#because dean winchester called it something really stupid instead?

[homoangel]

okay now cas wasnt there for that bit but if he had been...

do you think it would have caught on like "angel radio" did?

[motelsnleatherseats]

14 year old Sammy accidentally sends Dean a dick pic ✨👀

It was no secret that Dean Winchester was the casanova of the family, biding his time through high school with flings under the bleachers and in the janitor's closet while Sam had a tendency to keep his nose in the books. He was a late bloomer, he reasoned, not really showing much interest in girls, because what was the point? They hopped towns far too often to establish any real connections, and the idea of hooking up just for the sake of hooking up seemed sleazy and uncomfortable for a boy who was desperate to plant his roots somewhere.

But that didn't stop girls from noticing Sam when his growth spurt began to hit. Now he was a little taller and the baby fat had melted off his face, exposing that Winchester jawline and cheekbones that could land them on the cover of Teen Beat had they been discovered by a mall scout instead of being trained military style in firearms. Initially he was surprised when girls started showing interest, but it still made him feel awkward and uncomfortable, only because the basis of his knowledge of the fairer sex came from watching Dean spin his pornesque ideals of romance with girls who'd fall for anything gazing into those emerald eyes. He knew that if he were to ask for advice, Dean would load him up with cheesy one liners and much too physically driven flirting techniques that he'd ultimately fumble.

Now Sam was in over his head. What initially began as chatting via text turned into flirting via text, Sam nervously trying to navigate his way through not being too literal in responses and ultimately being unsexy. When he received a rather risque picture of barely covered breasts, he nearly threw his phone across the room, beet red in the face. And then came the request for a picture back. In a panic, Sam deleted the text message thread and sat awkwardly on his bed with his back against the headboard, cheeks still hot as he stared at his phone sitting abandoned against the sheets. He took a deep breath and internally battled with what to do, considering the pros and cons of giving into the request.

This was stupid, why would anyone want to get a dick pic to begin with? Things were moving too quickly, maybe she'd laugh at him. But if he didn't send something back, then maybe she'd get offended or get her feelings hurt? He closed his eyes, the image he had just deleted flashing behind his eyelids already having an adverse effect on his newly developing teenage libido, and when his dick stirred, his face went a deeper shade of red.

What would Dean do?

That's a dumb question.

With a resigned sigh, Sam moved to pick his phone up again before he chewed his bottom lip, opening the camera function. His stomach gave a nervous flip, but it wasn't all dread, there was a bit of exhilaration there. His fingertips felt full of static as he moved to undo his pants, slipping a hand in to palm himself, not really needing much to get himself fully hard. He pulled his length from the confines and gave a stroke or two, feeling a little ridiculous with his phone in the other hand trying to frame it just right. He took a few pictures and immediately wanted to delete them, second guessing everything about the situation, but he had already gotten this far, might as well follow through.

Another nervous flip of his stomach had his cock twitching before he released it and let it sit heavy against his stomach, swallowing down a tightness in his throat before he clicked the share button, typing the first letter of her name before it sent off, awkwardly staring at the picture he took before he went back to the message thread, his blood suddenly going cold.

Shit shit shit!

What he thought was 'Darcy' ended up defaulting to 'Dean', and his very first attempt at sexting was about to be sitting in Dean's unread text messages.

He. Was. Mortified. Panic set in as he desperately tried to figure out how to unsend a message, half tempted to call Dean and tell him to just delete it, please please please don't open it, it was an honest mistake, but it was too late. Marked as read.

He practically bore a hole through the phone with how hard he was staring at the bubble, watching it disappear before popping back up. What he should have done was immediately apologize and explain that it was supposed to go to someone else, but it wouldn't have mattered. Dean would have mercilessly ridiculed him regardless of the reason, and he was fully anticipating a response of What the fuck, Sammy or something even more horrific like a comment on his size, and Jesus Christ, this was so embarrassing.

The dots disappeared again but the hammering in his chest didn't dissipate for a second until it nearly stopped once his brother's response came through.

No questions. No ridicule. Just a picture back with Dean gripping his own rock hard arousal, cocksure smirk on his lips.

[winchesterscorner]

[Sam Winchester] - Unlikely Places

♫ - Fallingforyou - The 1975

Kansas was beautiful in the fall. The sidewalks are filled with an array of red and orange leaves, and the weather is cool and dry. When fall arrived, it filled the days with a nostalgic atmosphere that was perfect for long night walks and hot drinks. Or, in your case, sitting on the porch bench with a hot drink, instead. You were too tired to go out, tonight, and so you opted for the comfort of a blanket and some hot chocolate, and to your surprise, company.

Sam Winchester had been your closest friend for as long as you could remember. You had done everything together, really. Played pranks on adults (but mostly Dean), seen each other through heartaches, seen each other through joy, been everywhere together. You were often described as inseparable, and where one went, the other was sure to follow. He'd been your confidant, and you his, and you were so grateful he stuck around you for as long as he had. 

These nights were perfect for reminiscing, and who better to do it with than Sam.

"Hey," you started, cuddling closer under the blanket with him. "You remember in elementary school when it came down to us two in the class spelling bee, and I beat you because you couldn't spell 'intrigue'?"

Sam chuckled and shook his mane of hair.

"Yeah, I do. You got me by one letter. One letter! I still beat you at chess that one time, though."

"Never going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Never," he smiled down at you, and you merely raised a brow and feigned a huff.

"Well, I believe this night is over." You pretended to stand, but he pulled you back. "Good night, Winchester."

"Oh come on," he poked your tongue back in after you stuck it out at him. " Is it that hard to admit that I'm clever?"

"Yes."

Sam stared at you point blank, and you glared back, before you both erupted into laughter again, taking a sip of your drink. You rested your head against his arm, and he leaned his head against your own,just savouring in each other's presence. You'd had many moments like this, sat in quiet thought with Sam, but tonight, you were feeling different. You shrugged it off, trying to ignore it.

"Hey, Y/n," Sam started, making sure you were awake. "Remember when we almost got murdered by those demons, but you practically hijacked a taxi and saved our asses?"

"There's no practically about it, Sam. I definitely hijacked that taxi. Poor guy, must've been in shock."

"Wouldn't you be, some pretty individual engages you in the politest hijacking ever?" Sam laughed, and you stared at him.

"Sam, did you.."

"Ignore that," he stopped you, going a little red.

"Did you just call me polite? Ew!"

Sam's face was blank, he knew you were playing but a tiny part of him didn't want you to catch it. But the big part of him knew that you heard him fair and square call you pretty. Which wasn't a lie. Sam thought you were beautiful, but he didn't want you to know that. He didn't want to jeopardize whatever this was in case you didn't feel the same. 

"Earth to Winchester, hello?" You waved your hand in front of his face, and he shook his head.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Thought I'd lost ya there. For the record, I appreciate the compliment, and I do think you're quite the handsome man yourself."

You leaned up to peck his cheek, something you had done before, but this time it felt different. Maybe those feelings you had about this night weren't misplaced, or wrong. Maybe there was something more than friendship between you. 

"Sam, listen, I-"

Sam, in fact, didn't listen. He kissed you instead. It was quick, but felt like it lasted a lifetime. He pulled back, scanning your face for any sign of something bad. To his surprise and relief, nothing.

"Wow, I never thought you would be stupid enough to try that, Winchester," you spoke lowly, a joking tone backing your words.

"Yeah, well, you're here with me so that makes you stupid, too."

He raised his brows and nodded, agreeing with himself as if he had just proved the biggest point on the planet. When he'd finished playing, he became a little more serious again. Almost worried, in fact.

"You don't hate me right?" he started, and you saw the anxious little boy you remembered all those years ago. "I mean, I've felt like this about you for a while. And, you know, I'd be a fool not to because you are just amazing. Inside and out, you're beautiful, and I got worried that like... you know, what if you didn't like me that way?"

You giggled, not mockingly, but in awe. He was beautiful, and it was adorable to watch him fumble for an explanation. 

"Oh, Sam, look. I thought you would have been smart enough to figure it out on your own. I've felt like we're more than friends for so long. I just didn't act in case you didn't like me like that. I think you're so handsome, and you could have anyone, I didn't think you would choose me,"

"Y/N, I would choose you over anyone."

Sam smiled down at you, his whole face lighting up with love. His eyes twinkled, and you reached up to cup his face. Stroking your thumb across his cheek, you leaned in again, and he crashed his lips into yours. Pulling you closer, Sam entangled his hands into your hair, and you were breathless. Pulling back, you both chuckled. Sam was the first to speak.

"Dean is gonna be so righteous about this, you know?"

You cocked your brow. "Oh?"

"Well, he's been asking me when we're gonna get on with this relationship because you can see, and I quote, 'see your pining from Kentucky.' You know, like he does."

"He's such an ass, but we love him."

Your drinks had since gone cold, but it didn't matter. You were safe and content, a new relationship on the horizon and no doubt fifty questions and smug remarks from the other Winchester the next day, nothing could ruin the moment. You both watched the Kansas sunset go down, and the stars come out, as you snuggled under the blanket and basked in each others presence.

"You know," Sam broke the silence. "I remember when you said you are attracted to brains over anything, but I definitely saw you checking my butt out the other day."

"Shut  up. Sam! No you did not."

"I swear!"

The night ended with you both laughing, cuddling and for the first time in forever, being truly content. This was all you wanted, and all you could ask for. Someone to act stupid with. Someone to cry with. Someone who just understands you. 

You found your someone in the most unlikely places, and that was Sam Winchester. 

Thank you for reading! <3

If you enjoy my content, you can buy me coffee here :)

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Lilt

Chapter Eight

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Ash, Sam/Madison, Pamela, Lee, Kevin, Bobby, Frank, Tiny, Annie, and Dawn the bartender (Adam, Ellen and John/Kate mentioned)

Word Count: 2116

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mild drug use, minor jealous Dean, drinking, Dean gets a little existential and realizes he might have fucked up, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

Divider courtesy of @cafekitsune

The haze of the control room wasn’t noticeable the longer they sat in the small room facing Pam, Lee and Sam getting down the new track Lee wrote through the glass. Dean bobbed his head, bong braced against his lap, as Ash hummed in appreciation, eyes closed and headphones on. Kevin had wandered off to a smaller studio to work out a solo they wanted to put into “Prophet and Loss”. After that and "Hand Me My Axe", which Lee was shredding on at the moment, they’d have a full thirteen for the album. They’d already recorded the bonus acoustic versions of “Brother’s Keeper” and “Baby” for the deluxe editions.

Thank fuck those were behind him, because Dean cried through both of those sessions and Sam would never let him live it down, despite the sasquatch also getting misty during his verses. The fact that Sam wrote his own part and Dean didn’t know what it was going to convey until they were in the box, well, that was just unfair. He blamed it on Sam’s singing, because dude was not a vocalist, but really it had been a lot to hear what Sam went through when Dean was busy self-destructing. 

Whatever, Dean was in touch with his emotions now, who cared?

The finish line on this album was rapidly approaching and Dean was more stoked than he thought he’d be at doing something completely without Cas’ influence. Though he still heard Cas’ voice admonishing him sometimes, it had taken on a nostalgic tone the last couple of days. The music wasn’t the same without Cas, but it didn’t make it worse. 

God, did he miss him though.

Dean cleared his throat and took a hit, letting the mixed emotions have their moment until he carefully blew them all away. Lee was on fire and it was such a mesmerizing thing to watch him play as an audience member and not a collaborator. Sometimes he forgot how good his band was objectively speaking. The music and the energy of performing took over and they meshed making something magical, but beyond that Lee was a fucking genius on six-to-twelve strings.

They spent another twenty minutes laying it down and then broke for lunch. Dean checked his phone as Kevin and Ash hauled in the bags of take out that had been delivered to the front desk. Frank only let the local Chinese place deliver directly to the building, so it had become a weekly ritual instead of them constantly having to go out and find themselves sustenance in the middle of recording. Though Dean was slowly getting sick of it.

He had a couple of messages in their brother group chat from Adam about Christmas. The poor kid was stuck playing the messenger because Kate couldn’t bother to call him or Sam herself. There was a meme from Bela, of all things, and a check in from Ellen. Nothing from you. He thumbed down to the band business chat to see if you had at least been active there, but there was nothing since the shot of Crowley’s flowers.

At first they had thrown Dean for a loop, or a mild case of envy. Because he thought they were from that stupid gym rat waiter that had been hitting on you when he was trying to get to know Bela. But once he realized what chat it was in, it all made sense. Even if the weight of the flowers’ significance was lost on most of the band. 

Huh. Dean thumbed to your one-on-one conversation and sent out a simple “Everything going okay?” It was weird he hadn’t heard from you, especially after you bowed out of his home cooked, post-adoption-event dinner. He squinted, realizing he hadn’t talked to you in over a week, since the morning of Bela’s charity gig.

Since he’d gone down on your best friend in the back of a limo.

Christ, way to be an entire dumbass.

The energy in the studio rallied, laughter and teasing rebounding after a slow start to their final day. Kevin had somehow got everyone to gang up on Sam, who now had a collection of post-it notes both insulting him and begging for violence slapped across his back. Dean took a pull off the bottle Lee had handed him and smirked as they watched Pamela saunter over to where Sam was checking his phone. 

She pinched Sam’s waist, which made him turn and back away from her, hands up in defense as she muttered some of her bullshit. Which left Sam’s back undefended.

“Oh, man, this is almost too easy,” Lee whispered.

“Tell me about it,” Dean agreed, chuckling as Kevin slipped another square of embarrassment onto Sam’s shoulder, butting into Sam and Pam’s conversation with a smoothness Dean had never expected out of the Juilliard graduate.

He handed the bottle back to Lee and pulled his guitar around and laid on a G chord, bringing everyone back to reality. “Alright, last song. Let’s fucking do it.”

The bass and drum parts were already locked in as far as Dean was concerned. Vocals finished yesterday. but hearing it all together made the music what it was. He wanted this one all at once, the final piece to the puzzle of this impossible album. Ash was at the controls, behind him was Bobby and Frank, who had shown up for the last leg of recording. Each nursing their own glass of stupidly expensive Scotch.

It was so close to done, Dean couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he stepped up to the mic that wasn’t even recording. And waited until Pamela counted them in. Every sensation zeroed into that moment, the strings beneath his finger tips, the weight of his guitar strap, the earpiece in his ear, the carpet beneath his boots and the pick in his right hand. He closed his eyes and felt it. 

And when he hit his entrance, he unleashed, nailing the take with his band at his side, crossing the finish line together.

“Charrrrlie!” Dean purred into the phone. “Your presence is requested at that one dive bar you like so much past Silver Lake. We wrapped today and you owe me a few rounds, your highness!”

Sam shoved Dean playfully and reached past the backseat for a bottle of water out of the cooler. Nerd. 

“Sam says hi. Oh! Pick up Trouble and bring her with you, will ya? She’s been radio silent all week. Anyways, this message is about to cut out. But I know where you live and I will—” Dean lost the race with the time limit. He pressed the button to accept the message, however truncated and hung up.

Sam wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “The other driver knows where to go?”

“Don’t worry, Tiny will get everybody there and back safe, won’t ya big guy?” Dean teased the unamused man that sometimes doubled as security for the label.

“We’re all set Mr. Winchester,” Tiny answered Sam with a glance in the rearview mirror.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of an unimpressive neighborhood bar ten blocks east of anything that had gentrified. Not a bouncer or a pap in sight, thank fuck. Dean plunked his half finished beer into a cup holder and held the door open for Sam to get out, still giggling at the few remaining scraps of paper that had made it back onto his shirt after he found them when he unhooked his bass.

They met Lee, Kevin, Pam and Bobby at the other provided black SUV before heading inside. The bar was dark for a sunny December workday afternoon in southern California, but the stale beer smell and the sight of well worn pool tables felt like home more than any vegan, new age-y, upstart lounge ever did. 

“Dibs on first game!” Dean called over his shoulder as he made his way to the bar to open a tab before Bobby could beat him to it. Wisely, Sam followed and plucked a menu out from a condiment tray, food was needed if they were gonna stay on their feet. Dean smiled at the bartender, a grizzled woman probably close to Annie’s age.

“Whatcha need sugar?” Her smokey greeting. 

Dean instantly thought of Ellen back home and he knew they made the right call coming all the way out here. He dragged out his credit card and slid it over.

“Open a tab, food and drinks on this card for any of those assholes by the pool tables, all night. Got it? The guy in the trucker cap is gonna try and outrank me, but don’t let him, capische?”

“You got it, handsome. What’s your poison?”

Dean cooed, “Oooo, careful, it’s still early. I’ll start with some wings if you got ‘em and a couple of baskets of fries, gotta ease into it. Then a round of shots of your choosin’ and a couple of pitchers of beer if you’d be so kind.”

“You got it. I’ll bring ‘em out when they’re ready. Anything for you big fella? Or is he sharing?” She asked Sam.

“I’ll have the club sandwich, but yeah, I think that’s it for now,” Sam smiled without teeth, but tucked a twenty into the tip cup to start off on the right foot.

“Sounds good boys, it’ll be right out.”

Madison and Annie showed up together sometime after six, but as much as Dean liked giving Sammy shit for having a legitimate girlfriend and everything, they weren’t who Dean was watching the door for. Annie grabbed him for a tight hug, ruffling his hair as she pulled back. 

“Feel good, don’t it?” 

Dean grinned, almost blushing, but knowing she got it, not just the rush of finishing an album, but doing it as he was trying to drag himself up a hill too. “Couldn’t have done it without you, you know.”

Annie smacked her lips and turned on an aloof air, “I know. I mean, of all the many washed up power ballad divas out there, you got pretty lucky.”

“Shut up. Nobody is gonna call you washed up, not if I have anything to say about it.” Dean gestured the bartender over, who he learned was named Dawn, wanting to get Annie and Madison onto the massive bill they were racking up.

The night continued with the band and their significant others drinking and playing pool or pinball if you were Kevin. Dean was feeling pretty loose when Pam stagger-stepped over to him and threw her arm over his shoulder. 

“This was a good call, miss those seedy dives we used to play in,” she said with a drunken kind of nostalgia in her voice.

“Hell, we wouldn’t exist without places like this,” Dean nodded in agreement, clinking his bottle of beer with the empty dangling shot glass in her hand.

She licked her lips. “Where’s your lady friend, hmmm? I wanna meet her already.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Tonight is just for the band. And, well, Madison. But last thing I need is to ruin poor Dawn’s night with a bunch of fucking piranhas in here chasing the right shot.”

“Still—- doubt she’d show if it meant living it up in the low places,” Pam snarked.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey now. Don’t go judging a book by it’s cover. Bela’s tougher than she looks.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Pam huffed and slapped him on the back just as he tried to take a sip. 

Dean glared.

Pam laughed. “Okay, boss, let me know when you’re ready for a rematch, I’m gonna go find the little girls’ room.”

“Don’t fall in!” Dean called after her, which earned him a middle finger and a nice view of her walking away in her low cut leather pants. 

Yeah, Dean was feeling the alcohol among other things. He decided he had waited long enough and checked his phone again when suddenly somebody punched him in the arm.

“What’s up bitches?!” Charlie shrieked.

Dean’s entire mood lifted and he let her pull him off his stool into a big brother little sister hug. “Glad you could make it, red.”

“And, look, she lives!” Charlie stepped back and presented Trouble to him like a game show prize.

Dean swallowed. He felt lost looking into your eyes, searching for any hint of hurt or anger. Luckily, you weren’t drunk yet, so you slipped easily into his arms and gave him a hug of your own. “Hey.”

“Congratulations,” you said against his chest.

Dean squeezed tighter. “Thanks,” knowing he meant it more than he could ever say.

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 Nine: Giocoso

[tragidean]

we really shouldn’t be doing this [17.1k] (ao3)

It doesn’t work.

Two hand jobs over a three-hour period and a newfound case of carpal tunnel later, and Castiel glares at Dean from across the kitchen table, like all of this is his fault. If anything, he deserves a medal for getting Castiel off as many times as he could on little to no sleep. Coffee doesn’t help; part of him wonders if a shot of adrenaline would, but the resulting crash would only send him right back where he started, leaving him with the only alternative—

Awkward breakfast conversations.

“I can’t believe you called her,” Dean mutters into his French toast. Castiel continues to stare at him, the furrowed lines in his brow threatening to become permanent. “Some things are private, Cas.”

“And it’s not working.” Castiel rubs his temples. The sleeves of his robe—a similar one, the fabric light blue instead of Dean’s gray—slides down his arms, revealing his wrists and the fingers Dean wants to feel on his tongue. “No matter how often we try, I’m still…” He lowers his voice. “I’m still aroused.”

Dean sighs and sets his fork down. “No, man, I… I get it. I mean, I don’t get it, but I…” Just stop talking. “I need coffee. You want coffee?”

“You have coffee.” Castiel grabs his wrist before he can make it to his feet. “Is this a chore to you?”

“What?” Dean fights to pull his hand away, but Castiel holds him still, his scowl growing even deeper. “Why would you think…”

“Dean,” Castiel says, and—of course he would think that. At the first sign of confrontation, Dean always attempts to deflect and avoid the conversation. This is no different—except now, it directly involves him, and he can’t escape. “You know I enjoy our talks.”

“Jesus Christ.” Kill me, kill me now. He hides behind his hands in the hopes that when he opens his eyes, that Castiel will be gone. No such luck. “Look, it’s… Do you think this is a mistake?”

Smooth, Winchester.

Castiel leans back in his chair, his hands sliding until they fall off the table and into his lap. Botox couldn't cure the creases in his forehead, now. “Are you doubting yourself?”

“No, I’m…” A breath. He runs his fingers through his hair. “We just got you back, man. I just got you back, and it’s… It’s been a hell of a few months, and now, we’ve just had sex three times in the last, what, four hours?” He laughs and shakes his head. “I don’t fuck on the first date, Cas. In fact, I haven’t fucked anyone at all in a while.”

Castiel’s glare eases as something dawns, something Dean doesn’t want to even think about. Life has a habit of slamming into him like a Mack truck, though. “You want this to mean something.”

“Yeah.” Dean bows his head. “Sex is… It’s always been an escape to me, a way to just… forget about the bullshit. For an hour or two, the hunts, Sam, my dad’s fucking voice in my head… none of it matters. But it’s never meant anything, y’know?” He scrubs his jaw. “I just got you back, and I… I don’t wanna lose you again, not because of some stupid curse.”

“Dean.” This time when Castiel says his name, it’s soft, imploring. He takes Dean’s hand, his palm still damp but his fingers so gentle, so kind. He presses Dean’s knuckles to his lips, and Dean’s heart threatens to burst. “Can I confide in you?”

Dean nods.

continue reading on ao3

[katymacsupernatural]

Christmas Detour

Dean Winchester x Reader

1200 words

Written for: @spnchristmasbingo

square filled: Road closure

Summary: Y/N tries to make her way home to Dean when a bad storm hits.

Warnings: Some angst, mention of car wreck

Note: I’m so excited to be back. This is my first time writing in almost a year!

The radio chattered in the background, incessant noise that was doing nothing to calm your anxiety. Tapping your fingers nervously on the steering wheel, you tried to concentrate on the road in front of you.

You should have listened to Dean. Stayed at the bunker with him instead of heading out to visit friends with the threat of a storm brewing. Instead you were driving down a strange road, trying to find someway to make it back tonight. 

Your phone screen lit up on the seat beside you, Dean’s picture flashing on the screen. You wanted to answer it, to let him know you were okay. But your hands were glued to the steering wheel, the slick roads taking all of your attention.

Humming Jingle Bells under your breath, you came around the corner to another flashing sign. Road closed, it read. Another closed road. Another dead end on your way back to Dean. Slowing to a stop, you reached over, picking up your phone. Four missed calls, six missed messages. All from Dean. Quickly dialing, you didn’t have to wait for him to answer.

“Where the hell are you?” He exclaimed into the phone. “I’ve been worried sick.”

“Stupid road closures,” you answered, turning your call to speakerphone so you could pull up a map. “The roads are horrible, and I’ve had to find a couple of detours already.”

“Dammit Y/N, I told you to stay home. That weather was coming.” He sighed, the anger slipping from his voice. “Where are you? Are you safe?”

“I’m safe. Trying to find another route home. I’m only twenty minutes out, but I’m not exactly sure what road I’m on.”

“Sam!” Dean yelled. “Get your ass in here. Don’t worry Baby. I’ve got the GPS pulled up on your phone. Sam and I will find you a way home.”

“The GPS on my phone? You’ve been tracking me?” You shouldn’t have been surprised. And you weren’t really upset. It was Dean, and Dean went to extreme lengths to keep those he loved safe. 

“Yeah let’s not have that argument right now,” Dean insisted over the phone before muttering something to Sam. “”Listen, just stay there. We’re gonna come get you.”

“Dean, you don’t have to do that,” you started to argue but he cut you off.

“Sweetheart, I know you’re an amazing driver. But please let me do this. I need to know you’re safe.”

“Okay. But please be safe.”

You waited patiently, wondering if you should just ignore Dean and  turn around when you saw some lights in the distance. “Hey Dean, someone’s coming. Maybe I can ask them if they know of a way around,” you started to suggest before Dean cut you off.

“Absolutely not!” He insisted. “You’re not talking to any stranger on a deserted highway. You know all the types of creeps out there!”

Sighing, you made sure your flashers were on when you glanced back in your rear view mirror. The lights were much closer, the car going extremely fast for this type of weather. “Dean, I think I need to pull off. This car’s going a little fast.”

“Your flashers on?” Dean asked, though he was still talking to Sam in the background.

“Dean…,” you started to say but he wasn’t listening. “Dean!”

“Yeah sweetheart?” His attention was fully on you. 

You started to turn your car, wanting to get out of this truck’s way because they hadn’t slown down any. “This truck’s going too fast. I’m going to turn around and pull off.”

“You’ll get stuck,” Dean started to warn, the rest of his words incoherent as you stared straight into the lights of the truck. He hadn’t slowed down at all. His eyes huge, he yanked the steering wheel, his truck starting to slide on the slick roads. 

“Dean!” You screamed, the phone slipping from your hands as you braced for contact. It all seemed to happen in slow motion. The jerk as the truck slid right into the side of your car, stopping your forward momentum and moving you sideways before flipping you on your side. Your window shattered, tiny pieces of glass slicing against your skin. The air bag broke open, smacking you in the face, smashing your head against the headrest before smacking against the side. The door crumpled, pinning your leg and you cried out in pain.

Dean’s voice was garbled in the distance, your phone rolling around in the abyss. Your car came to a screeching halt, your body pinned in the seat, your car turned sideways, the truck veered off to the side, it’s horn blaring loudly in the darkness. 

“Dean,” you croaked, your entire body aching. “Help,” you whispered as your eyes closed shut.

You came away with a start, your heart pounding. You immediately remembered the wreck, the terror of being stuck in your car in the middle of nowhere making your head pound as you took stock of your injuries. But there was none. No gash on your head from hitting the side of the car. No sore leg from being pinned against the door. Nothing. You felt great. Better than you had for a while. 

You were no longer in your car, but in the safe confines of your bed in the bunker. Dean was asleep in the chair beside you. As you started to sit up in bed, Dean’s eyes blinked open, landing on you as he smiled. “You’re awake!” He exclaimed, reaching over and grasping your hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Not like I was in a car crash,” you answered. “Where’s Cas?”

Dean slid from the chair into the bed beside you, letting you cuddle against his chest. “He’s gone. Came long enough to heal you, then headed back to whatever the hell he is doing.”

You closed your eyes, snuggling tighter into his embrace, grateful to be alive and back where you belonged. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“Sweetheart, you know I’d do anything for you. Just please, never scare me like that again,” he insisted, taking your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to glance at him. “I thought I had lost you. We showed up right after the crash, and the site of that....well it’s burned into my memory.”

“You know I’m not that easy to get rid of,” you answered just as Sam knocked and entered the room.

“Hey Y/N,” He smiled softly. “How are you doing?”

“Glad to be back. Thankful we have an Angelic friend.”

“Listen, I have the movie set up. Figured it’s Christmas Eve, and if you were up to it, we could continue our tradition.”

Dean squeezed your shoulder. “We don’t have to do that today,” he started to say, but you shook your head. 

“No, I want to. I can’t wait.”

Dean slid out of bed, and you started to follow suit when he reached over, picking you up easily in his arms. “Listen, I know Cas did his mojo shit with you. But please, let me take care of you how I know.”

You weren’t going to argue about this. Because there was no better place to be than in his arms. Instead, you let him carry you down the hallway, snuggling your head against his chest.

Dean/Jensen Tags:  @acortez82​ @acreativelydifferentlove​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​   @cap-just-said-language​ @colette2537​   @deansgirl215​  @flamencodiva​ @hamiltrash1411​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @justanotherwinchester​ @just-another-winchester​ @karouwinchester​ @keikoraventeller​  @librarygeekery​ @magssteenkamp​ @misspygmypie​ @mlovesstories​   @mrspeacem1nusone​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420  @screechingartisancashbailiff​   @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @squirrelnotsam​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @torn-and-frayed​ @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @woodworthti666​ @beabutterfly987​ @sexyvixen7​ @supernatural3002​ @deans-baby-momma @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @deandreamernp​ @spngif​

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[preseriesdean]

happy wincest wednesday<33!! do you have a headcanon for why they haven't spoken in 2 years according to the pilot or do you accept that as a continuity error and assume they haven't spoken in 4?

happy wincest thwednesday!! 💞 i do think it’s a continuity error (isn’t there also this thing where according to john’s journal, which isn’t really canon, sam actually left for stanford at 19, not 18? let’s disregard the journal though and say sam left for stanford in ‘01) but i’m running with it.

there are so many possibilities here: of course there’s the drunk 1am phone call somewhere in the middle. but WHAT IF they actually just ran into each other by chance - at least seemingly? not in palo alto, but on a trip sam took. he’ll walk down the street, maybe even in san francisco or somewhere far away, and see the impala parked right there and he’ll go, okay, this could be anyone’s car. theirs wasn’t one of a kind. except the plates match, so it’s definitely dean’s. sam’s friends will gush over the car and sam is sort of stuck, until he sees dean round the corner with a to-go coffee cup and bags under his eyes and his hair longer than sam has ever seen it and there’s this split second of both of them just staring before dean slaps on a grin and gets all smug about some other guy making heart-eyes at the impala. and it takes sam a little while longer to get his brain back online where he recognizes dean’s tough-guy act for exactly what it is but also doesn't know what to say at all

they’d go to a bar and try to catch up but neither of them is telling the whole truth about how they’re doing and they both know they’re lying but neither is willing to call the other one out on it, because they’re not allowed to do that anymore after so long, and maybe they play some darts and try to savor that little unexpected sense of normalcy, of being brothers without this baggage looming over them, and the elephant in the room takes away all the oxygen from around them and there’s this unspeakable tension that’s somehow part anger part longing part something-else until they part ways again because dean’s case is dealt with and sam has exams soon.

and sam is left wondering if it actually was a coincidence because of course mr. dean “i thought you’d tell me to get lost or get dead” winchester wouldn’t admit to following him, right? his face was startled enough when they saw each other, but sam hasn’t seen dean in two years and he’s horrified to realize that he might be out of practice when it comes to reading his brother’s expressions, something he’d always been stellar at, so that’s also a whole issue that breaks sam’s heart a little bit. and he should feel outraged at the possibility of dean following him instead of just calling him and asking how he’s doing but he can’t quite make himself actually feel that rage because it’s dean and there’s always been this part of him that secretly liked how dean loved him in that obsessive, entitled way, because it's what he knows best and it makes him feel safe. so he accepts it.

then it’s another two years of radio silence because dean saw that sam was happy with his friends and fitting in with them, and sam assumes that dean’s still angry at him for leaving, and they’re still young and stupid and trying not to act on how obsessed they both are with each other, so they go right back to not talking. 🙂

this, i think, also works with how dean appears in the pilot and throughout the first season: cocky at first but then earnest and honest, too, communicating more clearly what it is that he wants and needs, “i can’t do this alone / i don’t want to” (only five minutes in and he’s already letting himself be vulnerable. i love him so much) because that first time two years ago didn’t work out so well, did it? so this time he tries to do it right, because the stakes are higher and because he needs sam.

(obligatory fic rec: i’ll take my chance on a beautiful stranger by fleshflutter)

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 40

Roadkill/Age of Steel

“Roadkill”

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: one time I was driving down to Louisville and my gps told me a shortcut that took me through some backroads The Deer Hunter lookin place instead of the highway….I did feel like I was in an episode of spn. But I didn’t get distracted like these two, so I might be alright

How’s this guy gonna leave his wife? girlfriend? in their totaled car in the middle of the woods with not even a text or voicemail to tell her where he went on their ANNIVERSARY

I don’t think you should go into the spooky house in the woods unless you actually live there

Love that everyone is going to sound crazy to everyone else in this scenario…like, we’re joining Sam and Dean already in the middle of their investigation.

MAYBE DONT TAKE YOUR EYES OFF THE ROAD DEAN

Omg…I too would be backing away slowly if I saw the entire arsenal the Winchesters have in their trunk, but, man, I think I’d start running if they told me they were ghost hunting…lucky for them, Molly has had to plead to them to be believed

Dean’s bluntness and Sam’s empathy are a good combination actually

I don’t know that I’d let Molly walk behind me if I knew she was in the kind of danger she’s in…she’d be right at my side

We’re getting philosophical up in this bitch this afternoon

Oh they KNOW what happened to her husband???

God I hate jump scares…even when I know for sure they’re coming because they’re playing House of the Rising Sun

“You’re like a walking encyclopedia of weirdness.” What does that make you, Dean?? You’re one too

“thank god” “call me Dean” bestieee please (though to be honest, it’s the kind of stupid remark I’d also make in that kind of situation)

There are 10 minutes left, this can’t possibly be over….wait what??? How…how long was she there? Is…is SHE dead? Is MOLLY ALSO A GHOST?? Omg…how horrific to have to relive a night like that every year

I really do resent how good some of these episodes can be…

“Been On My Mind…”: the only characters they interact with are an already married woman and the ghost, so………no

"Age of Steel"

Did I even mention Ricky in the last episode?? Because...it's very funny to see that actor being something of a hardass after watching him be Mickey for a season and a half.

Love that Ricky just has the most parking tickets and that's got him on some most wanted list...truly love that for him

Is this the moment Mickey starts getting some self respect? well...alternate-self respect? becuase Ricky told him he wasn't so bad

Did the cybermen just kill Ricky??? RIP

These little punk rebels are adorable, and they care so much about each other (as they should and would). It's just sad that there are so few and one of them just died...

YES YES YES!!! YOU DID IT!! You gained self respect!!

Half expected that cyberman to turn its head as they passed....because that would of course happen.

And this, kids, is why you stick to wired headphones. Get rid of your air pods now, guys

Even though you see the people right before they turn into cybermen, they're already being controlled and are very robotic, it's easy to think of them as sci-fi fodder, but listening to the cyberman whose emotional inhibitor gets turned off or destroyed...talking about how she's getting married and is worried that her fiance might see her before the wedding...just destroyed me

And then having Mickey straight up looney tunes trick the cyberman to disable the transmitter. Brilliant

This dude has factories on all seven continents?? Why've you got them on Antarctica my dude??

"I'd call you a genius, except I'm in the room." love when he's like that.

Don't they call Ten something like "the one who regrets" in the 50th anniversary special? Is that why he's always telling all his enemies and everyone he fails to save "I'm so sorry." I swear they call him the one who regrets and Eleven the one who forgets...and I'm gonna go crazy til we get tho that point.

Characters who learn to operate vehicles from video games are underrated. Except Mickey's not so bad at flying this zeppelin where as Spinner shouldn't have been allowed on the road...

I'm so proud of Mickey...(wait, then how DOES he come back later?)

Okay but low key I want the adventures of Mickey and Jack liberating the world from the clutches of the cybermen. Just think it would be neat.

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

@what-if-i-just-did

oh,,, oh Dear,,, hm. well the thing is that since the "unified canon" combined SPNWIN, CW Gotham Knights, and The Boys, TO NAME THE BARE MINIMUM.... it is absolutely batshit unhinged and so unlike spn that for a while I just told ppl I was writing an original book.

that being said, I can try to give you a condensed and somewhat-understable version.

first off, Sam and Dean aren't dead. Well, ok, Sam is dead, kind of, at least his body is. The Rebar(tm) was VERY much some magic fuckery, and "heaven" was an illusion, however Chuck (who did win btw) had no direct involvement

thing is. well, a couple things. first off, turns out fistfighting God does revoke your Human Being Privileges, and being a monster means you're probably weak to cold iron, stakes, and cold iron stakes through the back. Dean Winchester got staked by a vampire bc. lmao. however as spn lore has been very clear abt, shoving a rebar stake through a Creature(tm) can paralyze instead of kill, if the person doing it knows what they're doing.

and hoooo boi does Blurrywife know what she's doing.

yeah 2nd thing. we never officially meet the head of the vamp-mimes nest, bc Blurrywife was the head of the vamp-mimes nest (no she is NOT Eileen, but i think wbk on that one). She was waiting in the field outside the barn til one Winchester was out of commission so she could pick off the other

and then she did exactly that.

bit of a loredrop here (feel free to skip if you've seen Lost Girl or Ancient Magus' Bride bc u know this creature) "Blurrywife" is a type of being called a Leanan-Sidhe. she's from Irish folklore (specifically celtic-renaissance victoriana), but breaking her down into spn terms, she's a Faerie Vampire who feeds on stories. She uses succubus-style tactics, usually preys on artists, and acts somewhat like a parasitic/evil muse. her victims age extremely rapidly, and after death their souls are trapped in her service, playing out her favorite stories on loop.

tldr Narrative-Eating Vampire, Because Supernatural.

welcome to the Fae arc! everything since this has been Faerie-Realms Hot Nonsense with the fairly canon-predictable reveal of the Campbell lineage being Faetouched and the worrying addition of Rome Being Rome.

shit's going down in Hell, again. Chuck re-instated Lucifer, to which the Princes of Hell said "fuck this noise" and are currently rebelling. Lucifer, always one for making good decisions, has gone off to court Rome's affections (read: beg for help), LARP as Fae nobility, cause problems on Earth and wear a really stupid cape. ...and beget another antichrist on the wife of a VERY powerful folkloric figure and sort of "anti-fae", an action which definitely wont have devastating consequences when FCKING *BALOR, GENERAL OF THE FOMOIRE* finds out that Luci fucked his wife.

speaking of irish mythic women, Blurrywife and her thralls dragged Sam and Dean's bodies off to the Faerie realm while their souls haunted That Bridge for a while, stuck in the Leanan Sidhe Timeloop unless any of the new BBEGs needed them for something

Cas DID leave a ring full of his grace for Dean, which Dean had on him in 15x20. This ring allows Dean to time-travel, and regrettably the BBEGs know this. as the BBEGs are also using the Stake through Dean's heart to control him, this is very bad for everyone. Dean has now sliced/bit/firebreath'ed bloody swaths through humans & nonhumans alike across several decades, mutilated at least one god, and was at least semi-conscious for all of it. fuck!

Dean eventually Dean-ed his way out of any and all forms of control and was taken to rest/heal w Jack (who is now Jack O' The Lantern, Lord of Halloween- that was always his destiny and sneaking/breaking into Heaven was the last trial. he has his own domain/pocket afterlife. its very Jackcore in there) before SOMEHOW deciding that the 1970s were a good idea. They weren't, Dean changed exactly 0 timelines/futures but Jack did get captured when he followed Dean out, as did Bobby (who was also staying w Jack) and The Impala (who is a Fae, btw, always has been. she considers herself an older sister/cool aunt to Sam & Dean but lbr she raised them). God damn it Dean....

meanwhile on Cas' side of things: "The Empty" is literally just another name for tartarus, and Cas is not having a good time in the greco-roman underworld, in fact he's currently possessed by a roman god. Janus is awful, like if Casifer were a politician, war deity and also a fuckboi. icky. gross. none of Cas' Very Bad Time was made any better when, shortly pre-Janus, Dean's attempt to escape the aftermath of SPNWIN led to his body splattering against the marble floor of the greek underworld from a height of several thousand feet. Cas did in fact have to see this, and likely reclaimed his ring/at least his grace from Dean's body. there have been no more time shenanigans since then, at least.

Nobody wanted Blurrywife to ally with Rome but here we are. Apparently she's also kinda the goddess Victoria now?? i mean that association has precedent in folklore but, fuck.

where's Mars in all this? she ate Mars. I assume whatever is left is trapped somewhere. who cares he's a dick anyway.

in good news, Dean Jr, Sam's half-faerie son that he 100% does NOT realize wasn't just a dream, has followed in the Winchester tradition of Mommy Issues and Not Going Along With The Purpose You Were Created For, stabbing his mother through with her own blade after finding out that she 1) eats people, 2) made him from the life-force of a guy she ate, 3) made him as a weapon. Didn't kill her, but A for effort, DJ! No idea where he ran off to after that.

Dean ended up back in the Faerie realms and fell in w a Fae war goddess called Cathe (Celtiberian variant of Gaelic war goddess Nemain), who he apparently had a fling with pre-stanford era, thinking she was human???? Dean??? wtf???? (she's REALLY hot tho so i can't blame him-)

Sam's soul breaks containment and runs wild around the Fae realms for a bit before Cathe picks him up too, Adam is there and then dies and then is there and then dies, he's in Hell again (that poor fucking guy). various Princes of Hell show up and start shit, Azazel is back and may or may not be wearing John.

...yay.....

The Fomoire (also from celtic mythology) and Vuagh (scottish) are a thing, tldr two kinds of water demons, both hate each other and both suck, the Vuagh like to follow Lucifer around and kiss up to him, the Fomoire are w the Princes, that's basically all u need to know

s17 ends with a huge battle at Samhain that goes to absolute shit

the portals between the Faerie and Human realms are permanently wedged open, Cathe is in charge of the surviving Fae and immediately allies with both Lucifer and Rome (FUCK!!!!), Dean got exploded but is prolly just back in Hell, Sam and Jack are w Cathe, and Jack is (hopefully possessed and) doing Antichrist Things (oh yeah the Second Coming is happening, she seems rly nice tho), Cas is still possessed by a god, Bobby is being controlled by the FCKING Leanan-Sidhe, Baby is hiding if she's at all smart, and everything has generally gone to shit

here's higher hopes for s18???? it cant get any worse??? can it????

WHERE TF ARE EILEEN AND CHARLIE THEY SEEM BEST SUITED TO HANDLE THIS MESS

(there's a bunch of other episode-of-the-week type shit going on too, 2nd-generation special kids, Megstiel lovechild from like a decade ago, more Roman God Nonsense, etc, but this is the core plot. hope this made some sense. there's way too many shows shoved in here)

summarized season guide for anyone still here somehow:

s16: The BBEGs use Dean and Time Travel for deeply horrific purposes. General intro to Faerie stuff & some new characters, hints of the problems in Hell. ends w Dean breaking containment and going to live w Jack

s17: 1970s -> KNOCK KNOCK ITS ROME -> catch up w Cas & some new characters (+ a proper introduction to DJ!) -> Janus -> Sam breaks out/oh hey is that the Second Coming? -> ends w the Battle at Samhain

s18: just started!

tldr tldr: Chuck Won, Jack is a minor god, Sam and Dean were taken by The Fae. The Empty is Tartarus. due to those last two facts, and also bc Jensen somehow discovered this obscure-ass mythos for spnwin, shit's all Celtiberian (celtic + roman) now, and everything has spiraled rapidly out of control since.

“Supernatural season 16 keeps going!” My brother in Christ we are balls deep in at least season 18 by now

[dadstielkline]

autistic castiel

first of all everyone sees castiel as weird. not just dean but other angels as well. they always say something about cas being abnormal, having a crack in his chassis, he's not like the others.

ive been told that i stare too much and that I don't make enough eye contact. castiel is no different. he always seems very confused by what the proper amount of eye contact during conversation is because it's a stupid fucking made up rule, if you're talking to me I'll listen whether i look at you or not he has a special interest in humanity. he finds humans very fascinating. better than his own angel brothers and sisters sometimes and feels an urge to protect them. he's also very fond of bees and beekeeping. it was something he found very fascinating and he kept wanting to share it with everyone he came across even though nobody really cared to listen to him except meg. his trenchcoat is clearly a comfort item. he wears it all the time and the only time he ever took it off was to wash it clean. and when his coat was missing, he immediately got a new trenchcoat for himself. his comfort food is peanut butter and jelly. it was something he first ate as a human and he was clearly very upset he couldn't taste it anymore. he doesn't understand figures of speech or slang. the most common example was when sam mentioned they'd need a guinea pig and castiel legitimately thought  sam had a guinea. you see him misuse and misunderstand phrases a lot. especially the phrases dean uses because for an autistic person dean really doesn't make sense half the time unless you know what he is talking about. i think this would be true for a neurotypical person too however because dean often likes using obscure references as well. he fears rejection from the winchesters and doesn't know how to read the signs that they love him and want him to stay. which is one of the (many) reasons why they should have outright told him that he was important to their family and loved instead of letting him think he was a useful tool or a burden to have around. he will sometimes imitate things that he has seen other people do. like when he is interrogating a woman for the death of her husband, he imitates what he has seen cops on TV do. jack also does this a lot and perhaps someday ill talk about why I think they're autistic too and why they and cas are the best autistic father/child duo to ever exist. he has no concept of personal space. even after dean explains it to him he still crowds into dean's space. i suspect this is because dean is a comfort person. he feels safe near dean. he does this most often with dean of course but he does it at various times with others like sam or jack. these are people he loves and feels the most comfortable around so it makes sense that he wants to be close to them. he doesn't understand when people are flirting. multiple times. he didn't understand that the waitress was hitting on him. he thought it was normal for dean to ask him to unbutton his shirt. he didn't know mick was flirting with him when he gave him his number and i'm going to refrain from talking about how if he had known mick was flirting, they would have had the healthiest and gayest relationship on the show. we were so robbed. i see myself in castiel which makes him canon autistic and if that's not a good enough reason, misha collins himself even calls autistic castiel canon too.

[etherealxen]

Suptober22 / Endversetober Day 18 - “Not Quite a Technicolour Dreamcoat”

Two fics in ONE day? What is this madness? Although, neither of them are today’s fic since today is the 19th. But it’s still fine because I am making *progress*. This one Is a mix of three separate prompts that just screamed to go together. @winchester-reload ‘s #Suptober22 Prompt of “Tattoos” as well as @klayr-de-gall ‘s #Endversetober Prompt of “Supplies”  and a Promptober Prompt of “Ink.” 

I just...how could I not have Endverse Dean come into a large supply of ink and set up a makeshift tattoo parlour for the day and do a fun little slice of life fic? Well...what might at least count as cute slice of life in the Endverse anyway...

Title: Not Quite a Technicolour Dreamcoat”

Word Count: 6323

Rating: Mature (There is no sexual content in this fic, but they do spend the day drinking and smoking)

Pairing: Mild destiel

Summary: It's not often Dean finds ink on a supply run but this time he has and he's found more than enough to tattoo the camp with the protection they need and then get to work on a little private artwork on his favourite angelic canvass.

--

It was barely after breakfast when the truck that had headed out before dawn came rumbling back into Camp Chitaqua. Dean was standing in the tray surrounded by boxes with a wide grin on his face. It was unusual enough that they were already coming back from a supply run, usually they were gone all day, but for Dean to not be the one behind the wheel was even stranger still. Castiel’s eyes narrowed suspiciously from where he watched outside the main hall; he’d been helping to build a new noticeboard after their last one broke as the innocent victim in the crossfire of a drunken brawl.

The truck came to a stop nearby and drew the attention of the campers, confused by the early return. Dean pulled out an object from one of the boxes, his grin still firmly in place and held it up before shouting out for everyone to hear, “We’ve got ink! And lots of it! Shop’ll be open in thirty! Anyone without an anti-possession tatt at the front of the line, personal protection after! You’ve got half an hour to decide on placement, people!”

Dean jumped down from the tray as people began unloading and carrying the boxes to where he usually set up shop on the rare occasions they found ink to do tattooing. Cas handed his hammer to one of the other campers working on the sign and made to follow.

“Hey! Cas, what are you doing?” She held her arms wide, confusion on her face, “you can’t just bail!”

“I’m needed.” Was all he said before shoving his hands in his jean pockets and following after Dean casually. He knew the other campers found it odd; their leader never really called for him like he did other people. Instead, Cas would just show up when he was required or Dean would fetch him personally. In the early days of camp some people had made jokes about Castiel ‘following Dean around like a lost puppy’ or similar, until they started to notice that when Cas would enter the room and there’d be a map on the table for strategy planning he would look at it, exchange a meaningful look with Dean and Dean would nod say “yeah you’re right, it’s a stupid idea” and then look to him for confirmation that his next ideas were less stupid.

The more recent rumours were more simple, that the two of them were just ‘psychically linked’ or something. Still inaccurate, but with a degree of truth. Cas had always been relieved that the bond forged between them when he lifted Dean out of hell hadn’t been severed when his powers waned.

He caught up to Dean in the open area next to his cabin, set apart from the rest of the camp but with a line of sight to the main buildings and Castiel’s cabin. Dean always liked to be able to see his main points of interest. The man was fiddling with their tattooing equipment. They’d tinkered with a generator to make and store power through solar energy. During the day it would run off the sun, but make a bit more than it needed, and store the extra in a battery that would let it run well into the night.

Without a word Castiel began to work around him, setting up the bar stool that Dean liked to sit on while tattooing, the creaky wooden chair with the high back for his ‘clients’ to sit on. He also pulled from Dean’s cabin a small table and another chair for himself. He retrieved some notebooks and pens as well as some of their old journals filled with symbols and wards that they kept in Dean’s cabin for this purpose.

Boxes of ink were continuing to appear as campers unloaded them and Dean sat down on his stool to clean and sterilise his tattoo needles as Cas took his seat beside him, lounging with his feet on the small table beside the journals and pulled out his cigarettes to light up.

“I still find it hilarious,” Dean smiled at Cas, his grin reminiscent of those days so long ago when their worries were fewer and their joys more plentiful, “That of all the habits you’ve taken up since going native, you chose smoking of all things.”

Cas took a long drag of his cigarette, ignoring the people that were starting to approach, and blew smoke teasingly in Dean’s face with a smile, “it’s the end of the world, not like I have to worry about cancer.”

Somehow Dean’s smile only increased, his gaze softening at the former angel, “you do if I save you.”

...Continue Reading on Ao3! 

[wearywinchester]

With You

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When the sleeping arrangements appear to be less than ideal, something more comes out of it.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mentions of injury, blood, fluff

A huff.

That’s one of the first things you had done when you had initially found out about your sleeping arrangements earlier that morning, delivered to you by a smiling Sam who’d tried to soften the blow with his famous puppy eyes. Those very eyes only half worked on you this time, and maybe it would’ve gone into full effect had you not looked at his brother who’d been standing at your other side with a knowing grin on his lips.

You must have asked Sam nearly a dozen times if he’d been sure that was the very last room and each time you were met with the same answer, each time you were met with the same grin that was returned with a narrowed stare. You were tempted to sleep in the car, even on the concrete of the parking lot so long as you didn’t have to share a bed with the older Winchester. But none of those options seemed to check out.

A huff is what you’d done upon entering the motel room later that evening, the lone bed awaiting you as if to taunt you and your very fate.

The hunt hadn’t gone exactly as planned, having gone south just enough to have Dean thrown through a wall by a more than hungry vampire. It wasn’t anything a few bandages couldn’t fix, a job he’d asked you to do.

Now here you were, standing between Dean’s thighs as he sat at the edge of said bed, leaning back against his palms until you’d told him not to with a huff.

“I’m quite sure you could’ve done this yourself you know,” you mumble, grabbing ahold of his chin when he shied away from you at the sting of the antiseptic on his face. “Actually I’m positive.”

“You do it better,” he said, a smile forming on his bloodied lips.

“That was stupid what you did back there,” you say, doing your best to distract yourself from thinking of just how close you were to him in that very moment. Though trying your hardest didn’t seem to be the solution you were looking to have. “Really stupid.”

“Oh, you mean saving you? I had it covered.”

“I had it covered. I’m not the one who got thrown through a wall now am I?”

He scrunched his nose and mocked your words, an action he came to regret as he winced while he brought his fingers up to his split lip and now it was your turn to smile. He knew full well you were right but he’d never admit it, not in a million years. That was something he’d keep to himself. Truth was, he felt it was a little too close of a call back there, more dangerous than he’d liked and he couldn’t help the instincts he’d had to step in. If he’d gotten bumps and bruises along the way then so be it. That was far more worth it to him than the damage being done to you instead.

But that was also something he’d leave to himself for the time being.

“Could you be a little more gentle, Bruce Banner?” He teases, bumping you with his knee. “Feels like you’re doing more damage than fangs did back there.”

You purse your lips at his words, landing a soft punch to his shoulder that wiped the last traces of his smile from his face in favor of an equally unamused expression.

“What? You said I’m the hulk.” You shrug nonchalantly, flashing him a smile. “Just living up to the name.”

You notice the way the corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly as he looked away, any traces of faux annoyance leaving his face and you made a concerted effort to be gentler this time, just a little. You also noticed the way he’d relaxed some, save for a few nose scrunches each and every time you’d cleaned the scrape on his face.

“Might hurt a little less if you held still,” you suggested after a while later when he’d groaned, the bite behind your tone something he noticed immediately.

“Ease up with the attitude, will you, sweetheart?”

The corner of his mouth quirked upward again, more so when you roll your eyes at the nickname. The one that made your heart flutter and your cheeks grow warm whenever it rolled off his tongue in your direction. The one that fell from his lips with a sarcastic edge that never failed to weave around the single word most times, but not always. Yeah, that one.

“Be quiet, will you, sweetheart?”

You breathe out a huff through your nose, lips turned downward and the slightest of frowns as your brows knit together. The remnants of his smile still remain at your counter as his eyes fall closed once more, lashes curling softly over the very tops of his freckled cheeks. The silence that fell over the small room should’ve been a good thing, should’ve been beneficial for your ability to focus on the task at hand but your attention has since been pulled elsewhere. It’d been long gone the moment the two of you stepped into that room.

It felt as though the walls were closing in on you inch by inch, as if the air conditioned room was just as hot as the summer air outside. You wanted to make excuses for yourself, to think of something logical enough to pass it off as anything other than what it was. Perhaps it’d been a little stuffy in that room, it certainly was hot enough to be. Maybe you were still running on adrenaline from the hunt you’d come back from not more than half an hour ago. Or maybe it was the way you stood inches from the older Winchester as you tended to his wounds while he sat with that same smirk he’d been wearing for the last five minutes. The way he nudged you with his knee each time stung the scrape along his jaw.

That. It was definitely that.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head away from you with a scrunched nose as his hand circles around your wrist. “I’m convinced you’re doin’ this on purpose. Because you hate me after all.”

His brow was raised and you could’ve sworn you’d seen a brief moment of sincerity cross his face, something just as quickly hidden by the grin tugging lightly at his lips. Your eyes roll then, head shaking as a laugh falls past your lips and his hand falls from your wrist slowly.

“I don’t hate you,” you sigh, quiet enough to cushion the embarrassment of your words but loud enough for him to hear.

“So you like me?”

Yes, maybe you do.

Your gaze shifts from your hands back to his eyes, your stare narrowed as you bite the inside of your cheek. “I don’t think that’s what I said.”

He laughs softly, dimple forming at the corner of his mouth as he gives a nod, then a hum as if he’d been mulling over the meaning of your four word statement spoken just moments before. As if he didn’t believe a single one of those words to be true, as though he had seen right through you. If he did, he didn’t say anything, eyes sparkling at you.

You hoped he hadn’t seen how your hands shook as you worked, continuing to blot the peroxide soaked cotton ball over the scrape lining his jaw. He didn’t particularly like the sensation, the action stinging sharply with each press of it along the fresh wound. You tried your hardest to ignore the way he’d gathered a fistful of the comforter within his hand, or the way his very jaw tensed under your palm. You tried not to notice the way he’d scooted closer to the edge of the bed, closer to you.

You swallowed, biting your cheek as you grabbed a fresh cotton pad and wet it with more antiseptic. Now it was the part you’d been saving for last, the part you’d put off as long as you possibly could in hopes that maybe it’d magically heal itself. Maybe it’d disappear if you’d waited just a few seconds longer. But fate didn’t humor you this time, the cut along the curve of his bottom lip still very much there and waiting to be tended to as hues of scarlet sat smudged around it, pooling slightly at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not a big deal. Nothing worthy enough to make your stomach twist in knots, nothing to add to the shake in your hands or the quickened pace of your heart. It was just Dean Winchester, the man you swore got on your last nerve and not at all was the source of your butterflies over time.

Definitely not a big deal.

“Would it kill you to hold still?” You ask, huffing once more.

“No, but you’re cute when you’re angry,” he says, brow raised in amusement.

You settled your hand on his jaw, thumb resting just under his lip to keep him stilled in place though it was becoming all the more difficult to hold your focus now that you’d done so. He was grinning at you again, soft as it lingered on his lips, careful to not tug at the split adorning it or the pale crimson smeared lightly over the edge that you were quick to wipe away before your heart beat out of your chest. You swiped your thumb over his bottom lip as you did so, your breath hitching softly.

“Something wrong?” He asked, the ever familiar tease to his words not lost on you.

“What makes you say that?”

When you look up, you meet his gaze and you’re starting to wonder just how long it’d been that he’d been looking at you like that. In such a way that you bit the inside of your cheek to try your hardest to keep the traces of a smile beginning to develop from becoming obvious. What had also been obvious was the fact that your hand was still on his cheek, his stubble scratching lightly against your palm and you could feel each and every time it’d clenched, or the way his voice rumbled just so under your fingertips.

You pretended you couldn’t see the details in his eyes—every shade of green and every fleck of yellow that swirled within them all framed by lashes that curled away from them. You pretended you couldn’t see the smattering of freckles that peppered across the bridge of his nose, more sparse as they danced across the very tops of his cheeks, ones you hadn’t ever noticed until you were just mere inches from his face. Said freckles dotted along his skin, meshing with the pink of his lips that you’d just been tending to before you got caught up with seemingly more pressing matters.

It was becoming increasingly more apparent just how close you’d been to the green eyed hunter when you felt the warmth of his breath fan over your skin, over the pad of your thumb. It was near dizzying when it swept over you, his once teasing smirk falling in favor of a much softer smile. Of course you’d see that, you were staring.

You were staring.

“Y/n?”

You swallowed thickly, clearing your throat in hopes to dissolve some of the tension that was more than apparent in the room. It didn’t work. You dropped your hand from his face in favor of scratching the back of your neck, though the action hadn’t looked as calm as you wanted, all but jerking your hand away as if touching him for a moment longer would sear your skin.

It was then that you turned away from him, your attention fixed on fumbling with the first aid kit that lay sifted through next to him on the bed. Your cheeks burned under his gaze, at the moment you’d just shared that felt as though it’d lasted far longer than it was. The time was indiscernible, but the way your heart hammered in your chest and the way your hands trembled slightly as you haphazardly stuffed cotton pads and unused alcohol wipes was very easy to notice in your eyes.

“Y/n.”

You were so caught up in passing off the last chunk of time as anything other than what it was, as if it didn’t happen, that you hadn’t answered him the first time. It wasn’t until his hand caught your wrist that you looked at him once more.

“You’re good to go, Winchester,” you say, finding your way back to your usual banter in hopes to stave off the remaining tension though you knew it was no use. “Don’t go looking for any more vamps. I’m afraid you just might cry if I have to give you stitches.”

He laughed behind you as you made your way to the bathroom, your smile widening at the sudden sound of his protests upon realizing just what it is you had said.

You closed the door behind you, back pressed to the wood as you let out the breath you’d been holding and you tipped your head back. It was only then that your heart rate returned to nearly normal, eyes falling closed for a brief few moments. You hadn’t entirely been sure what it was that just happened, if anything at all. Though it was more than apparent that maybe you didn’t have it out for him as much as you let on, you knew that to be true as much as you didn’t want it to be.

You took the couple of steps to the sink and ran your hands under the faucet, cooling the heat in your cheeks as you splashed handfuls of water over your skin. You brushed your teeth once—even twice for good measure, doing something, anything to borrow as much time as you could before you had to go back out there. The way you felt jittery, the butterflies in your stomach each and every time his hand brushed over yours or the moment he met your gaze even if it’d only been for a mere second. The way your heart hadn’t quite stopped its racing no matter how much time had gone by. It made you feel as though you were a teenager again with some silly crush.

Now you were sharing a bed with green eyes and you feared this just might be the way you go. Not by a freak accident or a great big ugly monster, but by sharing a bed with Dean Winchester.

With another deep breath and countless minutes later you swung open the door, Dean already having been settled in bed. His boots sat neatly on the floor by his side, jeans strewn next to them. He flashed you a grin, brow quirking upwards.

“Here I thought you ran off on me.”

You roll your eyes at the assumption though you were strongly considering it, more so when you’d noticed the bed was borderline too small for two. But you pushed that down and pulled back the covers, settling close to the edge of your side with your back to him and the blankets up over your shoulders.

He took note of the way you lay huddled on the very edge of the bed, nearly falling to the floor should he move around the slightest bit. Your back was to him but you could still feel his eyes on you, your gaze fixed on the tacky framed painting hanging crooked on the wall.

“Y/n/n, I don’t bite,” he sighs, voice soft and words sincere.

“Yeah right, Winchester,” you mumble, a smile pulling at your lips.

You hear him huff, feel the bed move a little bit in what you assumed was him rolling over for the night. You were ready to dig your heels in and sleep on the edge of the bed out spite even if it was uncomfortable. Even if you did want to tuck in a little closer because you hadn’t hated him as much as you had let on. But you don’t think you’d ever tell green eyes that, not in a million years. He’d never let you live it down and you feel you know that for sure.

“Maybe it’s you that bites,” he suggests, humor in his tone and a grin behind his words.

You snort, head shaking softly.

“Maybe it is.”

You can hear his quiet laugh behind you, the room falling silent once more save for the tick of the clock in the nightstand and the howl of the wind just on the other side of the wall. You’d since move away from the mattress’s edge just merely an inch, unnoticeable by most but more than apparent for you.

It’s quiet when you think about what’s running through his mind, if he’s thinking about what had happened not long before what’s happening now just as much as you had been. If he’d given it second thought at all. You’d been curious as to whether or not he’d gotten just as flustered. Not that it mattered. Not that it didn’t. You were quite sure you were the only one dwelling on the subject. For all you knew, the newfound silence could have been telling that Dean had already fallen asleep and you were perfectly content with pretending the last hour had never happened. More than content, in fact.

That was the plan until the silence was broken.

“Hey, you uh…” he starts, tone much more serious than it had been not long before. “You don’t have to share a bed with me if you don’t want to. I can take the floor.”

His offer was sincere, in fact, that’s the most serious he’d been since you nearly had a close call on the hunt earlier that day. Obviously, he’d followed it with a witty counter and pursed lips, something about learning to not be so reckless falling from his lips. Regardless, he’d meant what he’d just said.

You roll your eyes as you finally move to roll over.

“Dean, don’t be ridiculous—”

Your breath hitched once more when you nearly brushed noses with him, not really just how small the bed was and just how close he’d be. Soon you find yourself in the same situation as you had been once already that day, cheeks burning and heart racing. The same heart fluttering, time stopping situation that made it feel like something even as simple as breathing at a steady rate seems like the most difficult task to achieve to date.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

The corner up his mouth quirked up, an indicator that was forever telling that he’d been up to something.

“I’m serious, I’m sure it’s not easy to share a bed with Dean Winchester,” he says, a laugh leaving his lips when you swat at his shoulder.

“I don’t think you realize how much of a pain you are,” you grumble, brows knit together in a display of discontent though the way you bite your lip to hide your amusement says otherwise.

What he said, it was obvious, you knew the first time he said it it’d been sincere. He didn’t need to tell you it was for you to believe it. You knew him well enough to know the difference between him poking fun to get on your last nerve and when he’s truthful, you’re just lucky enough to get both.

“Oh but I think I do.” You huff out a sigh, lips pursed as you look up at him and he lets out a breath of his own as he looks at you. “Seriously, I mean it. I can get comfortable on the floor if you want me to.”

You look up at him, laughing softly in a way he knew wasn’t teasing this time. “It’s fine, Dean, really.”

“Oh, so you do like me?”

“Who said that?”

He huffs out a laugh, propping himself up on his elbow as his jaw rests on his palm. He pretends to ponder the question as though it required much thought. “Well, you’re lookin’ at me like that again. Like you did a little bit ago when you were patching me up.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you say, shoving his shoulder again. His reasoning was soft and not entirely teasing, not mocking either and you knew for a fact you’ve got to get better at hiding your emotions. You can’t fight your smile this time, one that was very telling to him that you’d been up to no good. Couldn’t be.

“What?” He asked, face displaying amused curiosity.

“Nothing,” you shrug, “I’m thinking maybe you just want to be close to me,” you say, matter of factly as you look up at him, trying your hardest to take the heat off of you.

“Oh really?” He asks, amusement on his tongue as you nod. “Your cheeks just might be hotter than the sun right now, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes and push his hand away, though you stay right where you are. Even though you promised you hated him, you knew you didn’t. You knew it was far more than that, and you knew you missed the feeling of his hand on your cheek. He knew it too. You hated that your very emotions were so easily pinpointed by him, you were convinced your every thought was too for that matter. You were starting to wonder if you’d been that transparent or if he’d just known you better than you knew yourself.

“Maybe I’ll just sleep in the car with Sam,” you say, though you made no effort to move his hand from your cheek.

He simply hums, nodding his head as his eyes squinted in disbelief that you’d actually consider subjecting yourself to Sam’s snoring in such close quarters. He knew you wouldn’t do that either.

You were doomed.

Never mind the fact that you had now been sharing the same pillow, never mind the fact that you were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath fan over your lips, more so with every word he spoke. You were far too distracted by the smile pulling at the corners of his mouth in a way you knew meant he surely knew you were full of it. By the way his hand settles lightly over your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin in a soft motion.

Your heart bounded as you looked at him, as your cheeks continued to burn under his fingertips. It was then that you did it.

You leaned forward, the inches between you becoming centimeters, centimeters falling to nothing as your lips brushed over his own. You felt him smile, the softness of his laughter sounding against your lips as his hand remained on your cheek and the tips of his fingers tangled in your hair. It wasn’t more than soft touches of the others lips, the second kiss longer than the first, and the third sweeter than the last. And even though you’d parted, neither of you strayed far as your smiles lingered in the close proximity.

He laughs again, fingers brushing over the top of your cheek, thumb smoothing over your skin. It’s that all familiar mix of humor and something a little bit more.

“And here you said you didn’t like me,” he says, the tip of his nose bumping yours.

“And I just might change my mind.”

With that he grabbed your hand, pulling you in closer before he rolled to lay on his back. You settled down on his chest, head over his heart as your smile lingered—you hadn’t seen the one to match yours as his eyes fell closed, but it’d been there.

“So does this mean—”

“Night Dean.”

He pauses for a minute, smiling to himself as he answers his own question.

“Night sweetheart.”

Maybe sharing a bed with green eyes wasn’t so bad after all, but you won’t admit that. At least not to Sam.

—

Tags: @gxtitobxby @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @campingmonkey

[rowyn-writes]

A Mother's Love (Dean x Wife!Reader)

Warnings: Language, fluff, major angst, implications of divorce, arguing, Dean being mean to Jack

Pairings: Dean x Wife!Reader

Characters: Dean, Jack, Sam, Reader, Cas (mentioned only)

Word count: 2.7k

You threw your bag down as you entered the bunker, exhausted from your last hunt. This was one of the rare cases where you worked alone.

Sometimes you needed the time to yourself, away from all the men. Sometimes you would go hunting with Jody and Claire, but even then, those two argued like cats and dogs.

"Y/N," Jack smiled as you entered the kitchen. "How was the hunt?"

"It was pretty good, actually." You grinned as you sat across from him. "I was chasing down this werewolf in Tennessee, and it was really strange. He'd kill one person, turn the next, and repeat that cycle."

"That's. . . Weird." He furrowed his eyebrows.

"That's what I said. Well," You continued on with the story of your hunt, watching as Jack's eyes widened in amazement and awe.

"Y/N?" Dean called your name, entering the kitchen. "Hey, sweetheart. I didn't know you were home?"

You stood up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Sorry, babe. I got sidetracked. I was just telling Jack about my trip." You smiled, looking over at the boy. You were concerned, as the smile fell from his face and he looked away from you and Dean. "You okay, kid?"

"Yeah," He nodded, not meeting your eye. "I'll give you two some space." He mumbled as he walked out of the kitchen.

"Does he seem off to you?" You asked Dean.

"Nah, he acts like he usually does. Squirrelly and weird."

"Says the squirrel himself." You rolled your eyes. "Did something happen while I was gone?"

Dean said nothing as he looked down, an obvious indicator that he was guilty of something. "Dean," You growled lowly. "Did you say something to Jack? Something that would upset him somehow?"

When Dean didn't give you an answer, you shook your head as you follow Jack to his room.

"Jack." You called out. He seemed to be lost in thought, as he didn't react to your words. "Jack!" You said louder, causing him to turn around. There was a tiny amount of fear in his eyes. If you didn't know him, it wouldn't have affected you.

"What's wrong?" You asked softly, resting your hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing." He spoke. "Why would anything be wrong?"

"Jack, I saw how you reacted when Dean came in. You looked like a kicked puppy. Don't tell me it's nothing, kiddo."

In the time you had known Jack, you had grown to care for him deeply. You had always wanted kids, but in this life, it wasn't possible. Well, it was, but you knew you didn't want your children to do what you do. So when Jack was born, you felt extremely happy because it felt like you finally had a child. Albeit, he did look twenty.

"Dean doesn't like me very much." He admitted.

"I'm sure that's not true. . ." You argued weakly. In all honesty, you didn't think Dean liked Jack either. It's not like he was abusive, but he did treat him differently than everyone else.

"But it is, Y/N."

"How do you know, Jack? With Dean, it takes him time to warm up to people. It took him months to actually trust me. He's a cautious person."

"Did he threaten you too?" Jack asked, genuinely curious. His head was tilted to the side, his honey blonde hair falling into his eyes. He had gotten that head tilt from Cas.

"Dean. . . Threatened you?" You whispered hoarsely.

"Yes," He nodded. "He told me if I hurt you or Sam, or anyone, that he would be the one to hunt me down and kill me."

Your mouth popped open in horror. You could never imagine your sweet, loveable, goofy Dean threatening Jack. "What else did he say, Jack? Did he say anything prior to this?"

"He said that he doesn't think that I can be saved. He said that even though you and Sam think that I can, that he doesn't."

"Jack, you don't need to be saved. There is no saving to do. You are a good kid. You would never do anything to intentionally hurt anyone. I'm so sorry. I should have been there." You sigh.

"He's not wrong, Y/N. I can't be saved. What if I turn out like my father, my real father."

You frowned as you cupped his face in your hands. "Jack, you are nothing, and I mean nothing, like Lucifer. You are just like your mother. You are sweet, caring, and you are empathetic. Just like Kelly."

"You really believe that?" He whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

"No, I don't believe it, Jack. I know it. You are nothing like Lucifer. If anything, you are much more like Castiel."

"Really?" He smiled.

"Yeah," You nodded. "You see, I don't know if you know this, but Cas does this little thing where he tilts his head to the side if he doesn't understand something or if he's perplexed. And I noticed that you do the same thing." Jack's smile widened as you removed your hands from his face. "And neither of you have any knowledge of pop culture. Even though Cas was here for a lot longer than you, he never understood a single reference any of us made. Even if it was something like Scooby Doo." You giggled, feeling your throat tightening at the thought of your dead friend. "And you two state the obvious a lot. Not in a bad way, more in a comedic way. It lightens the mood nearly every time. Cas would rarely smile. When I asked him why, he would say that the world was going to hell and he didn't have anything to smile about. But when he did smile, it would make everyone else smile with him. The same goes for you. Just seeing that little toothy grin of yours makes me smile. I mean hell, you two even look a lot alike."

"Could you tell me more about him?" Jack asked.

"Of course, but I have something to take care of first. Then you and I will cuddle up and watch a movie and I'll tell you everything you want to know about Cas, okay?"

"Yeah, I'd like that." He spoke. "Before you go, could I ask you something?" You nodded. "If I were to have a mother figure, and I called her mom, do you think my mother would be upset?"

"No, sweetheart, I don't think she would be upset. I think that she would be happy that there's someone down here taking care of you and you feel comfortable enough to call them mom." You said, completely oblivious as to what Jack was suggesting.

"Then. . . Could I call you mom?"

You felt the air leave your lungs as his words hit you like a truck. Jack watched as tears welled up in your eyes. Jack was horrified; he had never meant to make you cry. "Yo-you want to call me m-mom?" You stammer.

"If you're not comfortable with it I understand. I'm sorry, Y/N, I-"

You cut him off with a tight embrace. "Of course you can call me mom." You whisper, squeezing the boy tightly.

"Why are you crying?" He questioned.

"These are happy tears, Jack. I'm not upset. It's just. . . I never thought that I would have children, but then you came along, and you gave me what I wanted. You gave me a chance to be a mother."

"Thank you for being here for me, mom."

You gave Jack a huge smile as you pulled away. "Okay," You said, putting a hand on his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to deal with my ass of a husband."

---

"Dean Winchester," You boomed, roaming around the bunker in search for your husband.

"Ooooh, you're in trouble." You hear Sam snicker.

"But I didn't do anything. Wait, what day is it?" Dean asked frantically.

"April ninth." Sam quipped.

"Okay, no birthday, no anniversary, so there's that."

You entered The Dean Cave, as Dean called it, seeing red. "What the hell, Winchester." You growled. "Sam, out. Now."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Sam said, grabbing his bowl of popcorn and walking out of the room.

"Yes, darling, sweetheart, love of my life. What can I do for you?" Dean spoke sweetly, giving you those stupid, green doe eyes.

"Jack told me." You said simply. "He told me what you said to him. That if it comes down to killing him, that you would be the one to do it. That there was no saving him."

"Y/N, you have to understand where I'm coming from." He tried to reason with you. "You should have seen him. He was stabbing himself with a knife! And it closed up like it was nothing! It's not  normal. He's not normal."

"And?! None of us are normal, Dean. We've all died and came back to life. Sam didn't have a soul, he was hooked on demon blood, yet you were still there for him. You still believed in him. You died and became a demon, you bore the Mark of Cain and had a thing for God's friggin sister! And I still loved you through it. I have been brainwashed and manipulated into hurting all of you, and you still forgave me! Cas betrayed us, and we were still there for him. None of us are fucking normal! So what the hell, Dean? You're holding a grudge against Jack just because of who his dad is?"

"His father is Lucifer, Y/N!"

"Well that's stating the goddamn obvious!" You yelled.

"He could turn on us at any moment! We don't know this kid. We don't know what he can do."

"So we learn, Dean! We should help him figure out his way. Guide him in the right direction. Show him what a true, loving family looks like!"

"We are not his family, Y/N! And he's not our family. He never will be." Dean argued.

You flinched back, glaring at Dean. "How dare you! You son of a bitch! Whether you believe it or not, Jack is family. To me and to Sam. We care about him and love him!"

"He doesn't even know what love means!"

"Yes, he does! Because he feels things, Dean. He cares. He cares about all of us, including you. You know, he asked me if he could call me mom today. Did you know that? He trusts me and cares for me so much that he sees me as a mother figure."

"He's got you brainwashed, Y/N! Can't you see that?!"

"If he looked like his actual age, would you be acting like this?"

"What kind of question is that." He scoffed.

"If Jack looked four months old instead of twenty, would you still be treating him like this?" You asked steadily. Dean remained silent. "See! He is four months old, no matter how old he looks, he's still a baby."

"So, what, you want me to change his diaper or some shit?"

"No! I want you to treat him like a human being!" You yelled.

"But he's not human!"

You and Dean stood your ground, neither of you letting up. "Fine. I'm leaving then. And I'm taking Jack with me."

"No, you're not."

"Fucking watch me, Dean. I can't even look at you right now. Because you are not the man I married. That man was compassionate and caring. This one isn't. And until he comes back, I'm staying away." You cried.

Before Dean could get another word out, you left the den. You noticed that Sam was standing in the hallway, giving you a saddened look. "You're really leaving?"

"I'm sorry, Sam." You sobbed. "But I can't be around him right now. And I don't think Jack should be either. We're going to my parents house for a while. And until he gets his shit together, I'm not coming back.

"I know. I don't understand why Dean is acting like this." He mumbled.

"I don't either. It's so unlike him." You agreed.

"So what are you going to tell Jack?"

"Just that we're going to take a little road trip and visit my parents. I don't know, Sam, this whole thing is so strange to me. But I know have to go."

Sam frowned as he pulled you into a hug. "I'm really going to miss you. But you do what you need to do. And if you ever need anything, you call me, okay? I don't care what time of day it is, call me."

"I will." You squeeze Sam tightly. "Thank you for being an amazing brother and best friend." You pulled away, teary eyed as you parted from your brother in law. "I hope to be back soon."

You softly knocked on Jack's door before entering. "Hey, Jack." You smiled.

"Mom!" He said excitedly. "Are we going to watch movies now?"

"Actually, there's been a change of plans. Me and you are going on a road trip to visit my parents."

"Really? Are Sam and Dean coming with us?"

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. "No, actually. This is a trip just for us. Sam and Dean wanted to stay here just in case they find a case or something that can get Mary back from apocalypse world. So I'm going to help you pack and then we can get on the road."

---

You had sent Jack to your car, having him put everything in the trunk while you finished up things in the bunker. The last thing you grabbed was a machete that belonged to your father before he gave it to you.

"Don't go." A voice whispered. You turned to see Dean, who looked like he had been crying. "Please don't leave."

You swallowed hard, feeling tears rush to your eyes once more. "Will you accept Jack as family?"

"Y/N-" Dean said, exasperated. "He can stayed here but he's not family."

"That's not good enough, Dean. Because I know how you act around people you don't trust."

"You can't force me to trust him." Dean scoffed.

"That's not what I want. I want you to get to know him. I want you to try."

"Y/N. . . I just. . . I can't."

"I think. . . I think we need time apart." You mumbled.

"Y/N, please –"

"Only for a little bit." You assured him. "They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder, after all." You gave him a sad smile, trying to control your tears.

You turned to leave before Dean's voice stopped you. "If you leave, then we're over. That's it. Don't bother coming home."

You sighed as you looked back at Dean. You cupped his face in your hands and gave him a slow, sensual kiss. You could feel salty tears on your lips as you memorized how Dean's mouth felt against yours. It was warm and soft. You could taste the remnants whiskey on his breath.

You pulled away slightly, resting your forehead on Dean's. You felt tears streaming down your face as you looked the man you had grown to love over the past ten years. You had been through hell and back, literally. You had lost each other, fell out of love and back in love.

"This isn't goodbye, Dean." You whimpered. "I swear it isn't. I love you with every part of my soul. I'm not choosing Jack over you, okay? I just need time. I need you to wait for me."

"That's all I've ever done, Y/N." Dean shook his head. "I waited on you when you were in relationships, when you were heartbroken, when your sister died, I waited on you to love me back. I'm tired of waiting. I will always love you, and you'll always be with me. You've changed me, and I'm so thankful for it. You've made me a better man. But I can't. . . I can't keep doing this, Y/N." He whispered as he slipped off his wedding band. "This is goodbye." He set the ring in your hand, curling your fingers around it. "Goodbye, sweetheart." He gave you one final kiss. But this one was rough and full of passion. It really was goodbye.

"Dean, please." You cried. He pressed a swift kiss to the crown of your head before leaving you standing alone in the library. Sobs racked through your body as you clutched Dean's ring to your chest. "Please come back." You whispered.

You wiped your face of tears and stuck Dean's ring in your pocket. There would be time for tears later. Right now you just needed to get out of the bunker. As you looked around the library, you realized you had never felt this alone.

[reidsaurora]

"Best Friend's Brother, Final Part" ~ D. Winchester

GIF by castheology

Summary: After eight years of not communicating with Dean, Y/N finds herself living the life she always wanted: college, good friends, no hunting, and no Dean. What happens when Dean somehow winds up back in her life?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,344

Content Warning: mild swearing, mild sexual references

Genre: Angst to Fluff (?) i don't really know lol

Extra Notes: based on the pilot episode, though it's not completely canon to the episode

Based On: the end of The Kissing Booth 3 + the other parts of this series

Originally Written: 11/20/2021

Series masterlist can be found here!

Supernatural masterlist can be found here!

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Eight years.

That's how long it had been since that morning in Kansas. That's how long it had been since I had spoken to Dean.

Luckily, Sam and I stayed pretty close. Turns out even dating a family member couldn't break us up.

Sam and I ended up going to college together and were basically inseparable. The only time we parted was for classes we didn't share and to sleep.

Pretty soon into college, he fell in love with a girl named Jessica. Jess and I didn't get along at first because of how close Sam and I were, but she quickly figured out my heart was not attached to Sam in that sense.

The three of us actually ended up hanging out together quite a lot. I often felt like a third wheel, but Sam and Jess were both quick to remind me that they enjoyed my presence.

This particular night, the three of us found ourselves hanging out at their apartment. We had just got back from a Halloween party at a bar, though we left early so Jess and I could help Sam prepare for his law school interview the following Monday.

"Babe, you're gonna ace it. I don't know why you're so stressed," Jess said, her arm around Sam's shoulder as she played with his hair. They're so cute.

"What if I clam up and forget what to say? What if I panic and say something stupid?" he argued.

"Jess is right, Sam. You're gonna do amazing. You've got nothing to worry about," I spoke this time.

CLANG!

"What the hell was that?" I asked after hearing a crashing noise in what sounded like the kitchen.

"I don't know. I will go investigate," Sam replied before standing up from the couch. He grabbed the baseball bat they kept beside the door before heading to the kitchen.

Jess and I shared a frightened look, unsure who would break into their apartment at midnight. After a few seconds, we heard what sounded like feet scuffling quickly through the kitchen. Curious, we both arose to see what was happening.

"Sam?" Jess called out as she rounded the corner.

"Jess, this is Dean," Sam awkwardly introduced them.

Dean… of course… who else would choose to go through the window instead of knocking on the door?

"Your brother Dean?" she replied.

Nothing was said in response, so I assumed one of the two of them had nodded or gave her some sort of non-verbal affirmation.

"You know I love the smurfs," Dean commented on Jess's shirt. "You know, I gotta say, you are way out of my brother's league."

Jess's voice sounded a bit panicky as she said, "Let me put something on."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Dean replied. Leave it to Dean to somehow make this sexual.

Finally, I had the courage to step around the corner to where the two boys could see me.

"Y/N," he said, followed by an awkward swallow.

"Dean," I replied in the same nervous manner he had used.

"You look… wow…" his voice trailed off.

It was at this moment, I realized I was still wearing my Halloween costume, a.k.a. sexy Hermione Granger.

I cringed, not sure what I was supposed to say.

"No, don't worry, you look nice. Really nice," he explained.

Jess quickly returned, wearing one of Sam's hoodies over her cut-up Smurfs shirt from earlier. It was so big on her that it covered up her shorts.

"I need to borrow Sam for a second, talk about some private family business," Dean said.

Sam walked over to Jess, throwing his arm over her shoulders. "No, whatever you have to say, you can say in front of them."

"OK," Dean whispered to himself, "Dad's on a hunting trip. He hasn't been home in a few days."

"Girls, can you excuse me and Dean for a minute?"

And so, Jess and I headed back to the living room. Jess paced back and forth, unsure what to do next. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure what to do next either. It had been so long since Sam and I had been involved in a hunt that I didn't really know what to do now.

After a few moments, Sam and Dean walked into the living room. Both boys looked nervous. Yes, I'd continue to call them my boys until the day I died.

"Y/N, I need to speak with Jess privately for a moment. Is that OK?" Sam asked.

I nodded. "Why wouldn't it be OK?"

He simply nodded his head toward Dean.

"Oh, come on!" Dean groaned, throwing his hands up in surrender.

"It's OK, Sam," I reassured him.

Sam led Jess by the arm into the kitchen, leaving me and Dean alone in the living room.

"So…" Dean sighed.

"So…" I replied.

"You look nice," he said.

"You said that already and I'm not totally convinced it's not because I'm dressed as slutty Hermione."

"I'm serious. You look really good. You seem happy. Well, not that happy now that I'm here, but other than me, you seem happy."

I forced a smile onto my face. "I am."

"So, how've you -"

"Eight years, Dean. It's been eight years. No calls, no texts, hell, a letter in the mail would have sufficed," I cut him off.

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK, Dean. I'm happier than I've ever been. I'm doing really well in my classes. I have a really good group of friends. I'm happy, for once."

Then, in the most serious and genuine tone, he said, "That's good. I'm happy for you."

That one sentence was enough to get me in love with him all over again, and I'm convinced he knew it would. The thought of Dean being genuinely happy for me for once was enough to make me forget what happened all those years ago. All the fights, the eight hour overnight drive to find him, all of that was gone. The thought of ever being angry with him was buried in the deepest recess of my mind.

"Thank you," I smiled. It was a genuine smile this time.

"I want you to know that I genuinely am sorry. I wanted to call. You don't understand how many nights I sat on my bed with your number dialed on my phone."

"Why didn't you?" I asked. I thought it would sound more sarcastic, but it actually sounded like a genuine question when I said it.

"Nothing ever felt right. I would go over sentence after sentence in my head trying to think of something I could say, but nothing ever felt like it would suffice."

I had to admit, it wasn't until about six months after that morning in Kansas that I stopped staring at the phone, waiting for him to call. It wasn't until about nine months after that morning that I stopped dialing his number, thinking of something to say.

"So, what does this mean?" I asked.

"I'm not sure."

"Dean, I wanna forgive you. I really do, I'm just not sure how to do that."

"You shouldn't. I don't deserve it. I was a jerk. I shouldn't have given up on you the way I did."

I sympathized with him, knowing now that if it were adult Dean, he'd never do that to me. "You were a kid, Dean. I was a kid. We didn't know what we were doing."

"Does that mean…" his voice trailed off.

"Does that mean what?"

"That you'd be willing to try again now that we aren't kids."

I hadn't thought about that. I'd been so caught up in thinking about everything that happened before that I hadn't even stopped to consider the future.

For a moment, it felt as though everything was right. Like me and Dean being together again was the way it was supposed to be. Like what happened between us eight years ago was all some sort of nightmarish dream. Being with Dean again just felt like it was meant to be.

"Yes, I think I'd be willing to try again."

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[whelvenwings]

Up to Date?

Length: ~5k Tags: Canon Divergent, Y yo a ti Cas timeline, Misunderstandings

It's three months after Castiel was brought back from the Empty after confessing his love to Dean, and things are awkward between them. They haven't talked about it. Castiel can feel how much Dean wants to, but he won't let himself, and Castiel can only wait. But one night, with Castiel halfway across the world, he gets a text from Dean that might change everything - even if Dean didn't quite mean it to.

Castiel

It was just awkward. Castiel couldn’t deny it. Things between himself and Dean were definitely awkward.

Three months back on Earth, safe from the Empty with a little help from the Winchesters and from Jack – but Castiel and Dean still hadn’t talked about it. The things that Castiel had said – and what Dean had said in return.

I love you. Me too, Cas.

Castiel knew he should have expected this, the awkwardness. Hadn’t he known Dean long enough, at this point, to be able to predict him? And there was nothing more predictable than Dean not wanting to talk about something.

Still, it hurt. There had been that shining moment of happiness, if a word as soft as happiness was even the right way to describe the feeling of absolute blazing corrosive joy that Castiel had felt when Dean had told him that his feelings were reciprocated. And now, there was just… silence.

It was awkward.

And Castiel didn’t know what to do. Was Dean waiting for him to say something? But Castiel had already said it all. It was Dean who’d only managed to choke out a few words, Dean who must have more to say. And yet he said nothing. Days were slipping past full of staring and loaded sentences and quietness.

The fact that it was all so familiar didn’t make it any better. Castiel wanted something different. It had been different before they’d said anything out loud, but – but there had been something about hearing Dean say those words, me too, Cas, that had changed everything.

He didn’t need much. Nothing grand or unusual, only something to ease the tension. Even if it was just an expression on Dean’s face that acknowledged what had passed between them, instead of pushing it away.

But Dean… Castiel knew it was different for him. There were things that Dean didn’t allow himself, for a tangle of reasons that Castiel only barely understood. Dean didn’t let himself touch. Dean didn’t let himself speak. Dean didn’t let himself look.

But Dean wanted to.

Castiel knew Dean wanted to. So many aching years that Dean had longed for him, and Castiel had been able to feel it like a prayer – and not some soft and murmured thing, a prayer of an older kind, something raw and wordless and desperate. Something on its knees. Castiel could feel the yearning in Dean. It would have been so simple for Castiel to offer touch, but Dean hadn’t ever really let him. And Dean still wasn’t letting him.

And Castiel could still feel the longing.

When they were together, and when they were several thousand miles apart, too. It was there. Never any quieter or gentler, not even from far away. It always touched the same place in Castiel’s grace that it had done from the start. And the feeling of it was just the same, too, like being doused in oil and dropped into flames that reached and hoped and hungered.

Beautiful fire. A beautiful prayer. Castiel wanted to answer it. Dean behaved as though he didn’t know it was there.

The tension in the bunker had become too much, last night, and Castiel had abruptly left with just a quick text to Dean.

> I’m going to look for the artifact Sam read about in Seoul. It shouldn’t be left unguarded.

The artifact was probably just a trinket, if Castiel was being honest with himself, and its significance paled in comparison to everything they’d been through, but it was a reason to get away from everything and give himself a break. It would have only taken Castiel moments to find the artifact if he’d wanted, but he drew it out. He walked rather than flying, pacing the streets of Seoul, following up on the leads that Sam had found. His grace hummed and sighed against Dean’s prayer.

He hoped that when he returned, something might be different. That he and Dean could talk. Maybe even – as he walked down a side-street with neon lights that glowed through the drizzling rain, Castiel allowed himself a wry little smile. Maybe even do something together. Go somewhere. Go on a date.

A date. To a human the word would probably sound little, and normal, and silly for an angel to be thinking about. But to Castiel, it just sounded like something new.

And it was so easy, somehow, to picture Dean coming into the bunker's kitchen, pointing at Castiel semi-aggressively, and saying, so. You, me, date. Up for it?

Would that be how Dean would phrase it? Castiel tried it a few different ways in his head. Down for it? How about it? You in? Each time, the Dean in Castiel's mind looked almost angry as he waited for an answer. Each time, Dean's face softened when Castiel said, yes.

So easy to imagine. So out of reach. Castiel walked on through Seoul, the rain starting to thrum down harder.

–––––

Dean

It was awkward.

Dean knew it was awkward, and he wasn’t thinking about it – he wasn’t. Except when Cas did stupid shit like ditching the bunker without warning, leaving just some handwritten note like a kid sneaking out of his tent at summer camp, it made it kind of harder to ignore.

Staring down at the note in the bunker’s library, Dean pressed his lips together and read it over again, his eyes scanning the words while his brain paid no attention to them, lost in thought.

There was something so ridiculous about it all. The moment between them, the – whatever it had been, when they’d admitted their crap to each other – it felt so overblown to look back on. Sure, Cas had had to summon the Empty, he’d had to get all deep just to save Dean’s hide. But Dean… what he’d said had just been stupid. No point to it. Dean cringed when he thought about it.

Me too, Cas.

The words were so little like something Dean would ever say that they might as well have been in a foreign language. Me too, Cas? That kind of thing didn’t have to be said. Because obviously, him too. But what were they supposed to do about it? Buy each other flowers? Feed each other chocolates? God forbid – hold hands?

Dean felt a little hot rush in his chest just thinking about it, and an accompanying stab of guilt. What were they, seventeen? They were old. Too old for flowers and chocolates. Too old for holding hands. And too old for this weird tension between them, Jesus. Who got nervous and tongue-tied and awkward around a crush at Dean’s age?

Who called it a crush at Dean’s age?

Dean, sat in the library at the bunker, dropped the note Cas had left and picked up his phone. Practicalities. Just focus on the practicalities. He should at least make sure Sam had kept Cas up to date with the latest research about the artifact that might be hidden in Seoul.

Dean tapped on the screen of his phone for a few seconds, holding it a little further away from his eyes than he used to have to do. He read over what he’d typed once, and then hit send.

–––––

Castiel

Castiel’s phone hummed.

With a little clench in his gut, Castiel stepped under the cover of a dark doorway to get out of the rain, and pulled it out of his pocket. Dean’s name was on the screen, obviously. There was the usual leap of excitement, tinged with a familiar sinking feeling in his chest. Dean would probably be angry with him for leaving.

With a stoic line to his jaw, Castiel opened the text, knowing it couldn’t be anything good.

> So. You up to date?

Castiel stared down at his phone.

No… no. He couldn’t have read that right. He blinked, and tried it again.

It still said the same thing.

You up to date?

Dean had just asked Castiel if he was… up to date? If he… wanted to date?

However many times Castiel reread the text, it said the same thing. Castiel stood absolutely still, his eyes puzzling out the letters of Dean’s message again and again.

It was – it was just the way Castiel had imagined it, if not word perfect. The brusque tone, the question. Castiel, half in shadow in a porch in rainy Seoul, stared down at his phone as if it had just promised him the moon.

Dean had just asked Castiel if he was up for dating.

Via text. Obviously. Maybe all this time, it had just been that trying to talk face-to-face had been too much. Maybe Castiel should have left for halfway across the world months ago.

Castiel could feel his heart pounding. He couldn’t stop himself reading Dean’s question, over and over again.

–––––

Dean

When the text from Cas finally came back, Dean snatched up his phone. It wasn’t that he’d been sitting and staring at it, waiting for a reply – he’d just got a little lost in thought, was all, wondering where Cas was and why he wasn’t answering sooner.

The text, though, when Dean read it, put a frown on his face.

> I’m so glad you asked. Yes, I would love to.

Wait. What? Dean checked over what he’d said himself in his first text, just to be sure he hadn’t made some kind of a typo. Nope, he’d definitely just asked if Cas was up to date with the artifact.

So, Cas would love to… what?

Cas was glad he’d asked about what?

None of it sounded like the answer to a simple question about research on an artifact, at all. Maybe Cas was just in the middle of something, and misread Dean’s text. Not something that had ever happened before, but still. Whatever.

Dean circled his thumbs over the keyboard on his screen, and then typed a reply.

< Love to do what

Keep it simple, he figured.

He sat puzzling over Cas’ first message as he waited for a reply. So glad you asked. What did that even mean? Was Cas ever particularly glad when Dean asked anything?

The reply came back quickly, this time.

> Anything you want to do. :) Maybe just going to a bar?

Dean squinted down at his phone.

Anything he wanted to do about what? A bar?

Was he losing it? Dean reread the text over and then over again, and looked back up their conversation to try to make Cas’ reply make sense. The emoticon was typical enough, even though Dean hadn’t seen a smiley one in a while. The way it made his chest squeeze was ridiculous. It was just a smile. And it just followed the words, anything you want to do.

Before he could let his mind run too far with what exactly that could mean, Dean texted back in confusion,

< You want to go to a bar?

There was something about this conversation that was making his heart beat harder. Come on, he told it. What, you can face down the end of the world more than once and a little text conversation still has you like this?

Ignoring his solid logic, Dean’s heart only raced faster when Cas texted back,

> Yes, of course. Unless you think it’s a bad idea?

So… Cas wanted to go to a bar? With Dean?

That was – well, it wasn’t that strange on Dean’s personal spectrum of strange to not strange these days. Fighting Death and God and God’s sister and all the rest of it kind of put a bunch of other strange crap way down the list. But this was still… weird. Not bad weird, necessarily.

But how had they got here, why were they talking about this? What kind of a bar, why? Dean had just wanted to check up on Cas in a few brief words and suddenly they were making evening plans? Cas was making no sense. Was he doing it on purpose? Dean read the whole conversation over again, and pulled a face of utter and annoyed confusion for the benefit of no one, and shook his head.

He thought about it, and licked his lips, and shook his head again.

And then thought some more, and made a hand gesture, as if asking of no one, what the fuck.

He texted out,

< What do u mean

He stared down at the text for a second, and then deleted it, and tried instead,

< Why are we talking about this

He didn’t even read that one over again before deleting it. He made another face, and then quickly typed and sent,

< But you’re in Seoul

However they’d arrived at the idea of going to a bar, it didn’t particularly matter when Castiel was thousands of miles away. Had deliberately ditched, in fact, which was more of an obstacle to them having a nice evening out tonight than the distance between them, but Dean wasn’t going to say that directly.

> Only for a short while longer. I’ve almost completed the search for the artifact. Then I’ll come back :)

Another damn smiley face, another little lift in Dean’s chest. Look at him. Fully grown, and soft over the idea of his best friend looking forward to spending an evening together. Yikes.

Practicalities. Dean fired off another text.

< Okay... you just wanna talk or what

If Cas was going to try to insist that they talk about stuff, well – the drinks would probably be a good place to start, but Dean would need to psych himself up to the idea of trying to explain anything at all that had happened between them. Me too, Cas. He kept hearing himself say it and wanting to bury his head in his hands. What had he been thinking. What had Cas been thinking, when he’d decided on Dean. That had to earn the award for the worst fucking choice in the history of the world.

Dean’s phone buzzed in his hands.

> I think talking is what people usually do on a date. But we don’t have to if you don’t want to.

Dean’s eyes went wide.

–––––

Castiel

Across the world, in the porch in Seoul, Castiel watched as Dean’s little typing bubble with three dot dot dots appeared, and disappeared, and reappeared.

He tried to quiet the excitement in his chest, tried to remind himself that Dean had just implied fairly heavily that he wouldn’t want to talk on their date – which wasn’t unexpected for Dean, but it did leave Castiel wondering what else Dean might want to do.

A thought occurred to Castiel about something they might be able to do without talking, and he swallowed, and felt his hopes fly higher.

Or perhaps Dean just wanted to sit together in silence. That would be alright, too. Companionship in the quiet. When he thought about it, Castiel knew it would be more than enough just to sit by Dean in a bar and drink together, knowing that they were both choosing to be there. Even if they didn’t say a single word the whole evening, even if Dean didn’t so much as look at him the whole night. They could spend the date speechlessly. But it would be a date. It would be an acknowledgement. Maybe it would ease a little of the longing that Castiel felt and felt and felt from Dean, burning.

Finally, a text from Dean came in.

> Wait what

Wait, what?

Castiel felt his heart sink.

There was something wrong. That tone, just two stark words – something wasn’t right. Castiel scrolled back up their conversation. Had he accidentally said something rude? He couldn’t find it, reading the texts over and then over again. He’d used emoticons to show that he was happy. Had they seemed sarcastic?

Did it seem as though Castiel didn’t really want to go on a date? Or that he wouldn’t really be content for them to not talk on the date? Hurriedly, Castiel began typing again.

< I mean it. We don’t have to say anything. I just want to be there with you.

It was the kind of text that Castiel would ordinarily type out and then delete because it was too forthright, too emotional, too much for Dean – but this time, he just hit send before he could think about it. Worse than Dean being grossed out by Castiel openly having feelings was the idea of Dean not knowing that Castiel really did feel those things.

There was a long silence. Castiel stood still, waiting for Dean.

How many times had he stood, quiet, expectant, wanting Dean to be ready, hoping he would be ready, prepared to wait for an eternity until he was? In the span of Castiel’s own lifetime, he’d waited just a blink of an eye. But somehow this blink had been torturously slow. A torture Castiel would have fought to the death before trading.

Castiel’s phone hummed.

> You really want to go on a date

Castiel stared down at the screen. He couldn’t tell if the tone was judgemental or vulnerable. He blinked, and thought hard – and then, with a little shake of his head and hard press of his lips, he made a choice.

Quite suddenly, the street in Seoul was empty.

–––––

Dean

Dean almost fell out of his chair when Cas appeared opposite him in the bunker.

“Shit!” Dean swore, grabbing the table in front of him with one hand. He watched as Cas tilted his head just slightly sideways at Dean’s other hand, instinctively on the butt of his gun.

He eased his hold.

“Could’ve killed you,” Dean mumbled. Cas smiled wryly.

“You could have tried,” he said.

Dean swallowed. Right. Angel powers were all the way back up, these days.

“You’re back,” he said blankly, just to say something, because immediately leaving the room didn’t seem like it would be a good idea – however much the nervousness in his brain was insisting that this conversation wasn’t going to go well, and he needed to bail.

“Yes.” Cas lifted his phone up to face Dean, so that Dean could read their conversation on the screen. Dean glanced over it. It was strange seeing his own words on the left side of the screen, almost embarrassing. “What does this mean?” Cas asked.

Dean got to his feet, feeling too low down still in his chair.

“Uh…” He watched Cas warily, while trying to keep his tone light. “You tell me, Cas.”

“No,” Cas said firmly. “You asked me if I really wanted to go on a date.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

Cas stared at him, clearly expecting more. Dean tried waiting him out for a few seconds in silence, hoping Cas would say something else, but Cas had that determined look in his eye that told Dean he was going to have to be the one to say something.

“What about it?” Dean said.

“What does the question mean?” Cas asked.

“Well, Cas, it’s kind of all right there. In the message.”

“You just asked if I really want to go on a date,” Cas said again.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “So, do you?”

It was all wrong. His tone was all wrong. It was aggressive, and blunt. He sounded outright angry at the idea that Cas might actually want to go on a date, and that tone didn’t even vaguely map over the ridiculous leap in his chest at the idea of a date together.

But somehow, Cas’ shoulders were dropping, and his face was relaxing, as though – as though that was what he’d been expecting to hear. Or even what he’d been hoping to hear.

“Yes,” Cas said.

Dean felt his mouth fall slightly open and his eyes go wide, and he looked away.

He could feel his breath suddenly coming a little short. He tried to stand very still and be very quiet so that Cas wouldn’t see what that one-word answer had meant. How much it had shaken Dean.

It was only when he heard the yes that he realised just how little he’d expected to ever hear it.

Cas wanted to date. The hot rush in Dean’s chest was back, and the accompanying punch of guilt readied itself… but held back. Because Cas had said yes.

He’d said yes.

“Is that a surprise?” Cas said, his tone dry but not unkind. Dean swallowed, and managed a smile when he looked back over.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Oh.” Cas looked confused. “But… I told you…”

“I know.” Dean shrugged. “I didn’t know if you’d wanna do any of that crap, though. Human stuff.”

He saw something clear on Cas’ face, as though something that had been weighing on him had suddenly been lifted.

“Ah,” he said. “Well… I do. Want to.”

Dean nodded, once, a little sharply. God, he had no idea how to do this. And it didn’t help that he could feel things moving inside him, shifting, like walls crumbling, like stuff he’d smothered finally elbowing its way up to be felt – a blazing feeling, a hurting feeling, a wanting. Somehow both familiar and terrifying.

“Okay,” Dean managed aloud.

“As long as you still want to,” Cas said.

Still? Had Dean ever actually told Cas that he wanted to go on a date? Maybe he’d just been that obvious. Or maybe Cas had actually been able to guess what Dean wanted from the way Dean had said me too, Cas, even though Dean hadn’t been able to guess what Cas wanted in spite of literally being told I love you.

“Do you?” Cas asked, when Dean was silent for a second too long.

That wanting feeling, that hot tense ache that almost had Dean’s teeth gritting against it at this point, it was demanding a yes. It was saying go, go over there, what are you waiting for now? But Dean swallowed it. He couldn’t just have that. He couldn’t. Could he?

“Well,” he said. “I dunno. I mean. We are kinda old for it. Aren’t we?”

Dean watched Castiel consider it, his heart thudding.

“I’m fairly old,” Castiel said, “yes. But I think I’m still allowed to try new things.”

“New things,” Dean echoed.

“Yes.”

“Like… dating.”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “If you want to.”

“And like…” Dean went to say something else, and then stipped himself. Too many things all rushing to the front at once. Too many possibilities. Too many things that he’d given up thinking he could ever have. Too many things he’d told himself it was right that he didn’t have, because it’d be embarrassing if he did.

But now, here was Castiel, standing in front of him and saying he wanted to go on a date. Watching Dean quietly, waiting for him to finish what he’d started to say.

“Like…” Dean said, and then stopped again, and shook his head. “I don’t know, Cas. I’m not… you know.”

“You don’t want to?” Castiel said, the question spoken so neutrally that Dean knew it came with effort – Castiel’s muscles had to be heaving with holding that door open for Dean to leave through, if he wanted. But Castiel was still holding the door. Still saying, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.

“No, I – yeah. I mean, I – yeah, I want to,” Dean said, saying the last part to the floor. His chest felt as though it was going to crack open. He wanted walk around the table between him and Cas, and drop to his knees, and just ask Cas with his eyes to touch him, anywhere, anyhow, gentle or not. “Just… I mean, look at us. Are we really gonna fit with any of that crap?”

He couldn’t imagine them trying to do the usual sweet romantic stuff. Dates and gifts and cards and flowers. So stupid after everything they’d been through, like sticking heart-shaped bows on the muzzles of two rusting guns.

“What kind of crap?” Castiel asked.

“You know. The whole schtick. Lovey-dovey crap.” Dean mumbled it, aware that even in describing it he sounded ridiculous. Lovey-dovey? Christ.

“I thought we could just try things out,” Castiel said. “And see if we can do them our way.”

“But what if it doesn’t work,” Dean said, making an attempt not to sound too wretched. He watched Castiel, waiting for him to give up, to say this was already too much work, that it wasn’t worth it, and they should just carry on going as they had been.

“Then we try something else,” Castiel said.

“Right,” Dean said, with an almost-laugh. “And we just do that over and over, huh.”

“If you’d like.”

“You’d seriously be okay with just keeping on trying forever?” He said it as if it were a joke.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Of course.”

Dean went quiet. The expanse of the table between them was far, much too far. He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded, because he didn’t know what else to do.

Cas saying that he’d keep trying forever was absurd. What was even more absurd was that Dean actually believed him. Cas had that look on his face, the one that allowed no argument, not angry or proud, just – sure. Certain.

If nothing they did together felt right, Cas would stick by him and keep trying new things. Forever.

Dean felt a part of himself breathe out, and with it went the last of the wall. Now Dean was immolating, standing still in the library of the bunker, just burning and burning with wanting to be touched by Cas, and –

As Dean watched, Cas’ jaw was tightening, as though he too were holding himself back against what he needed.

They stared at each other over the table. You first, Dean begged him silently. Please, just come here, just come here.

Cas’ blue eyes were locked with his, trying to say something Dean couldn’t hear.

“Cas,” Dean said, into the silence.

Cas watched him, waiting.

Dean’s mind was a blank. He didn’t know how to take this feeling, this all-encompassing burning wanting yearning feeling, and turn it into words. He didn’t know how to ask for what he wanted without accidentally putting it out of his own reach in the asking. He didn’t know how to want in the way that received, only in the way that was hopeless.

And Cas only looked at him and waited.

Dean opened his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he said. Cas’ expression flickered, but he didn’t move. “I – you – Cas, Jesus, I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Dean said quickly, immediately.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

“Yeah. I mean…” Dean swallowed. “No.”

Now Cas looked confused.

“Do you want me to…” Cas paused, puzzling it out. Dean watched him thinking, if I shouldn’t go, and I shouldn’t stay, then…?

“Cas,” Dean said, “come here.”

Cas blinked, and Dean watched the slope of his shoulders change, watched the way Cas’ eyes lightened with a sudden hope. He watched Cas take a step around the table, and then another, slowly, as though afraid to scare Dean off.

Dean couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t speak. His hands were too big. He’d just asked Cas to come to him, and Cas was coming to him.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Dean moved, quickly, decisively, making for Cas as Cas came towards him, needing to be close and needing it now, and then – and then they were in front of each other in the bunker library, they were right in front of each other, standing with their hands by their sides and looking at each other. And all Dean could think as he looked at Cas was,

This is so heavy, it’s too much, it means too much.

And all Dean’s furiously thudding heart wanted was touch, anyway, no matter what it meant.

Cas reached up a hand, and gently – so gently – put it against Dean’s cheek.

Dean held his head up for a long moment, trying to keep himself together, keep it all in, be still, be silent. He gritted his teeth against the feeling in his chest, against the blazing of his happiness –

And then, he let go.

He closed his eyes, and breathed out. And leaned into the touch.

“I love you,” he heard Cas say.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I love you,” Cas said again, more determinedly, and Dean felt Cas’ forehead press to his own.

The touch of him was better than absolution. It was beautiful. It was perfect. Dean could feel the love of it running through him, easing the rusted gritty parts of him that had thought all this beyond him, and he wanted to gasp through the feeling of it like he was swimming through cold water. If he’d tried ten minutes ago to imagine Cas saying I love you to him again, Dean would have imagined it so sweet and unlike them. But this, this was happening. Cas’ forehead against Dean’s. Cas’ voice saying those words, I love you. And it felt real.

It felt like him, Dean, and it felt like Cas. This was who they were. This was how they loved each other.

“Me too,” Dean said. “Me too, Cas.”

He leaned forwards, and kissed Cas.

They didn’t go to the bar, in the end. They found they had enough to do without going out.

–––––

Dean

The next morning, in the kitchen, Dean turned to Cas and said casually,

“By the way, you never actually said. Are you up to date with the new research on the artifact? We should probably still try to find the damn thing.”

“Am I up to…”

Dean watched as Cas’ expression changed. It went from slight confusion, to sudden horror – and finally settled on a kind of dry acceptance.

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas came to stand by Dean, and because he could, Dean leaned forwards and kissed him again. His heart raced as he did it. Cas kissed him back, and Dean felt as though gravity probably shouldn’t be holding him down at this point.

“I, um,” Cas said. “When you texted me yesterday… I thought when you asked me that, you were asking me on a date.”

Dean’s brain took a second to catch up – and then he pressed his lips together to hold in a laugh. Cas tilted his head to one side.

“Don’t,” Cas said.

“I wouldn’t,” Dean said.

“Dean…”

“I’ll never mention it again.”

“I thought…” Cas closed his eyes, his head dropping as he smiled again at his own misunderstanding, and Dean let himself laugh. He reached out and put a hand on Cas’ shoulder, still a little tentative, still feeling his heart sing with the ability to touch. Cas leaned in, their bodies swaying together slightly.

“I love you,” Dean said, the words flowing up out of him like water from a spring, so easily, so naturally. He felt the immediate seize of panic afterwards, hearing those three words said in his own voice, out of his own mouth – but he couldn’t regret them, not when he saw Cas’ head lean back again, his blue eyes glowing with happiness.

“I love you,” Cas answered him. “I love you.”

[orionsangel86]

Following the release of the pilot of that bloody Winchester prequel yesterday, a lot of people have been excitedly posting interviews and articles on it and starting up the meta and spec again. I thought I'd be able to avoid seeing it on here but this is the SPN website so clearly that was a bad assumption.

Thing is, I genuinely believed I was okay. This year has been SO GOOD for me for healing the wounds that SPN carved into me. With OFMD, WWDITS, The Sandman, IWTV, and now Good Omens 2 news I have been happily existing in a little joy filled bubble everytime I come on Tumblr.

I just scrolled past a post which had screenshots of an article from Robbie Thompson on the Winchesters. I thought I'd read it out of curiosity. I shouldn't have.

It brought everything back. Talk of the Winchester brothers and how "theres no Dean if there aint no Sam" and how they arent changing a damn thing about SPN canon, and how we will find out where Dean is, with the writer speculating he's telling the story from heaven...

I don't know why, but it hurt.

It was like something had decided to prod really hard at the old SPN scars, the ones that never really healed right to begin with, and are still jagged and tender even after 7 months of solid healing thanks to only consuming media that actually respects me as a person.

I haven't felt that kind of pain since Jared Padalecki last opened the hole in his face to spew bullshit about how the finale from Hell was so perfect and right for the brothers *gags*.

It wasnt even a bad article, but it acknowledged things I had tried to erase from my head. God. Im so fucked up. That horrible show fucked me up so much. I wanted to just shut down tumblr and mentally check myself out for a bit and put on the Dreamcast on spotify or something, but I had to get this off my chest, even if people read this and think im fucking moronic for caring so much and wasting energy on this stupid show and why do I care right?

7 fucking years I devoted to that horseshit show. 7 fucking years I held it in my heart and adored it even though the whole time it clawed and carved at me and hated me because I wasnt the audience it wanted.

One little article and I feel like ive been triggered even though that word should be far too strong for something as stupid as getting emotional over a TV show. Im having a minor breakdown in my living room at 10pm on a Wednesday night in 2022 over fucking SPN.

I dont even know why im openly admitting this on the spn website when I know its gonna subject me to hate and a whole mass loss of followers but I had to get this out. I had to write it down. Its so difficult to express how this show makes me feel. I dont wanna be the one you all roll your eyes at and call a negative anti but I also don't understand how everyone else seems to have slipped so easily back into old habits.

I wanna scream at everyone not to be fooled. But I dont wanna stamp on other peoples joy either. So I guess I gotta remove myself from the equation here. Fool me once etc etc.

Im gonna have to unfollow some long term mutuals, especially those that arent tagging content. If you correctly tag every winchester related post and reblog then at least my filters will block them, but if they slip through im gonna have to unfollow. I cant be having 10pm meltdowns over SPN at this point in my life. Not when there is so much good stuff out there to be focusing on instead.