#because late season Dean is never sorry for being a hypocrite

[king0fcrows]

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[ghost-go-roasty-mctoasty]

Ew no. You guys can have crusty, flat, 3 emotion Sam. No one is trying to reclaim that. People are coming up with their own ideas of who Sam should've been and claiming that. Also fuck u. Touch some grass u hypocritical fuck

Oh Sam is the crusty, no emotions guy? Have you seen castiel? The dude ranges from constipated to constipated but in pain. Sam is the complex character. Sam is the guy people spend days writing meta about. Sam is the focal point of the show. Sam is the reason supernatural exists and started.

"No one is trying to reclaim him" uhhhh. Have you been sleeping under a rock? Since you seem to be such an amazing heller, you would know that all of you are reblogging pics of Sam and saying that you need to reclaim him. Which is actually illegal for hellers to do. Read my pinned post <3

"People are trying to come up with who Sam should've been" so you mean a cheerleader for destiel right? A guy who's married off to any random girl right? A guy with no personality or story, but is only there to cheer destiel on right? You guys what nothing more from Sam. Hell you wanted dean to kill him when he was 6 months old, so don't come here all high and mighty acting like you give a fuck about Sam. You don't. You never did.

Also You guys seem to be thinking a lot lately that you can just make a character to be whatever the fuck you want. Sorry honey that's not how it works. Sure you can have fun with that in fanfiction, but when it comes to it being about the real show you all need to shut your pie hole because you only watched the show through Tumblr gifs.

Is that a threat or a to do list xoxo <3

Glad you like my bio that much that you memorized it bby<3 Also I'm hypocritical? Ha! Okay tell that to the people who were saying Sam should've been killed for eating the lucky charms just 3 days ago and are now pretending to care about him. Tell that to the people who say "Its about rep!" But then turn around and say they're gonna Photoshop mishas face on homelanders. Tell that to the people who tell us we don't know what the show is about but they didn't watch the first 3 seasons. Tell that to the people who ask "Why can't we just all get along?" But then go and make block lists and send anon hate. Tell that to the people who say ship and let ship but then attack people for shipping something. Tell that to the people who preach about kindness all day but then go bully people off of Twitter. Tell that to the people who say "Dean deserved better" But then go and send death threats to a real life man with real life feelings who one hundred percent deserved better than a fictional character.

Also babe why are you on my page if you hate Sam that much? All I do is post about Sam. I think you're lost hopefully you find your way back to the no brain cell side of the fandom byeeee<3

[drop-of-infinity]

I have continued my weird destiel fic thing! This part is canon compliant with season 6.

Chapter one is here

Chapter two is here

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Chapter 3: season 6

The Third Man

{“I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here-“ and then suddenly Cas was there in all his trenchcoated glory. He hadn’t come when Sam had prayed all those times, but Dean had called once and here was Cas. Well, no time to think about that now.

{“Dean and I do share a more profound bond..” he’d been very careful with his wording, yet the that was too honest feeling had returned. Cas sighed inwardly. He was not built for emotions. He was not built for choosing his words.

{“You’re gonna torture a kid?”

“I can’t care about that Dean! I don’t have the luxury.” Cas’s voice cracked as he said it, and Dean knew he did care about it. After all, if there was one thing he knew about Cas, it was that he cared more then he should.

6-7

{“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I do want to help.” Couldn’t that be enough for Dean? Cas had a war to worry about, he didn’t have time for this. Yet he was helping Dean anyway, because- no. Shut it down. Yet he was helping Dean anyway. Wasn’t that enough? Aren’t I enough?

{“Of course. Your problems always come first.” Coming from anyone else, Dean would think that was sarcasm, but this was Cas. Plus, the look the angel gave him... well, he was pretty sure Cas was being honest. The guy had a war to fight, and he was still helping them. Dean felt a twinge of guilt, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Cas was already gone. Fricking angels.

Caged Heat

{“I learned that from the pizza man.” Dean couldn’t help but stare at Cas and the demon he had just been making out with. Since when has he been interested in that stuff? He watches Cas smooth a hand over swollen lips. An odd burning sensation roots itself in Dean’s stomach. Suddenly, he wants to strangle Meg. Because she’s a demon, probably, he tells himself. It’s just instinct.

My Heart Will Go On

{“You have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who’s in love with you?” Dean’s brain wisely decided to shut down at that. When Balthazar left, the only thing he let himself think was Cas’s coat isn’t dirty. The other thoughts-well they weren’t so much thoughts as half formed screams and fast heartbeats-he pushed to the back of his mind to be taken out and examined never.

{“You need new friends Cas.”

“I’m trying to save the ones I have, Dean.” It’s always strange to call Dean his friend. The word friend encompasses so much to humans, everything from ‘this person makes me happy’ to ‘I don’t want to live without you.’ Humanity is still fascinating. Cas will keep Dean safe. It is his priority, always. This person makes me happy.

{“50000 new souls for your war machine.” As fate talks, Cas can only be grateful that the Winchesters can’t hear her. If they knew... well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Dean takes trust so seriously. Cas has the odd feeling that he is digging himself into a hole. This is the only way, he thinks. Lie, beat Raphael, keep them in your life. Simple enough. He stops Balthazar from stabbing fate, because her sisters would come after the Winchesters, and he can’t have that. As time unfreezes, and Cas watches Dean startle awake back into his own timeline, green eyes flying open, he realizes something terrifying. He is an entity, an eldritch being millions of years old. He has known Dean for less then a fraction of his immortal life and yet... I don’t want to live without you.

18-19

{“I think you call him when you need something.” Rachel’s words cut deeper then they should. Dean considers Cas the best friend he’s ever had, but their life means friendship is built in the middle of life threatening situations. There was another thought too, buried deep. At least needing something gives me an excuse. At least if he doesn’t show up I can pretend he doesn’t want to help, not he doesn’t want to see me. It’s strange to need an excuse to talk to someone, but Dean can’t help it. Instead of studying either of these revelations, he denies what this angel has said, and resumes arguing with her.

{“There are millions of lives at stake here not just two!” Even as Cas says it, he feels the weight of his words on his own actions. How many people had he sacrificed to save two recently? Cas doesn’t stop Dean from leaving with the children. He could have, but he knows how hypocritical it would be. The greater good doesn’t always mean everything, he reasons.

{When Cas gets his powers back, the first thing he does (well, after smiting all the monsters in the diner) is heal Dean. The bite on his neck vanishes as Cas places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tells himself it is for grounding purposes, but he knows he doesn’t need to touch someone to heal them. He also knows he doesn’t usually want to. He also knows that he’s had to use the word usually instead of always a lot more since he met Dean.

The Man Who Would Be King

{“But Cas, you’ll call right? If you get into real trouble?” There is more Dean wants to say, but he can’t. Usually they would be hunting Crowley together, but Sam and Bobby think Cas-their Cas, who has saved their lives more times then he can count-might be working with the king of Hell. It’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. And yet... his instincts are telling him they’re right. He always goes with his gut, but with Cas... there’s something in his heart straining against it. Innocent until proven guilty, he thinks stubbornly. As Cas teleports away, Dean wishes he could believe the angel will call if he has to, but he has a feeling those words will be ignored.

{“I still considered myself the Winchester’s guardian. After all, they taught me how to stand up, what to stand for.” As he goes over the story in his head, Cas thinks about what else he’s learned from them. From Dean. How to smile, how to cry. How to feel so much and then repress it like your life depends on it. How to love.

{“This is Cas guys!” Dean knows it’s a weak argument, but they don’t know the guy like he does. He thinks of Cas saying “profound bond” and realizes it’s true. Sam and Bobby weren’t there in Hell. They weren’t there sitting on that park bench, or in that bar. They didn’t sit in the Impala afterwards, actually laughing for the first time in years. Dean blinks a few times. There is an emotion hovering at the surface of his mind that he does not want to look at too closely right now.

{“Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

“I was there. Where were you?” There are tears in Dean’s eyes as he looks at Cas over the fire. I hurt him again, he thinks numbly. Sam and Dean don’t understand the stakes of the war in heaven is all. They don’t understand that this betrayal was necessary. But as Cas looks at Dean, his certainty wavers. It feels like the moment before he chose to stop Lucifer, except this time he is already in the wrong, and it is too late, and he hurt Dean.

{“I’m doing this for you Dean. I’m doing this because of you.” Dean stares at the angel in front of him. Cas is always saying shit like this, but this time it’s a lie and they both know it. Has it always been a lie? What were his real motives? Of course he wasn’t always doing this stuff for me. I was stupid to believe it. His father’s words ring in his head. Useless. Pathetic. Cas betrayed them. Cas betrayed him, and it hurts like hell.

{“Next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family.” It feels like a knife, sliding below Cas’s layers of self righteousness and belief and inserting itself into his chest. He stops breathing. Dean did legitimately care about him, and now he’s gone and burned it all down. What choice did I have? He thinks desperately. It is too late now.

Let It Bleed

{“I do everything that you ask, I always come when you call, and I am your friend.” Dean wishes he could accept that. All he wants is to hug Cas and tell him it’s okay, and have everything go back to normal. But Cas betrayed them, and now Lisa and Ben are in danger, and Dean feels like he’s falling through the floor.

{“I wish this changed anything.”

“I know. Me too.” He ruined it. Castiel, the broken angel, the fallen angel. Whatever he might have had with Dean he ruined it like he ruined everything else. It feels like a black hole opening up inside him. He feels something on his face, and lifts a shaky hand to touch his cheeks. They are wet. Just keep going. All you can do now is defeat Raphael. Now you have no reason not to. Now you will do what you must. Dean clearly doesn’t care anymore, so there is nothing holding Cas back.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

{“we were family once. I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times. I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too.” It was the closest Dean could come to saying what he meant, which was please, I need you here. He thought he saw Cas’s expression waver for a moment, but then the angel steeled himself and Dean felt a sinking sensation. He knew it-whatever it was or had been-was over before Cas opened his mouth.

{“You’re not my family Dean. I have no family.” He almost choked on the words as he said them. It was true, he told himself. Dean wasn’t family, he never would be. He was just a human. He is more than family, whispers the traitorous part of himself that had made him betray Heaven for this one human. But Cas sees his words hit Dean like a javelin, and he knows there is no going back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

{All the souls from purgatory are in Cas, and he remembers why he wasn’t supposed to fall. This is his destiny.

{As Castiel tells them to kneel or die, Dean remembers why he’s been scared to fly since forever. There’s always a crash.

Then all hell-well, all Purgatory breaks loose, and neither of them have time to get lost in memories.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Family Business (Part 1)

Summary: The reader’s night doesn’t turn out as she expected when she winds up in the hands of serial killer...

Pairing: Serial Killer!Dean x reader

Word Count: 2,200ish

Warnings: murder, drugging, kidnapping, dark!Dean

A/N: This is sort of a prequel to this imagine but can be read on it’s own...

You threw a hand over your mouth but it was too late. You saw the man standing over the unconscious body whip his head around in your direction. You took off sprinting down the sidewalk, not wanting anything to do with him.

You made it to the corner, panting when you didn’t hear anything behind you. 

“No one’s there. You’re fine,” you said, taking a deep breath, trying to calm down.

Until a hand came over your mouth and something sharp pricked your neck.

You woke up to darkness, hands behind your back in a chair, something clean smelling in the air.

Someone tugged the cloth over your mouth down and cradled your chin under strong fingers.

“What did you see,” said the voice calmly. 

“Nothing,” you said, trying to be calm yourself, taking a shaky breath. “I won’t tell-”

“If you saw nothing then there’s nothing to tell so which one is it. You saw nothing or you saw something and won’t tell?” he asked.

“Let me go, please,” you said, the hand squeezing your jaw. 

“Answer my question,” he said.

“I won’t tell,” you said, the hand falling away, running over the top of your head.

“Calm down and listen to some music,” he said, pulling the fabric back up before he tossed a pair of headphones on you, cranked up too loud. You felt him move away, the room going still. You tried your arms, your legs pinned to the legs of the chair too but whatever was restraining you was too tight and the drugs sapped all of your energy away.

You jumped in your seat when a rough finger grazed your cheek awhile later, taking off the headphones and pulling down your gag.

“What do I look like?” he asked calmly again, a chair scraping along concrete. Oh you were definitely going to die in here.

“I don’t know,” you said. “Please. I want to go home.”

“The man you saw before wanted to hurt you,” he said. “He hurts people. That’s why I’m killing him. Understand?”

“Sure, now please-”

“I kill bad people. Only bad people. Now we have a problem because maybe you saw my face, maybe you didn’t, but I can’t know for sure. So now I need to figure out if you’re a bad person, alright?” he said, like you were chatting over a cup of coffee.

“I’m not,” you said.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” he said.

“What gives you the right to-”

“I’m a bad person because I like killing other people. No one gave me that right. It’s who I am. If you’re a good person, you have nothing to be afraid of,” he said.

“Y-You’re just going to let me walk out of here if I pass your test?” you asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m not going skipping down to the police station with you but I’ll disappear. Your fear makes me think you have something to hide though.”

“Sorry, I didn’t plan on getting kidnapped by a serial killer this weekend,” you said, the guy letting out a small laugh.

“Give me your name,” he said.

“Jane Doe,” you said, the man chuckling again but darker, his hot breath ghosting over your ear.

“Give me your name,” he said. “Or this can start going differently.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you sighed, the man humming.

“Good considering that’s what your license says,” he said. He spouted off your address and birthday, reading off your work badge and the coffee shop you frequented from the cards in your purse. “So Y/N, no arrest record. One parking ticket but you disputed it and got it overturned. A broken arm when you were seven playing soccer and you’ve got quite a bit in your retirement fund already for someone your age. You even regularly donate to the local animal shelter. You appear to be a regular upstanding citizen.”

“Can I go now?” you asked.

“No,” he said, slamming a computer shut. “Stupid bad people put out there that they are bad. Smart bad people don’t and you don’t strike me as stupid.”

“Can you skip the foreplay and tell me if you’re going to kill me or not?” you asked. “I know you serial killer guys are into playing with your dinner and all but...oh please don’t tell me you’re one of those-”

“I kill people. I’m not a psychopath,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulders. “Not like you.”

“I am not-”

“I was watching you watch Ben Olton for the past three nights at that bar. Luring him in, making sure he’d go after you. I get it. He wasn’t a big guy. He didn’t have too many inches on you and you’d probably have good odds in a fight if you knew what you were doing,” he said. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said.

“You picked a safe target for your kill. Smart. It was smart to do that. But here’s the thing. You’ve been a little sloppy and tonight was the third time I had to clean up after you. I don’t like other killers and I especially don’t like them trying to pin their work on me. Understand?” he said, squeezing your shoulder.

“How long have you known?” you asked, your blindfold ripped off. You squinted your eyes to adjust to the light in the mostly empty room. Apart from the tarp on the ground in the corner that was.

“Earlier today. You didn’t realize you were talking to the guy you were trying to frame until just now, did you?” he asked, wearing a smile that would have seemed friendly if you knew he wasn’t about to kill you.

“Sorry. I’m not as seasoned as some,” you said, jerking your hands, taking a deep breath. “I’m not getting out of this alive, am I?”

“Probably not,” he said as he stood up, shoving his computer in a bag, pulling out a small but sharp knife. “You know what happens next.”

“Did you make him hurt?” you asked, the man cocking his head. “Olton. Did you make him hurt?”

“...Somewhat. I normally go a bit slower but I was rushed for time on account of you,” he said, standing in front of you with the blade, looking you up and down.

“I’m not going to beg. You’ve already made up your mind about me,” you said.

“You’ve never killed anyone,” he said. “You maim and hurt but never kill. Why?”

“I’m working my way up to it,” you said, blushing in front of a serial killer for not being up on your murder game possibly the strangest thing you’d ever felt. 

“I asked why,” he said, lowering the blade.

“The first two hurt my friend. It was personal. I wanted them to hurt forever like they have to. Olton hurt people too,” you said with a shrug.

“You might be more messed up than I am,” he said.

“Uh, that’s debatable,” you said, the man taking a deep breath. He pulled out a pair of zip ties and walked around behind you. You’d only ever heard of him cutting throats but maybe he strangled his vics too. You knew this was-

He cut through the ties on your wrists and secured your hands in front of you so fast you barely registered that he cut your ankles free and was pulling you to your feet.

You could try to fight but he was way too big, way too strong, just a single hand on your bicep turning your body where he wanted it to go.

Apparently over to your death tarp was not in his plans. 

He led you out of the room and down a hall, turning a corner to spot Olton curled on a tarp of his own, shallow breaths coming every so often from him.

“I punctured his lung. It’s a slow way to go,” said the man as he knelt down with you. He pushed the knife into your hands and guided your wrists over to Olton’s neck. 

Olton glared up at the man, looking at you to turn the knife on the guy.

You didn’t expect that much blood to come out when you pressed into the skin, Olton squirming as the red dark liquid pooled and spurted out before he went still.

“Congratulations on your first kill,” said the man behind you, taking the knife back, leaving you there as started to peel off his shirt. “It’s a rush, isn’t it?”

“At least give me the common courtesy of not burying me with this sicko,” you said, the man stripping down to his boxers, tossing you a garbage bag. “I don’t even get a tarp?”

“It’s for your clothes,” he said, walking over and cutting through your ties, ripping the gag that was still around your neck off. “Don’t leave evidence.”

“You’re not going to kill me?” you asked.

“I told you. I only kill bad people,” he said.

“I just killed a man,” you said.

“Because you thought I was going to kill you if you didn’t,” he said.

“No. I did it because I wanted to,” you said.

“I suspected that. You could have killed me though,” he said.

“I didn’t want to kill you,” you said.

“Even when you thought I was going to murder you and chop you up into little pieces,” he said. 

“That would be hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?” you said, the man smiling.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, helping you to your feet. “Apologies for the...drugging and kidnapping and almost murder thing. You can’t be too careful nowadays.”

“You’re really going to let me walk out of here?” you asked.

“Sweetheart, I just watched you kill a man,” he said.

“Who would the police believe? Gruffy you or sweet little me?” you asked, crossing your arms.

“I like you,” he said, pointing the knife at you with a smile. “I could teach you a thing or two.”

“Like how to be sloppy and have a witness around that you have to kidnap?” you asked.

“Like how to know when there’s someone else out there that’s just a little bit off like yourself,” he said, flashing you a teasing smile. “I let you see me tonight, Y/N. I’ve been watching you all week. You’re...different.”

“What if you were wrong and I was some sweet girl,” you said.

“I knew I wasn’t and you are a sweet girl,” he said. “You give money to puppies after all.”

“I like puppies,” you said.

“Everyone likes puppies,” said Dean, rolling his eyes.

“You’re weird,” you said, peeling off your shirt.

“Takes one to know one,” he said. “Now hurry up. You’ve got some dumping basics to learn.”

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, Dean pulling up outside your house a few hours later, a pair of his extra sweats and tee on, purse in your lap.

“Oh and uh, don’t bring personal ID to a murder. It makes losing your license a bit more of a freak out fest than normal,” he said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said, Dean biting his bottom lip. “You got something to say?”

“I’ll text you sometime,” he said.

“For our next murder?” you joked.

“Movies, murder. Whatever mood we’re in,” he said with a smile.

“I should totally report you,” you said.

“Do that and they’ll never find your body,” he said with a smirk.

“I be you say that to all the girls. Tease,” you said.

“Copycat. A sloppy copycat too. Hit that jugular hard,” he said.

“I need some practice,” you said.

“You’ll get there. The real killers are the ones they never catch,” he said.

“Oh yeah? How do you know they exist if they never catch them?” you asked.

“It’s sort of our...family business,” he said, your eyes widening. “For quite a while. It takes a special person to be with a Winchester.”

“I’m starting to see that,” you said, nodding your head. “Good thing you found me then, huh?”

“Keep that up and I might actually think you’re flirting with me,” he said.

“You’ve been flirting the whole ride home,” you said, opening up the door. “I’ll see you around, Dean.”

“You want to grab lunch tomorrow?” he asked. “Like normal people?”

“I like burgers,” you said. 

“Yup. A murderer and you like greasy food? You’re the one for me, sweetheart,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll text you where to meet.”

“Thanks for the night, Dean,” you said.

“No, thank you, sweetheart. I think you made my year.”

A/N: Read Part 2 here!