stuck in his throat. All he could manage was: “You know. You have to know. You can't be that stupid.”

“I know. I just need to hear you say it. It's an angel thing, Dean. I can't possess a vessel without its permission. I can't say what you want to hear until you say it first. And believe me, I long to say it. I've waited what seems to be an eon. I've despaired time and time again, but still I cling to the hope that someday – ”

“I love you,” Dean said quietly, the words at last – at long last – bubbling to the surface. And, oh, they were easier and sweeter than he had imagined they would be. “I think I'm in love with you.”

“I love you too, Dean. And I am definitely in love with you.”

There was no telling who made the first move; whose hands reached out to hold and caress, whose mouth was first to claim the other's. There was no you or me, no what ifs and lost yesterdays. There was only here and now and us, and it consumed them.

“So, where do we go from here?” Dean wondered, as they surfaced from a searingly hot first kiss.

Castiel met his stare, lips red and puffy, blue eyes wide and wild with desire, dark hair ruffled as if a strong wind had blown through it instead of Dean's wandering hands. He was, quite simply, the most gorgeous sight Dean had ever seen.

“May I suggest you go book another room?”

“That might be the smartest thing you've ever said, Sam,” Dean laughed, and grabbed the angel – his angel – by the hand. “C'mon, Cas. Let's not waste another minute. Whatever time we have left on this planet, I want to spend it with you.”

“Finally!” Sam sighed as the door slammed shut behind them. “Those two idiots finally got their act together. I just hope their room isn't right next to mine!”

[pink-sparkly-witch]

Is a New Fic Coming Soon...?

Hey everyone! Here's a little teaser to a fic I finished a little while ago and didn't know if I'd post. If there's still some interest in AU Dean Winchester stories, and you guys want it... I might start posting the whole thing!

Summary: Sam and Y/N are happily married, but everything changes after a fatal car accident leaves her a widow. The Winchester motto: “Family Don't End With Blood,” takes on a whole new meaning for Y/N as she navigates her new normal with the help of her brother-in-law, Dean. But what no one can tell her is what happens when she falls in love again.  

Pairing: Sam Winchester x F!Reader | Dean Winchester x F!Reader (eventual)

Dean 2:26am

You really need to stop working so late, dude. Drive safe and get home to that girl of yours!

Knowing that Sam had likely responded to a text Dean had sent much earlier in the day just before he set off on that fatal car journey hits you like a freight train. And knowing Dean’s reply, telling his brother to come home to you had come through when the police were telling you he’d died, was gut-wrenching. Fighting back more tears, you unlock your own cell phone and call the number you’d been dreading for hours now.

“Y/N, darlin’? It’s early… is everything alright?” The gravelly voice on the other end of the phone sounds tired, scared and confused. You figure getting a call at 6am will do that to a person.

“John–” You’d fought hard to keep your voice steady and strong, but what came out was shaky and meek. “It’s Sam…”

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice startles you out of your daze and you blink up at him from the uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. Unsteadily, you rise to your feet and make your way over to him, throwing yourself into his outstretched arms.

“Dean,” you cry as more tears fall from your sore and swollen eyes. Dean is on you in an instant, wrapping you in his arms and holding on tight.

“C’mere. You shoulda called us, sweetheart. We’d have been here with you,” Dean’s voice is strong, but it still cracks with emotion. “You didn’t need to do this alone.” You sob into his chest until your legs give way, and he lowers you both to the ground, keeping his arms around you the whole time and settling you onto the floor.

You cling to him with every ounce of strength you have, knuckles going white, afraid that another person you love might leave you. But Dean holds you tighter, shushing you and stroking your back in a desperate bid to calm you down. The sobs only ease and your body stops trembling when he begins to rock you and hum Nothing Else Matters by Metallica in your ear.

John looks on from the doorway, seeming utterly devastated. Not only has he lost his youngest child today, but it's like he knows he’s also lost a part of his daughter-in-law that might not ever come back.

“Come on, darlin’. Let’s get you out of here, huh?” His soft voice floats from somewhere in the distance, but your vision is too blurry from tears and swollen from puffiness to see exactly where. 

Dean places a gentle kiss on your temple and helps you stand on shaky legs. 

“Come on, Y/N. Let’s get you home. There’s nothing more we can do here.” 

You nod at Dean and let him guide you to his car. 

[dark-elf-writes]

… should I now also bring up Dean, Sam and Cas, who would fit in and the amount of times they die to? Should I bring up Shepard who comes back different with parts under her skin? Who is being forced to work with a terrorist group? Who had her friends not with her? Who clings to the few who stayed?

Hawke would cause chaos but also the pain of losing their siblings, their mother even if she wasn't great. Coming to group and dropping down to hug Bilbo. Then betrayal even if he was in the right.

God all of these people and the pain they'd go through.

(the Warden. Who stumbles in and confesses to sleeping with a witch because it was the only way. Who wants to know his child. The others working to help. Maybe Kieran appears, a chosen one himself)

Shxhndns GOD THE FUCKING WINCHESTERS AND CAS

The Mystery Spot ends with Sam actually trying to murder Gabriel because not only has he had to see his brother die over and over and over. He felt it. All of them felt it. He can’t get Naruto and Harry’s miserable little sobs out of his head as they clung to the others from the pain. Can’t get any of it out of his head.

Hawke who has lost so much, who has tried their best, who has even everything they have and it still wasn’t enough. Who clung to their family with bloody hands and broken fingernails and still had them ripped away. Who clings to all of them the same way hiding it behind laughter and quips and seemingly boundless confidence.

Shepard who comes back different. Comes back stronger. Comes back chained. Came back wrong? Who clenches her jaw against the scream she can feel clawing it’s way up her throat because she still has a job to do. She clings to them just as tightly, hiding her tears in wild curls and broad shoulders. She vows she won’t let them be taken from her too. Vows that she won’t give them a reason to leave her too.

The warden who staggers in shaking and pale repeating over and over that it was the only way. That they had no choice. That they wouldn’t feel their death too. (They had no idea how much it would be hurt to die for the blight. They had no desire for their family to find out.) that tells them with full eyes and a hollow voice that they don’t know where the witch went. Where their child is.

Kieran who comes a while later driving the warden to their knees as they sob in relief and deep unending grief that their child is as trapped by fate as they were.

[fandom-hoarder]

asking about a/b/o sammarydean 👀👀👀👀

Heee ok. This is a verse that largely exists in my DMs with @supernaturalkickparty and I don't have much WRITTEN yet, but it starts from when omega!Mary comes back in s12, while omega!Sam is kidnapped by the BMOL. For omegaverse reasons, Dean has to reclaim Mary's mating mark from John before she goes into a grief cycle. There's a platonic head-of-family way to do this, but the lines are quickly crossed. When they rescue Sam, he's already started his grief cycle (thinking Dean died) and realizes/smells what's happened between Dean and Mary, and they have a threesome to fix the family dynamic/Dean's harem. ��😅😅

She hugs him and he freezes at her scent; the familiarity of it; it’s been 34 years since that scent has meant home and it’s bittersweet – the comforting musk of Dad twined in the milky honey of Mom, and the faint woodsy scent laced underneath. He wraps his arms around her and shoves his nose into her hair; opens his lips and breathes in the scent of his lost home lingering across her skin, concentrated in her mating mark near the back of her neck. He wants to drink her in.

She feels so small in his arms – somehow smaller than she’s ever felt before, in the past or in Heaven – and he wants to cry.

At her next words, he just might.

“Where are John and Sammy?” _

The next time she’s in his arms, she’s crying, her grief a thick cloud over his senses. Instinctively, he tongues over the edge of his father’s mark just at the crook of her neck, soothing her. Her sobs slow, though her tears don’t.

_

Dean can taste Mary’s grief, thick in the air of the old clunker he’s hotwired to get them from New York to Kansas. He hasn’t been able to catch a signal, and all his good cards were left behind with Sam since…well. Dean wasn’t exactly supposed to come back.

The thought makes Dean imagine Sam’s own grief scent right now, and Dean feels like he might be sick. He checks his mirrors – no traffic – and pulls Baby over onto the shoulder.

“Mom–” he starts, and sees her cringe slightly, eyes so young and lost when she looks at him. “Mary,” he amends, reaching to unbuckle her seatbelt and pull her closer. Her arms are around herself protectively, but when she breathes him in she melts against him. He pulls her hair aside to rub her back and calm her with soothing pheromones, the way the alpha of a family should.

He takes a whiff of her, and panic surges through him at how faded her mated scent is already.

He doesn’t think it was ever that quick for him or Sammy.

It’s too fast; he barely got to appreciate that nostalgic scent of Before, and Sam hasn’t had a chance at all. Instinctively, he noses down and licks over her mating mark. Tastes his father there; almost moans at the reassurance of it when it’s still strong on his tongue. He laves against it, over and over, as if his attentions can still strengthen it.

Until Mary starts to shudder in his arms, and her clinging fists start to push against him instead. “D-Dean…” she says weakly, but he can tell the weakness is only in the surety of his name. He pulls his mouth away and she puts some distance between them, but just a little. They breathe into each other’s space until they’re calm again, and then Mary does move all the way back to the passenger seat. But her eyes, when she looks at Dean again, are soft.

[nickeldean]

“Cas?” Dean calls from upstairs in their townhouse, making Cas roll his eyes. Dean’s probably going to beg him to bring him the ice cream, which would be fine, except that they’re all out.

“What?” Cas calls back, wandering over to the fridge in advance. Dean’s pregnancy cravings are always so predictable.

Dean calls out again, his voice cracking, sobs muffling Cas’ name, and Cas’ heart sinks to his stomach as he closes the fridge and runs upstairs.

He finds Dean curled up on their bed, blood dotting their sky blue sheets. Dean’s clutching a stuffed rabbit to his chest, his face buried into Cas’ pillow as he sobs. He turns to look at Cas as the bed creaks under the new weight, his face red and blotchy from crying.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps between sobs, “I’m so sorry.”

Cas runs his hand through Dean’s hair, curling up behind him and pressing little kisses to the back of his husband’s neck. “It’s okay, Dean, you’ll be okay, I love you.”

Dean shakes his head, nearly pushing Cas off the bed, squirming away. “No, I, I lost her, Cas, I lost our baby girl.” He inhales shakily, rolling over and trying to stand up from the bed before falling to the floor.

Instantly, Cas is at Dean’s side, trying to pick him up and carry him to the bathroom, massaging Dean’s back.

“No,” Dean snaps, trying to push Cas away as he stumbles towards the bathroom, “You don’t— no, Cas, stop,” Dean begs, tears rolling from his glassy green eyes. “I— I lost her, Cas, it’s my fault, I— She’s gone.”

Nothing Cas can say will make Dean feel less guilty. It doesn’t matter that it’s not his fault. They were both so careful this time, overjoyed when their little girl made it past the 12-week mark, when miscarriage became less likely. They had a name picked out, too.

Cas just listens to Dean’s sobs as he removes his husband’s shirt and bloody boxers and helps him into their bathtub, filling it with warm water. He knew what to do by now.

Clutching at what should have grown into a bump, Dean leans back in the bath, closing his eyes as the hot water runs over him. “Claire Mary Novak-Winchester, you were supposed to be our miracle,” he whispers, “My miracle.”

Dean’s eyes wander to Cas, who is clinging to Dean’s hand, rubbing his thumb over his husband’s knuckles in little soothing motions. “I’m broken,” Dean admits, trying to pull his hand away from Cas, struggling, shouting, “Go love someone else.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m not going to do that.” His eyes wander down to the reddening water, Dean’s exhausted form barely visible through the murkiness. “I love you, Dean, you. I’m not leaving.”

Dean sniffs. “I’d leave. All— all you wanted was a family,” Dean stutters, “I can’t even give you that.”

It’s a lie. Cas has never wanted a family. He’s always wanted what Dean’s wanted, just wanted to see that spark of happiness in his husband’s eyes.

He wanders away from Dean for a moment, looking over their bed from the doorway of the bathroom. The sheets were stained beyond saving, Cas’ pillow wet with tears, the little bunny plushie laying abandoned where Dean had dropped it trying to get away from Cas.

Slowly, Cas picks it up, moving a floppy ear from its face. They’d picked it out together at some souvenir shop on their honeymoon. The bunny just stares at Cas, eyes reflecting only sadness instead of the joy it was supposed to bring to their new baby. They had picked the stuffed rabbit out four years ago.

He wants to throw it across the room. He wants to rip its ears off. He wants to hold it against his chest and never let go. He wants to lay with it and cuddle it until it’s all scruffy and flat, thoroughly loved and used. He never wants to see it again.

Still, he carries it into the bathroom, cradling the plushie in his arms, its bent plastic whiskers catching on the sleeve of his shirt. He sinks to his knees beside the bathtub, both Cas and Dean looking down at the bunny in reverence, some reverse prayer.

Without a word, Cas stands again, walking to their closet with purpose, holding a ritualistic stance as he presses a single kiss to the rabbit’s forehead. Slowly, he lowers it into a blue bin, tucking its ears down beside it, positioning its little body as if it were in a coffin.

He closes the lid with a thud.

[nescaveckwriter]

Stethoscopes & Triangles - Chapter One ❤️‍🩹

Sam Winchester x Reader (Aka - Amy Summers)

A/N: Heya bugsie 🐞, here is another fanfic, about Sam & Dean, was requested by a beautiful anon 💕 (I hope you like it darling)

Side Note: Thank You Bugsies for the love and support, I'm open to take more requests, as writing is one of my favourite things to do

Warnings: Death, Swearing, Angst, Hospital Scenes, Fluff

Code Blue!!! Code Blue!!!!

"Dammit!!! The kid keeps coding, come on buddy, pull through for me" she whispers while standing over him, giving him chest compressions.

"Doctor Summers, its no use, its been more than 15 minutes, he's gone!" The male nurse exclaims.

Her eyes throwing darts, "Dammit Jeremy! The kid is only five, we owe him, we have to try just once more."

Shaking his head in disbelief, agitated he says, "fine do what you want!"

The sweat on her forehead is visible, determination evident, "1...2...." Counting the chest compressions underneath her breath.

Standing back, while they place the defibrillator once again! Seeing the little boy's body jolting up and then down towards the bed again, is just one to much.

"Stop! Just stop it! He's gone, there's nothing we can do now!" Her voice stern and emotionless.

Calling the time, while removing her cloves, and letting it fall to the ground, walking out of the emergency room! Walking towards the parents, ''Mr. and Mrs. Rogers, I'm so sorry but unfortunately your son didn't make it'' her voice disinterested. Walking away till the sobbing off the parents becomes more, and more distant.

''Dr. Summers is truly a very cold person, don't you think Judy?'' his voice bitter.

Scornful she replies ''Jeremy, we are not suppose to talk about other people that way, especially not Dr. Summers, she is absolutely amazing at her work'' 

''Just because she's great doesn't mean she needs to be such a jerk'' he mumbled bitterly.

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Staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, her bangs  still clinging to her sweaty face, her ocean blue eyes now, a distant grey, looking tired, trying to fight back the tears, cursing herself mentally for failing the little boy, recalling the crushed look on his parents face. Biting her tongue, the taste of blood, awakening her senses. Cupping her hands, bringing some water to her mouth, swooshing it around, then spitting the slightly red-pinkish water into the basin. ''Man Up Amy! Stop being a failure, you're such a disappointment to me'' hearing her father's gravelling voice in her head. 

Hearing the chatter of nurses coming closer, locking herself in one of the bathroom stalls, their voices fruity, but hushed ''That Dr. Summers is real something, she's so cold, how that hot hunky boyfriend can actually love her, blows my mind'' 

''Tell me about it Claire, what he sees in her, I have no idea, yes she has beautiful long black hair, and those blue eyes, and quite a fit physique as well, but her personality is so cold and distant.''

''Oooh I'll take that gorgeous looking man any day'' 

''Oh yeah, we'll be a better fit anyway, our personalities is warm and friendly, not like hers.''

''They don't call her doctor cold for nothing'' laughing as they walk away.

    Tears staining her velvety cheeks. ''Get yourself together Dr. Cold'' mocking herself. Unlocking the door, walking to the basin to wash her face. Dabbing the paper towel over her face, her mouth curved into a smile, revealing the dimples, Sam, amazingly handsome Sam, he always had a way of making her knees weak, ever since they met in college, they disliked each other at first, her nature hard and cold, and his soft, empathetic and so gentle, they'll clash about every little thing. They lived opposite from each other, but it changed one night, getting a 'D' in chemistry, and freaking out about it, she sat on the stairs at three in the morning, knowing her father is most probably going to kill her, she felt a big gentle hand on her shoulder, his smoky voice, full of empathy, ''whatever it is, its going to be okay.''

The two of them sat till the sun came up, shared stories about their father's and how if affected them. He asked her out two days after that, revealing he had felt this way for the longest time, and they've been going strong for a little over seven years. Moving in together was the next logical step after college, building a life together while she was busy with her residency and Sam serving articles for his clerkship, didn't come without challenges, but they made it, both of them have their dream jobs, and their good at what they do, even if it interferes with their social lives and especially their relationship, but their still holding on and going strong. The pager alerting her, there's yet another emergency, breaks her thoughts. Tossing the paper towel in the dustbin, she runs off to the ER.

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Unlocking the door with its detailed appearance, he walks in. Peeking in to the kitchen, then to  the living room, shaking his head at the sight of her sneakers laying upside down at the armchair. ''Babe, were are you at?'' hearing her mumbling something that's she's in the bathtub. Peeping inside, the bathroom smells like lavender, the fragmented candles reflecting the glow on her fair skin, her long hair, tied up in a messy bun, her body drenched under the hot water and the white soapy bubbles, creeping up to her collar bone. ''Damn your beautiful'' his voice smoky and slight breathy.

''Hey babe, thank you, I missed you today!'' her voice tired. 

Knowing her like the back of his hand, ''Sweetie, hard day at work?''

Tilting her head towards Sam, revealing her greyish blue orbs. ''I lost a five year old boy today, due to a damn drunken driver.'' her voice heavy with emotion.

Concerned look on his face, his brows furrowed, ''Love I'm so sorry'' walking closer, landing a kiss on the crown of her head. Placing himself down on the floor next to the bathtub, taking her hand, stroking her lean fingers. His voice low, ''What can I do?'' 

''There's nothing you can do, babe, you being here is enough'' revealing the pain in her voice.

Looking up at her, stroking the tears off her dewy cheeks, knowing, that she's a strong women, but not really the cold person, she makes out to be. He whispers,  ''I'm here for you baby'' while kissing her softly. 

''Thank you love, I don't know what I will do without you.'' replying breathy.

A corner of his mouth lifted, ''Probably pass out due to hunger'' trying to lighten the mood, he suggests he'll make some dinner, while she relaxes a little more, and when she's ready, then the the food will be plated, and they'll binge, one of those home renovation shows she likes so much. 

''Sounds perfect thanks babe'' a soft giggle escapes her full lips.

Giving her a small kiss he walks towards the kitchen, wondering if she knows how much he loves and adores her, no one get's him like she does, that's probably why he is planning to ask the big question, once he's done working this big case.

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Chapter Two Here :)

[samsexualdeancurious]

3 AM

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,549

Summary: She just wanted to surprise him.

Warnings: Hurt!Reader, vomiting, hurt/comfort.

A/N: Just a lil thing I wrote instead of doing homework, lol. Enjoy!

---

Your windshield wipers swish back and forth, the sound so much louder than usual. The rain on the glass distorts the headlights of cars you pass. Thankfully there aren’t many at this hour but every one forces you to slow down and squint at the road, trying to keep track of the lines, and things are only getting worse. You’re glad you’ve already left the streetlights of Lebanon behind. The night is dark, made even darker by the storm, but you know the way.

When the bunker finally looms out of the night, a huge shadow blocking out what little light the sky has to offer, relief begins to trickle in. Your tires skid and slip as you come to a stop. The path to the bunker steps is muddy underfoot and the steps themselves are slick with rain. You cling to the railing with one hand, the other lifted to knock before you’ve even reached the bottom.

No answer.

Relief fading, you begin banging your fist against the door as hard as you can, over and over and over and-

“Hey! Hey!”

The door swings open. You flinch, covering your eyes against the light that pours out into you, and there, silhouetted in the doorway, is Dean.

“Y/N?”

He reaches for you, pulling you inside and out of the rain. The door slams shut behind you. The clang of the metal makes you flinch. Inside is warm and dry and Dean’s hands are firm on your shoulders. He’s sleep-mussed, wearing a grey robe and slippers over his t-shirt and boxers. His eyes are wide and awake, though, as he holds you steady.

“It’s 3 AM,” he says. “Are you okay?”

“I tried to call,” you manage. You’re starting to feel dizzy. The lights are too much and you can still taste the bitter tang of undead blood in your mouth. “I had a hunt nearby. I wanted to surprise Sam but-”

Your words cut off as pain rocks through you and your knees buckle. Dean catches you up in his arms, yelling for Sam.

You squeeze your eyes shut and when you open them again, you’re being laid on a bed in a room with white brick walls. The only light is a lamp beside the bed but even that has your head pounding. Dean is leaning over you and past him, barefoot in pajama pants and a grey t-shirt you know is the softest thing he owns, Sam is making his way down the stairs. The sight of him is enough to make the tears that have been building for the last hour finally spill over.

“Y/N,” Dean is saying. He pats your cheek, pulling your eyes back to him. “Y/N. Hey. There you are. Stay with me. What were you hunting?”

Everything is so loud.

“Vampire,” you manage. Your hand flails towards your pocket but a spasm of pain shoots through you before you and grab the vial stashed there.

Sam is by your side now. One big hand curls around the back of your head, the other catching yours. “Have you fed?”

You shake your head and a wave of nausea rolls through you. “Pocket.”

Dean’s fingers fumble in your pocket to find the vial of blood you were able to gather after killing the vampire.

“Good girl,” Sam praises when he sees it. Warmth spreads in your chest at the words.

“I’ll put together the cure. You okay staying with her?”

Sam nods, curling over you as Dean stands. You hear Dean’s footsteps on the stairs but your eyes are on Sam’s. Everything is so intense and his presence is grounding. Reassuring.

He shouldn’t be this close.

“You should go,” you gasp as pain rocks through your body once more. “It’s - I’m not safe.”

Sam shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and you can’t suppress a sob. “You’re gonna be just fine. We’ll take care of you.”

“Wanted to surprise you,” you mumble.

Sam chuckles. His thumb smooths away the tension in your forehead. “You definitely surprised me. Why didn’t you call when you found that hunt, thought?”

There’s no judgment in his words, just concern.

“It was just one.”

Just one but that one was old, experienced, and got the jump on you. You let your guard down for just a moment. You let yourself get cocky and now, you’re paying the price.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Sam murmurs. “You’re gonna be just fine.”

You don’t feel fine right now. Your stomach is twisting with nauseous hunger. Your head is throbbing and even Sam’s whispers are too loud, his gentle touch too rough. You can hear a steady, if slightly accelerated, thumping that must be his heart. A sharp pain is rising in your gums and you don’t want to think about what that means.

The infirmary door bangs open and you can’t help a cry, your free hand flying up to cover your ear. Sam immediately places both hands over your ears as Dean bangs down the stairs. He grimaces at the sight of you.

“How’s she doing?” he asks, setting a bowl on the bedside table. He has a glass in his hand filled with a dark liquid.

“How do you think?” Sam snaps. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he frowns and shakes his head. “Sorry, I just -”

“I know.” Dean places a reassuring hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“Is it ready?”

“Yup.”

Sam turns back to you. His thumbs sweep over your cheekbones and wipe away the tears you can’t hold back.

“Y/N,” he says quietly. “Can you sit up for me?”

You draw a shaky breath and nod. Sam takes his hands from your ears and helps you sit up. When you’re upright, he shifts to sit behind you on the bed and allows you to lean against his chest. You’re literally turning into something he hunts and yet here he is, trusting you not to turn on him.

Dean holds out the glass and Sam covers your hand with his own when you take the glass. The support is more than welcome as you eye the substance Dean’s mixed up for you. The need for humanity overrides your disgust, though, and you down the entire glass as quickly as you can.

“Holy shit, that’s vile,” you gag.

Sam passes the glass back to Dean, who’s nodding with a sympathetic expression. You remember as Sam sets the bowl in your lap that Dean’s been through this experience himself. If anyone in this room understands what you’re going through, it’s Dean.

If you felt awful before, you almost feel worse when the cure starts to kick in. Dean leaves the room to get you water while Sam rubs your back and holds the bowl steady so you don’t drop it. Throwing up in front of him is absolutely humiliating and you’ll feel it later but you’re too focused right now on getting what feels like everything you’ve ever consumed out of your system.

When you’re finally done and you’ve rinsed your mouth out with the water Dean brings, Sam tucks you in against his chest as the tears come back in full force. Dean slips out again, mumbling something about cleaning up. Sam lays you down on the cot and stretches out beside you. He’s too long for the bed - he has to fold his knees up around your legs to fit - but he doesn’t complain. Just holds you tighter and lets you cry yourself to sleep.

---

You wake with Sam’s face pressed into your hair and the taste of death in your mouth. Your whole body aches. It takes you a minute to remember what happened and when you do, shame floods through your body. Your face burns. You try to slip from Sam’s embrace and sit up without waking him, desperate to brush your teeth and shower and probably crawl into a hole to die, but his grip on you is tight.

“How’re you feeling?” Sam asks and you startle, grimacing. Of course he’s awake. You can count the number of times you’ve woken up before Sam on one hand. When you don’t answer, Sam tilts his head to look at your face. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you answer without looking at him. “Yeah. I just… I feel gross.”

Sam gives you a gentle squeeze and kisses your forehead. “Understandable. How does a hot shower sound? You take your time and I’ll make breakfast?”

Your stomach rumbles at the thought of food and Sam laughs. He kisses your forehead again.

“Shower and breakfast it is, then.”

Sam starts to sit up but now it’s your turn to cling to him, suddenly desperate for just a few minutes more of his comforting warmth. You’re hurting and hungry and humiliated but you need him. You’ll cry yourself out in the shower but you need his silent strength holding you together for just a little while longer.

“Hey,” Sam says, pulling you upright with him. “Y/N?”

“Thank you.”

He makes a soft sound you can’t decipher. “Oh, sweetheart. Anything for you.”

You nod, nuzzling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt. “Can we… just sit here for a little bit longer?”

“That we can definitely do.”

—

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