#and then to claim that dean was the one who went to far???

[saving-people-haunting-things]

I'm so very proud of myself for having restraint and not responding to stupid takes about the 8x09 fake text debacle.

[gloomwitchwrites]

In the Wolf's Maw

Werewolf John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: mild dubcon, knotting, mating bonds, accidental mating, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding, dominance, protectiveness, possessive behavior, werewolf!Price, shifter!Price

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Requested by @glitterypirateduck for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Werewolf AU)

Walking home on Halloween night, you’re accosted by three strange men. From the dark emerges a stranger, but one that has been haunting your steps for months. He might be your savior, but there is a deeper hunger within him that needs to be satiated, and only you can satisfy it.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Something walks with you amongst the trees.

It is always near—always close—but never enough for you to glimpse it between the towering bark.

When you first felt the strange presence, you believed it to be human. Your senses awakened in expectation of threatening intent, but now, with the passing of the months, you no longer believe it to be so.

Whether for good or ill, a human would have revealed themselves in some capacity. This must be animal. It has to be. Either curious or cautious but it clearly does not see you as a threat. It is always there though. A phantom. A figure. You've never seen who or what but you sense it.

"You should really take the main road. I don't understand why you insist on cutting through the forest."

"It's peaceful," you reply. "Gives me time to think."

Your friend arches an eyebrow. "You know the stories."

"Myths," you correct. "Not stories."

"Myths always carry a bit of truth."

There are wolves in the forest. But they live deeper, away from the human population. Wolf sightings are extremely rare, and those that claim to see them are often known for being terrible gossips and liars.

The myth that walks with them is that the wolves are not wolves at all.

They are cursed men. Shifters. Werewolves.

It's nonsense.

Scientifically impossible.

The wolves are only wolves. Maybe the one that watches you is one of these wolves?

Possible, but unlikely.

For all you know, you're being watched by a curious scurry of squirrels.

The myth is history drenched, from a time when people needed to explain natural phenomena they didn't understand. It is only stories.

Or so you believed.

It's late in October. Halloween night.

You stayed far too late at the local library, browsing shelves and losing track of time until the librarian, Mrs. Dean, came scouting for you in the basement archive. Down there, you went searching for what hadn't been digitized, seeking stories about these wolves.

Most of what you uncovered were old newspaper articles of missing women and mauled men in the forest. The details were few and relatively unhelpful, but like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, there was one consistency in all of them.

The myth, mentioned at the end of every article. Cursed men that shift into wolves. Men in the skin of a predator that hunt women and slaughter their menfolk. You'd think the town had a serial killer, but the articles go back far enough in time that it simply couldn't be the case. Many of the articles cite historical records and reports of the same thing happening over a hundred years ago.

It plagues you on your walk home.

Staying late at the library and taking the path through the forest home takes you away from the roaming families and the angsty teens ready to terrorize anyone who steps in their path. The streets are alive with movement, but you need to collect your thoughts, to consider what you've found and figure out where to look next.

A gentle wind brings a chill with it, sneaking underneath your coat to tease skin. Shivering, you bundle up tighter, the cold bite of air adding a kick to your step. You feel eyes on you, but not your anonymous phantom.

These eyes feel cruel. Malicious.

"What's this?"

Three tall figures in masks emerge from the dark. Like a whisper of wind they appear, skulking toward you, fanning out in a half-moon directly in front of you.

"Cute thing like you shouldn't be out here all on your own." The voice is masculine. Deep. Not one of the local teens. This is someone much older. "There are...wolves about."

The trio saunters forward, the two on the ends splintering off from the man in the middle, slowly boxing you in. There is nowhere to go but behind. Turning tail and running means a chase. You scent their excitement. That is what they're itching for.

"I'm fine. Thank you for the concern," you reply in the blandest voice you can muster.

Don't show fear.

"Need an escort?"

He's not taking the hint, but what did you expect?

Missing women. Dead men.

"No. Thank you."

Squaring your shoulders, you charge forward, intent on walking through the two on the right. In sync, they close ranks, blocking your path.

"Sure about that?"

"We insist."

Your lips part. "I'm—"

A low growl reaches your ears. It is laced with warning, and a sudden surge of energy rushes up to greet you, wrapping around and between your limbs like invisible rope. You know this sensation. It is familiar and unwaveringly comforting.

The two men standing in front of you glance over your shoulder. From behind their masks, their eyes widen with abject terror. Their shoulders tighten with tension, and they freeze like a deer sensing danger.

The growl comes again, and that sensation bleeds into you further, becoming more than just comfort.

It is...ownership.

Possession.

"What the fuck is that?" whispers one of the men.

They're not focused on you anymore. They're looking beyond you. Behind.

"Fucking run, mate. Run!"

The three men stumble backward, becoming small and insignificant before your very eyes. They shove at each other, not for encouragement, but for distraction. If one should fall, it might distract whatever it is that lurks behind you.

At first, you do not turn. You wait for the pounce—for the growl. But there is nothing. Only silence. Yet those invisible ropes still cling to your body. They still hold tight.

With a baffling sense of calm, you slowly swivel.

There is a wolf. Not a normal one you might see in a wilderness documentary. This one is large, nearly as tall as you on all fours. Its fur is a deep brown. It watches you intently, gaze fixated on nothing else. Even as you take a step away, the creature does not waiver.

It's unnerving, at least, it should be. Yet that comforting familiarity shuts out everything else. It chases away fear and doubt. You know that the natural instinct of any animal facing down a larger predator is survival, but there is nothing that beats within your body that suggests your fight or flight response is on.

It is eerily peaceful. Serene even.

If this sensation did not encompass you as completely as it did, you suspect that you'd be like the trio. Afraid. Terrified.

But just because your sense has left you, that doesn't mean your brain has. It is loud and it is talking.

Do not turn your back. Do not break eye contact. Make yourself big. Make noise. Move backward slowly.

You stretch your arms out wide, puffing your chest, attempting to make yourself bigger. Not like you could ever compare to this beast. You step back, breathe in, preparing a yell.

But just as you do, the wolf shifts. It's not showing its fangs or quickening its haunches. It only watches on, alert and curious. Not aggressive.

There is no submission, though. The wolf does not seem intent on simply walking away. That sensation hugging your body brightens, and a flare of possession surges through you, stiffening your muscles as if you've been turned to stone.

The wolf shifts again. Shakes. Takes a step toward you.

As it does, you hear bones pop and snap. Beneath the wolf, its legs twist and bend beneath it, staggering its forward progress. Its nostrils flare and then the neck snaps as if lurched to the side by some invisible force.

"What the fuck," you mutter, that sense of calm slipping.

The connection is still there, but it's slightly weaker than before. A drop of fear creeps in, and the need to escape starts to bloom in your chest. It widens, that familiarity leaking away to bleed into the earth as the broken wolf shakes and twists some more.

It is just a mass of fur and tangled limbs.

And then, from the pile, the fur splits open, and a human arm emergers, the fingers reaching out, tearing at the dirt.

You need to go, to fucking run.

The phantom threads release you, and your feet find their purchase. You launch yourself backward and away, sprinting as fast as you can. The cold, October air bites at your cheeks. Everything burns.

You know this is just adrenaline. It will fade and you will crash.

Boot slipping on dead leaves, you go stumbling forward, the ground coming up fast. You're jerked to a stop. Halted. Face inches away from smashing into a rock. Glancing down your body, you see...arms. Human arms. Wrapped around your torso. They are muscular and marked with protruding veins, with a dusting of hair along the forearms.

Slowly, you are lifted upward and onto your feet, but the arms remain. Warmth greets you, pressing into your back to chase away the October chill. With it comes a honey-laced scent. It is sweet and lulling, seeping into your pores to flood your senses. This is like before—the awareness of familiarity and possession, but there is a difference in its tone. Beneath it is a wicked teasing, a promise of dominance and pleasure. Like the invisible ropes, it overpowers, wrapping around you to hold you like a blanket.

It is enticing. A pull that calls to you. Something within you reverberates its call, answering back.

The arms around you tighten until you're firmly pressed against the man holding you. That is who it is. Not what. The wolf is gone. This is solid flesh.

This is myth made life.

The lulling sensation settles in, calling to you, telling you to submit.

It would be so easy. So simple.

No.

You push at the man's arms, twisting in an attempt to break free. But your savior turned captor holds firm, allowing nothing.

"Let me go."

"No."

The no is a rumble deep in his chest. It vibrates through the pull and into your bones. This is a command, and your body promptly responds, coiling tight.

Glancing over your shoulder, you lock gazes with the man holding you in his arms. You're staring at the face of a man. He is handsome. Older. His skin is lightly coated in sweat and dirt. But the eyes. They are wolf eyes. Completely animal. The rest of him is completely bare. No clothing in sight, and yet he doesn’t appear cold.

His chest heaves slightly, nostrils flaring. This man burst forth from the wolf, but there is still a beastly quality that sings along the pull. This man is somewhere between, lingering between the wolf and humanity.

How you know this isn't entirely clear. There is a link somewhere. A tether. His closeness only makes the awareness grow in strength. Confusion and concern twist together even as the comforting familiarity attempts to soothe your nerves.

"Please," you murmur, not entirely understanding yourself what it is you're trying to say.

The man only sighs. His head dips, and then he inhales deeply as if—

Is he…scenting you?

"What are—"

The question disappears from your lips. Taken from your mouth. The stranger nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeper. One hand descends as the other rises. Along the pull you feel heat, it floods outward from him and into you, going straight to your pussy.

The descending hand slides between your legs, cupping your sex. The other roams up your stomach to your chest, gently learning the curve of a breast through your sweater.

He groans low, and that too reverberates within you. A tingling blooms in your core. There is your own desire, but beside it is another. His.

The stranger's hand slides further between your legs. Back and forth, the pressure building so suddenly and intensely that your pussy clenches.

He inhales again. Growls. "Mine."

That one word is like a slap to the face and a comforting caress. Along the pull, it is a dominating serenity. Outwardly, your freedom rebels, pushing against the idea.

As if sensing the unease, his hold on you releases, but only for a moment. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, clutching you tightly, strutting forward with purpose in every step. You sense it through the pull, this taut string that has woven its way inside.

"Let me go," you murmur, pressing against his firm chest.

Be calm.

The command comes not from his own throat, but from within your head. It is his voice. Clear and resonate. The moment your brain processes it, all your limbs soften like jelly.

Are you trapped? Have you been possessed?

A part of you firmly clings to this idea while the other part remains completely calm as if this is supposed to happen.

He walks deeper into the forest, and time stretches, the stars through the canopy your only light. The trees thicken, and then the stranger comes to a stop before a group of jagged rocks that juts upward from the ground.

Within the rock, you spy darkness.

An opening. An entrance.

Instinct flares, and the need to escape comes rushing back. Be calm, he says again.

This time, there is no instantaneous softening. Along the pull, something tightens, as if adjusting a belt buckle. A wildness stirs, and the earlier arousal returns, tinged with desperation. Eagerness settles in your chest, but it feels more like his emotions than yours.

The man walks toward the rock. He tilts forward, stepping inside, submerging the two of you in utter darkness. Yet, you do not feel frightened. Each step of his is confident and steady, and as the two of you steadily move forward, a soft white glow begins to appear. It is faint at first. Soft.

Another opening emerges, and before you is an antechamber. In the middle of the rock-laden room is a massive slab of solid, black stone. It stands at waist level, the surface worn from age. Above it is an opening in the cave ceiling. From it, moonlight falls upon the rock slab. An acrid odor fills your nostrils. A brief brush of wind slides against your cheek. Something magical and old stirs. Something primal.

He stops at the rock slab, and then gently brings you down to your feet. Solid ground is comforting. Stable and strong.

The wolf eyes stare back at you. A fire swirls within them. As your gazes’ lock, memory surges down the pull. That familiar feeling returns, and with it, memories of you.

He is the one who has walked with you amongst the trees. He is the one who has been the presence at your back. Keeping you safe. Protected. A sense of duty follows the memory along with a flare of purpose. At the end is dominance and possession. It all slithers around the pull until you feel it in every part of you down to the tips of your fingers.

Maybe all those missing women aren’t missing at all. Maybe they went willingly. Maybe they had wolfish protectors of their own.

You are at ease, your limbs responding of their own accord. You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. Its beat is strong beneath your palm. He places his hand over yours, gently grasping it. Stepping forward, his head dips, forehead pressing to yours with an intimacy that somehow feels…normal. Like you've known it all your life.

Along the tether, you taste a name.

John.

His name is John.

"John," you breathe, and his hand upon yours tightens.

The distance closes, a radiating heat bursting within your chest as John’s other hand falls upon your hip. It flows outward, warming you down to your toes and into your fingers. John's lips find yours, and it is perfectly blissful. This stranger is not unknown to you. Your soul sings with longing and want.

There is a connection here. Why not seek it?

You return the kiss, grasping the back of his neck, moving in to consume just as he does. John's answer is a deep growl, one that vibrates in his chest. A sharp spike of arousal shoots through the tether, slamming into you at full force.

You gasp. Draw back.

John is partially transformed, fingers morphing into claws. With a groan that is more animal than human, John tugs at your clothes. They surrender under his touch, like a knife through softened bread. There is no ceremony to it. No ritual. You are laid bare before this man. At his mercy. The chilly October air rushes in and then immediately departs, John's body heat chasing it away almost the moment it arrives.

His hands are on your waist, lifting you, planting you atop the stone slab. You want to say something—anything, but all words escape your head and tongue as John spreads your legs wide and places his mouth on your pussy. Sudden surprise becomes languid pleasure.

He is ravenous. Hungry. John leaves no part of you untasted. Your moans echo in the small cave, filling the space with your ecstasy. His tongue delves inside, and then languidly slides upward to swirl and tease your clit. Everything in you tenses, anticipating release.

John's arms hook over your legs, hands splayed wide, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer against his mouth. With your pleasure comes his, rolling across the link in waves. It comes in flashes of images. You glimpse yourself as he sees you, not only in this moment, but in all the moments he's watched you.

Between the desire and need is a hint of loneliness, of an unfilled connection that burrows in his chest and eats away at his heart. This current moment isn't what he intended, but it has all unraveled.

Your grasp for him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging hard as your orgasm burns bright behind your eyelids.

Look at me, comes the command.

You do, and your gazes lock. His nails are still elongated, still claw-like. One pointed tip pierces your skin just as your orgasm bursts. He growls low.

Mine.

The voice. His voice.

Mine.

A sense of ownership and dominance enters your consciousness. You feel as if you're incomplete. only a portion of yourself, yet the end is near. It will all end, and you will be fulfilled.

In the hazy aftermath of your orgasm John's tongue traces up the beads of blooming blood. You shiver, blinking to clear away some of the euphoria. John stands between your legs. His hands are still on your thighs, keeping them wide. In full view is his erect cock. There is a slight curve to it, and at the base is a swollen bulge. John squeezes one thigh and your gaze returns to his face. They are still all wolf.

When the wolf fades, what color might they be? The question pops into your head and then quickly fades. His wolfish features are starting to bleed in again. Nose elongating, fur returning, claws lengthening.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice a tangled snarl.

With a quickness that startles you, John flips you onto your stomach. His hands are everywhere, spreading you wider. You briefly glimpse him between your legs before he lifts himself up and onto the stone slab, settling behind you. Above you, one half-transformed hand presses against the stone just next to your head. His other finds rest against your waist.

While your own body buzzes with anticipation, you sense an excitement along the tether. John's excitement. Of the act itself but also of a sense of peace.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance. You exhale, relaxing your muscles, welcoming him in. You're wet, and your pussy accepts him with only the slightest resistance. He holds himself there for a moment, simply breathing. Like this, you feel entirely full. It's a snug fit, but it feels amazing, like his body was made for yours and yours for his.

Mine.

"Yours."

At your admission, John thrusts in earnest. There is nothing slow and sensual about his movements. It is only primal need and utter hunger. His arm hooks under your stomach, and then you're pressed firmly into the rock by his body. You are trapped beneath him, completely at John's mercy.

Each stroke is perfect. Cleansing.

You pant beneath him, almost in time with his own needy groans. The swell at the base of his cock slaps your pussy with each thrust. It doesn't seek entrance, but deep down, you know it will, but for what purpose is unclear.

John's movements become sharper. More intense. His panting increases, and you feel his mouth at your throat. There is a soft press of his lips, then a gentle tease of his tongue. You cannot see him, but you feel the transformation above you.

John is no longer human as his maw opens wide and holds your throat in it as he ruts. His cock swells in your pussy, stretching. The swell at the base prods, and with a final thrust, it pops in. John holds there, growling. His sharpened teeth pierce your skin. You feel the little rivers of blood trail down your throat. With the bite comes understanding. That tether becomes a solid, unbreakable thing.

Mine. She is mine.

Forever mine.

Mate.

Memories and emotions crash into your skull. You see all of John for who and what he is. A wolf. A shifter. The alpha of his pack.

Within your pussy, you feel a flood of heat. Now you know what the knot is for. His pleasure becomes yours, and you shiver, another orgasm creeping up suddenly and without warning. You clench down on his cock and on his knot. His answer is a pleased growl.

Ever so slowly, the wolf’s massive maw releases your throat. The transformed paw above your head disappears, followed by the weight of him. His cock and knot remain where they are. You feel him shiver. Hear a cracking of bone. You remain perfectly still until the ragged breathing of an animal becomes that of a human.

You turn just enough to glance over your shoulder. Behind you is John. The man, not the wolf. There are no sharp claws. No pointed teeth. The tips of his fingers brush over your skin, becoming full hands that gently caress. There is no harshness. His head tilts up, and for the first time, you're seeing him as he truly is.

Blue eyes. John has blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, exhaling deeply, a nervous flutter to his lashes.

"You're still inside me," you reply softly.

He glances down and groans. "Fucking hell. Forgot about that." He flushes slightly. "It'll be a minute."

"A minute?"

He grimaces. "The knot. Still swollen. It'll hurt you if I pull out now."

"Oh."

There is a stretch of silence. John sighs, his hands gentle tapping a rhythm against your ass. "This is...awkward,” he murmurs.

"Is it?" you ask, arching a single eyebrow.

"John," he says sheepishly, extending his hand in introduction.

"I know your name. I heard it through the—"

"The bond," he finishes. "I know." He drops his hand, and places it on your lower back. Using the position, John tests the knot. You wince. It doesn’t want to budge. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for...this."

"It's fine,” you reply, because it is.

You feel light. Content. This man is a complete stranger and yet not. Between you is the bond. There is strength in it, and a comforting embrace that you’ve always wanted but have never found.

"It's not." He sighs. "It's not how I wanted to do this," he mutters. Gripping your hips, John tests the knot. There is resistance but it’s significantly less than before. "Relax your muscles," he says softly.

You inhale, and on the exhale, John withdraws. You whimper from the brief flare of resistance but it isn't painful.

“I forget myself when I’m changed. You were threatened, and I couldn’t resist the impulse to protect you. For the wolf, that meant stealing you away. Completing the bond. But it’s not an excuse.”

You draw your knees up, suddenly realizing how exposed you are.

“You didn’t harm me. Except—”

You reach up and touch your throat. There is no blood or puncture wounds. Just a couple raised bumps that weren’t there before.

“What is this place?” you ask, glancing around.

John’s gaze scans the room, and then returns to you. “A ceremonial space. It’s been here for thousands of years. The wolf brought you here because it knew it would be safe.” He licks his lips in agitation, and then runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at them in irritation. “Could we begin again? Start over?”

“What did you have in mind?”

He places both hands on the stone slab, leaning in close. “I’ll…take you home.” His muscles bunch with tension when he says it. Along the bond, you sense the wolf’s firm refusal of the idea. “I’ll come to you during the day. We can talk.”

You scoot down the rock slab, moving closer to him. The middle of John’s brow furrows with confusion as he watches you. As you cozy up to him, you sense his calm—the relaxing of his muscles. John’s head dips, nostrils flaring slightly as his eyelids close in pleasure.

“My scent is all over you,” he purrs.

A mix of deep desire and contentment wraps you up in its embrace.

“How do you plan on taking me home? You did shred all my clothes.”

John chuckles. “Discreetly.”

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[castiwls]

confessions - d.w

Paring; dean x reader

Prompt; Confessing your love while drunk is all well and good until that drink wears off. (pt2 for drunken confessions)

Requested; @nix-rose

Notes;tysm for the request sorry this took so long lmao <3

Masterlist | pt1

Taking a sip from the mug you continued staring forward. You’d barely slept the night before, your mind had been going a mile a minute ever since you’d managed to get Dean into his room and convinced him to sleep.

So far you’d spent most of your time thinking over what you could possibly say to him whenever he emerged from his room. The weight of ruining your friendship lay heavy over you, while he’d claimed to be in love you had no way to know if he was telling the truth.

You’d known Dean long enough to know that when he got drunk enough his emotions came pouring out in strange ways. Sometimes he’d bottle up and refuse to say anything, he’d use the drink to dull the pain yet sometimes he went in the completely other direction. And last night seemed that he’d been pretty open and willing to talk about things such as how he felt.

Though you knew that the chances of him even remembering coming home last night were low.

Letting out a small sigh you placed the mug down on the table before looking to the door for a moment. The sound of footsteps caught your attention as you watched the doorway. As they grew closer the sound of a small groan echoed off the walls. Your lips quirked up slightly at the sound.

“Morning.” Dean paused in the doorway rubbing a hand over his eyes. His gaze fell onto you and he tensed for a moment before clearing his throat. Slowly he took a seat opposite you, his eyes falling on your mug. 

Wordlessly you pushed it over to him earning a small smile in thanks. He took a long sip before placing the mug down and staring at it. “How’s your head?” You placed your hands on the table in front of you looking at him expectantly. Dean looked up a small frown on his lips. “Sore.” 

You were both quiet for a moment as he quickly finished the drink. His shoulders seemed to tense the longer you both sat in silence. 

“Look, I’m not gonna dig into you about the whole getting drunk and not getting supplies,” Dean visibly relaxed at your words, part of him had expected you to chew him out the minute he’d walked into the kitchen yet you hadn't. Something which had left him feeling slightly on edge. “But we do need to talk about something.” A pit of anxiety was quickly forming in your stomach as you watched him tense again.

Taking a breath to calm your nerves you caught his gaze. “Do you…do you remember what you said last night?” Dean’s breath hitched slightly as he pushed the empty mug away. He kept your gaze as you began to nervously fiddle with your hands at his continued silence.

He pursed his lips for a moment before he closed his eyes. “I told you.” A small laugh left his lips as he leaned back in his chair running a hand down his face. “I…what did I say.” He stared at you expectantly as he bit down on his lip. He wasn’t one for sharing his feelings and the idea that he’d drunkenly blurted them out made him feel slightly sick.

The idea of being completely vulnerable with someone normally left him feeling on edge but the idea of being drunk and doing it freaked him out endlessly. 

“Not much.” You assured him. “You just…just confessed your love.” You watched as Dean’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded slowly. He thought for a moment allowing the initial shock he felt to dissipate. 

“How do you feel about it? About what I said?” His face stayed neutral but you could see the small glimmer of hope in his eyes. A small laugh left your lips, he was trying to skate around it. You’d seen him do this before, he wasn’t going to admit anything until you did. 

“That depends. Did you mean it?” 

You watched with bated breath as he was silent for a moment. You knew this could make or break your whole friendship with him. Dean Winchester was not someone who enjoyed being vulnerable, but if he really meant it then surely he could be vulnerable around you.

“I did. Hell, I really wish you hadn’t found out this way. But I really meant it.” 

He watched you closely for a moment before reaching for one of your hands. “Sweetheart, please don’t leave me hanging here.” He chucked nervously. “Maybe drunk you is braver than both of us.” You smiled squeezing his hand. You felt him squeeze your hand back a smile of his own growing on his lips.

“I’ve felt the same since we met.” Finally being able to admit it felt like a weight had been lifted off your chest almost. You’d carried around these feelings for so long that you’d accepted the fact that nothing would ever come of them yet here you were.

Dean’s grin seemed to grow at your confession. “So me getting drunk paid off then.” He joked watching as you quietly laughed as well.

“I guess it did.” You nodded. “We still need to talk about that though.” 

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Ranger (Part 3)

Summary: The reader and Dean are in trouble as they come face to face with the person who's been pulling the strings all this time...

Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader

Word Count: 2,800ish

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of murder/manipulation

A/N: Please enjoy the finale!

_______

“Stand down!” a voice shouted, holding up a closed fist. “He’s fucking feral!”

Feral? You reached a hand down between your thighs, pulling it back and grateful to find no blood. On the one hand, you were grateful Dean went feral. It was like a shit’s hit the fan reflex in an Alpha. Knots deflated instantly so pairs could escape danger. He would be stronger than five Alpha’s combined. Dean’s hair stood upright on every inch of his body, sense hyper aware of everything right now, searching of a way to protect his omega. 

But going feral meant that in a few hours, Dean’s body would force him to play catch up for going into overdrive and knock him out for a while to recover. You had to find a way out of this and fast.

“Are you fucking…” said a heavy sigh, your head popping out from behind Dean. Your heart skipped when one of the men ripped off his mask. “You fucking mated him? You let this fucker knot and claim you all the way didn’t-”

“Did, did you just come in here to try and kill my mate? My Alpha? My goddamn true mate?” you growled, stepping around Dean but held back by his extended arm. “If anyone takes a step towards him, I’ll kill you myself. I don’t care if you’re my dad or not. Don’t fuck with my mate.”

“He’s your dad?” said Dean, his scent threaded with a sharp twinge of heat, like burning ash, anger pulsing with every heartbeat. 

Your dad, turned his back, shaking his head. “Put on some damn clothes. We aren’t doing this right now.”

“Get these people out of my house and maybe I will,” you shot back. He grumbled but you watched as the others in the room walked out the broken front door, gathering at the far end of the front porch. The two of you dressed quickly, Dean always keeping an eye on you. Your dad grunted when he turned around, eyes narrowed at Dean. “Of course it had to be you, you sniveling little shit.”

“Dad, back off. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“He’s full of shit is what he is,” said Dean, picking you up before he stepped over the back of the couch to avoid the glass. He set you down by his side, careful to make sure you stayed behind him. “You were gonna kill your daughter’s true mate before we could cement it. The only reason I’m not dead right now is because it’d destroy her.”

“Why would you want to kill Dean? You told me he was innocent,” you said, brushing past Dean to join him at his side. He didn’t like that but he was the one in danger right now, not you. “Why?”

“Because you’re The Boss, aren’t you. You’re the one that gave out orders to my team lead for who to kill. Didn’t you?” Your dad stared at Dean, his jaw clenched. “Don’t deny it. I know there was someone above him calling the shots.”

“Listen you little shit,” he said, taking a step closer, resting his hand on his holster. “You don’t get to walk away from my business. You were all supposed to die that day but you lived. I let you live, Winchester, don’t forget that. I told the bureau you were a good kid with shitty luck to lose your whole team. I told them to help you get accepted to be a fucking forest ranger in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. I told them I’d watch out for you like the good person I am. I let you go, Dean. I let you think your little conspiracy theories were right. I was going to let you go but you just had to be her mate, didn’t you.”

“Touch her and I’ll-”

“I wouldn’t dare,” he snarled. “That’s my fucking daughter.”

He wiped a hand over his face, breathing deeply as Dean grabbed the back of your sweatpants, holding you close.

“Seeing as how killing you would make my own daughter hunt me down, I’m going to let you live.” Dean scoffed, your dad cocking his head. “Boy, don’t you think for one second if I hadn’t gotten here five minutes sooner you’d be still breathing. I won’t fuck up my own family but yours? I have no problem sending Sam and his little girlfriend a visit or your parents. You fucking work for me again and this time? You’re not hiding behind your team. You’re killing who I say when I say it.”

“No he isn’t.” You took a step forward, Dean’s grip still there. “In case you didn’t realize, those people you just threatened are my pack now. They are as much my family as you are. Dean let go of me.”

“Be careful,” he muttered, reluctantly dropping his hand. You raised your chin and took a few more steps, as close as you dared. He wouldn’t hurt you but you still couldn’t trust him.

“I know you love me, dad. If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be talking right now.” He shifted on his feet, keeping his face blank. “Today was supposed to be my day to spend with him. Today’s supposed to be the best day of my life and you stole that. He’s not a hitman. He’s my fucking soulmate and if you do not stop hurting him right this second, I will call her, call them both, and tell them everything.”

His lips parted as he took in the threat, the way you stood your ground. You honestly weren’t sure what he’d do. Clearly he wasn’t the easy going nice guy you’d always known him as which made your gut churn. But you’d deal with that later. Right now you needed this resolved.

“Well?” you asked, crossing your arms. “Am I calling them or what?”

He raised his hand and did a twirling motion with his finger. The people on the porch shared a look but you watched them retreat off into the woods. Your dad let out a long breath before crossing his arms back at you. “Alright. I will leave your…mate and his pack out of this. Happy?”

“What the fuck is going on?” mumbled Dean behind your back. 

“My dad has two mates. My mom and his true mate he met a few years ago,” you said, turning around for a closet down the hallway. You ripped it open to find a broom and dustpan, happily grabbing them before tossing them at your dad. “Clean up the mess you made.”

“Y/N,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t understand the kind of liability this kid is.”

“Clean. It. Up.” He grumbled but picked up the broom, sweeping the glass into a pile near his feet. “What Dean chooses to do is not your decision to make. You’re going to live with the consequences of your actions. Unless you want me to tell mom what kind of man you are? Tell Sasha who you are before you claim her?”

“You haven’t claimed your true mate?” asked Dean, your dad turning so his back was to your both as he worked. “How the hell did you hold off?”

“Dad always said it wasn’t fair to mom since he loves them both but when he met Sasha, he was strangely against it. Seeing as we both know just how hard it is to not claim a true mate, I’m going to guess it’s something else,” you said, glancing at Dean.

“He’s on Novi-Alpha,” said Dean, shaking his head. “You can’t claim her or you’ll kill her.”

“It’s why you moved out here away from mom for a ‘covert’ job huh? You don’t want your mates near you,” you said.

“Thanks for being such a sympathetic pup to the fact I have cancer,” he said, throwing the broom down. “For the record, miss know it all, I’ve been on Novi-Alpha for a decade. The kind I have is extremely aggressive. If I stay on it, the cancer stays away. Hopefully.”

“Hey,” you snapped back, holding up a finger. “I don’t want you to be sick. I don’t want to know that you’ve been…killing people for hire for who knows how long. I am so angry with you but do not think that means I want you dead.”

“Oh? What if he wants me dead?” asked your dad, nodding towards where Dean stood beside you. “You going to let him do that?”

Yes, I would. He’d forced Dean to be part of a group that relentlessly made him to be part of their hits. Maybe he hadn’t pulled a trigger or taken a life until it was his own team but he’d participated. Helped plan, coordinate. All against his will so his family would stay safe. So yeah. Dean could walk over there and kill him this second and you wouldn’t be more than a little upset. 

But you hid that gut instinct to yourself for the moment.

“This may come as a shock but I don’t like killing people unless it’s absolutely necessary.” Dean bent down, palm wrapping around the broomstick. He held it out to your dad, staring him dead on. “My friend is an oncologist. A good one. He’s the one that was giving me access to Novi-Alpha the past few years while I thought someone was hunting me.”

Dean nodded his chin, looking him up and down.

“It’s better than the basic crap your insurance covers. I could talk to him, see if we could get you on the new stuff. It might actually heal you and you could be with your mates again.”

“Why the fuck would you help me?” he asked. Dean glanced over his shoulder at you, giving him a smirk.

“You have a lot of making up to do with your daughter and your new pack family. We need you alive to do that,” said Dean. Your dad reached for the broom, Dean holding it back. “Why’d you kill in the first place?”

“Why do you think? When I was diagnosed, Novi-Alpha didn’t exist. I was trying to get money fast to pay off the house, pay that one’s student loans, make sure my family was taken care of. They didn’t know it could cure cancer when it first came out so I kept at it.”

“So you went Walter White on the situation,” said Dean, handing over the broom. “Maybe you ought to quit the business while you still have a family willing to take you back.”

Your dad pursed his lips, gaze wandering to you. “Not sure that’s possible anymore.”

“Probably not. But that’s your pup. You have two mates, one you’re overdue to claim. You owe them.” Dean turned, giving you a small smile. “You want to give him a second chance?”

“We’ll see. But first, you need to do something else for me.”

Three Months Later

“Good morning,” said your dad, hopping out of his truck as you sat on the front porch with a cup of coffee. “Surprisingly sunny today, isn’t it?”

“Yes it is, Harry,” you said, taking a long sip, eyeing him up and down. “Coffee?”

“No thanks, got some in the truck,” he said, Dean walking out the front door, adjusting his coat. “Dean.”

“Asshole,” said Dean with a smile, tilting his head. Your dad hid his frown well, Dean taking a seat across from you with his thermos. “To what do we owe the pleasure, Harry?”

“I uh, wanted you both to know I’m leaving town. I sat mom and Sasha down last week and…told them the truth about everything.” He kicked the dirt with his boot, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I was always worried about them getting along and now they’re closer than ever with how much they hate me. Guess I got what I wanted.”

“I’d try groveling,” said Dean, slurping up the steaming hot coffee with his best bitch face. “You’re starting to get good at it.”

“Yeah,” he laughed dryly, gaze shooting to you. “I need to go try to salvage something with my Omegas.”

“Sasha will let you back, eventually. She’s hardwired into you. Mom might be a different story, though,” you said. 

“I just wanted you girls to be okay when I was gone,” he said as you sighed. “Sorry. I know. Not an excuse.”

“I know you’re trying but you’re going to be making up for this the rest of your life. So go try with your mates. Dean and I will be fine on our own for awhile,” you said. 

“You still hate me,” he said. 

“Travel safe, Harry,” you said, your dad nodding before heading back for his truck. “I heard the new Novi-Alpha strain you’re on is working better.”

“Are you happy about that?” he asked.

“I’m not unhappy.” Dean reached over to take hold of your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Call once you’ve settled in back home.”

“Take care of her,” he said, Dean humming. With that, he was gone, down the gravel driveway and you could feel Dean relax beside you.

“He won’t do anything,” you said, raising your hand and running it through his brown strands. “S’okay, Alpha.”

“I know. He makes me nervous. S’like my body remembers going feral because of him and will always be on edge.” 

“I doubt he ever moves back here. Mom and Sasha are making him donate every penny he ever made from killing, volunteer, be a blood donor once he gets the all clear from his doctors, therapy, and a whole bunch of other stuff.”

“I like those two,” he chuckled, closing his eyes when you scrunched up your fingers against his scalp. “Oh, you’re making me want to go back to bed, Omega. A nice massage sounds like heaven right about now.”

“You are the sheriff. You can show up late you know,” you said, trailing your finger down the side of his cheek, tickling his jaw.

“Ugh, raincheck. I have a staff meeting at eight I’m supposed to run.” He nuzzled into your touch though, his breathing calm, steady. “Why’d you make your dad call the bureau and tell them to give me a job as a cop?”

“Because you’ll never get to go back to being an agent. Because you deserve to be able to help people how you always wanted to.” He inched closer, resting his head on your shoulder. “You never have to be The Ranger again.”

“I know,” he said, sighing against you. You frowned, reaching into his coat pocket to pull out his phone. He lifted his head when he saw you dial, watching you hold up a finger.

“Hey, Caleb, it’s Sheriff Winchester’s wife. Listen, Dean’s not feeling too great today so he’s calling in sick,” you said, Dean flashing wide eyes at you, trying to steal back the phone but you got up before he could. “Yeah it is too bad, just a touch of flu. Well he’ll be in tomorrow if he’s feeling better, alright? Take care.”

“Omega!” said Dean when you hung up, his hands on your hips as you shrugged with a smirk. “You…you…”

“Yes, sheriff?” you purred, scratching under his chin, scraping over the bonding gland in his neck. He mewled at the sensitive touch, losing the urge to turn into it. “What a good Alpha you are when you relax for me. Hopefully with Harry being gone you’ll relax more. I do love helping you relax.”

“I do like relaxing with you,” he mumbled when you squeezed his hip. “I…I still don’t like it when you call me a good person. It doesn’t feel right when I killed four people and researched how to-”

You pressed a hand to his mouth, Dean staring at you with soft green eyes.

“Think of it this way…you were doing what you had to to protect your pack, just like a good Alpha does. You are not a bad man, Dean Winchester.”

“How do you know that?” he whispered.

“Because I can feel your soul and yours is one of the best.” 

“Oh, Omega,” he said, voice smooth as honey, the sweet smell of cinnamon rolls in the air. “Your soul is my favorite too.”

“Want to finally relax?” you asked, sliding your hand down to his. He laced your fingers together, smiling when he found your face.

“Yeah. I think I finally can after all this time, Omega.” He pressed a kiss to your lips, grinning through it. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Alpha.”

_______

[deancaspinefest]

Take The Long Way Home

Author: sidewinder | Artist: caught-a-dragonfly (Sarah)

Posting on Monday April 15

Two months ago, the world didn’t end. But for Dean Winchester, who fully expected to sacrifice not just his life but his very soul in order to stop Amara? The celebration has been clouded by the disappearance of his best friend, Cas—the friend he’d started to realize meant more to him than he’d been willing to accept until now. The last anyone’s seen of Castiel was when he was banished from the bunker by Toni Bevell. The Brits swear they don’t have him. Neither Heaven nor Hell claim to know of his whereabouts. All of Dean’s calls, texts and prayers to the angel have gone unanswered, and Dean can’t help but worry that a "Winchester win" has once again come at a terrible price. One day hope finally arrives in a lead from an unexpected if not always trustworthy ally. However finding Cas might end up being only the first step in saving him—not simply from the forces holding him captive, but from the prison of his own mind.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

As Dean approached the galley, he saw the light on there already, meaning he wasn’t the only early bird up and about today. His mood brightened with a momentary spark of hope—Cas rarely slept, and when he was around the bunker, he usually enjoyed hanging around in the kitchen to read or watch cat videos and shit all night on one of their laptops. But Dean’s bubble of hope burst when he saw it was just his brother, sitting there in his sweatpants and a ratty old t-shirt, chugging a disgusting-looking green smoothie. Sam was no doubt ready to head out on his morning self-imposed torture session—that is, a five-mile run looping around the bunker to Lebanon and back.

Kid seriously had to be the devil’s vessel if he found that kind of physical torment enjoyable.

“Hey,” Dean grunted at his brother.

Sam looked up from his laptop at Dean and nodded. “Hey. You’re up early.”

“You too. Couldn’t sleep?”

“Rarely do.”

Yeah, that was something they had in common. “Anything up?” Dean asked on his way to fill the coffeepot with water. 

“Not really. Just restless, I guess. I found a case, maybe. Not that I was looking for one,” Sam added quickly. “But while I was searching for any signs of Cas, or Lucifer, I came across a news story about some strange deaths in Wichita. It’s not far from here, and—”

“If you wanna go hunt whatever it is, go for it,” Dean cut him off. “Take mom. I know she’s itching to get out of here and do somethin’ other than stare at our ugly mugs all day.” 

“Dean—”

“No, Sam. I mean it. Until I know where Cas is, I just can’t. My head’s not in the game.” A distracted hunter was a dead hunter. That was the rule their father had drilled into them as soon as they each could carry a weapon, and learn about the things that went bump in the night being real. A week ago, Dean had let Sam talk him into going on a “milk run” hunt to clear out a small vampire nest near Toledo and he’d nearly lost his neck thanks to not fully concentrating on the job at hand.

“Okay, I get it.”

“Do you?” Dean snapped. “Cas has been missing for two months, Sam! We have no idea where he is, if he even—”

Dean cut himself off. He couldn’t say it. Not out loud.

If he even survived.

(continue reading on Ao3 on Monday April 15)

[sjsmith56]

Setback

Summary: The rescue of some hostages is complicated by the fact that one of them is the husband of Bucky’s ex-girlfriend; a woman he still hasn’t fully let go of.

Length: 4.5 K

Characters: Bucky, Sam, Fury, Thor, Peter Parker, named OFC, named OMC.

Warnings: Bucky’s PTSD, self-blame, memories of sad times.

Author notes: Not a Bucky happy ever after ending but he does experience some personal growth.

The video that Friday showed on the view screens had been verified as real; a school bus full of children on an outing with their teacher and the principal of their school had been hijacked. Although no one had yet claimed responsibility and there was no ransom demand, the perpetrators had sent it to a local TV station with the ominous message that the lives of everyone on that bus was in jeopardy unless the soon to be released demands were met.

“27 children were on that bus,” said Fury. “Their teacher and their principal were the only adults going with them. It was a field trip to an environmental centre where they were to spend the day learning about pond biology.”

“Has their location been determined?” asked Bucky.

Fury shook his head. “Friday is still working on that. The GPS unit on the school bus was ripped out at the point of interception and left on the side of the road. Overflights of the area have not picked up any sign of them and it is believed the bus may either be indoors or underground. Still, I would like everyone on this mission to be ready to go at a moment’s notice. I will keep you updated as we learn more.”

Everyone stood up and began to file out of the briefing room then Bucky was asked to stay behind. He nodded to Sam and approached Fury who sat on the edge of a table at the front of the room.

“Am I on this mission?” he asked.

“You are,” replied Fury, “but there is something you should know first.” He used a remote control to bring up a yearbook picture of the teacher, Travis Dean, an ordinary looking man wearing glasses. “You know this man?”

“No, should I?”

“He’s the husband of Laurie Black.”

Immediately, Bucky’s memories were taken back to two years ago when his relationship with Laurie ended. It hadn’t been anything she did; it was all Bucky who was behind the breakup. During a low point in his emotions, he had convinced himself that she deserved better and proceeded to treat her cruelly, convincing her that he didn’t love her, didn’t need her love or even her friendship. In previous occurrences she had persevered with him, helping him through the destructive emotions but this time he really went overboard. This time, she got the hint and within hours left him for good. As bad as his emotions had been, when he realized she wasn’t coming back he sank even deeper into a depression, immersing himself into weeks of isolation and moping.

“Is she aware of the hijacking?” he asked.

“She is,” answered Fury. “She’s on her way here and wants to see you.”

As much as he didn’t want to, Bucky knew that Fury only told him as a courtesy. She was a private citizen with a stake in the mission. To not see her wasn’t an option.

“Let me know when she arrives,” said Bucky. “I’m going to get ready.”

Sam glanced at Bucky when he entered the locker room, wanting to ask why Fury wanted to speak with the man, but his friend beat him to it.

“The teacher is married to Laurie Black,” he said, in a low voice. “She’s on her way here before we head out.”

“What do you think she wants?” asked Sam.

Bucky didn’t answer because he honestly didn’t know. Their relationship had been good when he was in a good frame of mind. They supported each other, laughed, loved, and enjoyed being together. It was when he was in low spirits that the problems occurred. Laurie was always supportive, giving him space but also encouraging him to fight the demons still within him. Until the last time, when Bucky went too far. He winced as he remembered the last words he said to her.

“Could you stop smothering me for one goddamn minute? Why do you always think I need to be fixed, huh? Why don’t you stick to fixing yourself and leave me alone?”

The look on her face would always stay with him, as her eyes welled up with tears, then she turned away from him and left. Sam had given him a look that said he should go after Laurie but in the mood he was in, Bucky wasn’t about to admit he had gone too far. Instead, he left for the roof, wanting to get away from everyone. When he finally came back down several hours later the others were in the common area. He walked in and no one would make eye contact with him, except Sam.

“Where’s Laurie?” asked Bucky.

“Gone.”

“What do you mean gone?” He began to panic. “Where is she?”

“She packed her bags, dropped off her resignation, ID, and Avengers issued phone and left.” Sam gave him an envelope. “This is for you.”

He looked at the letter in his hand, then returned to his quarters, finding nothing of her was left behind. Gingerly opening the letter, he read the brief message, then crumpled the paper in one hand before punching a hole in the wall.

That had sent him into a deep spiral of blaming himself for pushing her too far. He found Thor’s stash of Asgardian mead, becoming so drunk that Bruce had to knock him out with a drug cocktail that would take down an elephant. It took weeks before he was declared fit for duty.

“Do you want me there?” asked Sam.

Bucky shook his head. “No, I gotta do this alone.”

He went to the armoury and picked out his weapons, loading them into his locker on the quinjet. It was another hour before Laurie arrived, and Bucky was summoned to Fury’s office. He could see her head as she sat with her back to the glass wall. Fury watched him impassively as Bucky approached then stood up before he got to the door, meeting Bucky outside his office.

“You can speak inside. She just wants to see you then she’s leaving.”

With those words, Fury left, and Bucky entered, taking a chair near her. He noticed right away that she was quite pregnant; a development that made him take his breath in sharply.

“Hello Bucky,” said Laurie, not looking at him yet. “I guess this is a surprise to you.”

“When are you due?” he asked.

“Two months,” she answered, looking down at her hands as she crossed them on the mound of her stomach. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

“Laurie, no.” He shook his head and shifted his chair, so he was closer. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was wrong to expect you to take my shit like that. I was cruel to you, and I knew it. You were right to leave and right to call me out on my behaviour.”

She looked at him, taking in the familiar face; the thick dark hair framing his forehead, with that crease between his eyes. His lashes were still dark, his eyes still that beautiful blue grey shade that made her feel all sorts of things. The sharp cheekbones and defined jaw, with the chin dimple below his soft lips and white teeth were still attractive. The only change in him was the hint of grey in his chin stubble and the underlying sadness in his eyes.

“It just got to be too much,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I couldn’t handle it anymore, Bucky. It hurt too much to hear you say those things to me.”

“I know and I’m so sorry I took my anger with myself out on you. It took a while before I felt up to it, but I did go for more therapy. I’m still in it.”

She nodded, then swallowed. “That’s good. I’m glad for you. I met Travis about a month after I left you. I was still a mess, still very lost and depressed. He was my friend for a long time before we realized that we had become more.” She patted her belly. “I got pregnant two months after we got married. We’re both excited for this baby so I want you to promise me that you’ll do all you can to bring Travis back to me.” Her voice caught as she pleaded with him. “I can’t … I can’t raise this baby by myself, Bucky. I need him. I need you to save him.”

It didn’t escape him that it could have been him who fathered Laurie’s baby. They had talked about it occasionally, as something to aim for in the future. He knew she wanted a family someday and the thoughts of them married, with her pregnant like this, of being present as his child entered the world, of growing old together with a family had been something to dream about.

That it would be another man making that dream a reality for Laurie would always be something he regretted. The thought of not doing all he could to save her husband never occurred to him. For a moment, he felt insulted that she needed to voice this then he watched as she roughly wiped her tears from her cheeks with her hands. Her eyes were reddened and swollen, making him recognize how afraid she actually was for Travis. She wasn’t insulting Bucky; rather she was asking for his help, as an Avenger, as her former lover, and as a man.

“I’ll bring him home to you,” he murmured. “I promise.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I know you’ll do your best.”

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” he asked, unsure of where she lived.

Laurie shook her head. “I took the train here, but I was just going to find a motel and wait there. I couldn’t wait at home.”

“Stay here,” he suggested. “You won’t be alone.” He looked up then and saw Fury outside the office. “Excuse me for a moment.”

Leaving, he closed the door behind him and stood in front of the director.

“We’ve got a location,” said Fury. “Wheel’s up in 5 minutes. Are you two alright?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah. She’s afraid for him and wanted my promise to save him. I said she could wait here. Will you watch out for her?”

“Of course. You better get going.”

Quickly, Bucky returned to her and informed her they were ready to go. The only touch between them was him placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing it. With that as his goodbye, he hurried to the launch pad to board the quinjet. Sam was already in the pilot’s seat with Yelena as copilot. Everyone there nodded to him as he strode up the ramp, taking his place in one of the seats.

By the time they arrived, there had been some developments. The kidnappers had identified themselves and made their demands known. A domestic terrorist group, they wanted some of their own who had been arrested to be released by a certain time. They also demanded $10,000,000 in ransom, payable in Bitcoin, also by a certain time. The hostages would be released only when the payment had been verified. The final part of the demands was displayed, and a collective groan was heard on the quinjet. For every 10 minutes that went past the deadline, a child would be shot in front of their classmates, on a live video broadcast on the internet. The final victims would be the teacher and the principal, forced to watch the slaughter of the innocent lives placed in their care.

When they exited the quinjet the Avengers were met with a contingent of several different agencies; local police, FBI, and military. They wanted to attack the location as a combined force.

“You’ll force their hand,” said Sam. “They’ll start executing some of those kids right away. Are you willing to take that chance? Let us infiltrate the premises. We know what we’re doing.”

They were given one hour to accomplish the task before the highest-ranking officer on site took command. Sam did his best to get more time, but the message was clear. The Avengers would get their shot, then it would be everyone else’s turn. He could hear Fury’s voice in his comms piece to take the offer. As he and Joaquin took up their aerial positions and scanned the interior of the building with their specialized infra-red capabilities, Bucky led the others inside. Splitting up into two groups they followed directions given them by either of the two flyers.

“Hold on,” said Sam, suddenly, at the 15-minute mark. “Something’s going on. One of the adults fought back and ran in the opposite direction.  With the distraction, the other is leading most of the kids down an alternative route and they’re not being followed.  Joaquin, blow a hole in that side of the building and give them an exit route. Team Bravo, follow his directions to support them on their six.”

“How many kids are left, Sam?” asked Bucky, leading Team Alpha.

“Three, straight ahead at the end of the corridor you’re in,” he stated. “You need to hurry. They caught him and are laying a beating on the guy while keeping their guns on the kids.”

With Sam’s description of where the gunmen were located, Bucky sent Scott and Hope into the ventilation system, waiting for their signal that they were in the room. Their task was to protect the kids, enlarging their bodies enough to shield them from any firing. Bucky, Yelena, and Shaun positioned themselves at the door then Sam sent a small rocket into the corner of the roof away from the kids to distract the terrorists. Kicking the door down, the three of them made quick work of the five men inside.

“Hostages secure,” said Bucky as he approached the man on the ground who had been beaten. He wasn’t a big man or terribly muscular, but he had impressed Bucky with his bravery. “Need a medic, ASAP.”

Kneeling, he touched the man’s neck to confirm he was still alive. His eyes opened but he couldn’t focus, and he blinked his eyes several times. Even without his glasses, Bucky recognized him.

“The kids are safe?” he croaked.

“Yeah, they’re okay,” said Bucky, then he gently put his hand on him when the man tried to get up. “Don’t move. Let the medics check you out first. What’s your name?”

“Travis,” he murmured. “They took my glasses. Can’t see too well without them.”

This was the man who helped Laurie after Bucky chased her away and he had just saved most of the kids by putting up a fight. Bucky swallowed then patted him on the chest.

“You did good, Travis,” said Bucky. “You put yourself on the line for those kids. They’re alive because of you.”

The medics arrived and took over from Bucky, assessing Travis’ injuries. Several FBI agents came with them, taking the other children out. The other Avengers entered the space, confirming that all the other hostages were safe and being readied for evacuation.

“We’re just waiting on the teacher’s status,” said Sam, to their inquiries. “Then we’ll help him out to be evacuated.”

“No, he comes back with us,” interrupted Bucky. “His wife is waiting at the compound for him. They took his glasses. Can we find them for him?”

Sam looked at his partner, suddenly understanding who the beaten man was. “Yeah, we can go looking for them.”

He herded everyone out then followed them, leaving Bucky and the medics there. The latter seemed satisfied that Travis hadn’t sustained any serious injuries and gave their okay for him to sit up and stand. Bucky assured the medics the man was in safe hands, and they left. Pulling two chairs over, Bucky offered one to Travis then sat in the other.

“You’re an Avenger?” asked the other man. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky Barnes,” he replied, noticing Travis’ reaction. “You’re Laurie’s husband.”

“Yeah.” There was a long pause. “She came to see you, didn’t she?”

Bucky nodded, then remembered Travis couldn’t see much without his glasses. “Yeah, she did. She asked me to make sure you made it back safely. I promised her.”

Neither spoke for some time then Travis swallowed. “She was really hurting when I met her. By what she told me I figured it was a severe PTSD episode that made you say what you did to her. It took her a long time to get over it and forgive you. Are you better?”

“I am, thank you.” Bucky sighed. “She always came back when I did that to her. Guess I took it for granted that she would that time as well. When she didn’t come back, I didn’t handle it well and it took me a while to accept that I sent away the only woman who had put up with my shit. I’m glad she found you. She loves you very much. It was obvious.”

“She loved you, too. That’s why it took her so long to get over you.”

“Found them,” said Peter, as he walked in the door. “One lens is cracked but you should ….” He noticed the look each man gave him and wondered if he had interrupted something important. “Here, Mr. Dean. The kids all asked if you were okay. They said you and the principal tried your best to protect them.”

“Thanks,” said Travis, as he put his glasses on and noticed it was Spider-Man who handed them to him. “I’m surprised they didn’t keep you with them. They’re big fans of yours.”

Peter, whose mask was off, blushed. “I promised to come to your school one day. If that’s okay.”

“That’s great, thank you,” said Travis, standing up. He moved then held his side. “That hurts.”

“Take your time,” said Bucky. “We’ll get you to Laurie.”

With a nod, Travis began walking to the exit, followed by the two Avengers. Before he exited the building, Peter put his mask back on, still reluctant to show his face in public, even though they knew who he was. Together they came out to an onslaught of media people, shouting out Travis’ name. The principal and kids had already told them of how he fought against the terrorists, giving them the opportunity to get most of them away from harm, calling him a hero. He was reluctant to accept that title, gesturing to the others as the real heroes.

Bucky waited patiently, then Sam intervened saying that Travis’ wife was waiting at their compound for her husband, and they wanted to reunite the couple. Only then did they manage to pull away from the almost overwhelming attention. In the quinjet, Travis looked at everyone with a little bit of awe until Thor, who had led team Bravo looked right back at him.

“What is it you see when you look at us, Mr. Dean?”

“Heroes,” replied Travis. “All of you do this all the time, without hesitation.”

“You are also a hero,” said Thor. “You teach but, on this trip, you accepted the necessity of putting yourself in danger so that the children would be safe. There was no preparation or hesitation, it was instinctual, which means that you are as heroic as the world sees us.”

As he looked at the others, he saw the same sentiment expressed on their faces. When he looked at Bucky the latter bowed his head briefly to him then smiled.

“Thank you,” said Travis.

He said nothing after that, just sat with his hands clasped together as he leaned over and rested his arms on his knees. The others went back to talking amongst themselves, but Bucky watched the teacher, as the enormity of what happened to him began to manifest itself. It was a delayed reaction, and he noticed that Travis bit his lip and swallowed noticeably several times. The man was struggling. Bucky stood up, put his hand on Travis’ shoulder and gestured towards the back, where the cargo hold was. The other man looked fearfully at him for a moment, but the super soldier looked kindly at him.

“You can have some privacy back there,” he murmured, adjusting his voice so that only Travis heard him.

A look of relief crossed the man’s features, and he stood up, following Bucky. Sam watched, grimly smiling, knowing that Bucky was well tuned to when someone was on the edge. As the two men entered the tight space, Bucky gestured to a crate. He leaned against the wall.

“Even now, there are times I come back here to deal with the terror I still feel in my gut,” he said to the teacher.

“But, you do this all the time,” replied Travis, sitting. “Aren’t you used to it?”

The dark-haired super soldier shook his head. “No, I’ve never become used to it. It’s what I know and with my abilities, this job is what I’m good at, but I’m not used to it. It eats away at me and builds up to a point where I can lash out at people, like I did to Laurie. I was too macho then to talk to a professional or allow myself to cry the fear out. In my mind, suffering was normal until I lost the one person who I envisioned having a future with.”

“Laurie,” stated Travis. He gave out a tortured breath. “I’m feeling overwhelmed right now. What the hell was I thinking? I mean, look at me. I’m not special like the rest of you but all I felt was the need to do something, anything, to get those kids out. When they started beating me, I thought I was going to die, and that I would never see Laurie again, or see our son grow up. I was so stupid.”

“Not stupid. Protective, and that’s something you’re going to need when that little boy is born. He’s going to need a father he can look up to, and trust to protect him and his mom. You’ve proven that today. But you are feeling the terror right now, aren’t you?” Travis nodded. “One of my coping strategies these days is to come back here and let it all out. I cry like a baby and let all that negative emotion flow out of me like a river. I leave it behind. That’s what you have to do right now. When you get back, talk to a professional and don’t hold back. They’re trained to deal with it objectively.” He looked at his watch. “We have about an hour before we land. Use it.”

He turned to leave.

“Bucky?” The super soldier looked at Travis. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Because you love her and make her happy in a way I couldn’t. She deserves happy.”

With a quick nod of his head, Bucky left the man to deal with the emotions he knew all too well. Travis came out of the cargo hold shortly before they landed, his eyes red but seeming calmer. As the ramp lowered, they could all see Laurie waiting with Fury for Travis to exit, so they let him off first, smiling as he wrapped his arms around his wife. He winced at her hugs but accepted her quick assessment of his health before they went up to the medical centre for a more intensive examination. Bucky hung back, standing next to Fury, as the others dispersed to drop off their weapons, shower, and change. They would have a debrief in a few hours.

“You, okay?” asked Fury.

“No.” Bucky’s answer was terse, and his look was anything but relaxed.

“Go see Dr. Hoyle,” suggested Fury, referring to their onsite psychologist, knowing that Bucky needed to speak to someone about this mission. “Just get the edge off.”

“Is that an order?”

“No, but I expect you to do it. She’s already waiting for you.”

With a sigh Bucky went straight there. The suggestion from Fury was more of an attempt to stave off an outburst or even a meltdown. Dr. Hoyle was in her outer office, speaking with the receptionist when Bucky arrived, still in his tactical suit. Leading him into her office, she sat in her chair, gesturing to him to sit. She didn’t say anything, waiting for him to initiate the conversation, finding it was better that way. After a good ten minutes of silence, Bucky leaned forward and rubbed his face.

“I have to amend my goals,” he said, quietly.

“Okay, which part?” she asked.

“Getting Laurie back is off the table. She moved on, got married, and is expecting her first child. Her husband is a good man. I might be many things, but I don’t interfere in someone’s marriage.”

“How do you feel about coming to that decision?”

He sat back, looking out the window at nothing in particular. Then he breathed out heavily through his nose.

“Like I’m back at square one.” He looked at her. “It’s hard. I first came to you because I wanted to be good enough for her but that’s not how it works, does it?” Hoyle’s face remained impassive. “I have to do it for myself, first.” He rubbed his face with his hands. “I just wish that it felt like I was making progress.”

“You think this is a setback?”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” She didn’t answer and he sighed, as she was obviously expecting him to figure it out on his own. “I guess part of me thought if I didn’t get her back then I deserved to be alone. By focusing on her I shut myself off to other possibilities, didn’t I?” Hoyle smiled kindly. “By letting her go I can finally move on and maybe make real progress. It still hurts.”

“Yeah, that’s the lousy part,” she smiled. Bucky’s cell phone beeped. “You can check that if you want.”

He looked at it. “She wants to say goodbye to me. That’s part of closure, isn’t it?” Hoyle nodded. “Are you alright if I go?”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll see you for your regular session, alright?”

He nodded, leaving through the exit door. As he approached the lobby area, and the small crowd that had gathered to say goodbye to Laurie and Travis, he noticed how they held hands with each other. They were happy together, and for that he was glad. She noticed him first, smiling warmly at him. He shook hands with Travis, then looked fondly at Laurie.

“Take care of yourself and your family,” he said, sincerely. “I wish only the best for you.”

“Thank you, for everything,” she replied. “I hope you find happiness someday. You are a good man, Bucky. You deserve it.”

Their driver opened the back door of the vehicle, and the couple moved towards it. They both raised their hands in farewell then got inside. The others returned to the building as the vehicle drove away, but Bucky watched until he couldn’t see it anymore.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

One Shots Masterlist

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[stusbunker]

Spotless: Schleppen

Chapter Sixteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam/Madison, Lee/Pam/Benny, Jesse/Cesar, Charlie/OFC, unnamed female character

Word Count: 2644

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, everyone is hungover, Dean steps in it, Sam is so done with their shit, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Dean didn’t sleep. Or if he did, it was in the last gasps of darkness and so short, he couldn’t feel its relief. Alcohol affects the REM cycle, so whoever taught him to have a drink before bed to help with his insomnia (John) was wrong. It was just one of the many things he’d learned in therapy. Dean found he had many things yet to unlearn.

No one who had stayed over was in any better shape when he got downstairs.

Bela and Trouble had bunkered down on the couch in the den, Charlie had claimed one of the bedrooms with a woodland elf, the other spare went to Pam and Lee, but Dean was pretty sure he had heard Benny through the walls, so maybe him too. The other girl Charlie brought along was on the floor curled around Jesse fruitlessly, because Cesar, who was sitting with his back to the end of the couch, still asleep, held his partner’s head in his lap. He wondered if Sam was already up and running until Madison came down the stairs in search of caffeine with a shirtless and rumpled Sam on her heels.

“Morning,” Dean said smugly to them both.

Madison met his gaze and tried not to blush, which Dean found oddly refreshing, while Sam just flipped him off and dove in for a cup of coffee before it was even done brewing.

They moved in hushed whispers, but the Winchesters’ words were doomed to carry with their baritone. After Madison admonished them for not having more to eat in their fridge, Dean stepped up and ordered a combo of both greasy and sweet options to be delivered with an impressive tip to the driver for their discretion.

Bela helped herself to Dean’s shower and some of his clothes. And if anyone had found it odd that they hadn’t slept together, no one was ballsy enough to mention it. Or maybe they were all just too hungover to care. 

He still hadn’t seen Pam and company emerge and he wondered if he was going to have to risk walking in on some alternative hangover cures. 

Luckily for everyone, the pounding on the front door for the food was enough to rouse the stragglers and beckon them back to civilization.

“Happy 2018 everybody!” Pam croaked with a shiteating grin on her face as she took in everyone’s subdued state.

She was met with lackluster replies, grumbles and a very sarcastic cheer from Charlie. She tutted at them and sauntered her way towards the jelly donuts.

As rough as he felt, Dean lived for mornings (or early afternoons) like this. His kitchen was filled with people he loved, sharing food and just existing together, safe and warm. It’s what being in a band was all about. He started another pot of coffee when Bela slinked over and hugged him from behind, resting her face between his shoulder blades.

“I’ll just have a nap right here, thanks,” she mumbled against his shirt.

“Oh yeah?” Dean peered down at her. “You know, you can take my bed if you’re still tired, not gonna rush anybody out today.”

“‘S too far,” Bela complained. “And I already showered, no sense delaying the inevitable.”

Dean turned in her arms, letting her rest against his chest instead. He rubbed her back and looked up when he felt someone watching him. You sat folded in on yourself on one of the tall chairs, looking as if you were going to puke all over the counter.

“You okay over there?” Dean asked, more alarm slipping into his voice than the jest he intended. He cleared his throat, but didn’t let go of Bela as she turned to look at who he was talking to.

Gaping at him like a deer caught in the headlights, you nodded. 

Dean reminded himself to breathe, feeling everything you were saying by the look in your eyes. He fucked up. But in that moment there was nothing he could say that would fix it. Bela was supposed to be his girl, it would be too obvious to step away from her now.

As much as he suddenly wanted distance, he held on tighter, like she was a shield against his feelings for you. And against the look of betrayal in your eyes.

“When do you want to leave— Y/N?” Bela broke through Dean’s silent spiraling and started making plans to get home.

“Lemme drive you guys— could use some fresh air,” Dean cut in before they could order a ride.

“Are you sure? I’m a little out of the way,” you asked, worried over being a burden or being trapped in a car with him, Dean couldn’t be sure.

“Positive, just say when, and I’ll get Baby all set to go,” Dean insisted.

Bela kissed Dean on the cheek and thanked him for a wonderful time, promising to text him her schedule later. She reached over the backseat to grab your hand, smiling mischievously, “another one for the books. See you at brunch?”

“If I can eat by then,” you muttered, smirking as she slid out of the car.

“Bye!” Bela called as she disappeared through the door from the garage into the kitchen.

Dean cleared his throat and leered at you in the rearview mirror.

“You gonna come up here or am I gonna have to call you Miss Daisy?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but you didn’t open your door.

“I can wait all day. If you think you can out- stubborn me–,”

“FINE!” you snapped, throwing open the door and almost slamming it into Bela’s car’s rear end. “Asshole.”

Dean tried not to laugh outright, but you were kind of adorable when you were pissed. Once you were situated in the passenger seat, purse and coat lumped on your lap and seat belt secured, Dean continued to wait.

“What?! We can go now.”

“Easy! I’m just adjusting my mirrors, don’t want to back into anything,” Dean added with an air of responsibility.

“You so were not,” you grumbled, huffing before leering at the sideview as Dean crawled out of Bela’s driveway.

It was going to be a long drive.

Once they were out of the canyon, Dean decided he was going to have to put some of those lessons from Missouri to use. “So— you wanna talk about it?”

You glared at him like he asked if you wanted to eat your jacket.

“Come on, I know you’re pissed. Let me have it,” Dean egged you on, okay, maybe he could have said that better.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you muttered, eyes on your hands.

“Really? You gonna pretend you’re not having a bitchfit right now?”

“Dean Henry Winchester, do not make me call Charlie and tell her you called me a bitch.” And just like that you were all in. “I cannot believe you right now.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, look, you can’t just go around kissing people and then shoving your relationship in their faces. It’s called mixed signals, asshole!”

“Oh, so you can call me an asshole, but I can’t call you names?!”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

Dean sighed, he was letting himself get defensive instead of focusing on what you were really saying. It suddenly felt like a horrible idea to have this conversation when neither of you could escape.

“I don’t know what relationship you’re talking about— the fake dating thing you roped me into?! Cuz that’s not real, that’s playing nice— for you!” Dean hadn’t realized how much he resented you for this whole set up, but now that the words were out of his mouth, things made a lot more sense.

“Bullshit,” you spat.

“You want me to ignore her, huh? Pretend she’s not there, in front of everybody this could hurt if it gets out that it’s all a lie?!”

You turned on him then, taking a deep breath as Dean made sure he wasn’t too distracted to drive. “Is it a lie?”

Dean looked back at the road and licked his lips. How much did you know? How much was it safe to tell you? How much of Bela’s life was private, even from you?

“What are you talking about?! Of course it’s a lie, an act, a ruse! You were the mastermind here, remember?!”

“You know what, Dean? I think the lady doth protest too much,” you said. “I think you know it was wrong to do what you did, but now you’re trying to pin this on me. When I only did it to cover your ass!”

“That is so not fair. I own my shit. What are you really pissed at here? Me in general? Me kissing you? Me hugging Bela? Me making your job harder? WHAT?!”

You groaned. “YES! Okay? YES!”

You stopped your tirade and looked at him and Dean felt you deflate as he glanced back onto the road ahead.

You started over, trying for calm, “you are inherently annoying, I think we both know that.”

Dean huffed. “Yeah, thanks.”

“No, listen. I knew this thing wasn’t going to be easy— for any of us. But it’s the best way to turn everything around. But— if you can’t do it anymore, if there’s something you need to tell me, I’ll understand. We’ll figure it out, okay? Just— just don’t lie to me, okay? I can’t fix things if I don’t have the whole story.”

Dean felt about two inches tall. He wiped his hand down his face and growled, pissed at himself and whatever you were fishing for. Because it was still all his fault. Somehow, he had gotten you home, he pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

“I can do it, okay? This is on me. I’ll make it right. I’ll be on my best behavior, get us out on tour without a hitch. Make the label all the money and start to earn back everybody’s respect. I owe them all that much,” Dean promised to your suspicious face.

“Dean—”

“What?”

“Is there anything I should know? Seriously. I won’t be pissed. I just— feel like, like I’m out of the loop on this.”

“You were there all night. I think you got a good idea how things are going. Uh, what more can I say, you know? I’m sorry, though, for making you worry. Okay?” Dean ducked his head, making sure you were seeing him, eyes trying to make you see what he couldn’t say, but what he most definitely felt.

Maybe he hadn’t learned anything from Missouri at all. But he was still trying.

“If you’re sure— we’ll keep it going. We've still got over a month before we’re on the road, but it’s gonna go fast now. I just need you to be on your A game,” you said firmly, cementing it into the fabric of your shared reality.

Just keep carrying on.

Dean could do that. He had to.

“Sounds like a plan. And Trouble, do me a favor?” Dean leaned over, slipping into his charming self. “You gotta loosen up, okay? Get a hobby, get laid, just find somewhere to put all this shit you carry so it’s not weighing you down. Okay?”

You sighed and rolled your eyes, tossing the door open and crawling out. “Like it’s that easy. Happy New Year, Dean, drive safe.”

“Later.”

Dean waited until you made it into the house before starting the engine back up. He didn’t go home right away, instead he took a drive along the coast, letting his mind try and untangle the knot you’d just made by having that conversation. 

Six am came way too early the following morning and with it, Sam pounding on Dean’s door to get his ass downstairs and into the gym. Right, his New Year’s resolution and his fucking brother holding him to it. 

“Gotta piss, calm down Billy Blanks,” Dean groaned, rolling out of bed.

He did his business, changed into something he could move around in, and finally found some tennis shoes at the back of his closet.

By the time he made it into the part of their basement they had turned into a gym, Sam was already sweating with a jump rope warm up. 

“What?! I’m here aren’t I? It’s not that late,” Dean grumbled at Sam’s judgey face.

They worked out with little discussion, spotting each other when they moved onto weights. They hadn’t worked out the details of this new shared routine, but slowly Dean felt it falling into place. The strain of his muscles and the swelling of his lungs all reminded him to be present and mindful. To let his body take over building when his mind wanted to use it to punish.

After they had stretched and were winding down, Dean decided to tape up his hands and spend some time on their speed bag. But, of course, that drew Sam’s attention.

Anything that hinted at Cain or Alastair always did.

“What?”

Sam looked him over. “You good?”

Dean didn’t want to have a different version of the trainwreck conversation the day before. But Sam knew everything, more or less anyway. Dean didn’t look up from his task, mesmerized by how soft his knuckles had gotten recently.

“I kissed Trouble.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Sam laughed, actually, genuinely laughed at him. “How’d that go?”

Dean considered the act itself. “Well—- she didn’t hit me.”

Sam sat down on the end of the bench, settling in for the dirt. “Were you expecting her to?

Dean looked over and saw Sam was no longer teasing. “Could you blame her? Some guy like me? A fuck up with a history of diddling her friends?”

“Dean.”

“I know, I know. Believe in myself. I am worthy of love. I know, okay. Just… she didn’t say anything. Just stood there after pulling away, staring at me in total shock.”

“Did she kiss you back?”

Dean thought about it, remembering the way your mouth let him in. “At first, yeah.”

Sam chewed that over. “Does Bela know how you feel about her?”

“Sam, I’m not even sure how I feel about her.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah you are. You just have been too stupid and self deprecating to do anything about it. Does she?”

Dean shook his head.

“Are you guys fucking?”

“Not like, committedly.”

“Okay, well, you should probably stop that. And tell Trouble how deep you’re in it. Like, I hate being alone with you two, it’s so obvious.”

Dean flipped Sam off.

“What? No, I’m serious. You guys just need to get over your shit and tell each other how you feel. And warn me, because I do not want to come home for like a week after all those years of tension is finally worked out, god.”

Dean kind of gets lost in that image for a minute. “Nah, we’d go to her place. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Sam couldn’t even tease him after how pathetic he sounded. “But first you need to tell her.”

Dean sighed. “I can’t. I promised her I’d behave and stick to the plan. I can’t risk pissing off Dick and Crowley anymore, I don’t want to jeopardize the band.”

“I’m pretty sure I told you this was a bad idea and I just want to reiterate that point,” Sam snarked.

“Yeah, well, them’s the breaks,” Dean huffed as he hauled himself up and squared off with the hanging bag.

He found a rhythm and kept on his toes.

“Dean, seriously, just tell her how you feel. Life’s too short, you know?” Sam said to Dean’s back.

Dean sighed, upping his pace. Because, yeah, life was really too short.

But there was still nothing he could do about it now.

Author's Note: LISTEN! I did not even outline the first 2/3rds of this chapter. IT just HAPPENED, so yeah, they're still both idiots.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Seventeen: Trill

[scoobydoodean]

people are really holding soft-pine's spreadsheet to absurd standards like fr it's a spreadsheet cataloguing things for fun they didn't claim it was the gospel truth, im truly begging fans to be normal when they disagree with someone.

like maybe dean aiming a gun at jack should be weighed heavier than him deciding to not pull the trigger and trying to Tackle God to make him stop killing jack, like maybe the moral readout on him aiming a gun is actually so much worse that any attempt to make up for it is incomparable, but like. these people are being insane about it and extremely impolite.

For some reason, what really got me the most was the anon saying about the "gender police" tab that "The link is too thin for a statistical document". Like. What the fuck are you on???? THERE IS NO SPREADSHEET the whole fandom will EVER agree on as far as what to count or not count. That will NEVER happen. These are the things that PINE wanted to count based on THEIR experience and THEIR goals of what to track when creating the tab!!! I don't come onto Samgirls blogs and talk down to them when they count Sam having long hair and eating smoothies as a sign that he's female-coded. Somehow, I manage to simply ignore them!!!

As someone who does data science, I find it insane that they're coming at Pine like they're defending a fucking dissertation. THIS IS A TV SHOW. And I don't say that to downplay the work Pine's put into it but to emphasize that all of that time and labor has gone into a HOBBY project (that they CONTINUE to refine and work on despite the fact that people don't have the decency to give feedback POLITELY and instead complain like entitled BRATS and drive negative traffic to Pine's page!!!) and Pine put their time into it and was kind enough to share it with all of us when they had no obligation to do so, and that spreadsheet is a net benefit for ALL of us. Pine's document is really useful for jogging your own memory, it's useful for gifmakers looking to make compilation sets, and YES—it is also useful to look at when you're considering whether you're actually being fair about something or whether maybe the samdela effect is influencing you. And people don't have the fucking decency to see the work that went into it and show the most basic RESPECT for that and use their own basic common sense to realize that there will almost ALWAYS be some subjectivity to what is counted. In ADDITION, every single thing that is counted on that spreadsheet (or noted but not counted) has a description and an episode tag. Meaning, if you're interested but you don't agree with everything Pine's counted, you are more than capable of adding and subtracting to make your own counts you miserable pathetic BABIES. And one MORE thing—all the idiots insisting that "You forgot things" while not being able to point out a single fucking thing that Pine's missed? TRY SHUTTING THE FUCK UP.

[angelsdean]

a lot of issues in the fandom stem from the fact that there are various different types of fans and viewers here. and we're all lumped together into this space and we cross paths but many of us are not doing the same things or engaging with the show and characters in the same way.

you have the people who do serious meta and analysis, who delve into canon and do frequent rewatches and are really familiar with the source material. then you have your more casual viewers, people who haven't rewatched much and their recollection is hazy. they forget details, fill things in with fanon. then there's the spn fandom-fandom people, people who aren't all that interested in the show, maybe haven't even seen it, they're just here for the fandom. maybe they read fics, but most of their knowledge of the characters comes secondhand. then there's people who don't even really LIKE the show (some of them are fandom-fandom people), who are just here for shitposts. some flavors of these fans also come with weird parasocial actor-hate that then bleeds into their perceptions of the characters. and of course then you have the different x-girl factions, the rabid deancrits who can't stand that most of the general audience and fans love dean. all these people, all in one place, all making posts abt the same show but coming from wildly different ways of experiencing the show and these characters.

so then you end up with people in headcanon land coming onto posts from the analyzing-canon people and arguing abt stuff that is Real To Them bc they're experiencing the show in a different way, maybe not even watching it. and they feel righteous that their headcanon / interpretation is correct, but the canon analysis people are gonna go "wtf is this nonsense? that never happened! those claims are unsupported. i'm not incorporating this headcanon into my beliefs about this character." and headcanon people get mad bc they're so married to this idea of the character they've created in their minds. and then we all go round and round arguing abt it.

like, people need to accept that their headcanon may not be shared by others. your interpretation is not my interpretation, especially if you made it up! i'm under no obligation to believe that.

people can play in their sandbox forever, headcanon what they like, but there's a real problem with some people going onto other people's posts / inboxes (usually when someone is discussing canon) to argue their headcanon, often in a negative way. and then these same people get mad when the person they went to with their argument responds negatively. and then there are some people who take things too far, who send threats and harassment to others for simply having a different opinion abt fictional characters. that's not a normal response to have. yet somehow it's the people responding to the hate / negativity they get that are called "bullies."

anyways, people need to accept that others are not living in their head, sharing their headcanons and we're all experiencing this show differently. some posts aren't for everyone. sometimes you can just scroll away when you disagree with something instead of making an addition or being negative abt the post in the tags. we're all here to have fun, at the end of the day.

[hologramcowboy]

https://www.tumblr.com/hologramcowboy/745395618485272576/am-i-being-extra-sensitive-or-was-this-a-rape?source=share

I hope I can vent here for a second. I genuinely do not understand why anyone gave him a pass on that one. Had that been someone like Joe Jonas, Ben Affleck, Henry Cavill, Mike Tyson, Pedro Pascal even, they would not have been given a pass and it would have been all over main news media sites. He wouldn't be making that joke if he knew any of the children that were sexually abused by priests for decades or what happened with the Boy Scouts. There are just some things you don't make a joke about. His Brendan Fraser The Whale joke he made was bad enough, as were some other jokes he made over the years, but in this day and age, there is no more excuse. I don't personally know anyone affected by the abuse people of those two institutions enacted, that I'm aware of I should say, and I would never ever make that joke. As gross as Misha can be, even he didn't make that joke. Even if he wanted to play along, he shouldn't, not after he was so vocal about the mass graves found in Canada and the atrocities committed by the churches up there against Native children for decades.

Any AA that defends that joke Jensen made is a heartless asshole that needs to get their heads checked as soon as possible.

Now, that all being said, I think he's saying worse and worse things lately for two reasons. The first is I think this is really him and he just doesn't give a fuck anymore. Like he'll still try to tell people what he thinks they want to hear but more and more lately, he gives a very no fucks given vibe. Whether that's due to what happened with The Winchesters or Rust or whatever, that's the vibe he gives off. The second is I think he says assholish shit like this at certain points because he's trying to give off a Soldier Boy vibe, sort of selling that character since a lot of people speculate he'll be returning for The Boys' last season. Sort of like he used to dress as Dean with the flannel and jeans, and then like Beau when Big Sky was airing. I could be wrong but that's the vibe I got when he went "oh, that's too far?"

I'm curious as to what your thoughts are. Not about the joke, we all know it was disgusting and highly inappropriate, but about why he presents himself like this sometimes. And why he always seems to get a free pass the more he ups the ante on being an asshole.

Jensen's self image is warped by his sychopant fans and his deluded wife. He has no personality of his own and instead tries to inject in himself the attributes of the characters he gets cast as because he mistakes characters for branding. Branding is who You are not who your character is. Branding is that unique essence you bring to your character.

Sorry to say but this is what happens when a man who lacks culture and studies gets hyper praised to the point where he loses his sensitivity towards others. Jensen has a one sided view in life, anyone who disagrees with him is automatically a bully. He is just like his sychopantic fans. He can't perceive the world in all of its layers and that's endlessly sad for someone who claims to be an artist.

He claims he wants to bring light to the world or whatever will earn him approval but then acts like a jock who is bullying his friends.

At the end of the day, Jensen is a subpar actor who lacks culture in an industry where people are now multihyhyphenated and multicultured. It would do him good to be more grounded and realize that his influence can help people when it is used with the intention to help, rather than when it is squandered on incredibly inappropriate jokes and behaviors (getting superdrunk at cons is a superbad example).

Being praised in a one sided way has clearly gone to his head. That terrible joke is not the first time he demonstrated a lack of empathy and self awareness. I really wish he had good role models around him but he's married to the queen of bullying so why are we even surprised when he acts like a mindless, self centered jock?

Jensen needs to grow up. A lot. Thank you for allowing me to vent, I have tears in my eyes as I am writing this, I am just so sad he's turning out to be such a disappointment on so many levels. You see, you are definitely not alone in your need to vent and thank you so much for expressing things in an honest, open way. AAs forget what honesty and having values means because they forego their own values and replace them with the perceived ones from Jensen. It pains me to say this because I saw so much in him but...Jensen is no rolemodel.

[thegazettejournalmirror]

GREENDALE'S 1st TUMBLR ISSUE OF THE GAZETTE JOURNAL MIRROR!!

March 11 . 24. - a Quality publication of Greendale Community College

This issue's hot topics:

GLOW Party: Raging success, or total Dean-saster?

Elixirs, Potions and Me - Leonard Rodriguez rumoured to be in a cult for immortality.

An all-new update on the Winger-Perry wedding!

INCLUDES an exclusive interview of @prayingshirleybennett on getting the star couple engaged!

GLOW Party: Raging success, or total Dean-saster?

This past week saw the biggest, showiest party this year has seen so far - one anonymous attendee even suggested it was ‘reminiscent of those ragers people go to in the movies, you know, where they all get drunk and play beer pong.’ The party was nicknamed ‘GLOW Party’ in honour of the glowing cat owned by Troy Barnes and who is suggested to have been at the centre of the party’s inception. While it’s undeniable that this party was no disappointment in the wow factor, many will agree that the night became sour only a few drinks in.

The party invites were reported to have been sent out via a Tumblr post of student ‘Rayla Leone’ and by widespread messaging, word of mouth and Greendale’s official announcement Tumblr page, run by the Dean.

By the time day school was out only a few short hours later, the entire body was buzzing with the news, with the exception of the majority of the staff who remained uninvited and are still said to be ‘pretty darn pissed’ about the affair. 

A member of staff who asked to remain anonymous commented; ‘It’s just rude. That study group and all their little friends just pick and choose who they like. Always running the school! Even the pets were invited. Huh. And what if I wanted to see a glowing cat?”

When asked to elaborate on the grievance with said study group, the member of staff refused to comment further and terminated the interview.

According to varied sources, there were few discrepancies when the evening’s ‘rager’ began in the apartment of student ‘Rayla Leone’. In fact, our sources went as far as commenting how seriously fun’ it turned out to be and how they had  ‘needed the night off from mid-terms.’

The sources claimed there were drinking games, uno, spin the bottle, snooker, foosball and even a heated game of twister before the event turned bleak. 

We know that there was originally a small amount of cheap alcohol on scene, but some basic information such as the strengths and quantities remain unknown. However, Tumblr posts claim that student ‘Britta Perry’, belonging to the aforementioned study group, was known to have brought in a good amount of ‘blue raspberry svedka’ which has been blamed for the extreme hangovers and blackouts party-goers experienced the next day. 

There is also a strong likelihood that the party was mass-roofied, not unlike Greendale’s own Halloween party late last year, the events of which are still unknown despite intensive investigation and the shared experience of bite mark scars. 

Many rumours are known to have arisen of a personal nature to many students and staff and yet the largest event of the night in question is a recent development in the ‘Evil Timeline Debacle.’ Troy Barnes’ glowing cat, named ‘Lightbulb’, the centre of the party, was reported missing the following morning. Not many had yet shaken off their hangovers and as such no action was taken until the later hours of the day. 

The evil timeline members are said to have infiltrated the party and stolen Barnes’ ‘alien’ cat in exchange for a ransom of $1,000 and invitations to the upcoming Barnes-Nadir wedding. This wedding is allegedly platonic though evidence of this is still unclear. 

The evil members were also suggested to have roofied the party in order to get away with their act.

Jeff Winger, student of law and close friend of Troy Barnes, was called upon to pay the ransom. Following his agreement the cat was returned safely to Barnes that afternoon. 

In respect to the likely trauma induced by the sudden event, the Gazette Journal Mirror did not question Barnes on his experience. 

Images were posted of the event but other than mere speculation no further rumour or scandal can be confirmed or denied at this current time.

Elixirs, Potions and Me - Leonard Rodriguez rumored to be in a cult for immortality.

Leonard Rodriguez (né Briggs, he changed his last name to garner the Hispanic vote during his campaign for Student Body President) has reportedly been endeavouring to attain immortality.

The evidence is finite, and his methods are unclear, yet it nevertheless remains apparent that there is certainly something occurring behind the scenes. 

On his ask-blog, @leonardlikesthissite, Rodriguez often posts his Saturday events under the tag ‘Saturdays with Leonard.’ 

On a typical weekend, this includes activities such as swimming, clubbing, or jigsaws, (we particularly enjoyed this pizza review.) Once, he even posted about the political debate with his opponent and fellow student, ‘Magnitude.’

On this particular weekend however, Rodriguez alarmed many of his fellows and friends by posting ‘This Saturday Leonard is doing a ritual that may or may not lead to immortality!’ under his usual tag. When asked by another student ‘how’, Rodriguez denied details. 

He did however hint that Greendale’s AC repair school had something to do with the ‘ritual.’ 

Here at the Gazette Journal Mirror, we cordially wish Leonard the best of luck with his ambitions. May our school's longest-attending student, in his own words, ‘Live, laugh love,’ for his new eternity. 

An all-new update on the Winger-Perry wedding! 

According to the official Greendale announcements page, run by Dean Pelton, the Winger-Perry wedding will take place in Greendale itself. This has been a source of great excitement for many of their friends and indeed those at the school, too. 

Dean Pelton instructed that a repost of this statement would secure an invitation to the wedding. 

There have been a few comments here and there about the current attendees and who is in the wedding party. This remains limited so we must stress that no invitations can be guaranteed in the reposting of the wedding announcement. 

Further conversation about the upcoming nuptial of Winger-Perry has been unreported. 

Exclusive interview with Shirley Bennett!

Interviewer: Hello there! 

Bennett: Helloooo! So nice to be doing this todayy! And so exciting that the paper is making it to the interweb blogs, hehe!

Interviewer: Nice to have you. I agree, it is exciting. We’re all buzzing to go for the first release! Now, let’s talk weddings. Can you confirm that it was indeed you who incited the engagement in the first place?

Bennett: Oh yes! Of course I can, it was simply my duty to my Lord above and my friends, too. I didn’t want them to get sent to the burning place way down below all because they didn’t say a few little vows! Vows before God that is.

Interviewer: I see. And what does this union mean to you in terms of friendship?

Bennett: Well, from the start of being at Greendale I always used to say to Jeffery that two white people as cute and single as them should be together. I’m not saying I…stirrredd the pot…but I’ll say that maybe if I hadn’t said some things to Jeffery about Britta they might not even be together!

Interviewer: Would you share those details with us?

Bennett: OOooooh noooo! Heehe! It’s too personal, I can’t do that, it would be unholy. And unfriendly!

Interview: Well then, that wraps things up. Thanks for coming to our interview, Shirley!

Bennett: Thank you, and thank you, Lord and savior above!

[sadcupcake]

Winchester in Mystic Falls Part 5

So far tailing Elena and her friends has been entertaining to say the least. I've learned that she's still friends with Bonnie and Caroline. Bonnie was never cruel to me, she just ignored me like everyone else in town did. Caroline on the other hand was right there with Elena. They both tortured me my entire childhood. Most of it was emotional, the name calling, making everyone in my life ignore me and pretend that I didn't exist. Sometimes though they would go on some sort of power trip and hurt me. Looking back on that now I remember being so scared of them both, but now they look like weak little dolls in my eyes. What they put me through made me who I am today, it set me down a path to meet my brothers and for that I am grateful to them.

It doesn't surprise me that the three girls are still friends, just like it didn't surprise me when I learned Bonnie was a witch or that Caroline got turned into a vampire. What did surprise me was the fact that Elena is a doppelganger. Apparently it was one of Elena's doppelgangers that turned Caroline. Another interesting thing I learned was that the originals where in town. Sam and Dean learned about how vampires came to be when they captured one and had a little chat. That vamp was about 900 years old so they still knew the stories of the originals, it even claimed to be turned by one. I had yet to see one running around town but from what I've gathered they came here to sacrifice my sister to break a curse. If I had to take an educated guess it would be the curse placed on the hybrid.

If it really is the originals in town then I really need to hit the books to find something to kill them with. All of the lore I've read up to now had never mentioned a way to kill an original. As far as I know they are truly Immortal. Maybe I could just kill all the non original vampires in town and then hightail it out of here before they get wind of a hunter. Lets be honest I'm going to end up dead by the end of all of this.

I haven't talked to Elena since I got interrupted before I was able to have a little chat with her. I assume she's told her little boyfriends about what happened by now, so me getting within 10 feet of her again is out of the question. So making a scene in public is now my only option to find out what she knows. This whole thing is getting tiresome already. If it weren't for the innocent people dying I'd cut my loses by now. But I am a Winchester and Winchesters never back down from anything. Hell not even from the actual devil, and the Mikaelsons are no Lucifer.

getting back to my hotel room I get comfy on the bed with my laptop, if I'm going to find anyway to kill the originals I have to channel my inner Sam. Full on research mode. After hours of sitting and looking at the computer screen I've come up with one possible lead, one impossible lead. White oak. It's almost too good to be true but It's all I got. Some hunter in New Orleans had a story passed down generations in his family. Apparently the only thing that could stop an original was an original themselves, or a weapon one of them possessed. A dagger dipped in White oak ash. If the ash from this tree could put them to sleep imagine what the real thing could do. Unfortunately all records of the white oak tree say that it went extinct centuries ago. Another dead end.

Deciding that I've had enough of the headache that is research I get dressed and head back to the Grill. I'm starving, one of the things Dean and I have in common is our appetite. I think he was secretly happy to have someone around to out vote Sam on where we'd eat. Maybe if I'm lucky I can run into Elena again there, kill two birds with one stone.

When I walk into the Grill I spot them right away. Elena and her little gang looking directly at me. By the look on dumb and dumbers faces she defiently told them what I was going to do to her. I  sit down at a table ignoreing them the best I can until I can at least have somthing to eat. While I'm waiting on my food I notice two guys sitting at the bar again. Talk about deja vu. The vibe coming from these two is defiently dangerous but there's something else I can't quite place, It's like a comfort almost. Just as I'm about to stand up to go to them I get snapped out of my daze by my food arriving.

While I'm enjoying my food I start to notice everyone slowly leave the Grill. EVeryone apart from Elena and her friends, and the two guys at the bar who have now turned around to face us obiously interested in what is happeneing. I look up from my food to see my sister and her friends walking over to my table. Bonnie and Caroline are behing my sister and her two boyfriends are infront of her. Anyone would think shes the president with the way they protect her.

"How can I help you Elena, would you like some of my fries?" I question her, I always have to have the first and last words. Something Sam and Dean both love and hate about me.

"No I don't want you're fries Y/N, I want to know why you're in town and how you know about vampires" Elena says, she looks so serious I burst out laughing.

"Sorry, you acctually think I'll just tell you because you asked. Wow you really have no idea who I am now do you Elena?" I stand up as I ask my question getting ready for a fight. By the way everyone clings to Elena's side I guess they are too.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

Earlier this week, current Trump top advisor Boris Epshteyn and former Trump lawyer Jenna Ellis plead not guilty to the nine felony charges each was charged with in connection with helping Donald Trump attempt to overturn the 2020 election in Arizona. Given all the pleas entered by Trump’s criminal associates over the past year, we should just refer to this event as: “Tuesday.” When I read about these latest criminal developments by Trump’s allies, though, for some reason what popped into my head was Trump’s past comments calling numerous scandals “bigger” and “worse” than Watergate because he believed it helped him politically to say that.  In fact, Trump said that about everything from Hillary’s emails to his false claim that the FBI had engaged in surveillance of one of his then 2016 campaign advisor, George Papadopoulos.

The Watergate scandal was huge and it did send more people to jail than many may recall. As a quick refresher, like Trump’s 2020 illegal scheme, the goal of Watergate was to illegally impact a presidential campaign to help the incumbent Republican President win re-election. The Watergate scandal began on June 17, 1972, when several burglars connected to President Richard Nixon’s reelection campaign were arrested in the office of the Democratic National Committee. They had been caught wiretapping phones and stealing documents.

From there, a sprawling cover up involving President Nixon and top aides was launched ranging from providing hundreds of thousands of dollars in “hush money” to the “Watergate burglars” to a plan to instruct the CIA to impede the FBI’s investigation of the crime. By the time the criminal prosecutions came to an end, more than 40 people were charged with crimes relating to the Watergate scandal--—including high ranking Nixon administration and campaign officials.

Some of the best known include Nixon’s Chief of Staff H.R. Haldeman who served 18 months for conspiracy and obstruction of justice, former U.S. Attorney General and reelection campaign manager John Mitchell who was found guilty of conspiracy, perjury, and obstruction of justice and served 19 months in prison, and top domestic policy adviser John Ehrlichman, convicted of conspiracy to obstruct justice and perjury. Others who went to prison included Nixon’s White House Counsel John Dean, legal counsel to the Nixon campaign G. Gordon Liddy, White House aide Jeb Magruder and more. Nixon would’ve been charged with crimes if he had not been pardoned by Gerald Ford—a point former Watergate prosecutor Jill Wine-Banks has made on my SiriusXM show.

In the case of convicted felon Trump, though, what he and his criminal conspirators did was far, far worse both in terms of the potential impact on our Republic and the sheer number of people involved. Trump attempted to remain in power despite losing the 2020 election. And while Nixon lacked any ethics or morals, only Trump incited a terrorist attack on our Capitol on Jan 6 as part of his scheme to remain in power. Plus—very importantly—the scope of Trump’s scheme involved both the federal government and various GOP state officials as well. Trump corrupted not just his White House associates but in essence the entire GOP across the nation—with few exceptions. Even Nixon didn’t do that!

For example, the most sprawling criminal case involving Trump and “All the President’s Men” is the one in Fulton County, Georgia, where 19 people have been charged with illegally interfering in the state’s 2020 election. The defendants include Trump and prominent Trump allies like Rudy Giuliani, former White House chief of staff Mark Meadows, Trump lawyers John Eastman, Sidney Powell, Kenneth Chesebro and more.  But also charged were numerous local GOP officials such as the former chair of Georgia’s Republican Party, a sitting GOP State Senator and the former head of the Coffee County Republicans. Then there are the fraudulent elector charges brought against Trump allies in five states: Arizona, Nevada, Georgia, Wisconsin and Michigan. While Trump has not been charged in these cases, all the crimes were committed by Trump’s advisors, lawyers and local GOP officials in an effort to help Trump overturn the election results in their respective states so he could remain in power as President despite losing.

[...] Yes, we are witnessing something actually far “bigger’ and “worse” than Watergate. And it’s the crime spree of convicted felon Trump and his allies. This is the person the GOP chose to be their 2024 presidential nominee knowing full well this very history. Again, this reminds us of how dangerous today’s lawless and anti-democratic GOP is and why we must politically crush them this November in order to save our democratic Republic.

Dean Obeidallah has yet another banger post: The GOP’s fake electors plot to attempt to steal the 2020 elections for Donald Trump in multiple close states was worse than Watergate ever was.

[winchestersickness]

Sorry anon I somehow deleted your ask 😔 but here's the rec! I went through my ao3 history and picked these, I hope there's something you haven't read yet and that you will enjoy :))

Gift Horse, Mouth, etc.

Sam gets accidentally stuck with a curse that can only be lifted by acting on his deepest hidden fantasy. Dean thinks it's hilarious, and why won't Sammy just tell him what it is already? It can't be anything that weird. Right?

Please Tell Me Who I Am

A/B/O AU. As a beta, Sam shouldn’t even be attracted to his alpha brother (much less be yearning for Dean to finally take that last step into claiming him officially) but, a few compatibility issues aside, they’re happy with the pseudo-mateship they’ve got going on. At least, until a hunt-gone-wrong ends up with Sam being cursed into an omega. He and Dean race to find a way to reverse the spell before it’s too late…but now Sam’s not entirely sure if he even wants to be cured.

Convalescence

Post-Cage!Sam seen through the eyes of others.

(more under the cut)

In Loco Parentis

“Sam, are you,” Dean pauses, squeezing his eyes shut for a second because his brain just doesn’t want to catch up. “Are you jerking off and thinking about Dad?” (Sam is 15).

take the things you love

The thing is, Sam’s reinforcing every bad behavior Dean’s ever had with this kind of shit. Fucking Sam stupid over the hood of the Impala? Dean’s wet dream—unfortunately also Sam’s—but more importantly the implicit validation of every claim Dean thinks he has on Sam—unfortunately every claim Sam’s lizard brain wants Dean to have. (Sam knows his brother wants to possess him. It's a point of internal conflict.)

There's An Enochian Incantation

Dean finds a spell to create a weapon to banish leviathans. It involves an Enochian incantation. The last thing Sam's already-fragile mind needs is to hear words in the language of angels.

brother only wants

Sam breathes like it takes effort, and then he says, "Wanting you was the very first thing I realized was wrong with me. It was how I knew there was something sick inside." (One of them had to fall first. A story about devotion.)

Hands Away

When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick.

Squint into the Sunset | Glare into the Gloaming

The 70k-word nonlinear coming of age story that literally no one asked for. "I know you want to give him the world, Dean, but you were never supposed to give him this."

Taking Advantage

Sam is doing everything Dean tells him to. It’s weird, and Dean wants to get to the bottom of it so he pushes Sam. Sam breaks.

I'd Gladly Lose Me To Find You

Sam takes a vow of silence in order to pull Dean out of Hell, but by the time Dean comes back, Sam's lost more of himself than just his voice. Splits off completely from canon after the season 3 finale.

One Going On Eternity And Counting

Some boundaries were never meant to be crossed ...

with hearts that are guilty, not remorseful

“I’ve wanted you since I knew what wanting was.” It’s a fact, as plain as the day. The sky is blue. Their mother was killed by a demon. They hunt monsters. Sam wants Dean. “I’ve loved you for longer, I think.” “God,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper, raising a hand to grip his own hair by the roots and pulling. He looks absolutely wretched. “I fucked you up, didn’t I?”

When You're Not Here

The third time Sam Winchester comes to school with bruises, Mrs. Davidson decides it's time to intervene - before it's too late.

Gutless

Sticky fingers, that’s what Dean always calls him.

Bullet for my Valentine

Stupid. He is so goddamn fucking stupid. Running his mouth like a fucking idiot, not knowing when to leave well enough alone. Bad enough that he just practically talked dirty to his little brother, which, Christ – he must be more stressed than he thought if his self-control mechanisms have started malfunctioning that badly. But no, no, he came up with a scenario straight out of a bad slasher film, as if that is something normal people talk dirty about, as if that is something Sam would seriously enjoy. As if – As if Dean hadn’t hunted his own brother through the maze of the bunker, eyes black and hammer raised to strike, not even a full year ago. As if Sam hadn’t, just a few weeks back, knelt at his feet, neck bared, waiting for Dean to deal a fatal blow with a fucking scythe.

I haven't been reading spn fics for long so idk if all these are well known already, but I loved all of these (a couple of them are platonic). hope you'll like them!

[sehunniepotwrites]

SHELVED AWAY | JH.S

SYNOPSIS. You and Johnny have been academic rivals since the day you first met. Top Two on the Dean’s List for your university’s English Department, it was hard to tell who claimed the number one spot on the list. You always butted heads, whether it was over who led the discussion in a course lecture, who got a higher grade on a paper, or who helped more customers at the bookshop you both worked at. When a bet to see who could sign up more customers for their shop’s loyalty program came to life, the both of you would stop at nothing to win this little game even if it meant getting closer to the other.

PAIRING. coworker!Johnny Suh x (f) reader GENRE. college!au, bookshop!au, enemies-to-lovers!au, academic rivals!au, suggestive, humor, fluff (?) WORD COUNT. 4.6k+ WARNINGS. characters are like cat-and-dog, make-out scene, profanity, name-calling (lmao), they bicker a lot

DISCLAIMER. This is work of fiction. I do not own the people/characters and concepts I have written about. You cannot translate or copy my work.

There were many things you loved about your university. 

You loved how the campus was swarmed with trees, each building surrounded by a lush and vibrant green in the spring and summer months and warm brown shades during the cold of autumn and winter. You loved the sense of community your school upheld, always hosting events that were opened to anyone and everyone in the immediate area. The way it made you feel at home when you were miles away. The friends you made in your major and the small department you belonged to. 

You adored it all. 

The one thing you hated about your university though wasn’t a thing at all. It was a person who went by the name of John Jun Suh. People in the English department, whether it be faculty, staff, or fellow students called him by Johnny but you wouldn’t succumb to calling him by his preferred name. It made you seem closer to him than you really were and you despised that even being a possibility. You weren’t close. You were far from that. 

Johnny Suh was your rival in every sense of the word. The top two students in the entire department—he concentrated in Literal and Cultural Studies while you dabbled in Creative Writing—you never saw eye to eye. 

Even in a shared lecture hall, you and Johnny were miles apart, distance fueled by your competitive spirits and mutual distaste for the other. 

Miles apart and still butting heads as academic rivals were destined to do. The discussions in the courses you shared were led by your volleying, voices only increasing in volume as you challenged each other’s thoughts and cruxes. Fighting for the attention of the professors. Competing for the highest grade on the latest paper or the spot of tutor in the Writing Lab. 

And just how you had a certain way of doing things, Johnny did the same, using a completely different method. 

In other words, the two of you were complete opposites. 

While you preferred the lighter side of fiction, he longed for the darker bookish themes. The same went for your style of dress—your academia-themed wardrobe was filled with whites, off-whites, and the lighter colors of the spectrum whereas Johnny’s clothes consisted of darker statement pieces including black turtlenecks and dark brown slacks with matching coats. Dark shades and fits that only accentuated his devastatingly handsome figure. 

When you felt comfortable studying during the light of day, you always caught Johnny entering the library in the dark of night as you left for home. 

He was a bookish social butterfly, his wings fluttering about here and there around the English department building and in any club that sparked his interest, while you stayed in your tightly-knitted group of friends. 

Your friends never understood why you hated him. Yes, you were rivals when it came to grades and other educated-related things, but they truly believed you would get along if you really got to know him.

You hated him because it seemed as if he was blessed with everything in life—intelligence, a light and friendly attitude despite his dark attire, physical features that rivaled ones belonging to the gods. Thick hair that looked good in any color. Eyes that shined behind the glare of his rounded specks. Proportions that made both men and women alike swoon. A voice filled with a variety of colors. Johnny was almost perfect without even trying and you despised him for it. 

They were wrong about you and him. So completely wrong.

You knew it. You were almost certain Johnny knew it too.

There was no way you could get along with John Jun Suh. Never in your wildest dreams.

You thought you would find solace working in the town center’s bookshop. Clearly, as Johnny stood before you, with his brand new name-tag pinned against the expanse of his chest, you thought wrong.

To make matters worse, you were the one assigned to train him, to show him the ropes. According to your boss, there was no one better to show the giant how everything works around the store. Your boss wasn’t wrong, you just hated the fact that you had to share one more thing with Johnny Suh. 

With and without your help, Johnny picked up quickly and worked his way up to one of the shop’s top sellers list. Once again, you two were tied for a title. Your boss, sensing your drive to compete, fueled the fire even more in the form of commissions. 

As one of the only bookstores in your college town, your place of employment was quite a popular place. People of all ages flocked to your store to find the book they were seeking and it was time to take advantage of it. In order to engage with customers, your boss launched a loyalty program in which people could earn points that led to discounts. An employee of the shop would earn a commission every time someone signed up for the program under their recommendation. The staff member who received the most commissions within three months after launch would get an extra bonus. It was a fantastic plan, one that was well-received by the staff and the public, especially by you and Johnny.

The two of you found it as another way to compete, especially when you were the highest performers in house. A bet resulted from this “friendly” competition, the loser having to do whatever the winner wanted of them. You remembered the day the bet was established, the rage festering inside you egging Johnny on.

“I’m going to get that bonus, Suh, just you wait,” you said, pushing yourself off the shelf you leaned on. “Just you fucking wait.”

Johnny’s face whipped straight to you with a smirk permanently etched on his full lips. With raised brows, he answered, “Oh, I think you’ve got it all wrong, sweetheart, because that money is mine.”

He tried to distract you with silly nicknames and it didn’t work. “Stubborn as ever, aren’t you?”

“I’d say the same about you,” Johnny lowered his lids, lashes brushing against the tops of his cheeks. He crossed his arms against his chest, muscles straining against his tight shirt’s form hugging fabric. You willed yourself to look away from the bulging muscles that caught everyone else’s attention.  “I’d suggest a bet but everyone knows I’ll win.”

“Oh, please. You’re too confident in yourself!”

“And you’re not?”

“I’ve been here longer and I have more customer service experience than you, John, so I clearly have the upper hand,” you argued as your feet led you to him. 

“And yet all the customers come to me when we’re servicing the same area, I wonder why that is,” Johnny shrugged, “Must be your resting bitch face scaring them away.”

You scoffed, “Is that supposed to be an insult? You need to try a little harder to actually hurt my feelings.”

“Believe me,” Johnny paused to say your name and you tightened your fists to fight the shiver his words caused, “I’m only just getting started.”

“Okay, if it’s a bet you want, fine. I’m in. Loser gets to grant the winner’s wish, no matter what it is.” You stuck your hand out and it lingered in the air for a second too long. 

When you tried to pull it away, Johnny’s hand reached out to join them together. You ignored the electricity that shocked your brain. The feeling of warmth his touch gave you. 

“Fine,” he agreed.

“Good!”

“Good.”

Neither you or Johnny announced what you wanted as punishments, saving the surprise for when the three months concluded. Despite that, you were not one who took losing well. So, you did whatever means necessary to win. Johnny did the very same.

Your coworkers gave up on winning that bonus because no one was as passionate as you both were, parading around the grounds while sabotaging each other. Johnny hid your online orders and you stole his customers. You had yelling matches in the stock rooms, ones others could hear if they passed by the back doors. They never stopped you–they knew better than that–instead, they just let it all unfold, wondering where your arguments would lead you next.

“Stop taking customers away from me!” you screeched at him one day when the shop was devoid of people. It was a slow day so far with no one else but Johnny and a few more coworkers to keep you company.  

You passed the point of annoyance and almost grabbed the closest hardcover within your reach. A good hit on the back of Johnny’s head would do your coworker some good. Johnny deserved it, especially when that specific guest signed up for the program right in front of you. You caught Johnny double checking the person’s entered information on his computer screen, reading everything back to him to check for accuracy. 

You couldn’t believe he ripped another one away from your fingertips. According to the data up till then, tallied on a whiteboard in the break room, Johnny was five commissions ahead of you. You were in the lead last week but he intercepted so many of your customers in the past two days, Johnny saw catching up as child’s play. That last customer made it six. 

Johnny simply rested his sharp chin, “You were taking too long so he came to me. Seemed like he was in a rush.”

“I was trying to find him the perfect copy,” you spat back. “A lot of the covers were damaged during shipping.”

“And some people don’t care about that stuff.” 

“Are you saying you don’t?” you asked.

“No, I do. But others, like that guy who just left, don’t.” 

“Whatever, fucker,” you turned away from him, logging back into your computer that kicked you off during your time away. 

“Such eloquent words coming out of that pretty mouth of yours,” Johnny laughed, satisfied with the irritation in your voice. Your mind fixated on the compliment and you did your absolute best to ignore minuscule, barely-there thump in your chest. “Wonder what other insults you can come up with. Maybe you’ll dive into some Shakespearean ones, those are always fun.” 

“Watch your back and your customers, Suh,” you threatened, fingertips pressing harshly against the keys. 

He heard the anger with every little click. “Sure, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Just for that,” Johnny smirked, “I don’t think I will.”

“Thief.”

“Slowpoke.”

But as the months passed, there were times when Johnny would get a little too close to you and his presence didn’t bother you as much as before. 

His voice wasn’t as irritating from near or far. Your eyes stopped twitching when Johnny would change his commission count on the communal white board. 

Sometimes, you would feel his large, warm hand on your back as he tried to get to his register. Other times, you felt his breath hitting your cheek while he leaned down to look at your computer. When you argued, you were suddenly hyper aware of how his body was less than an inch away from yours. How he, at times, would stare at your frowning lips for a beat too long. Or how his biting words turned a little kinder when you were having an off day. 

Those things shouldn’t have affected you in the way that they did, making your heart rumble in your chest like an earthquake shaking your entire world. But as much as you wanted to deny it,  Johnny tugged on your heart strings. Unknowingly, his actions made you revisit the chapter of your story that focused on love. Little by little, they added words to pages left untouched for many years, bringing the paper to life. And you weren’t sure of where this plot point was taking you next.

“I didn’t know you liked this genre,” you approached him one day as Johnny sat in the break room. His nose was stuck inside one of your favorite novels, one that you recommended to anyone who asked for a romance suggestion. The book itself came out two weeks ago and it sold out within hours. 

You, being an avid reader and book reviewer, received access to an advanced copy in exchange for an honest review. And an honest review you gave that had everyone who followed you buzzing until the release date. 

“Well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Johnny smiled softly at you, his long fingers coming up to slip a bookmark in between the pages he left off on. He slid past you, gently placing the novel back into the small crevice of his work locker. “It’s really good so far, I see why you’ve been raving about it. I’d keep reading but my break’s up,” he said to you, his hand grazing at the small of your back to move you out of his way, “but I’ll talk to you more about it later, yeah? I marked some quotes I liked.” 

Your gaze followed him out, not knowing why that touch and his words made you freeze in place. It made him seem like a romantic, something that you really wouldn’t have guessed. 

There were a lot of things you knew about Johnny Suh. You knew how he irritated you to death and how he always came in early for his shifts. He hated being late. He was always on time. 

You knew how he preferred darker neutrals than your lighter colors when it came to wardrobe palettes. How he belonged to a different English concentration but still took creative writing courses to expand his verse. 

But there were a lot of things you don’t know about him, too. You didn’t know how he took his coffee in the morning or who his favorite author was. His favorite genre of book or his preferred type of music when he studies so diligently on his breaks. You didn’t know how he liked to spend his time away from school and work. Whether he preferred plain sticky notes or the Disney Princess ones he was currently placing on the pages of your favorite book.

You didn’t know if he was dating anybody or remotely interested in anyone at the moment. Not that you actually cared.

There were a whole lot of things you didn’t know about Johnny but just looking at him with your beloved novel in hand, marking the pages with his own inklings, you felt your heart wanting to learn more about the coworker you came to hate. Yearning to occupy the spot in front of him and exchange his current thoughts on the book. Longing to hear how his mind interpreted fact and fiction.

You didn’t know much about John Jun Suh but the book of your heart had already opened its pages up, ready for him to fill you up with words and maybe, his love.

It was the second to last week of the bet and you were working the busiest shift of your life. 

There was a signing with a popular author earlier in the day, flooding the store more than usual. It ended around an hour ago but the weening crowd from the event lingered in between the aisles. Some of your coworkers already clocked out for the day, only assigned the hours of the signing. But you, of course, were not able to leave as you were that day’s shift lead. So you carried on, starting your rotation as the customer service stand in the middle of the store. 

You smiled at a customer who approached you, grabbing their sheet of confirmation paper for a book on hold. Gesturing to the back room with the paper in hand, you said politely, “Wait right here. I’ll be right back with your book.”

The customer nodded at you in reply and with that, you were off. Johnny, who was manning the other customer service computer next to you, followed suit. Rolling your eyes, you attempted to walk faster but with daddy long legs behind you, it didn’t take long for him to catch up to your pace. Pretending the tall boy with the stupid round glasses and the stuck-up dark academia fit wasn’t there, your focus remained on the paper in your grip. Studying the printed font, you maneuvered through various bookshelves without looking up until you reached a door that read “Employees Only.” 

Swiping your employee card to grant you access, you hurried in to keep Johnny out. Kicking the door closed you didn’t work–Johnny’s long foot caught it before it shut and you cursed. You wished it slammed against him, inflicting some sort of pain—much like the pain he caused you. 

Sighing, a realization hit you. He was never going to leave you alone no matter how hard you tried. But did that truly upset you or did it leave your body buzzing with nerves? 

“You’re ignoring me,” Johnny deadpanned as your hands ghosted against the spines of many books lining the shelves. His heavy footsteps echoed in the room; it was louder than your nervous breaths. Being alone with him did make you nervous, not that you would ever admit it out loud.

You would never admit to the butterflies you felt when he was around or the way your heart pounded erratically against your breastbone. You would never admit the way the scent of his perfume drove you a bit mad—almost as mad as the famed hatter—or how irritatingly handsome he looked when he studied at the counter, full lips in a pout and rounded glasses sliding down the slope of his nose.

Or how much you liked when he did little things like holding the door open for you when you had a dolly filled with merchandise. Making sure you got a worksheet that you missed during a class discussion. How you grew sweet on him when he’d drive you home after a shared closing shift, expressing his concern for your safety. 

Johnny said he wouldn’t want any girl to wait out in the dark for an unreliable bus. He’d rather see you home so he was one hundred percent sure you made it back to your apartment in one piece. Johnny wouldn’t leave the lot until he saw your bedroom light turn on. He memorized what floor you were on the day he took you all the way to your door. It was the night some loiterers were being loud and obnoxious at the front of your building. You didn’t feel safe walking past them on your own, frightened by the drunken catcalls they threw at people passing by. So like any good person would do, Johnny draped a protective arm around your shoulder, told you to keep your pretty little head down, and led you to the elevator. 

You even caught yourself dreaming about him during the day and night, random thoughts of him streaming into your consciousness. They were like little movie reels playing in your head. Scenes of him sitting in the corners of the shop, reading and annotating the books you recommended to guests, or him sipping on that large cup of iced americano that he consumed daily.

You would never admit to any of those things, especially not to him.

“I’m not ignoring you, you’re too insignificant to ignore.”

Johnny laughed a light chuckle as if he thought your response was cute. You hated it. 

“I just don’t want anything to do with you, and also— I. Am. Working,” you hissed as you finally reached the shelf you were looking for. The customer had ordered a new contemporary romance novel—one you found yourself indulging in during your breaks before it was released—but it was nowhere to be found in your stock. 

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Johnny’s voice came from behind you. You felt the heat of his body and you clenched your hand, ultimately wrinkling the paper you held. That was fine; the customer didn’t need it after your interaction anyway. It was going straight to the trash, just like your heart was. 

Your not-so-fragile heart was going in the damn garbage because you were letting a stupid pretentious English major rile you up over the dumbest things. An ounce of hate consumed you as you came to this epiphany. You were supposed to hate him, despise him for challenging your position as the top seller in the store, and for stealing your spotlight from the English department. So why didn’t you?

“God—where is that damned book?” Your irritation seeped through your words and the way you slammed the metal shelves. 

Johnny chuckled, easily snatching the paper from your hands, earning a small huff from you. He took a glance at it before shifting his gaze to the higher shelves--the ones you needed a step stool for. Your co-worker, smug as he could be, found it easily and with confidence, he reached for it. The action pressed you against the shelf, your hands immediately finding purchase on the metal to steady yourself from the unexpected weight. His strong, hard chest was against your back and his hot breath hit your ear. “Looking for this one?”

You stiffened against him. You could not move, not when Johnny’s weight trapped you between his arms. Not when the sweet scent of his cologne was flooding your senses. Not when his low, husky voice whispered in your ear. 

“I don’t need your help,” you hissed back, fingers gripping onto the edge of the shelf. 

“You need my height.”

“There’s a step stool right there for me to use so no, John, I don’t need your help.”

“Clearly, you do, sweetheart, you couldn’t even find that book for that sweet customer that’s waiting for you out there.”

The nickname, although a bit heart-fluttering, was also somewhat degrading and it set you off. Fire seeped through your veins. With a breath, you turned so that you were chest to chest. With furrowed brows and a piercing glare, you said, “I don’t need you—“

“You sure?” Johnny leaned closer, his hazed eyes dipping down to your frowning lips for a fraction of a second. 

You caught the action and again, your heart tried pushing its way out of your body, “—or your help or your teasing here and in class. I’m tired.”

“I’m not.” Of course, he wasn’t. He never was. That’s what made him so annoying—his persistence. 

“Give me the book, John.” 

“Nah, I think I’ll hold on to it for you.”

“Hand it over.”

Lowering down to her level, he smirks and says, “Why don’t you make me?”

“Don’t think I can do it?”

“Oh, I’d really like to see you try.”

Johnny’s challenging words pulled you to do something unexpected. Instead of replying with words, you accepted his provocation by yanking him to your level and fitting your mouth against his. Your fingers curled in his long, soft hair while his free hand drifted to your waist. It wrapped around your middle, further trapping you in between his build and the cold metal shelf. 

Johnny kissed you like it was something that he wanted to do. Like it was something he was meant to do. Whenever you moved, he followed. Every little tilt of the head or breath you took was followed by him finding his way back to you. There was no escaping his lips, his scent, his whole entire being. Johnny was all around you and for once, you let yourself indulge in the moment. 

When Johnny swiped his tongue against your bottom lip, you opened yourself up to him. You allowed him to explore parts of you that had been closed off for many years. The levels of passion were on an equal scale, the tiny noises escaping you matching the level of Johnny’s eager groans. He made you forget where you were once his grip found its way to your chin, pulling you to close the space you created as you took a needed breath. The task of helping the customer was temporarily erased from memory as he pulled away just enough to whisper your name against your lips.

But it all came back to you once you felt that book–the one you fought him for–press against your middle. It was wedged in between your bodies, distracting you from the pleasure that came from kissing your rival. 

So, as Johnny went back in for another kiss, you grabbed the book out of his loosened grip and shoved him away. 

Taking a good look at him, Johnny’s face was red and his lips were all kinds of swollen. There was a dazed look in his eyes, one that was so hazy, it was the dreamiest thing you had ever laid eyes on. His hand remained at the level of your head, fingers twitching, as if they wanted to grab hold of you once more. Your name barely escaped his lips when you slowly retreated towards the exit. You created a wider space between you, with the coveted book in one hand and the other blindly reaching for the door handle.

“There. See?”

“See what?” Johnny said breathlessly.

“I tried,” you replied, staring right into his eyes. If you looked elsewhere, if your gaze wandered back down to the lips that tasted so addicting, you would have folded and ran back right to him. Shaking the book within his view, you continued on, “And when I try, I always get what I want.”

Giving him no time to talk back, you opened the door and made your great escape. 

His brown eyes remained on the door long after you left, waiting for his heart to calm itself. His fingers rubbed against his lips, mind still clouded with no one else but you. That wasn’t an odd occurrence to him, it was actually quite a normal one. Not that you had to know.

Johnny opened up to the thought of you long before that kiss occurred. 

It happened earlier in the year, when he saw you tutoring his friend Mark in the English department’s writing center. You diligently helped the struggling student, offering him constructive feedback with a high amount of patience. You stayed hours after your tutoring shift ended, making sure Mark hit every point on the grading rubric to ensure that he would get a passing grade. 

There was no need for you to go out of your way like that but you wanted to out of the goodness of your heart. And just like you assisted Mark, you continued to go above and beyond in your bookstore clerk duties to guarantee that every customer left satisfied. 

Your dedication to your work was admirable. It made you all the more charming in Johnny’s eyes, even more charming than the first time he laid eyes on you during first year orientation. 

A new book opened way back then, the love story in his heart practically writing itself. But as your treatment and obvious distaste towards him worsened over the years, he shelved that book away. Despite the harsh treatment he didn’t deserve, Johnny’s heart always held a soft spot for you; the page he left off on dog-eared for him to return to. It remained folded, the crease pressing a permanent indent into the page in case Johnny wanted to explore his feelings in depth once again.

And as you rang up the customer that you fought over, Johnny went through the library of his mind, searching for that book he filed away. And once he found it, he pried it out of the shelf and opened it back up, undoing the crease that bookmarked where he left off. 

Johnny was ready to fall in love again but more importantly, he was ready to fall in love with you. 

EMPLOYEE BULLETIN BOARD. Hey, everyone! I’m back. Long time no chat <3 First of all, happy new year! But more importantly, happy Johnny day!!! I went through my archives to find this. It was originally planned to be a longer fic but I lost inspiration for it. Maybe I can come back to it one day and fully flesh it out. But until then, this is all I’ve got (until Jaehyun’s birthday). Please tell me what you think of it. I feel like I’m a bit rusty ;;;

A big thanks to @lavendersuh for reading through this multiple times and editing/suggesting things when she saw fit. You’re the best, Em <3 @smileysuh you’re the king for also skimming through this. And @yutaholic for indulging me as I spam her with all my ideas uwu. You’re awesome!! 

TAGLIST. @johtenrecs @emmybyeakitty @ppangjae @sokkigarden @kaepop-trash @suhnnyskiess @baekhyuns-lipchain @bebsky @bat-shark-repellant @renjuunsz @ferxanda @lebrookestore​ @tyongblr

NETWORKS. @neowritingsnet​ 

© sehunniepotwrites, 2022

[eisforeidolon]

Alrighty- Whaddya think of this?

I’ve been rewatching the show and am now at season 8. I shake my head at all the known moments in the show that hellers claim are canon ship bs, because you’d have to be stretch Armstrong to reach that far..

But something did nag me. There were times that Cas WAS the emotional support for Dean where I really thought it should have been Sam conversing with him. For the majority of the series we saw Dean be the caretaker, emotional support etc for Sam, and it never really came from anyone else- lest he was being manipulated by some evil person. However there were many times where that wasn’t reciprocated on screen. Cas would almost stand in for Sam when Dean needed someone, showed Dean a lot of compassion. (Please believe I’m being objective and not a stan in hiding). I think THAT dynamic confused people. Why didn’t they have Sam having those convos with Dean more? I mean, narratively I understand the need for Cas to move the plot forward with his specific role, but so many times it was an angsty Dean who I think NEEDED his BROTHER more than a convo with Cas. Now there are people who just wanted to sexualize Jensen/Dean and couldn’t possibly be linked the wincest as their puritan sensibilities just wouldn’t allow them. But OTHER fans seemed to have latched on to the dynamic of Dean and Cas because they saw Dean have emotional moments with him.

Now during my rewatch it pissed me off, because I realized that the writers were making some conscious choices to have Sam NOT fill that role for Dean. Like it seemed like they went out of their way at times to make Sam seem more indifferent to Dean. This is why- wildly unpopular opinion here- I didn’t like Sera Gamble! I think she isolated Sam away from Dean and had Cas fill in for Sam. That codependent brother thing I LIVE FOR, was kinda washed out during her seasons (in my opinion), but more so from one side. I think she didn’t really like Dean, period, but whereas I know Sam fans LOVE Gamble, I think she mischaracterized Sam a lot.

In my mind, Sam is just as in love with Dean as Dean is with him (whether that be wincest or brotherly is up to your interpretation). You remember when Rowena started really having a relationship with Sam? And then Jack, too? That was really the first time we’ve seen Sam have that type of side character interaction depth. It’s why Sam fans love those two characters because they related to Sam! Well, isn’t that why Dean fans loved Cas, too?

I dunno I’m ranting and probably make no sense, but I was definitely annoyed with the writers in quite a bit if my rewatch during seasons 4-7 because it seemed such a purposeful choice to NOT show Sam being for Dean what they chose to show Cas being. I think knot blurred the lines and did such a disservice to Sam. Ironically, I think Carver rectified this a lot! Even with the angst and separation, Carver’s seasons demonstrably showed the codependency and intense brotherly love. I prefer seasons 1-3 and then all of Carver’s seasons!

I couldn't remember any instances of Dean leaning on Castiel when there wasn't some obvious reason it wasn't a conversation with Sam. So I went through season by season, and ultimately, I think you have to look at what the plot arc between the brothers is. As I've said before, the one thing that I actually like about Dabb as a showrunner is finally dropping the constant circling back to brother conflict drama that, to me at least, felt more and more artificial. Even if we're talking about seasons 4-7, we have to start at the beginning, because I think the first three seasons are pointedly bringing the brothers back together closer than ever in preparation for all the apocalypse shenanigans to attempt to tear them apart.

In terms of Dean opening up, specifically, consider what happens in those seasons between them from Dean's perspective.

In season four, he comes back from hell traumatized only to realize Sam has been lying to him about using his powers and working with Ruby. When he asks Sam to explain because he's scared of the powers, Sam refuses to talk about it and says he wouldn't understand (4x04). So how can it be a surprise that when he wants to talk in the next episode, it's Jamie the bartender he chooses instead? Is it really strange he basically mirrors what Sam said about Dean not being able to understand when Sam confronts him about what Uriel said regarding him remembering hell (4x08)? Castiel (4x07) and Anna (4x10) conversing with Dean are more about their own fears and insecurities more than Dean's. When Dean does finally open up and is ready to actually talk about what happened in hell, it is to Sam (4x11). Except, it's pretty soon after that (4x14) where Sam throws it back in his face under the influence of the siren, calling him a weak, whiny burden who is just holding Sam back. Can it really be a surprise then that, again, next time Dean opens up it's to Tessa (4x15)? And then, when the doubts are basically exactly what Sam said, i.e. that the apocalypse really is too big for him to deal with and he is scared, he says it to Castiel instead (4x16)? Which I think is only validated to Dean when Sam says the same kind of thing all over again without the siren's influence when they fight in 4x21. They're in conflict and being torn in opposite directions, which is kind of the point. Actually communicating – if they both weren't too stubborn to do it – would basically halt season 4's entire plot in its tracks.

Without making this post five miles long, those kinds of things happen again and again in 5-7, too. Sam is literally not there to talk to when he leaves at the beginning of the season, and they don't get back together because they've actually sorted out all the shit between them from the previous events, but because Sam has realized he can't get out and Dean doesn't trust that Sam will continue to say no to Lucifer if they're apart. So when Dean opens up, it's to his hallucination of a therapist instead of Sam. Blow after blow follows thereafter. What they see of Sam's heaven being an entire absence of Dean. Everyone leaving Dean to grieve at Lisa's for a year knowing Sam is back(ish) the whole time. Soulless!Sam's actions, which (as unfair as it might be) Dean clearly had trouble separating out from regular Sam's. Sam's sanity hanging on by a wall, then being plagued by Hallucifer. Similar big conflicts and obstacles to frank conversation continue on into seasons 8 and 9, too.

I think you can fairly go fifty layers deep into what's going on in both of their heads in any of those instances and see where they're coming from, but Dean isn't going to be doing that as the one living it. From his perspective? There are a lot of reasons to not open up to Sam because of what's going on in their lives and how they each feel about it. So sometimes he does open up to others – which includes Castiel.

I definitely remember way back when I was a multishipper that a lot of D/C shippers said they started shipping the ship because Castiel didn't have that fraught history with Dean that Sam does with all the conflicts and misunderstandings. That's fine (although IMO it hardly held true for very long). However, to me it seems like Dean is just as likely to turn to a stranger (or the hallucination of one) as he is to turn to Castiel instead of Sam, so I don't really see it as some huge thing in the canon that really justifies thinking the ship is anything but certain fans over-investing in what they particularly like. I also think that Sam was just less and less likely to open up to anyone at all as the series went on – but when he does, it was also often with Castiel or Jody or Charlie or Rowena instead of Dean. Because the season conflict didn't rely on them being unable to communicate effectively with those other characters and the judgement of those other characters couldn't do as much damage if it was negative.

None of that even gets into the whole other issue of the underlying dynamics carried over from their childhood which also plays into things. Where Dean still sees his primary purpose as protecting Sam as his little brother rather than always seeing him as a true partner. Where he has self-worth and abandonment issues that make him unable to understand why Sam would value him and not be able to just get over his death. Where Sam is not only all too aware that Dean doesn't value himself and gets frustrated with that? But has spent so long fighting against what everyone else wants from him that he still sometimes treats Dean as a substitute for authority instead of a partner and pushes back at any disagreement with his (not always as) brilliant (as he thinks) plans as “bossing him around”? Where he also gets very agitated whenever Dean is not okay because he needs Dean to be okay to the point he insistently tries to fix it by making Dean talk when Dean isn't ready to. In short, they both have huge underlying issues that skew how they see each other and they're both stubborn as hell.

Then when you add on top of that how the writers had such a tendency to revolve the action arcs around Sam and the emotional ones around Dean as the viewpoint character that Sam's emotions and thoughts often seem like a mysterious locked box through large parts of the series? I do get why some fans can read that as Sam being indifferent to Dean, but I don't think that's the underlying intention or the case. Because of that focus choice, to a large extent we only see how badly Sam needs Dean when there's a threat of Dean not being there or Dean is taken away – but I would argue that we do really see it then. From not caring about Marshall Hall to wanting to try Doc Benton's solution to trying to suicide by demon to initially allowing himself to be manipulated by Ruby to taking on his Cage memories to the Rowena and Oskar debacle to how his montage life was entirely blurry except for his son and his grief over Dean.