#anyway happy birthday Sam Winchester

[ivytwines]

It’s delicious that Sam often thinks he is broken and evil, that something inside of him is tainted and he must use every moment of his life to atone for both the sins he has committed willingly and the ones that were thrust upon him. But the thing that makes all of that guilt and shame fascinating is that it’s not true. He is not evil, he is so down-to-the-molecules fundamentally good that it hurts. He’s kind and he’s patient and he’s achingly gentle. His self-sacrificing doesn’t actually come from a desire to save himself, but because he truly believes he can save others. What if a boy was destined to be selfish and cruel and jealous and bloodthirsty, and he chose to be decent and human instead? What if hope is kind of the whole point?

[samdeans]

did you mean: the love of my life [insp.]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SAM WINCHESTER! ✧ 05.02.1983.

[ro-sham-no]

Sam’s wall breaks, and he won’t stop screaming.

it's his birthday so you KNOW i had to whump my boy

It’s been two days and fifteen hours and Sam won’t stop screaming. 

Blood droplets fly out of his mouth with wracking coughs as he chokes on hurried inhales, mucosal spit gumming up his trachea.

It’s been two days and sixteen hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

The only times he’s been silent in the last two days and seventeen hours is when he’s unconscious. The first bout - four hours and twenty-three minutes of silence - Dean’d just clocked him in the jaw when it was clear Sam was going to scream himself into involuntary suffocation - diaphragm and abdominal muscles locking up from the abuse. Dean knocked him unconscious for those four hours and twenty-three minutes, after six hours of his weeping and gnashing of teeth.

By the time he had woken up, Dean had shots of sedative and they were two hours into a twenty-eight-hour drive to Bobby’s - if nothing else, Dean’s efficient. Sam didn’t take notice.

And if the sounds he won’t stop making can be described as screaming, then the sounds he makes when Dean has to touch him while he’s awake can only be described as a death wail. Wailing and scrambling to get away from Dean with a fervor that earns them both violent shades of bruises.

It’s been two days and twenty hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

During the drive, whenever Sam’s anguish would escalate back into hair-tearing, along with beating his fists against his arms and thighs and threatening to bash his head into the windows of the Impala, Dean would pull over to force another dose of sedative into him. 

The sounds he makes while Dean tries to subdue him… Well, even in the most remote location on their route, Dean was afraid the farmer whose house they could just barely see in the distance would be able to hear. It had to have been at least three miles away, with how flat the land was, and Dean was still worried that someone would hear. 

Sam won’t stop screaming, and his screams are deafening- except when he’s unconscious, from the shots Dean gives him, the screaming is just in Dean’s mind. A haunting kind of tinnitus that rings in Dean’s ears, just as nauseating as the real deal, but a touch less heartbreaking.

He only allows himself to sleep for the first few hours of Sam being down for the count, despite the catatonic state that seemed to have taken over him. Dean wasn’t about to risk Sam waking up without him. They sleep together in the car, in the weeds and the bramble off of back roads, hidden from view. Baby’s paint has never been so scratched up.

It’s been two days and twenty-three hours and Sam won’t stop screaming.

They’ve been at Bobby’s for the last twenty-four of those, trying to hold back on the sedative, because god knows they can’t keep it up forever or Sam’s heart is liable to just straight up quit, so they’ve been rationing it. Walking the nerve-wracking line between acceptable amounts of incomprehensible human suffering and causing an overdose that could just kill Sam, for good this time.

On the 72nd hour - that’s two days and twenty-four hours, or three days and zero hours, or 4,230 minutes and zero seconds, or 259,200 seconds and -

It’s been three days and zero hours, and Sam is awake, but he stops screaming.

And on the third day he will be raised…

Dean rushes over to check on him, but Sam is still breathing, heart still beating, body still holding itself upright, and he’s stopped screaming.

Now, though, two lines of salty tears trail down his face. For all his hysteric shrieking over the last three days, through all the rocking and swaying and the occasional distinct syllable of “no” over and over again, he hadn’t actually shed a tear, until now.

It’s been three days and zero hours and Sam’s tears are silent. 

He’s staring far off into the distance - into the wall that’s four feet in front of him - and he is silent. Even his gasps are inaudible. No sniffling, not a single huff or quiver of breath. Just tears.

It’s been three days and zero hours and two minutes and both Dean and Bobby are in the room now, staring at Sam with undisguised fear-horror-confusion. 

They stare at him and he begins to shake. Lightly, at first, but it grows. It always grows. Sam is silent, and he’s shaking, and his eyes stream tears with the consistency of a downpour, and Dean moves back in front of him. He’d stepped away to yell for Bobby out the door when it looked like Sam would live after his abrupt descent into silence. Dean steps back in front of him and reaches out to touch Sammy, and now Sam’s not silent. A three-minute silence and now it’s broken by Sam scrambling backward with a gasp that’s really more of an inhaled moan of fear, hastening back so far that he pushes off of the bed he’d been sitting on.

He crashes to the floor, out of Dean’s reach even as the man leaps forward with a cry of, “Sam!”

But Sam’s flight had been too fast, so he crashed to the ground and has now fallen silent again, but Dean can’t tell if there are still tears because Sam has wedged himself into a ball in the crease between the floor and the wall, form-fitting his back and ass over the baseboards hard enough to bruise. He’s hiding his face in his knees, still trembling, but still silent, so Dean can’t tell if the tears have stopped. He isn’t sure if that would be better or worse.

Because now it’s been three days and five minutes, and Sam’s curled up in sublimation. 

He’s crammed against the wall, his knees are up in front of him, spread only far enough to shove his head between them - but down quite far, uncomfortably so, contorted - but his hands aren’t curled up like the rest of him. Instead, his hands are held out around his legs, stretched around them and then upward, palms out like he’s receiving something sacred. Or like he’s giving it away.

It’s been three days and six minutes and Sam is trembling in sublimation.

The room is silent, Dean and Bobby don’t know what to do, but he isn’t hurting himself and he isn’t screaming so they wait him out.

It’s been three days and thirty minutes, by the time anything happens.

At first, Bobby thinks it’s the creaks of his house. At first, Dean thinks it’s the creaks of his soul. They’re both wrong, they realize, as the sound is actually coming from Sam, but it reverberates in such a way that it’s equally loud from every corner of the room. Dean wonders, faintly and somewhat hysterically, when Sam learned ventriloquy. 

It’s a low but resounding utterance, indistinguishable at first, but becoming more distinct with every syllable, losing its eerie ambience and beginning to actually come from Sam as its focal point. Whatever Sam is saying, deep into his chest in a tone that aches, becomes clearer, but neither of the other two men can understand it.

Sam’s palms are still held up in front of his shins. His head is still shoved between his knees, and he’s still trembling. He finishes his recitation but doesn’t fall silent. Instead, he switches to a language that Dean realizes with a jolt that he can understand the words, seconds before Bobby realizes it, too. 

“Pater noster, qui es in שְׁאוֹל, sanctificetur nomen tuum. Adveniat regnum tuum. Fiat voluntas tua, sicut in שְׁאוֹל et in terra.”

A sickening aura falls over the room as both lucid men hear the exceptions to the otherwise familiar prayer. “On earth, as it is in שְׁאוֹל,” Sam had said. Sheol, the subterranean final resting place. The pit. “The place of no return, the land of utter darkness and deep shadow.” 

Hell.

Our Father who art in the pit of utter death and darkness…

It’s been three days and one hour by the time Sam finishes his contritions. 

By then, he’d recited that first chant in the same unknown language twice more, alternating it with the Latin rendition of the Lord’s prayer.

Hallowed be thy name…

Dean has a gnawing, sinking feeling in his gut that he knows exactly what that other language is.

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done, on earth as it is in שְׁאוֹל, the deep shadow.

The cadence, the tone; they’re the same. Distorted by the foreign, guttural tones of the other language, but they cut through Dean with the same taste. Sam is repeating the same thing over and over again, just in alternating tongues. The familiar Latin combined with the unfamiliar, grating timbre of the other. 

The repugnant language of the wretched Divine.

Those accursed, winged beasts, just like the one his brother, his Sammy has been locked up with for an earth-year. And who knows what that timeline looked like, in the depths? Nothing sears in your mind quite like the crushing realization that virtually no real time has passed when you return from it, Dean remembers. The rock constantly lodged in the base of Dean's chest, taking up space where his lungs are supposed to go, which screams out, your pain was never real.

Did time distort further the further down you went in hell? Was Dean’s 40-year stint a mere blink in the face of the time Sam had been locked up with that thing that did this to him?

The only reason Dean’s stomach isn’t on the floor in front of him is because his stomach is empty, the pervasive ache of the last few days locking it up tight. Sam has been screaming and Dean hasn't been eating, but he's never been less hungry in his life.

It’s been three days and one hour and Dean’s been crying for every single second of them.

The wailing and screaming had gouged at him, in that way little baby's cries gouge at unsuspecting figures passing by, striking that deep, maternal cord within them. The same way little toddler-Sam’s cries had always gouged at Dean. The same way, too, that not-so-little teenaged Sam’s sniffles into his pillow that he thought were muffled had always gouged at Dean. 

If the screams had been gouging at him, this reverent recitation was gutting him. Viscerally, like a fish being pulled sharply off of a too-big hook that it had somehow managed to swallow down too far. Catch and release turned into a pitiful horror.

But it’s been three days and one hour, now, and Sam’s finished his latest round of the Lord’s prayer - Latin this time - and he’s fallen silent again.

His hands are still held out, despite how bad it must make his shoulders and wrists ache with the tension of his stillness. Before Dean can think to do anything, though, Sam continues, but he breaks the pattern. Instead, his voice is much shakier now, and he starts to plead, the only term applicable to the tone of voice Sam has taken on: wretched, and full of supplication. Pleading, in Latin still,

“Elohim, Messiah - Please take this temptation from me. Please, as you have so graciously promised, benevolent Savior, tempt me not with this Sin of the Flesh. I am too weak, Father. This temptation is too great and I cannot bear it.

Temptation? Father?

The formal tone rankles. The self-deprecation vexes. The use of Father to refer to the most foul being to ever walk above and below the earth seethes and horrifies. Dean is rankled. Dean is vexed. Dean seethes, and he is horrified.

“Take Him from my sight, יהוה, keep me away from His fraternal presence, please, Lord. Balm though He is to my soul, grateful though I am for this offering, I am too weak to refrain from Sin.”

Fraternal? Sin?

“I would naught but bastardize this precious gift, and thine hand wilt be forced against me, as thou shalt flay me apart; dissect me to make penance for my transgressions. I do not wish this, Father, so please: Take Him from me, do not allow my wretched Sin to pervade in thine realm.”

Just because Dean’s stomach is empty doesn’t mean it isn’t trying valiantly to make an appearance. At the word “fraternal,” Bobby had started pushing him out the door. Stunned, Dean hadn’t fought back. There’s bile on Bobby’s hardwood floor outside the bedroom Sam and Bobby were still in.

Sam spoke as if Dean’s presence was the temptation, one too great to bear. And he spoke as if to God, but Dean knew better, he knew where Sam had been. Where Dean let him go. No gods to be seen, not there. What Sin had Lucifer contrived between them, to make Sam pay penance for? What occurred between them for Sam to be… Flayed alive. Dissected. 

Dean’s not stupid enough to believe that's anything but literal.

Bobby swings the door mostly-closed just in time for Sam to finish his pleas and lower his arms.

It’s been three days and one hour and ten minutes, and Sam raises his head.

Dean watches through the crack in the door, concealed in the darkness of the hallway. He’s holding his breath and he’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself for not rushing right back to Sam's side. But something is holding him back, and he doesn’t want to name it. 

(Fraternal… Sin?)

Sam raises his head but keeps his eyes scrunched shut - tears and snot are dripping down his face, which is a blotchy red but somehow still pallid with fear. He’s shaking worse than before as he straightened his back out, sitting up and letting his legs fold down so he’s cross-legged. Not relaxed, but no longer contorted. Finally, he releases a shaky breath and opens his eyes, pointing down at the floor.

Bobby shifts his weight purposefully and Sam’s eyes fly to him with a wild flinch of fear. It hangs in the air uncomfortably long before he recognizes the man in the room with him, and he lets out a sob of what Dean hopes is relief.

He quickly bows his head and shifts up onto his knees in a simple prayer position, hands pressed together in a booklet of gratitude as he sobs out, “Thank you, Messiah, Morningstar. Thank you.”

Then, with a big sigh, he allows himself to look back at Bobby, but his gaze is clinical, observing. He whispers, through his hitching, wet breaths, “He did it. I can't believe he did it. He’s gone. I don’t have to do it again, not yet.”

Sam’s face crumples as he’s hysterical with relief, and Dean’s clawing his own arms raw and bloody outside the door, desperate to get to the crying baby and soothe it, desperate to kiss toddler-Sam’s scraped knees, desperate to tell teenage-Sam that nothing will ever change the way Dean feels about him, despite whatever darkness he seems to think is inside of him. But still, he’s held back by that unspeakable Sin between them. Lucifer didn’t contrive it, Dean knows that. He holds himself back.

Bobby speaks up then, gruff and wary, “Don’t have to do what, yet?”

Sam startles before finally, really looking at Bobby like he’s a human on the same plane of existence as him, not like he’s a mildly interesting fixture on a non-existent wall.

“Nothing, don’t worry about it, Bobby. It’s good to see you,” Sam cracks a smile, and it encapsulates one thousand shades of grief.

Sam continues quieter, once again to himself, “I wish it wasn’t like this. I’m sorry. So, so sorry. But you’re not Him, so it’s fine, it’s fine…”

Bobby squints at him long and hard, eyeing his more relaxed posture and at least somewhat lucid speech - odd though it may be - before he glances at the crack in the door and gives a tiny eyebrow raise that says, get your ass in here.

Dean slowly cracks the door open and calls out to his baby brother, just as he comes into view, “Sammy?”

His reaction is violent. If Sam was pallid before, he’s now a putrid shade of green, face twisting up in horror as he shakes his head, wringing his hands and mumbling out at first, devolving quickly into yells into the aether, into the corners of the room, “No! No, no- please, you promised, no-”

He collapses into himself on the floor, half hidden behind the bed, putting it between him and Dean. The trembling returns with moans and cries incessantly pouring out of Sam’s mouth as he buries his head in his hands, gripping at his face and whatever hair is in reach with too much force, wailing out a constant stream of no, no, no!

Dean takes an involuntary step forward into the room, drawn in by that maternal wretchedness. Desperate, always desperate, to comfort his baby brother. 

When his boot sounds on the carpet - muted but oh-so-loud to Sam’s ears - the cries lose their shape, hiccupping wails of no quickly becoming unintelligible and increasingly frantic, building and building until it can only be described as a howling scream.

It’s been three days and one hour and fifteen minutes, and Sam won’t stop screaming.

[preseriesdean]

You think I'm bad? Wait 'til you meet the other one.

SAM WEEK 2023 6.22, “THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH”

[samswound]

and the angels wouldn’t help you because they’ve all gone away etc etc

open for high quality

[spnexploration]

Comments

Happy birthday Dean Winchester! Here's a quick one-shot I whipped up to celebrate.

This also fulfils the 'Plus Size' square of my @spnaubingo 2023 bingo card, even though it's 2024... I'm late, I know, but I still want to do some more of it!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus sized!reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: Couple of crap comments from a random, some not-great self-esteem and a drunk character, but nothing particularly bad.

Synopsis: A man you're interviewing makes some crap comments about your body, and Dean doesn't help. Can he make it up to you?

Supernatural writing masterlist

“Which one’s the father?” The sleazy guy joked. My stomach dropped.

“Excuse me?!”

“Oh, it’s alright love, I know the real father’s probably suffering somewhere alone while you’re off gallivanting with your workmates. I’m surprised he lets you out, really.”

The urge to punch the witness we were interviewing was overwhelming. Rather than ruin the case, I turned on my heel and marched out.

Fuck that guy. I’m not pregnant and I’m not screwing either of the Winchesters.

I heard Dean’s FBI agent tone of voice as he started speaking behind me. Great to see they were all just moving on with their lives, I thought sarcastically.

---

📱 Where are you? We’re going to the next witness’s house

A text came in from Dean. I read it but didn’t reply.

📱 You ok?

I sighed. Finally, he asks.

📱 Fine. I’ll catch up with you later

I replied. He sent me a thumbs up, I rolled my eyes.

I kicked at the ground and started the walk back into town. Sam and Dean would probably try and make me feel better, but I knew that wasn’t happening. I looked down at my soft, flabby belly that I’d tried multiple times to lose.

I walked.

---

I felt a bit absurd, getting tipsy this early. It wasn’t that I felt like I had to drink to get over the comment. It was just  that I’d gotten back to the motel room and was feeling a bit morose, and there was nothing to do. I’d tapped out of the case and I was bored. I went for another wander and this stupid town had nothing in it but a pub, and so somehow I’d ended up here, starting drinking a lot earlier than normal.

And now I looked like I was drinking my feelings, when I wasn’t.

 Not that there was anyone looking at me anyway.

Well, except in disgust. Who knew how many more people in here thought I was pregnant too. Probably thought I was harming an unborn baby, right now.

Fuck them.

---

“You know there’s still a monster on the loose?” Dean said gruffly, a frown on his face. I guess it’d been easy to find me given how few things there were in this town.

“You struggling without me?” I didn’t think I was slurring too much, but his expression did not improve when I started talking.

“How you going to fight one off like this?” he gestured to me.

“You think a few drinks are why I’m fat?” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not calling you fat, I’m calling you drunk.”

“Right,” I said with an eyeroll.

“Come on, get in the car,” he said, trying to tug my arm.

“Fuck off Dean! I can drink if I want to. There’s nothing else to do in this shithole, anyway.”

He dropped my arm and stomped off to the bar.

I turned back to my drink. Sam came and sat opposite me. You can’t escape the bloody Winchesters.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked with his puppy dog eyes.

“I’m fine. I had a free afternoon, I came to get a drink. Is that fucking crime now?”

“I meant about what happened with the guy. You seemed pretty upset.”

“Surprised you could see that, you were both so busy being silent.”

“Didn’t you hear Dean?”

“How could I hear Dean when he wasn’t saying anything?”

“No, he laid right into the guy.”

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better. I heard Dean get right back into his FBI voice as I walked off.”

“Yeah, he was still in character at first, told the guy that he needed to speak respectfully to Agents. And then when the guy was still a douche he got a bit more Dean and threatened to punch his lights out if he didn’t shut up about you.”

I laughed into my drink. I was sure Sam was embellishing, there was just no way Dean would care that much about someone being mean to me.

Speak of the devil, Dean appeared again, tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He put the water in front of me.

“Thanks, but I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” I said sarcastically.

“I’m not having you hung over tomorrow and being a liability to the case, drink the water.”

“I don’t remember electing you.”

“Jesus, you’re even more belligerent when drunk. Just drink the water and stop moping.”

“I’m not moping!”

“The guy was an asshole, no one thinks you look pregnant. But you can’t just drink yourself blotto and get yourself killed every time someone says something mean to you.”

I stood up, grabbed the glass of water and upended it all over Dean’s face. Then I marched out the door.

The effect was a little ruined by my drunken stagger, though.

---

Sam caught my arm as I got outside. “Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

“I walked myself here, I can walk myself home!”

“I’m pretty sure you were walking in a straight line when you got here though. Come on.”

I let him tug me to the Impala. He must’ve grabbed the keys off Dean before chasing after me.

“He’s just worried about you,” he said gently as we were exiting the carpark. “Doesn’t want you getting hurt.”

“That does not give him a free pass to behave like that.”

---

Dean stood over me, a glass of water and a couple of painkillers in his hands. “Morning, sunshine. Need some relief?”

I gratefully reached out. Man, I did not normally drink that much.

“What time is it?”

 “Time to work the case.”

I groaned, “Can’t you do it without me?”

“No, come on, back on the horse.”

“It’s not the horse that’s the problem, it’s the dog that bit me.”

“I did tell you to drink water,” he said smugly.

“Fuck off!” I threw my pillow at him. He easily deflected but wisely left me alone after that.

I groaned and got off the couch I’d been sleeping on, slumping to the bathroom. The boys were sitting around the tiny table, already dressed and looking at their laptops.

Sam was gone when I came out, freshly showered, dressed and feeling slightly more human. I looked at Dean with a clear question on my face.

“He’s gone for coffee, thought you could use some.”

“Thanks.”

“I, uh,” Dean continued, more hesitantly, “I owe you an apology.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. An apology from Dean was a rare thing, but I was wary it was going to end up being a backhanded insult instead. I often felt like I needed to protect my heart from being hurt by him.

“I was worried about you getting hurt when I saw you were drunk. But I just tried to solve the problem, I didn’t actually talk to you, and I,” he paused, biting his lip, “I shouldn’t do that.”

“Nice to see I’m just a problem,” I replied sarcastically. I wasn’t sure why he was riling me so much, but I still felt so hurt and angry.

He stood up and came over to me. “You’re not a problem,” he said quietly, trying to look into my eyes. I ducked my head away from the intensity of his look. “And I am sorry that asshat upset you.”

“I didn’t get drunk just because some guy called me pregnant, you know.” I could hear how defensive I sounded, despite my best efforts not to.

“It’s a shitty thing he did anyway. You’re beautiful.”

I laughed mirthlessly.

“Don’t do that,” he said quietly. “Don’t put yourself down all the time.”

“Dean, your idea of beautiful is tall, thin, busty and great hair.”

“That’s not true.”

“Well, they’re all thin at least.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“The women you sleep with, the women you hit on.”

“I can think of many women I’ve hit on who aren’t ‘thin’, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“Suuuure,” I said with an eye roll.

“But I haven’t hit on many women lately, been distracted by one in particular.”

“Let me guess, beautiful?”

“Absolutely.”

“My point exactly. It’s ok Dean, you don’t have to ma-” Dean’s fingers found my chin, nudging it up so I would like at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, looking deep into my eyes. “I’m sorry I haven’t made you feel it.”

I stared at him, mouth agape. Absolutely stunned into silence.

“And I’m sorry again that I was a bit of a dick yesterday.”

His face came even closer, watching my reactions.

“You’re my weak spot,” he whispered.

“No, I’m not.” I put my hands on his chest, “Dean, this isn’t funny, don’t tease me.”

He dropped his hand from my chin, looking hesitant. “Sweetheart, I’m putting my heart on the line here, I’m not teasing.”

My hands slackened.

He edged a tiny bit forward.

His tongue darted out and back in. I couldn’t stop staring at his lips.

Was this even real?

How was this happening?

His hand came up to cup my cheek.

I leant forward.

The world suddenly sped up again. Dean moved in, closing the gap between us and bringing his lips to mine. I lost myself in the tenderness of his touch, the softness of his lips, the  exploration of his tongue and mine.

A sudden noise made us pull apart. Sam was standing in the doorway, cardboard holder with coffees in one hand and the other on his hip.

“I’m happy for you guys and all, but we still have a case to work. You can pick this up later.”

.

.

.

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[kaleldobrev]

Blush

Pairing: Dean Winchester/F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader & Dean Winchester

Summary: For the first time in your life, you can say you’ve made Dean Winchester blush

Word Count: 389

Warnings: Cursing (1x), Mutual Pining (hinted), Pure Fluff & Embarrassed!Dean

Authors Note: Happy 45th birthday Dean Winchester ♡ | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You sighed as you watched the coffee maker slowly pour out the dark brown liquid that you so desperately craved, despite it being two in the morning.

Like normal after a hunt, for the life of you, you couldn't sleep. You had tossed and turned for the better part of two hours before you finally said, "fuck it," and came into the kitchen; making yourself a cup of coffee because why not? You were already wired from the adrenaline anyway.

As the coffee started to finish pouring itself into the carafe, you reached up into the cabinet above and grabbed your favorite mug; grateful that Dean had washed it for you after using it.

Taking the carafe in hand, you slowly poured the liquid into your mug, slightly inhaling the scent as you did so; before you sat down on the small kitchen table against the wall.

As you sipped your coffee, you heard footsteps coming from the other end of the hall — Dean — you could recognize the sounds of his footsteps from anywhere.

Walking into the kitchen, Dean smiled at you, and gestured to the mug that was currently still stationed in your hands. "Couldn't sleep either uh?" He asked, and you nodded in response.

"Always jealous that Sam can just conk out after a hunt," you said, as you started playing with the rim of your mug. "There's still some coffee left if you want any," you offered.

"Thanks," he nodded. At first, he wasn't going to take you up on your offer, but decided that he would, as his body was still full of adrenaline much like yourself. "Listen," he began, as he took the carafe and started pouring coffee into his mug. "If you ever find yourself unable to sleep, my door is always open."

A small smile formed on your lips at his offer. "Thanks. Might actually take you up on that sometime if you're being serious."

"Of course I'm serious," he said; his tone indicating that he was slightly offended by your comment. "We're...friends," the word friends coming off rather hesitant sounding.

"Just friends?" You teased, raising a brow. Dean's face went slightly flush then, almost embarrassed by your comment. You couldn't help but smile at the pinkness of his cheeks, finding it adorable that you had managed to make Dean Winchester blush.

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[sylvia-plaths-fig-pie]

Teach Me ♡ Sam Winchester

Pairing: Sam winchester x reader

Wc: didn't check but it's not too long

Tw: not proof read, no use of y/n, slightly suggestive if you squint ig, mentions of cannon typical violence but not really

Summary: Sam hears you playing piano (listen to the song i imaged bellow), you're so at peace (so beautiful) that he can't help but utter the words "teach me" and that's exactly what you do.

♡♡♡♡♡

For once you Sam and Dean were actually staying in a nice hotel. Yep a hotel not a motel. It was appart of the ruse to be fancy business people, and that included staying in a nice hotel.

While the case was tough and you all had many sleepless nights it turned out to be a simple salt and burn and the ghost was gone.

And that lead you to now, standing in the hotel lobby looking at the beautiful grand piano in front of you.

You used to play piano as a child, your one constant throught the hectic hunting lifestyle growing up was piano, but it had been years since you last actually played. But how you longed to play once more.

That's why you found your self sitting at the stool, your hands tracing the keys as you thought of what to play.

You settled on your favorite 'easy' tune, one that you knew you would never forget; a piano cover of this is love.

And so you played.

And played.

And played.

You were at peace for the first time in a long time. It felt right.

Maybe in another life, if you weren't a hunter, you could have been a professional pianists. If you had proper training, and the time, and a piano all to your self. Yet it wasn't ment to be.

Sometimes you just wanted to leave this life forever, chase your dreams, maybe be a music teacher, have a family or something? That's what normal people do, right?

But you couldn't, or rather you wouldn't, you couldn't leave the Winchesters. Or at least you couldn't leave one spefic Winchester. Of course you cared for Dean as though he was your own older brother, but Sam... you couldn't imagine a life without him. You would do anything for that boy, it terrified you, and yet you stuck by him through everything regardless of the pit in your stomach everytime he was in danger, or the ache in your heart when he looked at you.

Dean made fun of you constantly, always teasing about your sight 'crush' on his brother. He always said Sam felt the same, but you knew that wasn't the case. So you had to settle for looking out for him from afar, being too scared to say anything to make it awkward.

So you played.

And played.

And played.

"Teach me."

You look up from the piano in front of you, coming out of what felt like a trance.

"Teach me." Sam said again, sitting beside you on the tiny piano stool. It clearly wasn't ment for two people to sit on, yet there he was, all 6"4 of him, perched beside you.

You studied him for a second, unsure as to whether he really ment his words or not. It appeared that he actually was in earnest.

At first you wanted to say no. Not because you didn't want to teach him, the opposite really. You didn't know whether you would be able to keep your composure if you had to hold and move Sam's hand in order to teach him.

Just as you were about to come up with some excuse you made the mistake of looking him in the eyes. His eyes, that were already trained on yours, were embodying his 'puppy dog' eyes as you and Dean coined them. Eyes that melted your heart and made it impossible to say no.

"Fine." You rolled your eyes and sighed at Sam, looking away from him. 'Don't make a fool of yourself' you heard yourself saying in your head.

You were just teaching him how to play piano, Sam's a curious guy, there is nothing more to it, no lingering feelings or longing stares (well from him anyways). You were just being a good friend.

That's what you and Sam are. Friends.

"I'll teach you happy birthday since its almost Dean's..." you trailed of catching a glimps of Sam's wide smile from the corner of your eye. "So you need to put your thumb on C."

He didn't move.

You looked at him in the eyes now, raising an eyebrow. First he asks you to teach him, but now he isn't following the very first instructions? You were confused untill-

"I don't know why your looking at me, I don't know which one C is." Sam laughed.

Shit. You'd forgotten about that.

"Oh sorry," you mumbled awkwardly, "it's the one before the two black notes, can I?" You gestured to his hand, signalling to Sam that you wanted to place it in the correct place your self.

"Sure go right ahead," you pretended not to notice his smile growing even wider as you took his hand and rested it in the correct position on top of the piano. Surely his reaction was just in your head, right?

"Wait, I'll put my hand on yours and I'll tap what fingers you need to play the notes, does that make sense." Your explanation was convoluted but Sam just nodded giving you the green light.

You moved to rest your hand on top of his, leaning into him so that your right hand was atop of his right hand.

Blush crept up your neck, you prayed Sam didn't notice. Judging by how focused he was on your hand ontop of his hand, he seemed not to notice.

"Ready?" You questioned.

"Go easy with ne now," he joked, "it's my first time."

"Shut it winchester." You laughed. You loved it when Sam was sassy, he knew it too.

Gently you began to tap his fingers so he played the correct notes.

C C D C F E

C C D C F E

*click*

The sound of a camera stop you, spinning round to see what the source of the noise was.

Dean was stood beside the piano with a with eating grin on his face. "Cheese," he said sarcastically as he pocked his phone.

"Dean what are you-?" You began to ask but he cut you off.

"I'm going to show it to everyone on your guys' wedding day" he said nonchalantly, smirking.

"But we're not-"

"Sam and I aren't-"

"Why would you-?"

"That's so weird to say-"

You and Sam both began talking at the same time. Each of you growing extremely red. Your hands still on top of one another's.

"You both need to cut the bullshit!" He cried shaking his head. And with that Dean turned and left before calling down the hallway, "I'm going to the bar to get drunk, you better have confessed some feelings when I'm back cos I'm suck of hearing you mope about one another to me!"

You and Sam stared at eachother.

Silence.

You wanted to scream, or cry, or run away, just something. But you didn't know what to do. Even if you did, you were frozen. You just stared at Sam, eyes wide, shocked at Dean's outburst.

"Dean's right."

"what...?"

What!?!?

Did Sam know about your silly crush? Did Dean tell him? You were going to kill him.

Or did he mean.... no he couldn't, could he? Could Sam really reciprocate your feelings. You swalled down the thought, not wanting to get your hopes high for nothing.

That's when Sam began to speak once again.

"My whole life I've always wanted to find my person you know." Sams eyes were facing down at the piano key's unable to meet yours. "And I thought I found people in the past, but all of them... well you know what happened."

Of course you knew what happened. He'd told you in a moment of vulnerability in one of the first nights that to spent all night talking while researching a case. You knew eachother inside and out. You knew eachother darkest and deepest secrets. You knew eveything about eachother.

"And since then I've been so scared," he continued, "scared that if I got close to anyone that they would end up the same. Then you happened. We met you on a hunt and you've stuck with us ever since and I kept being drawn to you, and I hated myself for it. I wanted to keep you far away to protect you, but the more I wanted to protect you the more I wanted to..."

He trailed off and took in a large intake of breath, lifting his eyes with determination to meet yours.

"The more I wanted to be closer to you, the more I wanted to hold you to be there for you.. to kiss you." His eyes momentarily flicking down to your lips, your breath hitched.

"The more I relised I was in love with you, that I am in love with you." He flipped his hand so that he was now holding yours, lacing his fingers between yours. You didn't speak, you knew he had more to say and you were more that happy to listen. Your brain was going a hundred miles an hour, Sam's words were simultaneously grounding you and making your brain go into overdrive, but his hand holding yours assured you that this was real. This moment is real. It's real.

"So I talked to Dean about it, about you, alot and I've finally stopped fighting it. I know you can take care of yourself, and I know your not afraid of the risks of this job, the risks of being near me, as you've lived through so many horrors with me, you were by my side though everything and I don't think I can go on any longer without you knowing, I could never forgive myself for letting you get away..." He stopped speaking, he said what he wanted to. It was your turn to speak now. Yet you couldn't find the words, they all seemed lodged in your throat. You wanted to say it back but you couldn't, all you could do was look at Sam, your eyes wide.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't-" Sam began, trying to make you feel comfortable, he was worried you didn't feel the same. He wasn't aware that it was complete opposite reason as to why you couldn't speak. But you cut him off with a new found confidence.

"I swear to god Sam if you don't kiss me right now." You pleaded, avoiding his eyes.

A moment passed. Then you felt his hand leave yours. Panic surged through you. Oh god what had you done?

Then his hands were on your face and his lips found yours. You closed your eyes falling deeper and deeper into him, you were intoxicated, you couldn't get enough. His lips were rough and soft, neddy and patient all at the same time. It was so much, it would be too much, but it wasn't, it was perfect.

It felt like you and Sam were the only two people in the world. It felt right. All the horrors of life, all the monsters, demons, angels, eveything, none of it mattered in that moment. Nothing but the two of you existed in that moment.

And then all too soon he pulled away.

"I'm assuming you feel the same way?" He asked almost bashfully, redness creeping up his neck.

"Sam winchester, I love you and all your dorky-ness," you dramatically declared as Sam rolled his eyes, "and i-"

You were cut off by his lips finding yours once again. You were just where you wanted to be and for once the world seemed right, or at least it seemed okay with same by your side, or more accurately Sam's lips on yours.

"FINNALLY!"

You and Sam jumped away from one another, startled by a loud cry.

Dean was stood at the bottom of the corridor, his arms raised in the air in a sort of celebration.

"TOOK YOU BOTH LONG ENOUGH!"

You and Sam just looked and eachother and began to laugh.

"I guess he does have a point..." you commented between laughter.

"Yeah I guess that means we have to make up for lost time." He laughed, resting his hands in your hair.

"What do you mean?" You asked, playing along, ot was much more fun this way.

"Well I suppose I can think of a few things..." he trailed of suggestively, "what do you say?"

You smiled at him knowing exactly what he ment, and couldn't help but reply with what lead to this moment.

"Teach me."

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Red Sky At Morning | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Discussions of healing from a sexual assault (proceed with caution if this is triggering for you!!! I love you!! Take care of yourself!!!), canon violence, canon gore, spitting insults back and forth with Bela, discussions of dead family members

Word Count: 7523

A/N: I snuck a New Girl reference in here… see if you can catch it ;) Also… there is heavy homoerotic subtext between Bela and (Y/N). Giving my loyal subjects what they deserve lmfao

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Your mind refused to let you rest after seeing Sam leaving in the middle of the night. Despite your exhaustion, you stayed near the window until you saw the car return to its original parking spot around three in the morning. And sure enough, Sam walked out of it, looking severely pissed off. 

‘I’m guessing he didn’t just have a bad hookup,’ you mentally remarked. You stewed for a few more minutes on what he could’ve possibly gone to do before sleep finally came to claim you. You settled into bed next to Dean with a yawn, and his lips twitched upwards in his sleep when you wound your arms around him. 

***

The next morning around seven, you woke up to see Dean shuffling around and packing. 

“Look at you, early bird,” you said dryly, stretching. 

He turned slightly over his shoulder and smiled at you. “We gotta talk about Sam.”

You sat up, immediately alert. “Yeah, I know. I saw him leave last night.”

“And now, one of the bullets is missing from the Colt,” Dean huffed. “Dammit, Sam.”

“Let me take the lead on this one, okay?” you urged Dean, moving to the bathroom to brush your teeth and messy hair. “Promise I’ll let you get your two cents in, but I wanna see if he’ll fess up to it first.”

Dean seemed hesitant, but you saw his reflection in the bathroom mirror nod anyway. He approached you and gave you a kiss on the side of the head; you assumed in assurance that he would do what you said. 

***

Night fell, and none of you had said a word to each other. You sat in the back seat, of course, and Sam was in the passenger’s. You leaned back on the cool leather with crossed arms, waiting for someone to break. 

Finally, you’d had enough. “Got somethin’ you wanna tell us, Sam?”

He turned to you, and it was evident he was playing dumb. “It’s not your birthday, is it?”

You quirked a brow, unamused. “No.”

“...Happy Purim?” he laughed. “Dude, I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about—”

Dean cut him off, seeming not to be able to help himself. “There's a bullet missing from the Colt. You want to tell me how that happened? I know it wasn't me. I know it wasn’t her. So unless you were shooting at some incredibly evil cans—”

“Dean…” Sam sighed. 

“You went after the crossroads demon, huh?” you said as more of a statement than a question. 

“After I told you not to,” Dean added harshly.

“Yeah, well…”

“You could have gotten yourself killed!” Dean roared.

“I didn’t,” Sam argued.

“And you shot her.”

“She was a smartass!”

Dean waited a moment, trying to gain his composure. “So, what? Does that— Does that mean I'm out of my deal?”

“Don't you think I might have mentioned that little fact, Dean?” Sam scoffed. “No. Someone else holds the contract.”

“I do believe I already told you that,” you reminded the boys. “And no one will fucking say who.”

“Of course, our best lead would be the crossroads demon. Oh, wait a minute…” Dean snarked. 

“That's not funny,” Sam said dryly. 

“No, it's not!” Dean yelled. “It was a stupid fuckin’ risk, and you shouldn't have done it.���

“I shouldn't have done it?” Sam challenged. “You're my brother, Dean. And no matter what you do, I'm gonna try and save you. And I'm sure as hell not gonna apologize for it, alright?”

The rest of the drive to the next case you’d stumbled upon was completely silent. 

***

You and the Winchesters posed as detectives once more to interview the great-aunt of the woman who’d drowned in the shower. The witness seemed particularly interested in Sam, which you were struggling to hold back a smile over. 

“But I don't understand,” the elegant, elderly woman said. “I already went over all this with the other detectives.”

“Right, yes,” Dean replied. “But, see, we're with the sheriff's department, not the police department – different departments.”

“So, Mrs. Case—”

“Please.” The woman’s voice had suddenly dropped an octave, likely attempting to seem sultry. “Ms. Case.”

Sam looked intensely uncomfortable. “Okay. Um, Ms. Case, um, you were the one who found your niece, correct?”

She nodded. “I came home; she was in the shower.”

“Drowned?” Sam asked.

“So the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?” Ms. Case’s eyes refused to leave Sam. 

“How would you describe Sheila's behavior in the days before her death? I mean, did she seem frightened? Maybe she said something out of the ordinary, or—”

Ms. Case suddenly cut Sam off. “Wait a minute. You're working with Alex, aren't you?”

Before you could voice your confusion, Dean started talking. “Yep. Absolutely. That's—” he laughed, “Alex and us, we're like this.”

“Why didn't you say so?” Ms. Case grinned. “Alex has been such a comfort. But I’m sorry, I thought the case was solved.”

You shook your head. “No, not yet.” “I see.” The woman seemed a bit dazed.

Sam cleared his throat. “So, anyways, we were talking about your niece.”

“Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat,” the woman explained. 

“A boat?” you questioned.

“Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a…” the woman trailed off, seeming to search for the word, “—ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship.” You noticed that the elderly woman’s eyes still had not left Sam. 

The younger Winchester seemed thrown off by her intensity, and he coughed awkwardly. “Well, um, could be.”

“Well. You let me know if there's anything else I can do for you—” she traced her hand down Sam’s slowly, and you and Dean had to bite back smiles— “Anything at all.”

***

Your laughter burst out as soon as you got down the street and far enough away from the house that the old woman couldn’t see you. 

“What a crazy old broad,” Dean chuckled.

“Why? Because she believes in ghosts?” Sam scoffed.

You and his brother laughed louder. “Look at you, sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound.”

“Bite me,” Sam grumbled. 

“No thanks,” you smirked, “bet she will, though.”

“So, who's this Alex? We got another player in town?” Dean questioned.

The brunet shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't change our job.”

“And what looked like a ghost ship, right?” 

“Yeah. It's not the first one sighted around here, either.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Really?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Every thirty-seven years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every thirty-seven years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.”

“So, whatever's happening is just getting started,” Dean sighed. “What's the lore?”

“Well, there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world. The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman; almost all of them are death omens.”

“So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?” the older brother snarked. 

“Basically,” shrugged Sam. 

“Next step?” you asked him. 

“I gotta I.D. the boat.”

“That shouldn't be too hard. I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?” you replied.

“I checked that, too, actually. Over one-hundred and fifty.”

“Oh, great!” you sarcastically noted. 

You and the Winchesters approached an empty parking spot, and you got increasingly confused as you did.

“This is where we parked the car, right?” Dean asked. 

“For sure,” you nodded. 

“Where's my car?” Dean growled. 

“Did you feed the meter?” Sam questioned. 

Dean’s voice began to rise in a panic. “Yes, I fed the meter. Guys, where's my car? Somebody stole my car!”

“Whoa, Dean!” you said, grabbing his arm and trying to keep him from pacing. 

“Somebody stole my ca—” Dean bent over to clutch his knees to calm down. 

“The '67 Impala? Was that yours?” A familiar voice slyly asked. 

“Oh, you bitch,” you grumbled, looking up to see Bela Talbot.

“I'm sorry. I had that car towed,” she said. 

Dean shot up. “You what?!” 

“Well, it was in a tow-away zone,” Bela replied simply. 

“No, it wasn’t!” Dean argued. 

“It was when I finished with it,” she smirked.

“What the hell are you even doing here?” the older brother questioned pointedly.

“A little yachting,” she responded flippantly. 

You clicked your tongue, realizing something. “You’re Alex. Workin’ with that old lady.”

“Gert's a dear old friend,” Bela nodded.

“Yeah, right. What's your angle?” Dean cut his eyes at her.

“There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats,” Bela grinned.

“And let me guess, it's all a con, none of it's real.”

“The comfort I provide them is very real.”

Sam jumped in finally. “How do you sleep at night?” 

“On silk sheets, rolling naked in money,” she scoffed. “Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from him, but you?”

“You shot me!”

“I barely grazed you.”

“She is right,” you murmured.

Bela turned to you. “Cute. But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?” 

“You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real,” Dean pressed.

“I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way,” she said.

Dean looked at her like she was stupid. “It isn't.”

“She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment, and she's demanding some real answers. Look, just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you. Before they find the arsenal in the trunk.” Bela turned around and smiled over her shoulder. “Ciao.”

You and the Winchesters watched her go. 

“Can I shoot her?” Dean growled. 

“Not in public,” you and Sam replied. 

***

You encountered Bela once more the next day when another man had been killed. She was posing as a reporter, but you and the brothers managed to shoo her away from the victim’s brother. Unfortunately for him, he’d seen the ship as well. 

Thankfully, you’d gotten the car back, and you headed over to it after questioning the man. It was parked a distance off from the buzzing crime scene, enabling Dean to begin loading shotguns in the back of his car. 

“I see you got your car back,” Bela’s frustratingly beautiful voice cooed. 

“You really want to come near me when I got a loaded gun in my hands?” Dean growled. 

“Now, now. Mind your blood pressure,” she quipped. “Why are you even still here? You have enough to I.D. the boat.”

“That guy back there saw the ship,” you explained. 

“Yeah? And?” 

You blinked at her, slightly stunned by her coldness. “And he’s going to die. We have to help him.”

“How sweet,” she mockingly pouted. 

“What is wrong with you, man?” you asked her. 

She ignored you. “He's cannon fodder. He can't be saved in time, and you know it.”

“But why not at least try?” you argued. 

“Yeah, well, I'm actually going to find the ship and put an end to this. But you have fun,” she grinned tightly. 

Sam and Dean moved to either side of the car, but you weren’t done with her yet. 

Dean seemed to know what you were up to as he watched you intently, saying,

“(Y/N)—” but it was too late. 

“Look, I don’t know what happened to you to make you such a heartless bitch, but I really and truly hope you heal from it soon. ‘Cause you’re a completely miserable person to be around,” you called after her. 

She turned around to you sharply with her arms crossed. “Don't you dare look down your nose at me. You're not better than I am.”

You shook your head. “I don’t think I am. In fact, I know I’m not. But at least I own it and try to be better.”

“Come on,” Bela scoffed. “You do this out of vengeance and obsession. You're all a stone's throw from being serial killers. Whereas I, on the other hand, I get paid to do a job, and I do it. So, you tell me, which is healthier?”

“Oh, god, if I didn’t hate you so much, we’d be such good friends,” you said, a lilt of sincerity in your voice. “But I gotta tell you, man, I’m really not concerned with which is healthier. I’m not even concerned with which is more “morally ethical.” What just… puzzles me about you is how you think that nasty attitude shields you.

"These two might not be able to see it,” you continued, nodding at Sam and Dean, “but I do. You are quite genuinely disappointed in yourself. I get it. The economy sucks, the bees are dying, and movies are all pretty much sequels now. Gotta put food on the table some kind of way. But why do it your way when you can’t even stand to look at yourself in the mirror? Pride. Because without your money and your attitude, you know you’re not half the woman you claim to be.”

“You talk too much,” Bela spat, clearly affected by your words. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time,” you smirked. “See ya around, Alex.”

***

Later that night, you and the Winchesters decided to stake out the home of Peter Warren, the man you’d spoken to earlier. He was next on the chopping block, and you desperately hoped you’d be able to stop the ghost in time. 

You knew that whatever Sam and Dean were talking about, they would catch you up later. And so, you decided to let your thoughts drag you into your own mind. 

You were aware of how harsh you’d been on Bela. The truth be told, you didn’t hate her at all. In fact, you admired her ambition. However, everything you’d told her had all been your real perception of her. You knew that everything about her was a facade. And for some reason, she really got under your skin. 

You supposed it was because you saw yourself in her. Maybe, if things had been different for you, you would have ended up just like her. Maybe you didn’t like seeing your reflection in her. 

“Hey, you!” someone called from outside the Impala. 

“I think we've been made,” Dean said to you and Sam. 

You followed him across the road to where Peter stood, yelling.

“What are you guys doing?! You watching me?”

“Sir, calm down. Please,” Sam coaxed, but to no avail. 

“You guys aren't cops!” he continued. “Not dressed like that. Not— Not in that crappy car.”

“Whoa, hey. No need to get nasty.” Dean cut his eyes at Peter.

“We are cops, okay? We're undercover,” Sam bluffed easily. “We're here because we think you're in danger.”

“From who?!”

“If you just settle down, we'll talk about it.” Sam led you and his brother into the gate, backing Peter closer to his car.

“Look, you guys just stay away from me!” Peter exclaimed, getting into the vehicle to drive it toward the gate.

“Wait!” you called.

“Hey, you moron! We're trying to help you!”

“Not helping, Dean!”

As the car approached the gate, it shuddered, coughed weakly, and died. 

“That can't be good,” Dean noted. 

“Not at all,” you replied. “Get the salt gun.” Next, you ran to the car to help Peter. In the seat behind him, a man with sunken eyes and dripping wet, long, black hair dressed in old sailor’s clothes appeared. Then, it was next to Peter in the passenger’s seat. You tugged on the handle with all your might, but it wouldn’t budge. Horrified, you watched as Peter slumped to the steering wheel with water pouring from his lips. 

“(Y/N)!” Dean called from behind you. 

You ducked just in time for Dean to fire at the ghost from the passenger’s side door. 

Reaching through the broken glass, you hurriedly unlocked the door. You immediately dragged Peter out onto the concrete and put your head to his chest, listening for a pulse. He had none, but you tried CPR anyway. Of course, it was no use. Defeated, you looked up at Dean with sad eyes. 

“Dammit!” he growled, kicking the car in frustration. 

***

You hadn’t spoken much after leaving Peter behind. It felt awful to leave him on the ground, but there wasn’t much you could do with his body if you wanted to evade suspicion. 

Luckily, Dean had found a house to squat in a few days earlier, and that was where you were readying for bed. 

The house had clearly not been lived in for some time, and you were thankful you made the brothers start keeping air mattresses on them for instances like these. 

You and Dean took the upstairs bedroom, and Sam slept in the one downstairs. The house was still furnished, but dust covered every surface. You decided to leave the cleaning for tomorrow and opted for a “ho bath” as your mother used to call them since you refused to step foot in the unclean shower. 

Cross-legged on the air mattress, the hair you were in the midst of combing through waved gently in the wind coming through the open window. 

“You wanna say it, or should I?” Dean raised an eyebrow at you as he entered the room after his shower. 

You tilted your head at him, confused. 

“You can’t save everybody, sweetheart,” he reminded you. 

“Dean—” You rolled your eyes. 

“What? Don’t gimme that. I know you were thinkin’ it,” Dean said, getting down onto the mattress next to you. He lounged back on the crook of his arm behind his head, leaning against the wall. 

You couldn’t meet his eyes and kept your body facing the open window on the adjacent wall. “I just… It feels like I can’t save anybody lately.”

Dean stared at you intently; you could feel his gaze burning a hole in the side of your head. 

You returned to brushing your hair, and he sat up to sweep it all over your shoulder opposite him. Dean kissed your newly-exposed neck gently, as if he was savoring the way you felt against his lips. Your brushing slowed, and you tilted your neck further to give him more access. 

He kissed up to your mouth; his kiss gentle there, too. When he broke away from you, Dean leaned his forehead against yours. 

“What are you doing to me, sweetheart?” His voice rumbled lowly in his chest, almost as if you weren’t supposed to hear him say that.

You responded by nudging his nose with yours and then pecking his lips. 

Something in the way the two of you kissed felt somber. Granted, almost every day recently seemed to have a somber element. Every day meant one step closer to Dean’s time being up. It was the elephant in the room that was only acknowledged for fleeting moments. And when one did acknowledge it, the other would beg for it to be over. While both of you knew talking about the situation was necessary, neither of you could bear it for longer than a few minutes every once in a while. 

You brought this up to Sam the next morning, who sat with you on the couch as the sun rose while Dean continued to sleep. 

“I think he just wants to be with you,” Sam said. “I mean, with Jess… when I was dreaming about her dying, all I wanted to do was be with her. To… reassure me that wasn’t real. Or, wasn’t real yet, I guess.”

You nodded. “And I don’t necessarily want to talk about it for extended periods of time. Talking about it makes me feel more in control, I think. I just don’t like feeling fucking helpless.”

“Trust me, I don’t either. And Dean definitely doesn’t. I tend to micromanage more than he does, but…” he shrugged, trailing off. 

“I have something else to tell you,” you began, wondering if you should even continue. 

“Go ‘head.”

“Back at that… prison. The guard I beat up? He, um, he raped me.”

“Oh, my god,” Sam breathed out. “God, (Y/N/N), I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head. “It’s fine. That’s not the point.” You scrubbed your hands down your thighs anxiously. “I’m telling you because I don’t wanna talk to Dean about it. I mean, with the deal and everything else going on… I almost don’t wanna burden him with it? I mean, he knows, obviously, but… I don’t know, I just feel like I have no right to be struggling compared to him.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Sam scolded gently. “(Y/N), neither of us could ever imagine what that’s like. And if my idiot brother is making you feel that way—”

“No, no, he’s not—”

“—Good! ‘Cause I’d kill ‘im if he was,” Sam finished. It was honestly the most riled up you’d seen him in a while. 

“Thanks, Sammy,” you smiled weakly. “It’s just… it’s all so much right now. I wanna enjoy every second of my time with Dean. But between the deal and hunts and… that and everything else on the goddamn planet consuming me every second of the fucking day, it’s really hard to.”

Sam eyed you sympathetically.

Before he could respond, you took in a shaky breath, steadying yourself. “Anyway, what’s up with Peter and his brother? I know you researched ‘em yesterday while I was zoned out in the back of the car.”

Sam still seemed like he was wrapped up in your earlier conversation, but he knew better than to force you to keep talking about. “Oh, yeah, uh… they came into, like, a hundred and twelve million after their dad passed. That was really the only thing interesting. Everything else about ‘em was clean,” he informed you. 

“Huh,” you considered. “Any connection between the vics?”

Sam pursed his lips. “Far as I can tell, no.”

“Awesome,” you dryly stated. 

You then heard a groan come from upstairs as someone began to descend the staircase. 

“Morning, Dee,” you called up. 

All you got was a grunt in response. 

***

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, wrapped by Dean’s arms as he held you to his side. The two of you were just sitting with each other and thinking; a pastime that you were becoming quite fond of.

Dean’s lazy circles he was tracing on your outer leg stopped at a knock on the door. 

You shot Dean a look and stood, grabbing your gun off the worn coffee table. You pressed it to the back of the door and peered through the peephole to unfortunately see Bela. At this revelation, you made a face at Sam and opened the door. 

She strolled right in. “Dear... god. Are you actually squatting? Charming.” Her self-satisfied smirk never left her face. “So, how'd things go last night with Peter?”

You refused to dignify her with a response as did Sam and Dean. 

“That well, huh?” she taunted. “If you say 'I told you so,’ I swear to god; I'll start swinging,” Dean growled. 

“Look, I think the four of us should have a heart-to-heart,” she sighed. 

“Oh, sure. We can sing kumbaya while we’re at it,” you quipped. “Cut to the chase, Bela.”

“Temper, temper,” she tsked. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Such as?” Sam questioned.

“I've ID'd the ship.” She unwrapped a leather case containing a quite elaborate file. She spread the papers within it across the table. “It's the Espírito Santo: a merchant sailing vessel; quite a colorful history. In 1859 a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was thirty-seven.”

“Which would explain the thirty-seven year cycle,” Sam noted.

“Aren’t you a sharp tack?”

You snapped, “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

She ignored your comment. “There's a photo of him somewhere…” she flipped through the file and finally settled on a picture of a much drier version of the man you’d seen last night.

Dean looked to Sam. “Isn't that the customer we saw last night?” 

“You saw him?” For once, Bela seemed surprised. 

“Yeah, that's him, except he was missing a hand,” the older brother nodded. 

“His right hand?” Bela questioned.

“How'd you know?” you returned. 

“The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory,” she explained. 

Dean childishly laughed. “A hand of glory? I think I got one of those at the end of my Thai massage last week.”

“Dean, the right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object. It's very powerful,” Sam lightly chastised. 

Bela rolled her eyes. “So they say.”

“And officially counts as remains,” Dean considered. 

Sam’s eyebrows pinched together. “But still, none of this explains why the ghost is choosing these victims.”

“I'll tell you why. Who cares?” Bela said curtly. “Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing.”

“I don't get it. Why are you telling us all of this?” you asked.

“Because I know exactly where the hand is,” she nodded. 

“Where?”

“At the Sea Pines Museum. It's a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help,” she said, closing up the file.

Sam crossed his arms. “What kind of help?”

The woman smiled. You hated how charming her smile was. You wanted to hate her so badly, but she was growing on you.

‘Definitely like a wart. Maybe a fungal infection,’ you thought.

***

“I hate this plan,” you said. 

“I don’t think you realize how often you say that,” Dean returned. 

You glared up at him while you helped adjust his tie. He looked completely beautiful, and you wanted nothing more than to keep him here with you and ravish his body. 

Bela’s brilliant plan was bringing Dean as her date and forcing Sam to go with Ms. Case to a charity event. However, given Bela and Ms. Case could only take one guest each, you were forced to sit this one out. Or, at least, that was what Bela thought; you knew she could’ve gotten you in if she really wanted to. You knew she was attempting to humiliate you or put you in your place after what you said to her. However, if there was one thing you knew, it was how to crash a party.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Dean asked you. 

“You,” you smiled lopsidedly up at him. 

He smirked down at you and kissed you. He held you by your waist as close to him as he could get you, and you returned the gesture by gripping his lapels. 

“What is taking so long?” Bela called up the stairs, forcing you and Dean apart. “Sam's already halfway there... with his date.”

“So not okay with this!” Dean yelled back, and you giggled, resting your forehead on his chest.

“What are you, a woman? Come down already.”

Dean looked at you— for approval? For reassurance?— and headed down the stairs. He adjusted his cufflinks with you trailing just behind him in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Bela looked beautiful in her evening gown and glittering jewels, of course, and you hated her all the more for it. 

“Alright, get it out,” Dean encouraged you and Bela. “I look ridiculous.”

“Not exactly the word I'd use,” Bela sighed. 

Dean’s nose crinkled in disgust. “What?”

“Y’know, when this is over, we should really have angry sex,” Bela stated plainly.

“Don’t objectify him!” you cut her off; perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. 

Both Dean and Bela stared at you in questioning. 

“Let’s go,” Dean told Bela. “See ya, sweetheart,” he called back to you as he followed Bela out the door. He tossed one more longing look at you over his shoulder before closing the door behind him. 

You immediately sprinted back up the stairs and took out the evening gown you’d been hiding in your duffel bag. 

***

After having snuck into the party through a window on the back of the museum that security had neglected to cover a door anywhere near, you casually slipped down the hall into the ballroom. 

You could see Dean, Bela, and Sam bickering near the entrance to the grand ballroom, and you smiled lopsidedly at the sight. Sam then caught sight of you moving through the crowds of people toward them thanks to his superhuman height, as did Bela and then, Dean. Bela crossed her arms angrily, but you were focused on Dean and trying to fight a smile off your face. 

Dean seemed to be breathless. “Damn, (Y/N).” 

“Damn, yourself.” You turned to Bela. “Great party,” you commented, taking a glass of champagne off a passing tray. 

“Thought you were supposed to be waiting back at the house,” Bela replied. 

“And miss all the fun? No thanks,” you smirked, taking a sip and staining the glass with red lipstick. 

Ms. Case then came up behind Sam holding two glasses of champagne. Before he knew it, he was being whisked away by his date. You giggled at the sight, and Bela rolled her eyes. “C’mon,” she told Dean. 

You were delighted, actually. For once, you got to enjoy a fancy party without having to partake in the hunt or any sort of planning the heist. All you had to do was make sure no one got arrested. 

You hung back on a far wall, sipping your beverage and watching a disgruntled Sam dance with a very handsy Ms. Case. 

‘Dean would be pissing himself,’ you thought, giggling at the sight. 

The next thing you knew, the old woman was whispering in Sam’s ear. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to keep the laugh from bursting out. 

And then, your joy was smothered. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” a man said, having come up next to you. 

“Go away, please,” you snapped, beginning to feel tension grip your throat. You weren’t sure what it was about him, but he was reminding you of what happened to you at the prison. Perhaps it was the way he approached you?

“Okay, then, Jesus,” he muttered and was gone soon after. 

Your breathing began to slow, but your discomfort continued. Your heart rate remained elevated, and your mind felt in a fog. You returned your focus to Sam and Ms. Case once more trying to keep your mind grounded in the present. 

Suddenly, you felt a hand on your elbow. You whipped around and threw a punch, catching the attention of several people around you.

“Whoa!” Dean said, catching your wrist and dodging your fist. 

Gaze landing on those beautiful green eyes and freckles that you had come to love so much, your breathing finally slowed. You began regaining awareness of the world around you and tried not to shrink under the stares of the wealthy around you.

“Way to not draw attention there, (Y/N),” Bela commented. 

Eyes like daggers, your head snapped toward her. “Watch your fucking mouth,” you hissed.

She seemed to realize she’d crossed a boundary, and she backed off. “I’m gonna go get Gert a cold shower,” she quipped, her pride refusing to admit she knew she was wrong. 

You stared after Bela mindlessly, and Dean put his first and middle finger under your chin to turn your face back to him. Your eyelashes flickered, and he searched your face for clues as to what triggered you. 

Sam came up beside you and Dean. “Guys? Uh, hate to interrupt, but… let’s get outta here.” 

You and Dean followed his gaze to one of the women you’d seen whispering and pointing at you after you threw a punch at Dean talking to a security guard and pointing at your trio. Dean instantly grabbed your hand and began leading you out of the museum. 

When you arrived at the car, Sam turned to you. “You okay? Saw you try to deck Dean back there.”

“Yeah, uh… this guy just—” you ran a hand through your hair and sighed— “Nevermind. Let’s see the hand.”

Both boys dropped it, although you knew Sam would probe you further later. 

“Yeah, tell me I didn't get groped all night by Mrs. Havisham for nothing,” the younger brother commented. 

“I got it... Mrs. Who?” Dean wondered. 

You giggled. “Great Expectations?” you prompted.

Dean just stared at you blankly. 

“Charles Dickens?”

He blinked. 

“Dude, did you pay any attention in high school English?” Sam scoffed.

“Sure I did!” the older brother defended. “Caroline Stone sat in front of me; she was my tutor. Fucked her in the janitor’s closet and everything—”

“Oh, yeah, you were definitely paying attention to something,” you deadpanned, lightly flicking him on the shoulder. 

He rustled around in his suit jacket, rolling his eyes, and took out something wrapped in a handkerchief. Dean’s amused expression soon melted into aggravation as he did so.

“What?” you and Sam asked worriedly. 

The older Winchester held up a glass bottle with a miniature ship rocking around in it. “I'm gonna kill her.”

Behind Dean, you saw something on the horizon line. The museum was expectedly located near the water given its emphasis on seafaring history, and your heart dropped when you realized what was happening. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered under your breath. “Dean— Dean, I see it.”

“See what?” he asked, following your gaze. 

“The fucking ship, Dean. It’s the fucking ship,” you breathed out.

“(Y/N), that’s it,” Sam realized.

“What’s it?” you questioned frantically, eyes still on the water.

“Ms. Case said the Warrens? The brothers? It was rumored they killed their father for his money. And Sheila? She got in a car accident. Her cousin Brian was with her, and he died. That’s the pattern.”

You nodded slowly. “Killing family members. Awesome.” You shook your head, turning to the expensive car next to you. “Fuck!” you yelled, punching the door of the car. 

***

You paced around the room, Sam trying his best to keep you and Dean calm while he researched. 

“Y’know what, you’re right. I'm not gonna kill her. I think slow torture's the way to go,” Dean growled. “I’ll fuckin’ string her up, I swear to—”

“Dean, look, you gotta relax,” Sam sighed, although he seemed stressed as well. 

“Relax!” Dean laughed coldly. “Oh yeah, yeah, I'll relax. My fuckin’ girl’s just on Davy Jones’s hit list, and I can’t do anything to stop him because I lost the only fuckin’ thing we could use to save her. Fuck!” There was suddenly a frantic knocking on the door. Disgust burning in your eyes when you looked through the peephole, you opened the door for Bela. 

“Just let me explain,” she said. “I sold it. I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed.” 

Dean was completely furious, and he stalked around her. He made a shooting motion with his fingers which would’ve pulled a smile for you had it not been for your situation. 

“So you needed a cover for the charity ball,” you spat. “And we were convenient.”

She nodded reluctantly.

“Look, you sold it to a buyer. Just go buy it back,” Sam implored. 

Bela shook her head woefully. “It's halfway across the ocean. I can't get it back in time.”

“In time for what?” Dean questioned. 

Realization struck you, and you began laughing coldly. “Oh, okay. You saw it, too.”

She looked up at you, and for the first time since you’d met her, Bela looked terrified.

Dean whistled lowly. “Wow, you know, I- I knew you were an immoral, thieving, con-artist bitch, but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower—”

“What are you talking about?” she cut him off. 

“We figured out the spirit’s motive,” Sam began, putting a photograph in front of Bela. “This is the captain of our ship. The one who hung our ghost boy.”

“So?” she prompted. 

“So they were brothers. Very Cain and Abel. So now our spirit, he's going after a very specific kind of target – people who've spilled their own family’s blood. See, first, there was Sheila who killed her cousin in the car accident, and the Warren brothers, who murdered their father for the inheritance. Then, (Y/N). And now you.”

“Oh, my god,” Bela breathed out, seeming to breeze right by the fact that you’d seen the ship, too. 

“So who was it, Bela? Hmm?” Dean taunted. “Who'd you kill? Was it Daddy? Your little sis, maybe?”

“It’s none of your business,” she defended weakly. 

“It is our fuckin’ business,” Dean snapped, suddenly leaning on the arms of her chair. “(Y/N) saw it, too. And I don’t give a damn about you. But (Y/N)... is…” he trailed off, shaking his head and hanging it low, seemingly overcome with emotion. “And you just sold the one thing that could possibly save her life.”

“Well,” Sam said, “maybe not the only thing.”

All three of you turned to face Sam questioningly. 

***

Kneeling on the soft grass beside the grave of the captain, you helped the boys set up a ritual circle under the light of the full moon. 

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Bela asked worriedly, standing to the side. She pulled her jacket around her shoulders tightly.

“Almost definitely not,” Dean grumbled, looking over at you. 

You smiled weakly at him trying to reassure him that you would be okay.

Thunder clapped unexpectedly, and the wind whistled around you. Rain began to pour, soaking you to the bone in an instant.

“Sammy! You better start reading!” Dean ordered, pulling you up from the ground and shielding you with his body.

The younger brother obeyed, and then, Bela shouted, “Behind you!”

Dean was immediately flung through the air away from you, and you wheeled around to see the ghost you’d seen at the Warren’s house. Before you could raise your gun to shoot him, he put his hands on either side of your head. Immediately, you began coughing up water. It felt like your throat was closing as the air slowly left your panicking body. 

Dean staggered over to you and tried to support you through your heaving, shuddering breaths. “Sammy, read faster!”

Black spots began to form in your vision, and you were sure it was the end. Then, the rain died down. The wind billowed gently, and the spirit’s head turned slowly toward a creaking sound.

“You... hanged me!” the spirit cried at his brother. 

“I’m sorry,” the captain responded pitifully. 

“Your own brother.”

“I’m so sorry!”

The spirit charged his brother, leaving you a sputtering mess on the floor. You heard the two men scream, and then, they both went quiet. 

***

After parting ways with Bela for the evening, you returned to the house for a few hours of sleep. However, laying next to Dean— the moon illuminating his freckled skin and occasionally-fluttering eyelashes, breaths deep enough to move his chiseled shoulders along with his chest— you couldn’t sleep. Since he’d drifted off about an hour ago, you’d been lazily stroking his hair; the two of you facing each other. 

Then, Dean took in a deep breath, stretching out on his back. It became clear to you that he’d woken up, though his eyes remained closed, when he kissed the inside of your wrist. Soon enough, his breathing became steady once more. He kept you snuggled tightly into his right side; legs intertwined and breathing beginning to mirror each other’s. 

And then, it hit you: you’d felt oddly at peace, as much as you’d tried to deny it, when the ghost put his hands on the sides of your head. Even when you were in excruciating pain— lungs burning and eyes watering— you were almost relieved. Because if you’d died tonight, that meant you wouldn’t have to live without Dean. 

***

Given your realization the previous evening, you wandered around in a daze all morning. You had never enjoyed depending on others. Needing help was so pathetic in your mind, and you refused to ask for it. Despite the way you encouraged Dean to open up and accept help, you couldn’t take your own advice. After your mother’s devotion to your father led her to standing by idly while her two children were beaten black and blue, you swore that you would never let a man rule your life in any sense of the word. And now, Dean was consuming you. 

However, this devotion didn’t feel hopeless. It didn’t feel messy. You didn’t feel your essence deteriorating while he hacked away, carving space and indelibly marking your soul. This devotion was welcomed. Allowed. Encouraged. You were willingly handing your beating heart to him, and you knew you could take it back at any time.

Before Dean, you never trusted anyone. You would never have allowed someone to walk beside you through Hell before you met him. Try as others might have, Dean was the only person to mesh harmoniously with your body, mind, and soul. 

When Bela came to say her goodbyes, though, you forced yourself out of your thoughts. After she’d thoroughly amused Dean with the ten thousand dollars she gave the three of you to repay her debt, she swaggered out of the door. You surprised even yourself when you followed her out. 

“Bela!” you called.

She turned back to you. “Sorry, darling, all out of goodies for the day—”

“I don’t want your money,” you cut her off. “I wanted you to know that… whatever you did, I understand. The boys may never, but I saw the ship, too. Whether we like it or not, we’re pretty similar; you and me.”

She seemed stunned by your admission. 

“Take my number,” you told her, pressing a piece of paper into her hand. “If ever you feel like slummin’ it for a crappy beer in a dive bar. Or if you run into any more ghost ships.”

That stunned Bela even more as you turned on your heel and headed back inside. 

*** “Seriously? Atlantic City?” Sam scoffed. 

Dean had you speeding toward a casino with the money Bela gave you as night fell that evening. “Hell yeah! Play some roulette. Always bet on black.” He paused for a minute, allowing the air to shift in the car. “Hey listen, I've been doing some thinking. Um... I want you to know I understand why you did it. I understand why you went after the crossroads demon.”

Sam sighed, much to your surprise. You figured he’d be thankful to hear Dean’s admission. 

“Y’know, situation was reversed,” Dean continued, “I guess I'd 've done the same thing. I mean, I'm not blind, I see what you're going through with this whole deal; me going away and all that. But you're gonna be okay.”

Sam looked upset at that. “You think so.”

“Yeah, you'll keep hunting, y'know, you live your life. You’re stronger than me.” At Sam’s scoff, Dean exclaimed, “You are! You are. You'll get over it. But I want you to know I'm sorry, I’m sorry for... putting you through all this, I am.”

“Y’know what, Dean? Go fuck yourself,” Sam spat. 

“What?” Dean questioned. You were stunned as well.

“I don't want an apology from you! And by the way, I'm a big boy now, I can take care of myself,” Sam continued his tirade.

“Oh, well, excuse me,” Dean grumbled. 

“So would you please quit worrying about me?” Sam shouted over his brother. “I mean, that's the whole problem in the first place. I don't want you to worry about me, Dean, I want you to worry about you! I want you to give a crap that you’re dying!”

“He does, Sam, knock it off!” you jumped in for the first time. After all, it was you that had planted the seed to Dean that he should have apologized to Sam.

Dean said nothing, and you could tell by the smirk on his face that he wouldn’t be displaying vulnerability with Sam again for quite some time. 

“So, that's it? Nothing else to say for you?” Sam pushed. 

“I think maybe I'll play craps,” Dean stated.

Outraged, Sam just stared at him in complete disbelief. He turned to the window, and you continued to watch Dean. His smile faded to a steely, difficult-to-read expression.

Sighing, you settled stretched out across the seat and crossed your arms over your chest. Dean’s eyes met yours briefly in the rearview mirror, and you saw a flicker of his real feelings— hurt, betrayal, fear— cross his face before his expression returned to unreadable. 

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[novastaree]

im going to say what probably everyone on here has said but i need to say it somewhere anyways.

its insane that both brothers forgot about Adam

i kinda understand how Dean forgot about Adam kinda like he only really met the kid once. That meeting being the same one where they lost him to an archangel and the other not technically real meeting were he beat a monster that looked like him to death. But yk those are forgettable moments in spn world

but sam?? literally how? he was in hell with Adam for like 150 years and still pushed him to the back of his mind for 10 years? and sure most of that time he was being tortured by the devil but when he got out he never thought about the other boy in the cage?

And the worst part was they went back to the cage and didn't even mention him!! they released the devil before asking about their brother they pulled into hell. Lucifer is the only one to mention Michael that episode and they decide to believe him for some reason

Sam and Dean also only ever remember Michael is alive. it's like they forget Michael has been possessing their brother and they think they can have Michael without Adam. Maybe they thought that because it was easier to think Michael got rid of Adam at some point then actually try and help the kid.

They didn't try hard enough for Adam and some people say it's because he didn't earn it but if anybody earned it I believe it was Adam. He got killed because he was related to John Winchester, Just like how sam and dean were basically cursed for being his son. Then Adam got a second chance because of the angels and he almost chose his brothers but couldn't because they failed to save him and choose to save each other once again.

And If that didn't earn him a chance to be saved did that not earn him a chance to be remembered?

And after that he didn't get another chance to prove himself to them. guess why? because the Winchesters throw him into hell! And I don't even think he should have had too prove himself anyways because he was honestly an innocent boy just cursed and forgotten because of who he was related to

so Adam was forgotten by Dean who probably only forgot him because Adam took Deans burden for him and by Sam who he suffered through the worst parts of hell with and not one real attempt was made to save him

well anyways happy birthday Adam Milligan🎉🎊🎂 have fun celebrating with Michael on his special day as well

also sorry if this rant was pointless and confusing i just love to yap about my favorite 'Winchester' brother and the injustice done on him

(also why did the Angels try to save Sam but not their big brother Michael who practically ran heaven? seems unfair as well, poor midam always being forgotten by their brothers)

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Birthday Pie

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist

SPOILERS! set between seasons 7 and 8 of supernatural, there are spoilers for both these seasons

summary: you celebrate his birthday even when he’s gone

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 0.9k

warnings: sad, not at all a happy birthday for our beloved lil guy, language

author’s note: i’m sorry, okay? i’ve had this idea in my head for months and decided that today is a good day to release it? anyway, happy 45th birthday dean winchester! love you and very glad you’re alive and well and the series finale never happened! :)

January 24th, 2013 — Dean’s 34th Birthday.

You were barely able to drag yourself out of bed and into the living room where you were now seated and watching TV. It didn’t matter what was on, you weren’t paying attention anyway. Your mind was completely focused on Dean. Your beloved Dean; who shouldn’t be wherever the fuck he was but instead safe in your arms.

He shouldn’t be spending his birthday terrified, missing you and his brother. He should be spending it with you, Sam, and Cas.

Sure, he wasn’t really the birthday party type of guy but each year since you met him you’d gotten him a pie and put candles in it for him to blow out. It’d started as a half-assed attempt to put a smile on his face when you learned it was his birthday and you couldn’t find a cake at the store.

He’d loved it.

“How’d you know I’d rather have pie?” he had asked, his face lighting up even more when you put two candles—a two and a four—in the center.

“I…had a feeling.” You had shrugged it off as not a big deal but deep down you both knew how much it meant to him.

And each year since then—come rain, shine, monsters, or the apocalypse—you made it your job to get Dean Winchester a pie on his birthday.

A few tears rolled down your cheeks, joining the half-dried ones there already. You hadn’t been sad on Dean’s birthday since his year before hell. But it was different then, you had him next to you and you were savoring every second. You might have been terrified of what would soon happen, but you were still with him.

**

“If you’re not already aware, Dean,” Castiel started, “you turn thirty-four today.”

“What?” Dean asked, confused. “Cas we—”

“Granted time seems to be passing differently here, but on earth it is currently your birthday.”

“Happy birthday, brother,” Benny joked.

“Yeah real fuckin’ happy,” Dean scoffed. “We’re stuck killing our way through this fuckin’ nightmare while the love of my life is spending my birthday alone.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, Dean,” Cas assured him. “She has Sam, he’ll look after her until we get back.”

“No, you don’t get it. Birthdays were…they were our thing, if that makes any goddamn sense.”

**

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you smiled, placing the pie in front of him.

“Twenty-six! God, that sounds old,” Dean laughed a little.

“You’re kidding right?” you asked after singing for him as he blew out the candles.

“What?”

“Twenty six may sound old to you, but trust me you are still fuckin’ adorable.”

“I am, aren’t I?” He grinned.

“You wanna do the honors, cutie?” you asked, handing him the kitchen knife.

“Gladly, sweetheart,” he said, taking it from you. You watched him cut a slice for you then an even bigger slice for himself.

“Dean,” you started as you watched him begin eating the pie. “I love you.”

He stopped eating and looked at you; “What?”

“I know there’s a lot about your life you haven’t told me, you’re lore you could call it, but I need you to know that I really do love you, Dean Winchester.”

“But how? I mean, I’m not exactly an open book and there’s no way…” he trailed off.

“No way, what?”

“There’s no way in hell you’d feel this way if you learned everything about me.”

Your heart broke at his words, and your expression definitely showed it.

“The amount of pure love I have for you is beyond measurable, Dean. And I might be crazy for saying this, and feeling this, but there is truly nothing you could say or do that would make me stop.”

“Really?” he asked quietly, as if he was scared to press his luck.

You nodded with a soft smile; “Really.”

“Well, look I’m not really one for…that…but I do…I do feel that way about you too. I guess what I’m saying is, uh, right back at cha?”

“See to any normal person that would sound like the ramblings of a crazy man,” you said, his smile only growing. “But to me? Absolute poetry.” You leaned over and kissed him. “Happy birthday, Dean.”

He simply kissed you back, smiling against your lips.

**

“Happy birthday, Dean,” you whispered, blowing out the candles on the small pie you’d bought. It was a one-person pie because you knew if you bought a regular one that at least three-quarters would not have been eaten.

You took out the candles and picked up your fork. Staring down at the desert, you let more tears fall.

“It shouldn’t be this hard to eat a fuckin’ pie,” you laughed humorously. Your phone rang next to you and you answered it; “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey,” he sighed. “I just wanted to call and check up on you. It being Dean’s birthday and all, I figured you might…you know…”

“Be huddled up in bed sobbing my eyes out?” you said.

“Yeah…”

“I’m holding it together Sammy, don’t worry about me,” you assured him.

“I always worry about you, you know that.”

There was a short pause in the conversation as you took a deep breath and let a few more tears fall; “I miss him, Sammy,” you admitted. “I just really miss him.”

[bayysart]

“Sam, of course, is an abomination.”

I have crawled out of my little time out corner to post this. I love posting cringe. Anyways it was Supernatural’s anniversary the other day, so happy birthday bitches! Here is my favorite spiked ketchup addict Sam Winchester!! Yippeeeeeee!!! I love drawing my little guy.

[samdeans]

happy birthday to my girlfriend <3

[vanillanaps]

Second Place | Dean Winchester

Request - Can I request an angsty spn imagine where Sam is in love with deans gf but she definitely only sees him as a friend/brother because she is head over heels for dean?

A/n - I normally don’t write about love triangles because I don't like them so this was definitely out of my area of expertise. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless and it's angsty enough for you!

Category - Dean Winchester x Reader, Angst

Warnings - Pinning on sams end, fluff for reader and dean, kind of told through sam's pov, my first dean\spn fic so be nice, not proof read as always, thamk :p

Word Count - 1.3k

♡♡♡♡

There was never a time in Sam’s life when he didn’t come second place to his brother. That just came with the territory of being the little brother to Dean Winchester. The man who could get anything, everything and whoever he wanted with just a single look. After a while, he didn’t mind it though. He accepted his fate and made peace with it, but the one thing he could never let go of was coming in second place to Dean when it came to You.

The three of you had been as thick as thieves growing up. Your father and John Winchester had been best friends and hunting buddies, so naturally the three of you were always together. Your father would leave you with Sam and Dean as he and John went off hunting for the night. You being older than Sam, yet younger than Dean, naturally you clicked with Sam a little more during the young stages. Preferring to hang with him as Dean had grown more off putting and to himself, that's when Sam’s crush started on you. He loved that you were the one person who put him above Dean.

It was movie night? You’d choose to sit next to Sam and share your snacks with him. Long car rides in the back of the impala? Naturally, your head would fall over onto Sam’s shoulder as you slept. Starting new schools together? You’d cling more to Sam’s side as you were shy and nervous. Feeling as if he’d be the one to shun you from all those wondering eyes. Never once did Sam have the courage to speak up about his feelings towards you. Assuming that if he did and you didn’t feel the same, your bond would be ruined and you wouldn’t be his best friend anymore. Maybe he could live with just knowing that you’d put him first–until you didn’t.

It was your 17th birthday when everything changed. It had just been the three of you, sitting at the small hotel table with a cake and candles Dean had stolen from a nearby grocery store. You had hoped that your dad and John had made it back in time to celebrate, but they didn’t. So Sam and Dean took it into their own hands to cheer you up. They sat and sang happy birthday to you, loudly and obnoxiously to get you to smile.

“Thanks guys.” You smiled softly. You gave Sam your usual best friend hug. Your arms wrapped around his waist and his arms went around your shoulders. Only lasting for a moment, he always wished they lasted longer. But then you went to hug Dean. Sam’s heart dropped at the small difference in the hug. It was your arms around his neck, and Dean’s arms around your waist. A small rock was added as Dean’s arms loosened and lowered a bit more than Sam preferred. He watched as Dean whispered something in your ear, causing you to smile and hide your face into his neck.

It was then that Sam knew he was once again placed second to Dean, in the one way he wished, he hoped, would never happen.

YEARS LATER

The hotel room was thrown open as the three of you walked into the door. Defeat written all over your faces. Tonight, a hunt went terribly wrong. The person you had been trying to save had ended up losing their life anyways. Of course you knew that you couldn't save everyone, but nonetheless did it bother you when the creatures of the night won.

“I’ll get the kit.” You mumbled, after making sure Dean had gotten to the bed. He had been hurt the worst tonight, throwing himself in the line of fire.

Sam sat on his bed, watching you move about the room gathering the supplies you needed to tend to Dean’s wounds. Sam was hurt too and he’d known you’d get to him eventually, but even all these years laters, he was wishing that he was first on your patch up list. He sat with envy in his eyes, as you worked on Dean’s wounds. Hating the hushed whispers between the two of you that he couldn’t hear. It should've been him making you laugh in your saddest moments. Truthfully, he held resentment towards Dean for taking his best friend, his life long crush from him without a second thought.

“Sam?” You called to him, pulling him from his thoughts, “You okay?”

Clearing his throat, he sat up and nodded, “Yeah, yeah, I'm okay.”

You gave him a soft smile, sitting down in front of him, “ ‘Kay, let's clean that wound, yeah? I think you only need a butterfly band-aid.”

He nodded, letting you get to work on his small forehead wound that he could've cleaned himself, but he loved when you did it. He tried his hardest not to stare you in your face, but he couldn’t help but notice your beauty. Even with all the dirt and sweat on it from the previous couple hours. To Sam, you never have a bad day. To Sam, you were the most beautiful woman in the world and he was pissed that he missed his chance with you. Maybe, just maybe had he not let his thoughts get the best of him when he was younger, you’d be his and not his brothers.

“What’s on your mind, Sammy?” You asked him with concern laced in your voice.

Sam’s green eyes glanced around the room, Dean not in sight, before they met yours. Was this his chance? Would he be able to redeem himself and spill his true feelings to you? How would you feel? Did you feel the same? Would you leave Dean and be with him like he truly felt like should've been since day one?

“Y/n..” Sam started, his heart beating out of his chest as he was getting ready to spill his feelings out to you, “I’ve been wanting to tell you this for years.”

Your eyebrows jumped in curiosity, wondering what the hell Sam could have been keeping from you for years. Yet, as soon as Sam went to spill his guts, the hotel room door had opened again and Dean reentered the room.

“Got some more towels, we’ll need them.” He stopped in his tracks, looking over at the two of you, eyebrows furrowed, “Am I interruptin’?”

You looked back over at Sam, who now had an unreadable expression on his face, “Sam?”

His eyes shot back and forth between you and Dean before he swallowed his words, clearing his throat with the shake of his head, “No, no, I–uh, I was just gonna say thank you. For everything you do for me—and Dean.”

You smiled widely, “Oh, of course, Sammy. You’re like a little brother to me.”

At that moment, Sam could swear that he actually felt his heart shatter into pieces. Y/n’s words had crushed any hopes he had of her feeling the same about him. A brother, a little brother is what he’d always be to her.

He watched as she got up, making her way over to Dean, taking the towels from him, but not before she leaned up on her tippy-toes to give Dean a kiss. In Dean fashion, he wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned into it, deepening the kiss as if it was the last time he’d kiss her. Pulling away the couple whispered a plethora of ‘i love you’ and ‘i love you more’ before Y/n wandered to the bathroom so she could be the first to wash tonight off of her.

“Yo,” Dean called, cracking open two beers and passing one to Sam, “You good?”

Forcing a thin smile on his face, he accepted the beer, taking a long swig of it, cringing at the stale taste of it, “I’m great.”

Sam Winchester, always coming in second place.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Arpeggio

Chapter Twenty

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Sam/Madison, Bobby/Annie, Pam/Lee, OFC Gibson, Ash, Benny, Cesar/Jesse, Kevin, Cas, and Charlie

Word Count: 4031

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, recreational drug use, surprise birthday guests, Dean being a giant kid, actually it's everyone, more history and an uh-oh, unbeta'd

A/N: You know how you outline bullet points that you need covered in a chapter and then you write all day long and forget one of the biggest ones until literally the last sentence? Yeah, me neither.

Anyway, I can't believe we are TWENTY whole chapters into this beast. Thank you all, so SO much for hanging around. xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

Dean’s morning began with a blow horn blast compliments of Sam, who then received a bitch slap from his very frightened and at odds older brother. 

“Rise and shine, jerk. It’s the last year of your thirties!”

Dean groaned and buried his head beneath the pillows, poorly hiding from anymore horns. “Hephha waaff to wff agy hpp birfay”

“WHAT?! I can’t hear you?!”

Dean flipped Sam off and rolled over. “Helluva way to wish a guy Happy Birthday.”

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry, that’s not all.”

He pulled out a bag of the greasiest breakfast burritos from a shop around the corner from Charlies that they had discovered after being up all night gaming, drunk and caffeinated out of their minds. 

“Oh my god, you do love me!” Dean snatched the bag out of Sam’s hand and grabbed a burrito and cradled it to his chest. He looked up at Sam and said fervently, “I take back every mean thing I’ve ever said to you.”

“No you don’t. You’re just hungry. You want me to leave you two alone or should I take it back downstairs where the coffee lives?”

Dean stared down at the warm lump in his hand and honestly considered eating it right away, but Sam was right and scrambled eggs and peppers were not something he wanted to clean off his sheets whenever he found them again after the coming festivities.

“Yeah, thanks, let me grab some clothes and I’ll meet you down there.”

“You got it,” Sam took the burrito back as Dean dropped it into his outstretched hand. 

“No fucking with it now, I know how it’s supposed to be wrapped,” Dean warned with a firm pointer finger.

Sam rolled his eyes and his hair along with them and stalked out of Dean’s room towards the backstairs that led into the kitchen.

They ate breakfast in relative silence, coffee and contemplation and all that. Just two brothers celebrating a year that both of them were worried wouldn’t come. Aging might be a bitch, but it is definitely better than the alternative. And for the Winchester brothers, a blessing they weren’t ever quite sure they deserved.

Charlie and you slinked in just after noon, after Dean and Sam had half-heartedly worked off their breakfasts and showered for the day. You had the most obnoxious balloon cowboy hat for him while Charlie presented him with a ‘birthday prince’ sash that he was under orders to keep on all day.

Dean eyed you both with a simmering shame-twinged annoyance. This wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. He already got looks when he went out as it was, plus only a douche of a grown man demands strangers acknowledge his birthday that way.

“Guys, come on. I’m not— this is a little ridiculous,” Dean didn’t want to be ungrateful.

You sighed. “Okay, fine, spoilsport. Just let us take a few pictures and you can ditch the hat.”

“Oh! The hat was the best part!” Sam lamented.

“Can it, Sammy,” Dean snipped.

Charlie chuckled. “Okay, but you can totally wear the sash where we’re going, because nobody else will even be there to see you in it, just your friends.”

Dean pursed his lips and looked the redhead in the eye, she wasn’t going to let him win. “Great—- just great.”

Lee and Benny were gonna have a field day with this one.

“Atta boy! Say CHEESE!” Charlie chirped, taking way too many shots and angles with him and his birthday attire.

They hung out and shared a joint, picking at a cheese tray that Sam had pulled out. Sure they had places to be, but that was the beauty of being the guest of honor, everything revolved around Dean-time. And as absolutely narcissistic as that sounded, Dean could get used to that kind of schedule.

The party bus arrived just before two. It was actually the band’s touring bus, which meant it was roomy and stocked to the brim with alcohol and edibles. Bud itself was never left on the bus to dry out. Inside were Benny, Cesar and Jesse, all moderately sober as they were also acting as light security detail for the day. Pam and Lee brought Gibson along, which told Dean wherever they were headed was going to be fun, however wholesome. Madison and Annie were there with Bobby upfront driving ‘The Proud Mary’ as the bus was so lovingly called. And around the table in the small kitchenette were Kevin, Ash and Cas.

Holy shit, Dean had to blink.

He turned around on the stairs and looked at you, who were the only one daring enough to pull this off. “Are you kidding me right now?!”

“What?” You smirked and batted your eyelashes with fake innocence.

Dean looked at you and felt something in his chest crack.  But before he could get overrun by the emotions, gratitude, fear, even anger, Sam cleared his throat.

“In or out, Dean, air’s on.”

Dean nodded and blinked away the awe. “Thank you,” he grunted beneath his breath and turned to the cheers and jeers of his people.

“There he is!”

“Birthday boy!”

“Hey Winchester, I like your do-hickey,” Benny teased.

“It’s a sash, dumbass,” Cesar quipped, flicking the brim of Benny’s cap.

“HAPPY BIRTH-DAY,” Pam started offkey and then everybody joined in. Dean nodded along, faux-conducting and fighting the blush on his cheeks with every out of tune note.

He bowed as the song ended and then griped, “Yeah, okay, enough of that. Let’s get this shit started, shall we?! Uh, Gibson you good to DD on the way home, buddy?”

Everyone laughed.

“UNCLE DEAN! I can’t drive yet.”

“You sure?”

“I’m only six!”

“I don’t know,” Dean said thoughtfully, bending to look the stringbean over. “I think you could pass for seven or eight maybe.”

“Nuh-uh!”

Dean ruffled his hair and pulled him into a hug. “Fine! I’ll let Bobby keep his spot for today, but when you get your license, come talk to me about a job young man,” Dean promised.

Dean eased onto the bus, with you and Sam on his heels until you broke off to find a seat. He nodded and accepted hugs and high fives before he made his way to the table in the back, well that section’s back. The bunks and the bathroom were down a short hallway past the eating area and bar.

“Hey guys, thanks for coming,” Dean said broadly, but his eyes couldn’t stop looking for Cas’.

“Of course, man! Gotta celebrate another trip around the sun,” Ash exclaimed, his hair bouncing with his enthusiasm.

Kevin sniggered as he looked up at Dean and back across to Cas. “You know he’s real and everything.”

“He even speaks,” Cas deadpanned, turning his glare at Kevin.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Happy birthday, Dean.”

Dean felt the lurch of the bus entering traffic and panic resurfaced. “Good to see you. But, uh, we’ll catch up at some point? I gotta,” Dean sputtered and thumbed toward the general direction of the side-by-side seats along one wall.

“Of course,” Cas nodded, but gave Dean a tentative smile. Dean felt lightheaded but he felt better when he had a solid seat underneath his ass. Talk about a mindfuck. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and silently thanked the universe that he agreed to these super secret, group, birthday shenanigans.

The adventure park was suspiciously abandoned, even for a weekend day. But Dean took it as part of the present, no paps, no families with kids too young for school clogging up the Skee Ball lanes or having accidents on the go karts. He was kind of amazed y’all were able to pull this off, but it was far enough away from the busier parts of town that maybe you had scored a good deal. Or maybe Dean didn’t want to think about how much you and Sam and probably Bobby had shelled out for the day.

Even after years of his own success, Dean felt guilty whenever people spent money on him.

“Okay, line up for your wristbands. Everyone gets one, if you run out of tokens, tough luck. Laser Tag and Go Karts are available if we ask, just make sure there’s a big enough group to make up for the staff being pulled to those locations. Pizza will be set out as a buffet at five. I’ll get pitchers of water and soda out in the meantime,” you used a teacher's voice over the rowdy crowd as they beelined out of the bus and up to the gates.

Dean was almost giddy; he was so excited.

You bestowed a lanyard over his head, instead of a wristband. Which meant unlimited tokens for games and a turn in the vortex machine where paper tickets floated around and he was supposed to catch them for prizes. He was banking on letting Gibson take that responsibility, but hadn’t said anything because he knew Pam hated to spoil him, especially on someone else’s birthday. Oh well, being a surrogate Uncle held some leeway afterall.

“First one to the gokarts is a rotten egg!” Ash called out, making everyone turn on their heels and book it through the doors.

Dean laughed at the reversion to grade school taunts, but definitely tripped Sam on his way passed.

Somehow, Bobby and Annie got the first kart, but then again Dean didn’t remember seeing them as you made your little announcement, so they must have had a head start. The line was a mass of people bickering for a turn, which color kart they wanted, or which number if you were Charlie and Kevin. Dean had his shotgun attached at his hip, bouncing on the soles of his feet. But everytime he glanced up and saw Cas talking to Sam or nodding at something Pam said, he had to do a double take.

In all, they filled nearly all the available twelve karts. Dean and Gibson were in number 11, Lee, Benny, Pam, Cas, Ash, Kevin, Cesar, Jesse and Charlie all drove solo. While Sam and Madison, Bobby and Annie paired off. No one could get you in one of those things if they tried, and they all knew better than to try. Which Dean was grateful for, he hated rehashing your shit for other people’s understanding.

They did four lap races for almost an hour, with Dean sneaking past Bobby for the final victory. But everyone (except for Ash and Charlie) had lost count of their stats by the time they got inside to chug some soda and hit the arcade area before dinner.

Dean was sweating, faux satin clinging to his back through his shirts as he polished off a cup of flat cola. But he couldn’t keep the grin off his face long, seeing all of his favorite people milling around, trying to one up each other or just beat one another to a coveted game. It was the stuff of childhood birthdays he had only ever dreamed about, but you had made possible.

Lee held Gibson on his shoulders as they took Sam on at the free throw alleys. Charlie and Madison were playing some kind of shooting game while Kevin and Cesar watched them, obviously impressed by their stances with the fake rifles. It made him think of Jo and Big Buck Hunter for the briefest moment, but he tucked that away and chose to relish in the moment instead. Cas and Jesse were at the air hockey table and Bobby and Ash huddled by the wall of Skeeball machines, not partaking themselves, just watching you as you sank ball after ball into the 300 or better rings.

Dean couldn’t pick what he wanted to do next, so he just watched for a few minutes, soaking in the joy around him.

Eventually, his stomach chose for him. The pizzas were delivered in a tidy row down a side table of every cheap topping option available. There was even a mushroom option, which was probably the only thing close to a vegetable in the place, but it meant Sam couldn’t bitch. Everyone chowed down, standing and sitting in hodgepodge groupings, laughing and debating on what to do next.

Pam was comparing Cas’ and Kevin’s tattoos as Dean approached, paper plate firmly in hand, chewing as he silently butt into the conversation.

“Looks good, I mean, he’d hate them, but you know that would only be for show,” Pam said about the late Rufus.

“Yeah,” Cas agreed, pulling his arm back.

“Crotchety old bastard,” Dean added between bites.

“May he rest in peace,” Pam added, respect and mirth flitted in her eyes.

“So, Cas, how’s the kid and the band and fucking everything?” Pam changed the subject.

“Uh, we’re—- making progress,” Cas said simply, clearly unsure what to do with Dean’s presence. He worried at his lip ring like he always did when he was uncomfortable, but Dean was too damn curious and stubborn to take the hint.

“They’re finding their sound, it’s kind of cool to see it happen. You should go with me sometime to their rehearsals. It’s very organic,” Kevin explained. “It’s like they can sense what the other is thinking and just go for it.”

Dean couldn’t even pretend that that didn’t sting.

He cleared his throat. “So, where do you guys practice?”

“Oh— my place,” Cas said.

The fact that Kevin had been hanging with Cas and getting tattoos was one thing. The fact that he was in on this new band and its budding chemistry all while getting to spend time in Cas’ space was nothing short of getting his knees kicked out.

Not to mention, Cas had barely a townhouse with only one extra bedroom. He always preferred to live simply, as he put it.

“How does that work?”

Pam crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, seeing where this was going better than Dean. “Are you a garage band, Cas?”

He just shrugged.

Dean chuckled under his breath. “That’s what you meant by organic,” he said to Kevin.

“Not exactly— that’s part of it, but I don’t know if it’s like some gene thing or a psychic connection. They’re just really good together.”

Pamela inhaled as Dean squinted at Cas, who had gone stock still with Kevin’s words.

“Gene thing?”

“Dean—,” Pamela warned.

“Oh, crap,” Kevin said, realizing too late that Dean was apparently more in the dark than he’d known.

Castiel remained silent, eyes boring into Dean, waiting for the explosion. It made Dean sick to realize that Cas was afraid of him, of his temper, still.

Dean set down his slice of pizza and squared his shoulders, trying to keep it civil. To not be that guy anymore. “Cas, come on man. What’s that about? He some long lost cousin or something?”

“Jack’s my kid, actually.”

Dean sputtered. “Yeah right, nice one.”

Everyone glared at him.

“You’re serious? How? When? I would have fucking noticed if you had actually boned down some chick—- I mean how old is he?”

Cas rolled his eyes and Dean had the sinking sensation that absolutely none of this was his business. But Cas had been his best friend for most of their lives— it was important information to have, even if it was twenty years too late.

Kevin and Pam silently agreed to disappear, but Dean couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened. They were there and then they were gone.

“Dean,” Cas chastised.

“No— I deserve to know. I mean, what the hell? A kid?”

Cas raised his eyebrow, the one with the damn ring in it and Dean wanted, not for the first time, to yank it out.

“Kind of like I— like we deserved to know you were in an underground fighting ring? Like you had some sort of deathwish pact with a pimp and a known murderer?”

Dean felt an icy chill run down his spine, his hands instantly turned to fists and he had to breathe to keep the rage at bay. But his chest was so tight and the shame had become worms in his stomach. He wasn’t going to puke at his own birthday party, not from something as pathetic as his own mistakes. Alcohol would have been an easier taste in his mouth.

The party continued around them, but Dean didn’t reply. He couldn’t.

Cas seemed to register that and looked down at his boots before meeting Dean’s eye once more. “Dean, I’m sorry— that— that was uncalled for.” 

Dean swallowed down the bile and exhaled.

He unclenched his fists, shaking them slightly to feel something other than overwhelming emotion, the kind he’d need a few sessions with Missouri to even name.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean grunted, head down as he got himself together.

“Dean— we should talk, but I can’t really explain myself in front of everyone.”

Dean hummed.

“It’s just— I think there’s a lot we never got off our chests and it only made the last couple of years harder— on both of us.”

“It seems like everyone else already knows your business, Cas. Just kind of sucks to be the last to know.”

Cas nodded, eyes still tight, still on guard.

“But I guess the way I was— kind of makes sense. I didn’t deserve to know.”

Cas’ face softened. “Dean— that’s not. Let’s not, right now. Later. Okay?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dean inched around the corner, weapon drawn and head on a swivel. He couldn’t see much, but endless nooks for the enemy to hide. The arena was dark, out of necessity, but it only added to the adrenaline pumping through him. Dean nodded to his teammate and they spun around the next edge, fingers on their triggers as they stood back to back. 

He really wished they had communication between the other members of Green Team, but that was just rich people thinking for a family entertainment center. It wasn’t like they were storming the beaches of Normandy here.

Something moved in his periphery but before Dean could turn you shot behind him, getting Kevin square in the chest. You both watched as Kevin fell dramatically to the floor, one down, five more to go.

“Nice shot,” Dean said out of the corner of his mouth.

“I feel like that was too easy,” you replied, searching the area while you whispered.

“Might have been a scout,” Dean agreed.

“Yeah, but—” 

He felt you shift behind him and he rounded to cover you, but Benny was already there, a near wall of guns behind him. 

“It was a fire fight!” Ash screamed out of his spot above them, taking Charlie out with the distraction.

You kept your body turned, lessening their target and fired without even blinking, but Sam had height on you and you ended up taking each other out. Dean, unable to make a shot connect, cursed, turned tail, and ran, ducking down a ladder and trying to loop back on Benny and Pam.

Three down to his team’s one, that he knew of, still good odds.

But then he saw Jesse sitting with his back against a wall, clearly down. Dean needed to find Cas and Cesar yesterday. Or they wouldn’t be able to call it in their favor. He crouched down and checked his back, without you to watch his six he felt extra exposed, though he kept to the edges, using the shadows to his advantage.

He heard whispering and he immediately hit the deck, rolling until he was flush with wall length-wise. But the voices stopped about ten feet away, either on the level above him or around the corner out of sight. Dean waited, gun drawn and senses on overdrive.

The telltale electronic chime of a chest plate activating sounded off and the voices turned from whispers to shouts of shock. Someone had gotten Pam. 

Which meant that Lee and Benny were the only ones left from Sam’s team.

And Lee was alone looking to the rafters from the sounds of it.

Dean army-crawled around the corner and got Lee from underneath, his cackle of victory the only way Lee even knew he was there.

“You sonofabitch!” Lee griped, helping Dean up before disappearing to the land of misfit toys, aka following Pam to the nearest exit.

Cesar appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and nodded Dean back to the rest of the team. Cas and Ash were still alive and kicking, strategizing on how to find or draw out Benny. But before Dean could turn and let Cesar back into the huddle, his chest piece crackled to life: Benny had shot him in the back.

Dean waved him off, trying to catch up with Benny’s trail, as Ash and Cas flanked him widely. They tried to cast a broad net, but instead they left too much space and Benny wound around them and took Ash out without Dean or Cas even seeing him.

Dean looked at Cas and Cas nodded, doubling back and letting Dean take point. 

It felt like hours, but really it only took maybe five more minutes of creeping around the obstacles in the center of the arena for Dean to catch sight of Benny. His sturdy frame ducked behind a pillar as Dean slowly followed. But he was too slow, because Benny had spun around and had his gun on Dean’s back plate before Dean could move.

“Bang bang,” Benny taunted, but he didn’t pull the trigger. He wanted Dean to surrender, but that wouldn’t do anything unless… Benny didn’t know Cas was still out there.

Dean held up his arms, but he didn’t drop his weapon.

“Alright, cher, nice and easy,” Benny coaxed Dean to turn face him.

“You got me,man,” Dean huffed, playing it up.

“Well, even the Birthday Prince loses sometimes.”

Then Benny’s chest flashed to life.

“What the—”

“And sometimes they still win,” Cas’ deadpan interrupted Benny’s surprise.

“Nice one, Cas!” Dean held up his hand for a high five, but Cas just cocked his head as the overheads snapped on, blinding them all in sudden light.

It wasn’t the first time that Dean thought Cas had some super-human senses. And he was happy to think that it probably wasn’t the last time either. Not anymore.

Everything considered, Gibson won the day. Every single adult, even Kevin, forked over the prize tickets they had wracked up on their wristbands for Gibson to exchange for a four foot long stuffed dog from some show or another. Dean fist bumped him and helped him carry the thing back onto the bus. But before Dean could haul himself up the first step, Sam pulled him back to the curb.

“Here— don’t say I never got you anything.” Sam handed him a massive rainbowed Slinky.

“Holy shit! I didn’t even see that! This is awesome,” Dean geeked out. “Thanks, man.”

Sam just shook his head and grinned.

Everyone got back on the bus and started in on the adult beverages as you sorted the tab and made sure everything was alright with the staff. Dean sat on his hands, forcing himself not to run back in and add on his own tip. He really did trust you, but some habits were hard to break. 

“Ready?” Dean heard Bobby ask you before cranking the door shut.

The bus rumbled off the curb and into the neverending traffic of the city at night. But they had everything they could possibly need on board. And when you sat down in the spot beside him, Dean couldn’t think of a single thing that could make his birthday any better.

He looked over at you and smiled, soft, just a hint of it on his lips, trying to keep himself from saying something stupid. You rolled your eyes and smiled back. And yeah, today might have been one for the books. But there were still chapters left unwritten between you two and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait anymore to find out what they’d said.

Then his phone rang. “Dean? Happy birthday! How did you want to go celebrate?”

It was Bela.

He had completely forgotten to invite Bela.

And apparently, somehow, so had you.

Fuck.

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 22: Dolce

[veryace-ficrecs]

Destiel Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Clean up, aisle you by withered - Rated T

Dean’s the baby whisperer. A regular Daddy Daycare, only with a better car and less of a gut.

He’s gotten used to kids coming up to him during backyard barbecues in the summer. Whether it’s asking him inane questions or requesting piggyback rides, or making proclamations and abruptly leaving, Dean’s pretty nonchalant around kids as a rule.

It’s why he does nothing more than blink when he feels a small hand grab his, and flash a surprised, “Hey there, bud” upon discovering he’s been claimed by some random kid toddling around unattended in the snack aisle

The Dadification of One Castiel Novak by runraerun - Rated G

When one of Cas’ old I.D.’s gets rejected, Sam and Dean tell him afterwards it’s because his picture is outdated—but this doesn’t make any sense, Castiel explains; Angel vessels don’t age. Dean has to break it to Cas that he doesn’t look like he’s in his 20’s anymore.

In Due Time (Dean Winchester is Saved) by caelum_writes - Rated T

A 26-year-old Dean is transported to 2021 and confronted with the unfathomable - a future where he is happy, safe, and loved. --- “Aren’t you gunna say it?” he asks tentatively, as if he’s crazy for picking up on the obvious. “Yeah, you’re me. Past me, anyway,” the other Dean replies. “I wanna know from when.” “What are you talking about?” “Time travel,” the older Dean states as if it’s so obvious and ordinary. “It happens.” “To who? Marty McFly?”

if wishes were horses by teen_dean - Rated T

“Thought it was me at first,” Dean said. “Just not in my nature to settle. But then I thought: there’s not supposed to be suffering here. So what’s with the heartache?” He sighed. “I know I can’t make Cas show up if he doesn’t want to. Maybe he doesn’t want to take a chance on me. Maybe he’s moved on. But then I gotta feel lonesome for eternity and call it Paradise?” “Dean,” said Mary. “Are you going on a hunt in Heaven?” “Yeah,” said Dean. “I reckon I am.”

Water, Sunlight, T.L.C. by youaresunlight - Rated T

Cas is turned into a plant after an unfortunate skirmish with a coven. Hannah brings him to Dean and Sam to seek their help, and Dean has a few emotional discoveries while taking care of Cas. I assure you that this is not (I repeat, not) a crack fic, and I'm rather very proud of it so I hope you enjoy it as well.

Where Overreaction Meets Sam Winchester And They Live Happily Ever After by LazyBaker - Rated T

Dean is suddenly eating healthy and the world (i.e. Sam) is not prepared for such change.

nightlight by fleeceframe - Rated G

But the thing is, as he gets closer, he has to blink his eyes to make sure he’s seeing things right. Because that’s definitely Jimmy’s body slumped over against the trunk of one of the apple trees, but floating above him is- well, it’s a floating light, a sphere with a one-foot diameter, just hanging out at Dean’s chest level. Dean approaches it carefully with a furrowed brow and half-raised hackles. “Cas?” Dean prompts slowly. “Is that-” And the orb is glowing out sweet and white like it could easily be used to keep away the dark in a child’s nursery. It’s so welcoming. Like Dean could just reach out, out, and catch that gentleness in his hands without any sort of consequence. “Hello, Dean,” the orb hums. or the one where cas gets expelled from his vessel and he isn't as much of a dude as dean thought he was

Something Dumb to Do by PorcupineGirl - Rated T

Dean sits back in his chair, drinking his coffee and watching Castiel. After a few moments, he realizes that the soft, mellow feeling in his chest is… contentment. He's not happy in the way that a little kid is happy at their birthday party, or even in the way that he is when Cas or Sam has been miraculously brought back to life after one of the long string of disasters in their lives. He's happy in a new and different way. And has been, maybe, for a while now. Nearly as long as Cas has been living here, human, in the bunker. And then Dean Winchester has a moment of absolute clarity.

Bee Mine by solisdraconis - Rated G

Castiel is human for the first time. He faces all kinds of new human challenges, like picking out birthday presents, hangovers, and the flu. Good thing Dean is there to help him through it. Gadreel never happened and Cas never got kicked out of the bunker. And he met Charlie. How things should have gone, of course.

love (is a burning thing) by rupertgayes - Rated E

Dean doesn’t know why it started, and unlike his brainiac of a brother, he’s not exactly cracking open a psych textbook to find out. People have their things, that’s just how it goes - you like it rough, you like toys or melted wax or feathers, you can’t get it up unless your partner’s wearing a sailor outfit, whatever. If the spirit is willing, who cares? Dean just wishes some of his things weren’t so fucking embarrassing. Or: Dean likes Johnny Cash songs. A lot. More than he should. And then he meets a certain angel with a very deep voice...

I'm Dreamin' of a Grey Christmas by almaasi - Rated G

Coming in from the snow, Dean notices Cas now has a streak of grey in his hair. Angels don't get older. But Cas has been getting older for years. Is this a loophole that can save him from his deal with the Empty? Or is "adorably middle-aged" just another thing to add to the seven million reasons Dean wants to kiss him?

Enemies Closer by almaasi - Rated T

A "You caught me keying the wrong car in our middle-school parking lot, but when you found out my motivation you wanted to help me... except now we're both complicit in the same crime, and we have the power to end each other's teaching careers – and as they say, keep your friends close but your enemies closer – sooooo is a nerdy date at your after-school A.V. club close enough for you?" AU

He Called Me Honey by almaasi - Rated G

After having a weird dream in which he kisses Cas, Dean accidentally discusses the matter with Sam over pancakes. (Then Cas shows up. Dean is a flustered mess.)