#bobby + mary parallels

[shallowseeker]

Bobby Singer needs to be in #SPNwin.

Like, seriously, he’s one of The Most Interesting Characters. He’ll always be a main to me, because he’s not straightforward.

He’s got that warring, contrasting nature. That seesaw-soldier thing. He’s complicated and loving and and yet…he screws up royally. He does what he thinks is right, is necessary.

He can be hot and cold and sweet and vengeful and respectful and encouraging, and then he goes and throws down these misogynistic little digs. Every feminine thing gets spit on; turns into a barb. And yet it’s not a barb. The teasing is somehow warm n’ homey n’ familiar. You decode its true meaning.

And…he’ll break the mold with soap operas and pedicures. He’ll cook for you in his little kitchen. He can spit with words, but accepts with his actions.

He goes from love, “do you value yourself so little?” to, scoffing, letting you down at your most vulnerable moment: “you’re not a person.” (Because sometimes, he thinks tough love will carry you through and help you survive.) He a rocky foundation but he’s a foundation.

That’s Bobby!

[dreamlanderin]

You don't see me, Part 5 (Sam x reader)

Summary: You're in Green Hollow, Sam and Dean race to find you. Follows after part 4

Warnings: Swearing, blood, gore, horror, angst (Legit almost everything you can expect from a supernatural episode), spoilers if you squint?

Words: 10k (I got carried away)

You’d been following Bobby’s directions for hours, squinting at a hand-drawn map that seemed to make less sense the further you drove. The landmarks he’d mentioned—a crooked signpost, an old water tower—had been there, sure, but they looked… different. Faded, almost distorted, like you’d stepped into some parallel version of the real world.

Your phone was useless out here, the signal dead the moment you’d left the last highway. You’d tried restarting it, even waved it in the air in a desperate attempt to catch a bar, but nothing. Just static.

And then, after what felt like an eternity of wrong turns and second-guessing, you’d found it. The town. Green Hollow.

It didn’t look like much—a handful of buildings huddled together in the middle of nowhere, their facades weathered and crumbling like they’d been abandoned decades ago. But the lights were on in some of the windows, and you’d caught glimpses of movement behind curtains and doorframes. A general store, a diner, what might’ve been a post office—they were all there, clustered around a single stretch of road that barely qualified as Main Street.

At first, it had seemed… normal. Quiet, but normal. Until you stepped out of the bike.

That’s when you felt it. Eyes on you.

It wasn’t subtle, either. People weren’t sneaking glances from behind windows or casually looking up as they passed. No, they were staring. Full-on, unapologetic staring, like you were some kind of intruder who’d wandered where you didn’t belong. A woman sweeping the porch of the general store stopped mid-swipe, her hand frozen on the broom as her gaze locked onto you. A group of kids on bikes paused at the corner, their laughter dying as they turned in unison, their faces eerily blank. Even an old man sitting on a bench across the street was watching you, his eyes unblinking, his hands resting motionless on his cane.

You tried to shake it off, brushing past the unease with a shrug as you headed toward what looked like a diner. You’d figured maybe you could grab something to eat, ask a few questions, and figure out your next move. But when you pushed open the door, the bell jangling above your head, the low murmur of conversation inside died instantly.

Every head turned toward you. Every set of eyes.

You froze, the weight of their stares pressing against your skin like a physical thing. The room was small, just a handful of tables and booths, but it felt suffocating. The waitress behind the counter—young, with a crooked name tag that read Mary—stood frozen, the coffee pot in her hand hovering inches above a mug. The man she’d been serving, a burly guy in a flannel jacket, turned his head so slowly it was almost unnatural, his gaze pinning you in place.

You managed a tight smile, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Uh… is the kitchen still open?”

Mary didn’t answer. She just stared at you, her wide eyes flicking briefly to the other patrons before settling back on you.

“Okay,” you muttered under your breath, backing toward the door. “Guess not.”

No, just no. You left the diner without another word, the weight of their stares trailing you all the way to the sidewalk. The air outside felt colder now, heavier, and as you glanced back at the windows, you swore you saw the curtains twitch.

You tried the motel next, if you could even call it that. It was more of a rundown, single-story building with a flickering VACANCY sign hanging crooked above the office door. But when you stepped inside, the tiny reception desk was empty, the bell for service cracked and rusted. You’d called out, your voice echoing in the stillness, but no one came.

It wasn’t just the motel, either. The gas station was locked up, the lights inside dim. The general store had closed early, its door chained shut. Even the post office, which had looked abandoned at first glance, now seemed to hum faintly, like there was someone—or something—inside watching you.

You tried not to let it get to you, tried to tell yourself it was all in your head. Bobby had said there was just some strange weather or something you needed to check out, this didn’t feel like strange weather at all. Did he give you the right map?

 You’d gone back to your bike, luckily it was still there, a part of you thought it might be missing when you went back. It would have to do for now, maybe you should camp for the night? The headlights cast long, distorted shadows across the empty street, and in the rearview mirror, you thought you saw movement—a figure standing just beyond the edge of the light.

But when you turned to look, the street was empty.

By now the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the town cloaked in an uneasy twilight. The streets were deserted, silent except for the faint creak of an old weather vane spinning lazily in the cool evening breeze. You’d pulled your motorbike up to the edge of the road, flicking the kickstand down and cutting the engine. The silence that followed felt too heavy, like it had been waiting to swallow the sound whole.

Unfolding the crumpled map Bobby had given you, you tried to make sense of the faded lines and scrawled notes. The directions had been straightforward enough when you set out, but now the roads seemed to twist and blur together, leading nowhere. Your headlamp cast just enough light to make out the words, but even they felt wrong somehow, like the map was deliberately trying to confuse you. You were hungry and tired, you wish you’d taken some snackss when you’d stopped by the gas station.

You tried your phone again but nothing.

You shifted your weight on the bike, exhaling sharply to ground yourself. It was fine. You’d figure it out. You always did.

But then you noticed them.

At first, it was just a flicker of movement in the corner of your eye—quick, darting, like shadows stretching in the fading light. You brushed it off as nothing, focusing instead on the map. But the flickers kept coming, and when you finally glanced up, you saw them. The children.

They were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp a little ways down the road, half-hidden in the shadows. Two, no, three of them. Their faces were blank, pale, and still, with eyes that seemed to glint unnaturally in the low light. You recognized them immediately—the same kids you’d seen earlier when you’d first rolled into town. They’d been playing by the fountain in the square, laughing and running circles around each other. But now? Now they weren’t laughing. They weren’t moving at all.

They were just staring at you.

You looked back down at the map, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping up your spine. It was fine. They were just kids. Probably curious about the stranger in town. Kids were like that, weren’t they? Still, your fingers tightened around the edge of the paper, crumpling it slightly as you forced yourself to focus.

The sound of small, deliberate footsteps broke the silence.

Your head snapped up, and you realized they were closer now. Still not speaking, still not smiling—just standing there, watching. One of them, a girl with long, stringy hair that clung to her face, tilted her head slightly, the movement unnervingly slow. Her eyes caught yours, and for a split second, you felt frozen in place, like she was daring you to look away.

You cleared your throat, gripping the handlebars of your bike. “Can I help you?” you asked, your voice steadier than you felt.

No answer. Just silence, thick and oppressive.

This wasn’t right, you thought. Your hand itched against your thigh, next to you knife.

The boy next to her—a gangly kid with a too-thin frame and a face that looked too sharp in the dim light—took a step forward. Then another. His bare feet scuffed against the pavement, the sound too loud in the stillness.

You didn’t wait for them to get closer.

Stuffing the map back into your jacket, you swung your leg over the bike and fumbled with the ignition. The engine roared to life, a comforting burst of sound that cut through the quiet. You glanced back toward the children, expecting them to scatter at the noise.

But they didn’t move.

If anything, they seemed closer now, their figures outlined by the glow of the streetlamp. The girl’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile.

Your heart thudded in your chest as you revved the engine, trying to drown out the rising panic. You weren’t scared of a few kids. You’d faced worse, far worse. This was nothing. Just your nerves playing tricks on you. Right?

You shouldn't have come here. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that their eyes were following you, even as you turned the bike and sped off down the road. The town blurred around you in streaks of dark shapes and flickering lights, but you couldn’t bring yourself to slow down, not until the uneasy weight pressing on your chest began to ease.

But as you glanced in the mirror, your stomach dropped.

They were still there. And their eyes, they were black now.

Demons. Where the hell did Bobby send you?

You twisted the throttle, the bike roaring beneath you as the town faded behind in a blur of dark shapes and faint streetlights. The air felt heavier with each mile, like you were dragging it with you, and the memory of those children’s unblinking stares clung to your mind like smoke. You told yourself to shake it off, to focus on the road ahead, you needed to leave, and now.

The first time you noticed them, you thought it was just your nerves. A man in a dark coat, standing under the yellow haze of a streetlamp, his head turning to follow as you passed. Then another—a woman in a pale dress, sitting on the steps of a house with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes locked onto you, they flashed black. Then another, and another. Figures standing in doorways, leaning out of windows, scattered across the streets like chess pieces on a board.

All of them were watching you.

Your chest tightened as you leaned into the bike, urging it faster, the engine growling as the wind whipped past your face. The cold bit at your cheeks, sharp and unforgiving, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the growing weight of their stares. They were everywhere now, appearing out of shadows and corners, their faces blank but their eyes piercing.

Your breath came faster, shallow and uneven, as you tried to push the bike harder, faster. The town blurred around you, the streets twisting and curling like the lines of Bobby’s map. You didn’t know where you were going—just away.

Then you saw her.

She was standing in the middle of the road, a small figure bathed in the pale glow of your headlamp. The white dress she wore was stark against the darkness, its hem brushing her bare ankles as the fabric swayed gently in the wind. Her hair, dark and loose, framed a face that was eerily calm, far too still for a child standing alone in the street at night.

You slammed the brakes, the tires screeching against the pavement as the bike skidded sideways. Your heart leapt into your throat as the handlebars jerked in your grip, and for one terrifying moment, you thought you’d lose control. The bike wobbled, then steadied, stopping just a few feet from where she stood.

The engine idled loudly, its growl the only sound breaking the eerie silence. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your hands gripping the handlebars so tightly your knuckles ached. The girl didn’t move. She just stood there, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her head tilted slightly to one side as she watched you.

You cut the engine, the sudden quiet almost deafening. The faint hum of the wind picked up again, carrying with it the distant creak of something—maybe a swing set or a weathered sign—moving in the darkness.

She stood, there unphased.

“Hello,” she said, her voice soft and clear, like the chime of a bell.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as sandpaper. “Hey,” you managed, your voice rough and uncertain. “You… okay, kid?” You look at her, please be a kid.

She tilted her head further and gave a faint nod, her dark eyes glinting in the light of the bike. “I’ve been waiting, you know” she said simply.

“Waiting for what?” you asked, your pulse thundering in your ears.

She smiled then, small and faint, but it sent a chill crawling down your spine. “For you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, the air felt colder. Heavier. You glanced around, your eyes darting to the shadows that lined the street, searching for… something. Someone. But the street was empty now, eerily so. The figures who’d been watching earlier were gone.

Just you and the girl.

Your hand instinctively moved toward the knife strapped to your thigh, your fingers brushing the hilt as your muscles tensed. “Who are you?” you asked, your voice sharper now, more demanding.

Her smile didn’t waver as her eyes flashed white.

“I’m Lilith”

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

It had taken Sam and Dean almost a full day just to figure out which road to take. They’d driven through the area where Green Hollow was supposed to be—at least twice—but the town itself was nowhere to be found. The map didn’t make sense, the roads didn’t match up, and every turn seemed to lead them back to the same stretch of empty highway.

“This is ridiculous,” Dean muttered, gripping the steering wheel with frustration as the Impala rumbled down yet another unmarked road. “It’s like the damn town doesn’t exist.”

Sam, slouched in the passenger seat with a map unfolded across his lap, ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. “The map says it’s supposed to be right here,” he said, jabbing a finger at a point on the paper. “But it’s not. None of this lines up.”

Dean shot him a glare. “You think I don’t know that? We’ve been driving in circles for hours, Sam. Maybe Bobby gave us the wrong coordinates.”

Sam shook his head, his brow furrowed in thought. His knee bounced restlessly, his fingers gripping the edges of the map a little too tightly. “Bobby doesn’t make mistakes like that. If he says it’s here, it’s here. We’re just missing something.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, like a magic portal, maybe? ‘Cause I’m not seeing a single sign of this Green Hollow anywhere.”

Sam didn’t respond right away. His mind was a tangle of frustration and unease, not just from the endless backtracking but from the weight of the vial still tucked away in his duffel bag. He hadn’t touched it, not since he’d packed his bag back at the motel, but just knowing it was there was enough to keep his nerves frayed. He’d told himself it was just a precaution, but he knew better. The temptation was clawing at him, and the withdrawal only made it worse. His hands itched to fidget with something, but he forced them to stay steady, even as a cold sweat broke out at the back of his neck.

They’d eventually pulled off into a small, run-down gas station on the outskirts of a nearby town, the kind of place where time seemed to have stopped thirty years ago. The fluorescent lights flickered, and the old man behind the counter looked like he hadn’t seen a stranger in years.

“Green Hollow?” the man had repeated, squinting at them from behind the counter. “Why the hell would you wanna go there?”

Dean had leaned against the counter, his tone flat. “Long story. Can you tell us how to get there or not?”

The old man had given them a long, scrutinizing look before finally jerking his thumb toward the window. “You’ll need to take the dirt road about five miles west of here. Ain’t marked, but you’ll see it if you’re looking. Place is a mess of old trails and overgrowth, though, so good luck not getting lost.”

“Great,” Dean had muttered under his breath, already dreading the drive.

“You boys sure you wanna go poking around there?” the man had added, his voice lowering slightly. “Ain’t much left of Green Hollow. Place is washed up. Folks there don’t like strangers much.”

Sam had thanked the man and grabbed the directions, but the warning lingered in the back of his mind as they left the gas station and headed back to the Impala. Dean, of course, hadn’t cared. “Washed up or not,” he’d said, starting the car with a growl of the engine, “we’re finding this place.”

As they drove toward the dirt road, Sam leaned his head against the window, the vibration of the Impala’s engine doing little to calm the restless energy swirling inside him. His thoughts drifted—mostly to you. What was he even going to say when he saw you again? How could he explain himself, the mess he was in, and the way he’d let so much spiral out of control? Every time he thought about it, the words felt like sand slipping through his fingers.

Would you even want to hear him out? He wasn’t sure he’d deserve it, not after leaving things the way he had. But the thought of you out here, alone, in a place that didn’t even seem to want to be found—it made his chest tighten.

The dirt road wasn’t hard to spot once they knew where to look, but navigating it was another story. It was narrow, uneven, and riddled with potholes, winding through dense trees that seemed to swallow the light. The further they went, the more the air seemed to change—heavier, quieter, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

Dean had grumbled the whole way, swerving to avoid a particularly deep rut in the road. “This better be worth it,” he’d said, gripping the wheel tighter as the Impala jolted over another bump. “If we end up driving into some Deliverance situation, I’m blaming Bobby.”

Sam didn’t respond, his focus split between the map in his lap and the weight of his duffel bag at his feet. He hadn’t opened it, hadn’t even looked at it since they’d left, but the knowledge of what was inside felt like a lead weight. He’d brought the vial with him. He didn’t know why—it wasn’t like he planned on using it. But the thought of leaving it behind had felt like a risk he wasn’t ready to take. It wasn’t just the blood that haunted him, though. It was you.

His thoughts circled back to you, and he found himself gripping the map a little tighter. He couldn’t stop imagining the way your face might look when he showed up—surprised, maybe even angry. But there was also a small, selfish part of him that hoped you’d still look at him the way you used to, with that quiet trust that had always unnerved him a little because he wasn’t sure he’d ever deserved it.

Then they found it an old sign written in yellow: Green Hollow.

Dean slammed the car door shut, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight, the Impala parked a little crooked near the curb of Green Hollow’s diner. The town, to both their surprise, had a pleasant hum to it. People walked casually along the sidewalks, chatting with neighbors or carrying groceries. A group of kids on bikes zipped past, laughing as they raced down the street.

“This doesn’t look like the kind of place someone vanishes into thin air,” Dean muttered, shielding his eyes against the sun as he scanned the square.

Sam climbed out more slowly, rolling his stiff shoulders. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice distant. The heavy bag slung over his shoulder seemed to weigh more than just his belongings. He could feel the glass vial inside, nestled among his clothes, and it gnawed at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Dean gave him a sideways glance as they started toward the diner. “You good?”

Sam nodded too quickly, his hand brushing against the strap of his bag. “I’m fine.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, his frown deepening as his gaze dropped to Sam’s hand. It was trembling slightly, the motion faint but noticeable.

“You look like crap, man,” Dean said bluntly, stopping short of the diner steps.

Sam ignored him, brushing past with a muttered, “I said I’m fine.”

Dean didn’t push, though his jaw tightened. Dean’s gaze flicked toward the people milling about the square. “Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket and opening the door. “Let’s ask around.”

They split up, keeping the square in sight as they started talking to locals. Most of the people they approached seemed friendly enough, offering polite smiles and vague answers about the town’s quiet charm. No one acted suspicious, and no one seemed particularly interested in two strangers asking questions.

Sam spoke with a woman near a flower shop, her apron dusted with dirt and her hands holding a small pot of marigolds. “I’m looking for someone,” he explained, showing her a picture of you that Bobby had dug up. “She might’ve passed through here recently.”

The woman squinted at the photo, then shook her head with a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, hon. Can’t say I’ve seen her. But if she’s new, she might’ve stopped by the diner. Folks there know everyone who comes through.”

Sam nodded, thanking her before heading back toward the square to meet Dean.

Dean wasn’t having much luck either. He stood near a group of men loading lumber into the back of a pickup truck, arms crossed as he asked about you. The men glanced at the photo, shook their heads, and returned to their work without much interest.

“Nothing,” Dean muttered when they regrouped.

Eventually they headed to the diner. Inside, the place was all warm lighting and polished chrome, the scent of coffee and grease hanging in the air. A waitress with a kind smile greeted them and gestured to a booth near the window.

Dean slid into the seat first, his eyes already scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary. Sam took the other side, resting his elbows on the table as he tried to focus on the menu. His fingers tapped lightly against the laminated paper, his leg bouncing under the table.

What’s that smell? Something to Sam had smelled familiar, it made his head dizzy and his hands shake. It was all over this place.

“You want coffee?” Dean asked, his voice tinged with a note of something sharper—concern disguised as nonchalance.

“Sure,” Sam said, though he barely glanced up.

When the waitress returned with two cups of coffee and Dean’s order of pie, Sam reached for his cup, but his fingers faltered, the handle slipping slightly before he steadied it. Hot liquid sloshed near the rim, and Dean didn’t miss the way Sam’s hand trembled as he lifted the cup to his lips.

Dean’s frown deepened, but he didn’t comment, choosing instead to spear a piece of pie with his fork. “You think she’s here?” he asked after a moment, his tone casual.

Sam shrugged, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his cup. “Probably,” he said. “I mean, Bobby said this was the last place she was headed. She might just be laying low—sleeping it off at one of the motels or something.”

Dean’s eyebrow arched. “Sleeping it off? She’s not exactly the ‘kick back and relax’ type.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam muttered, taking another shaky sip of his coffee. “Neither are we, but it happens.”

Dean didn’t argue, though the skeptical look on his face spoke volumes. He leaned back in his seat, watching as Sam stared down into his coffee like it might hold the answers he was looking for.

Sam’s thoughts, however, weren’t on the coffee or even the town around them. He kept picturing the look you might give him when you saw him again—angry, maybe hurt. And he deserved that, didn’t he?

He couldn’t stop the sarcastic thought that crept into his mind: Sorry I ignored you and didn’t call for weeks—my bad. How’s the hunting going?

The corner of his mouth twitched briefly at the ridiculousness of it. But beneath the sarcasm, there was a weight—a fear that whatever he said wouldn’t be enough to bridge the gap between them.

“You’re doing that thing again,” Dean said, breaking the silence.

Sam blinked, looking up. “What thing?”

“The thing where you overthink everything and don’t say squat,” Dean said, pointing his fork at him. “If you’ve got something on your mind, spill it.”

Sam shook his head, brushing it off. “It’s nothing.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean muttered, digging back into his pie. “And I’m the Tooth Fairy.”

They finished their meal and headed back to the Impala, deciding to drive around town to get a better sense of the place. The streets were starting to quiet as evening crept in, the earlier buzz of activity tapering off into the kind of calm that made Dean’s instincts prickle.

They saw it.

Dean slowed the car, his gaze locking onto a familiar shape propped awkwardly against the curb.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, throwing the car into park and jumping out.

Sam followed, his stomach sinking as they approached the bike. It was unmistakably one of Bobby’s—a sturdy machine with just enough wear to show its history.

“This is hers,” Dean said, crouching down to inspect it. “It’s one of Bobby’s. I fixed it up last time I was at the junkyard.”

Sam knelt beside him, his fingers brushing the handlebars. The grease stains were still there, faint but unmistakable.

“Why is her stuff still here?” Dean noted your duffle bag was still attached and looked up, thinking maybe you were close by and that he’d spot you comping up the sidewalk.

“Dean” Sam looked at him pointedly, Dean frowns but notices what Sam was hinting at,

Dean’s hand brushed against the handlebar, and his eyes caught on a streak of something dark near the base of the grip. His fingers hovered over it before he rubbed at it gently, then brought his hand closer to his face.

“Is that…?” Dean’s voice trailed off, his jaw tightening as he recognized the faint but undeniable smear of blood.

Sam stiffened, his chest tightening. “It’s fresh,” he said quietly, his hand gripping the strap of his bag like it might anchor him.

Dean glanced around the street, his gaze sharp. “Alright, now I’m officially not liking this”

“Don’t look at them, act normal” Sam whispered “It’s impossible for nobody to have seen her, either there is something wrong with this town, or there is something wrong with them”

Dean’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Sam, his grip on the wheel still firm. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘something wrong with them’?” he asked, his voice low but edged with unease.

Sam shifted, keeping his voice steady despite the jitteriness clawing at his insides. “I mean, they’re too normal. It’s like they’re trying too hard not to notice us—or the bike.” He gestured subtly toward the people walking down the street, all of them going about their business as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Not one of them had so much as glanced in the direction of the bike, even though it was left awkwardly propped on the sidewalk.

Dean’s eyes flicked back to the street. The people moved in a rhythm that felt… off. Perfectly timed, like they were part of some eerie choreographed routine. A woman pushing a stroller stopped at the exact same moment a man adjusted his tie, as if they were mirroring each other. A group of kids laughed too loudly as they walked past, their laughter abrupt and out of sync, cutting off too quickly.

Dean muttered under his breath, “Yeah, no, that’s not creepy at all.”

Sam leaned closer, lowering his voice even further. “Don’t stare. Just… keep it casual.”

Dean shot him a sidelong glance, one brow arched. “We’re driving a classic car through the middle of a washed-up ghost town. Casual isn’t exactly in the cards.”

Sam’s hand twitched, and he clenched it into a fist to steady the tremor. His palms felt clammy, and he rubbed them against his jeans as he tried to focus. “Look, all I’m saying is we don’t know what we’re walking into. This place isn’t right, and if they’re not going to give us anything willingly, we’ll have to figure it out another way.”

Dean sighed, his knuckles whitening as he tightened his grip on the wheel. “Great. So, what’s the plan, genius?”

Sam didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed fixed on the street ahead, his mind racing through the possibilities. “We start with the motel,” he said finally. “If she’s not there, we’ll ask around—but carefully. If they’re hiding something, we don’t want to tip them off.”

Dean nodded, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “Fine. But if one of these Stepford rejects tries anything, I’m not playing nice.”

Sam almost smiled at that, but the weight of the situation kept his expression grim. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

Sam’s gaze lingered on the bike. The faint smear of blood and the ignition still on gnawed at him. You had to be somewhere close. He just hoped they weren’t already too late. Please be okay, please, please

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The cold, hard floor beneath you was a poor substitute for shelter, but it was the best you could manage under the circumstances. You didn’t know how long you’d been here—probably just a few hours—but it felt like an eternity. The first rays of sunlight began creeping through the grime-covered windows, casting faint streaks of pale gold across the room. It was almost comforting, but not enough to banish the dread clawing at your chest.

Your body ached in ways you hadn’t thought possible. You shifted slightly, wincing as a sharp pain shot through your side. You pressed your hand against the source—a gash just above your hip. It wasn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it was bleeding more than you liked, the steady trickle soaking through the makeshift bandage you’d tied around it. Your left arm wasn’t much better; a long scrape ran from your elbow to your wrist, raw and throbbing. Nothing life-threatening, but enough to make every movement a struggle.

Your thoughts replayed the chaos from hours earlier, every detail burned into your mind. When Lilith had finally revealed herself, you’d bolted, your instincts screaming at you to run. You’d leapt onto your bike, the engine roaring to life as you sped away. But the moment you turned out of the main street, you realized you weren’t alone. The townspeople—those same eerily vacant faces that had stared at you when you arrived—had started to chase you.

They came out of nowhere, spilling onto the streets like a wave, their footsteps pounding against the asphalt as they gained on you. You had pushed the bike as fast as it would go, weaving between narrow streets and tight corners, but they were relentless. One of them—a man with hollow eyes and dirt-streaked clothes—had managed to grab at your arm as you turned a corner. His grip was iron-strong, his nails clawing into your skin as he nearly dragged you off the bike. The memory of his face—too close, too wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

In a panic, you’d reached for the knife strapped to your thigh, slashing at him with wild desperation. The blade cut deep, and he stumbled back with a guttural sound that didn’t quite seem human. Blood had splattered onto your arm, hot and sticky, but you didn’t dare look back. You’d gunned the throttle, the engine screaming as you tore down the road, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. You didn’t even notice you were hurt

But the bike was loud, and it drew attention. You could hear them behind you, their shouts echoing in the night, growing louder with every turn. You knew you couldn’t outrun them forever—not on the bike. It was too conspicuous, too easy to track. You needed to disappear. So, when you spotted the outline of the old school in the distance, you made your choice.

You’d parked the bike.. The engine clicked softly as it cooled, but you didn’t wait around. You grabbed your bag, slipped the knife back into its sheath, and ran, your boots crunching against the gravel as you darted toward the schoolyard. The building loomed ahead, its dark windows staring back at you like empty eyes. It was large enough to hide in, with plenty of rooms to keep you out of sight. You hadn’t seen anyone else as you crept inside, but you hadn’t taken any chances.

Now, in the relative stillness of the classroom you’d chosen, you took stock of what little you had. The desks and chairs scattered around the room had been pushed to one side to make space for your rudimentary fortifications. On such short notice, you’d done what you could to ward off any demons that might come sniffing around.

A quick search of the school had turned up a few supplies: an old box of chalk, a rusty pair of scissors, and some forgotten cleaning supplies tucked away in a janitor’s closet. It wasn’t much, but you’d made it work. Using the chalk, you’d drawn a devil’s trap on the floor just inside the door, ensuring that any demon who stepped into the room would be instantly immobilized. The scissors weren’t exactly iron, but they’d do in a pinch as a makeshift weapon if you had to fight your way out.

You’d also found a bottle of salt in one of the abandoned classrooms—probably left behind by a teacher who’d used it for a science experiment. It wasn’t a lot, but it was enough to line the windowsills and the threshold of the door. It wouldn’t hold up forever, especially if Lilith decided to come after you herself, but it was better than nothing.

The faint sound of footsteps outside the building sent a chill down your spine. You froze, your hand instinctively going to the scissors you’d tucked into your waistband. They weren’t close—yet—but you could hear them, the steady crunch of gravel underfoot and the occasional murmur of low voices. The townspeople. Or… whatever they were. You’d heard them last night, too, their footsteps echoing through the schoolyard as they searched for you. They’d come so close to the building that you’d barely dared to breathe, afraid they’d hear you.

The faint light of dawn creeping through the window offered little solace. You didn’t know if it was enough to keep Lilith at bay. If she wanted you badly enough, the salt wouldn’t matter. But for now, you had to hope that your makeshift defenses would hold. You pulled the scissors from your waistband, gripping them tightly as you pressed your back against the wall, listening to the sounds outside. You were going to die here, you thought. And Bobby, Oh Bobby would blame himself.

What about Sam and Dean? You hadn’t even said goodbye to them. The thought twisted in your chest like a knife, sharp and cruel. And now, here you were—hurt, bleeding, hiding in an abandoned school—about to die because you’d been too damn stubborn, too caught up in proving yourself.

No. You shook your head sharply, banishing the thought before it could take root.

I am not going to die here.

You took a shaky breath, pressing your palm harder against the wound on your side as if the pressure alone could hold you together. I will live. I’ll see Bobby again and hug him so hard he’ll call me an idjit. I’ll laugh at Dean’s stupid jokes again, and when I see Sam, I…

Your thoughts faltered. What would you do? What would you even say?

The memory of his face surfaced—those warm, haunted eyes that always seemed to carry the weight of the world. Would he even care? Would he even look at you the same way? You didn’t know. But there was no time to dwell on that now.

Movement caught your eye. You pressed your back flush against the cold wall, your breathing shallow as you stared at the stained glass window across the room. Shadows moved on the other side, their distorted silhouettes flickering against the colorful panes. They were there.

The tapping started—a slow, deliberate sound that sent shivers down your spine. Fingernails, or maybe claws, scratching at the glass, testing it. They were looking for a way in.

Your grip tightened around the scissors in your hand, the dull metal pressing against your palm. It wasn’t much, but it was all you had. Your gaze darted to the devil’s trap on the floor, the salt lines around the windows and door. You’d done everything you could to fortify this room, but was it enough?

The tapping grew louder, more insistent. Then came the whispers—low, guttural murmurs that didn’t sound quite human. They were speaking, but the words didn’t make sense, like a language that didn’t belong in this world.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent room. You forced yourself to stay still, to stay quiet, even as every instinct screamed at you to run.

But where would you go?

The shadows grew darker, the tapping more frantic. Then, suddenly, the whispers stopped. The silence was worse. It stretched on, heavy and suffocating, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t escape.

And then, a voice—soft, childish, and chilling.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Your blood turned to ice. You knew that voice. It was hers.

Lilith.

You gripped the scissors tighter, your breath catching in your throat. The tapping resumed, but now it was coming from multiple windows, surrounding you.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus. You weren’t going to panic. Not now. You had to think. There’s always a way out. Always.

Your eyes darted around the room, searching for something, anything you could use. The door was barricaded, but if they broke the windows, you wouldn’t have much time. The second they got in, it was over.

What would Bobby do? What would Sam and Dean do?

What would you do?

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. If this was the end, you weren’t going down without a fight.

You stared at the flickering shadows, your mind racing. Panic clawed at the edges of your thoughts, but you shoved it back, locking it behind a wall of sheer determination. Think. Think. Running wasn’t an option—not yet. They’d catch you before you even reached the hallway. You needed a plan. A distraction.

Your gaze swept over the room, cataloging every detail, every possible tool. The barricaded door. The salt lines. The devil’s trap scrawled on the floor. The scavenged supplies—a few candles, some chalk, and a rusty old fire extinguisher. An air vent. It wasn’t much, but it would have to be enough. Your eyes landed on the ancient metal trash can in the corner, and an idea began to take shape—reckless and desperate, but it might just work.

Crouching low to stay out of sight, you moved quickly and quietly. The fire extinguisher was the first thing you grabbed, dragging it to the trash can. You shrugged out of your jacket, wincing as the movement pulled at the wound on your arm, and stuffed it inside. Matches from a supply closet went next, the flame sparking to life in your shaking fingers before catching on the fabric. Smoke began curling upward, thick and acrid.

Grabbing a piece of cardboard to control the airflow, you moved to the windows, dumping salt along the ledges and whispering a hurried exorcism ritual you’d memorized from Bobby. Would it be enough to hold? Probably not, but it was all you had.

The smoke was spreading now, seeping out through the cracks around the windows and door. It wouldn’t drive the demons off, but it might obscure their vision enough for you to get away.

Then your eyes flicked to the ceiling—a rusted air vent, partially concealed by a row of cabinets. Your heart thudded. It wasn’t ideal, but it was a way out.

The tapping at the windows grew louder. A voice followed, soft and singsong, with an edge that made your blood run cold.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Lilith’s voice cooed, childlike and cruel. She was in the hallway.

You didn’t look at the windows. You didn’t have time. Moving quickly, you dragged a desk beneath the vent, ignoring the searing pain in your arm. You hauled yourself up, biting back a gasp as the motion jarred your wound, and wrenched the vent cover loose with fire extinguisher, breaking off the screws. It screeched as it gave way, and you froze, the sound cutting through the room like a siren.

Outside, the tapping stopped.

You moved faster, shoving the cover aside and scrambling into the vent. The narrow space closed around you, dark and stifling. Sweat trickled down your back as you pulled the cover into place behind you, muffling the sound as best you could.

The fire below crackled, smoke filling the room. You could hear the demons outside, their muffled voices rising in confusion. Then, with a crash, the window shattered. You heard them pour inside, heavy footsteps as they tried stomping over the salt line.

The vent was tight, your movements slow and awkward. Every shift of your body sent a metallic groan reverberating through the duct, but you kept going, forcing yourself to crawl forward. The smoke was creeping up, the acrid smell stinging your eyes and throat.

From your cramped hiding spot, you could hear them fill that room, it echoed down the metal tube. “Do you like nursery rhymes?” she said, her voice echoing in the silence.

"I think I'll sing you one"

You held your breath, the weight of her presence pressing against your chest like a physical force. The fire crackled louder, and you could hear the scrape of furniture being moved, the demons tearing apart the room in search of you.

And then, silence.

You didn’t dare move. Every muscle in your body was coiled tight, your breath coming in shallow, quiet gasps.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer, almost sweet. And she didn't speak, really, she hummed something.

You heard the scrape of her shoes against the floor, the sound growing fainter as she moved away. The demons’ voices followed, their footsteps retreating into the hallway. The smoke had done its job, disorienting them just enough to mask your escape.

You waited, counting the seconds in your head. Five. Ten. Fifteen. The air in the vent was stifling, your lungs burning with the effort of staying silent, the smoke had now entered the vent, making it hard to breath or see.

Finally, when the only sound was the distant hum of the fire below, you started moving again. Your fingers scraped against the metal, your breaths shallow as you crawled toward the faint light spilling through a vent cover ahead.

When you reached it, you pressed your face to the slats, peering out into the darkness. You took a breath; The hallway was empty. Quiet. But you knew better than to trust it.

You pushed the cover loose, sliding it aside as carefully as you could, and dropped down into the shadows. The school was a labyrinth, the hallways twisting and turning in a way that made it impossible to orient yourself.

But you had to keep moving.

You slipped into the darkness, your steps silent, your breathing steady. You didn’t know where you were going, but one thought kept you moving forward: You weren’t going to die here

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

As they turned the corner, the faint tendrils of smoke curling into the sky caught Sam’s attention first. He stopped mid-stride, his brow furrowing. “Dean,” he said, pointing toward the plume. It was coming from the direction of the old school.

Dean’s head whipped around, his eyes narrowing as he followed Sam’s gesture. “That’s not good,” he muttered, already picking up the pace toward the smoke.

Sam jogged after him, his heart pounding. His mind was racing with possibilities. What if it was you? What if you were in there? The smoke wasn’t thick enough for a full-blown fire—yet—but it was enough to make his chest tighten with dread. And then he caught something else. A faint, sickly-sweet scent that made his stomach churn.

He slowed for half a second, his brow furrowing as the scent grew stronger. It was familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. He’d smelled it earlier in the town, faint and fleeting, but now it was unmistakable. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut: demon blood.

His stomach twisted, the craving clawing its way up his throat before he could shove it back down. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the smoke ahead instead of the nauseating pull of temptation.

As they approached the edge of the schoolyard, a figure stepped out from behind one of the houses. It was one of the older women they’d seen earlier, her neat apron and floral dress a sharp contrast to the chaos hinted at by the smoke. She waved at them, her smile bright and disarming.

“Well, hello there,” she called, her tone syrupy sweet. “You boys lost? It’s not safe to go near that old school. There's a small fire”

Dean slowed, his hand instinctively reaching for the pistol tucked into his jacket. “Thanks for the warning, ma’am,” he said, his voice clipped, but he didn’t stop walking.

“Oh, no, no, no.” The woman’s voice turned sharper, her steps quickening to block their path. “I insist. You really shouldn’t be here.” Her smile widened unnaturally, her eyes almost too bright.

Dean stopped dead, his jaw tightening as he glanced at Sam, whose face was pale, his sweat-soaked shirt sticking to his back. Dean frowned, noticing the slight tremor in Sam’s hand as he rubbed the back of his neck. The sweat, the shaking—it wasn’t just the heat or exhaustion.

Sam didn’t meet his brother’s gaze, his hand tightening on the strap of his bag as the scent hit him again, sharper this time. Demon blood. It was clinging to the woman, faint but present, like she’d bathed in it. His stomach churned again, and he forced himself to swallow the rising nausea.

Before Dean could speak, the woman’s smile faltered, and her expression twisted into something darker. Her head tilted slightly, her teeth flashing in a grin that was far too wide.

Sam tensed, his hand going for the knife tucked into his belt.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere, boys,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, the saccharine sweetness replaced by a low, menacing tone. And then her eyes turned black.

“Demon!” Dean growled, pulling his gun in a flash. The woman lunged, unnaturally fast, her fingers clawing at him. Dean fired a salt round straight into her chest, sending her stumbling back with a shriek.

Sam rushed forward, grabbing her arm before she could recover, and slammed her into the side of a tree. He whipped out a flask of holy water, splashing it across her face. Smoke hissed and rose as she screamed, writhing against his grip.

“Where is she?” Sam snarled, his voice ragged and trembling. “Where’s the girl?”

The demon just laughed, the sound guttural and mocking. “What girl?” she hissed, her black eyes narrowing. “We have so many here”

Dean strode up, his blade gleaming in the sunlight as he pressed it to her throat. ““Speak, Grandma—use your words. Or I'm going about to go full Bundy on your ass"

But before they could get another word out of her, the demon’s eyes rolled back, and her body slumped, lifeless.

“Damn it!” Dean hissed, shoving the corpse aside. “This place is crawling with them.”

Sam wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, his fingers still trembling as he shoved the flask back into his pocket. That scent was still lingering in the air, faint but pervasive, making his skin crawl.

“We need to get to that school. Now,” he said, his voice tight.

Dean didn’t argue. They took off running toward the smoke, weaving between the rows of dilapidated houses and across the overgrown schoolyard. The closer they got, the thicker the smoke became, its acrid scent stinging their noses. Sam could barely focus on anything other than the pounding in his chest and the way the demon blood seemed to hang in the air, taunting him.

The school loomed ahead, its windows shattered and its exterior weathered with age. Smoke curled out from one of the lower floors, the faint flicker of firelight visible through the broken glass.

Dean’s grip on his gun tightened as they approached the door. “Alright, Sammy. Let’s find her and get the hell out of here.”

A horde of black eyes were headed their way.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting long, jittering shadows across the hallway walls. Your breathing was ragged, every inhale dragging through the sharp pain in your chest. Blood seeped through your shirt, leaving a dark trail on the scuffed tile floor behind you—a trail you knew she could follow.

Lilith’s voice echoed softly down the corridor, calm and melodic, chilling in its childish cheer. She was humming a tune, something eerily familiar but twisted, like a nursery rhyme gone wrong. Her footsteps were slow and deliberate, the sharp click of her shoes on the tile sending shivers down your spine.

You glanced over your shoulder, but the hallway stretched empty behind you, the hum growing louder, closer. Your legs felt like lead, every step a struggle, but you pushed forward, turning down another corridor, your hands brushing against the cold, peeling walls as you stumbled. You'd been bleeding, a lot.

The school was a maze. Every hallway looked the same—endless doors, broken lockers, and darkness that seemed to creep in from the edges. You couldn’t find the exit. All of the rooms were locked, Panic clawed at your throat, but you forced it down, focusing on the sound of your boots against the floor.

“Are you tired yet?” Lilith’s voice rang out, echoing in the empty space. She sounded almost amused, like a child playing hide-and-seek. Ring a ring a Rosie She began so sing again, sweetly.

You didn’t answer, biting back the scream that threatened to rise. Your hands were slick with blood, your vision blurred from exhaustion. You turned another corner, and that’s when you saw it: the door to the swimming pool. It's open.

You pushed it open with what little strength you had left, stumbling into the vast, cavernous room. The air was damp and heavy, carrying the faint scent of mildew. The pool itself was massive, its tiled depths empty and cracked, while a towering wall of glass stood on one side of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling. Through it, you could see the schoolyard outside, the faint glow of streetlights filtering in.

Your gaze darted around the space, searching for something—anything—that could help you. But the room was barren save for a few scattered chairs and broken tiles.

You needed time.

Ashes, ashes. They all fall down

Behind you, the door creaked open, and Lilith’s silhouette appeared in the frame. Her pristine white dress swayed as she stepped inside, her shoes padding softly against the tiled floor.

“Hide and seek,” she said brightly, clapping her hands together. “That’s what we’re playing, right? I’m really good at it, you know.”

You staggered back, your grip tightening around a chair you’d grabbed earlier. Your knees buckled slightly, the blood loss making your head swim, but you refused to let yourself fall. Not yet.

Lilith tilted her head, her expression innocent but her eyes glinting with something dark and monstrous. “But you’re not playing fair,” she said, her voice dipping into a childish whine. “You keep running away. Don’t you want to have fun with me?”

She took another step forward, her smile widening. “I promise, it won’t hurt for long. Just a little bit. And then we can be best friends forever!”

Your heart hammered in your chest as you backed toward the pool, your gaze flicking to the glass wall. Maybe—just maybe—you could break it and get outside.

“Stay back!” you warned, your voice hoarse, as you lifted the chair, holding it between you and her.

Lilith’s giggle echoed through the room, sweet and sinister. “Oh, look at you” she cooed, her tone dripping with mock affection.

You turned and hurled the chair at the glass with every ounce of strength you had left. The impact sent a dull thud reverberating through the room, but the glass didn’t even crack. Desperation clawed at you as you grabbed another piece of debris and swung it at the glass, again and again, each strike more frantic than the last.

Nothing. Not even a scratch.

“Uh-oh,” Lilith teased, her voice sing-song as she stepped closer.

You turned back to face her, your chest heaving, your vision growing hazier by the second. The world seemed to tilt, the edges of the room blurring as exhaustion and blood loss dragged you down.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus-" You chant. Your back pressed against the glass, gripping the edge of a railing for balance as your legs threatened to give out.

Lilith stopped at the edge of the pool, Laughing. “You’re not looking so good,” she said, her tone dripping with false concern. “Maybe you should lie down”

"omnis legio, omnis congregatio et-" It's not working.

Your fingers fumbled at your belt, pulling out the scissors you had. You didn’t have the strength for much, but you weren’t going to make this easy for her. If this was your last stand, then so be it.

"Ergo, draco maledicte, ecclesiam-"

A gunshot rang in your ears. And that’s when your eyes caught movement at the window. You frown, maybe your blood loss had finally reached the level of hallucinations.

Sam. Dean?

Outside the glass, through the harsh fluorescent glare, Sam and Dean were there. They were fighting—tearing through a horde of demons with a ferocity you’d never seen before. Dean’s movements were sharp and efficient, his blade flashing in the dim light as he fought with all the reckless determination you knew so well.

But it was Sam who stopped you cold.

He was covered in blood—too much blood. You couldn’t tell how much of it was his or theirs. His face was twisted with something raw and desperate, his swings more brutal, more ruthless than you’d ever seen. He fought like a man possessed.

And then his eyes locked on yours. You couldn't help the beat of relief inside you.

The noise and chaos around you faded for a moment, drowned out by the pounding of your own heart as you stared at each other. His lips moved, shouting something, but the sound didn’t reach you through the thick pane of glass. His face twisted with frustration as he slammed his fists against the unyielding surface, trying to break through, trying to reach you.

They can't get to you.

You hand grips your makeshift weapon tighter as you heard her shoes come to a halt. You didn't look at her, only them.

You let out a soft, defeated smile, the kind that said, It's okay without words. You didn’t have the strength to shout back, didn’t have the breath to explain or reassure him. All you could do was stand there, bleeding and tired, and hope he’d understand.

Lilith tilted her head, noticing your gaze and following it to the scene outside. Her face lit up with delight, her hands clasping together like she’d been given a gift. “Oh, how sweet,” she cooed. “We have an audience.”

She stepped closer, her shoes making clicking sounds against the tile as she approached. The sound of Sam and Dean’s shouts grew louder as they slammed against the glass, desperate to break through.

You heard the creak of Bobby’s porch swing, the faint clink of his glass bottle resting on the rail, the wood groaning softly under his weight.

You could see Dean hacking at the surface with his blade, his jaw tight with frustration. Sam was yelling something, his voice hoarse and frantic, but the words were lost to you.

You smelled the faintest hint of old paper and ink, Sam’s hand resting on a dusty lore book between you. The bitter taste of coffee lingered in your throat.

The lights above you started to flicker, you could feel the heat of her presence, the suffocating weight of her power pressing down on you as she reached out, her hand stopping just shy of your face.

You felt the weight of Dean’s jacket draped over your shoulders, heavy and warm against the night’s chill. His hand had lingered for just a moment after settling it around you..

“Thank you for this” Lilith murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You don't know how helpful you've been”

The glass behind you shook violently, the sound of impact reverberating through the room as Sam and Dean threw everything, they had at it. You glanced over your shoulder, your vision blurring, and saw Sam scream something, his face contorted with anguish as he pounded against the glass. You were so tired. Your grip slackened on the scissors as you started to slide down the wall. You were to weak.

You felt the sting of warmth on your cheeks, sunlight filtering through Bobby’s kitchen window as he handed you a plate of pancakes. “Eat up,” he’d grumbled, though his voice held that familiar undercurrent of care.

And then, in a flash of blinding white light, the room shifted.

You saw the soft glow of the Impala’s headlights cutting through the dark as it pulled into Bobby’s yard, Sam and Dean leaning against the hood, their laughter quiet but warm, a sound that felt like home.

The demons outside cried out as a new presence descended, their forms disintegrating into smoke and ash under the sheer force of its power. You blinked against the brilliance, barely able to process what was happening as the heavy thud of something filled the air.

Lilith’s smile faltered for the first time, her white eyes narrowing as she turned toward the source of the light. A silhouette.

Castiel? The last of your strength slipping away as the adrenaline burned out of your system. The world tilted dangerously, and you felt your knees buckle beneath you.

✦────────────────────✦────────────────────✦

AN: Yeah... Don't kill me. I feel severely disturbed at how fast I wrote this. Anyway, hope you enjoyed guys. Feedback is always welcome

Tag list:

@youdontknowe @theamuz  @mysteryenchatress @craycraycraic @craycraycraic @variant-zee @ur2moms @ambiguous-avery @steviespookie @s0urw00lf @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @dear-bambi2 @yeehawgiddyup13

[the-mpreg-guy]

You are kidnapped by CW execs, hold on a gunpoint and asked to write a script for Supernatural season 16. What's gonna be the plot?

They don't even have to kidnap me to do this, I'd do it for free. I'd pay THEM to let me do it.

Dean and Sam are still stuck in one of Chuck's mindgames and that he has Jack stashed away somewhere. Dean poking at the walls parallel universes in SPNWN was the beginning of him figuring out that there's something amiss, and Jack's ooc behavior regarding it. Is like. The final nail in the coffin (no pun intended).

The first half of the season would be Dean and Sam splitting up in Heaven to connect with previous spn characters who have died. Sam finds Mary, Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Ash, and then has a sideplot where he runs into Jess and gets closure regarding that. Dean runs into Charlie, Victor, John, and Kevin (to name a few). I really really would love some satisfying conflict between Dean and John, and I would like Sam and Mary to actually Interact and have opinions about each other.

The end of the first arc is Dean finding Jack, so we can get some delicious interactions between the two of them (pls let Jack actually have a Reaction to Cas being dead), and so that they can go absolutely balls-to-the-wall crazy by agreeing to the same stupid, dangerous plan to open the Empty and get Cas back.

Anyway, part 2 of the season is the gang all getting together, dodging Chuck, who starts bringing Angels back to go after Dean and Sam. Dean tells Sam that the plan is to open the Empty and dump Chuck in there, but doesn't mention that he and Jack are also going to jump into the Empty to save Cas (bc Sam would stop him and also I love it when Dean lies to Sam's face). The plan goes stupid bc Sam figures out what's going on and all three of them end up in the Empty.

I don't have exactly any set ideas for how the rest of this happens, but I need them to interact with Crowley and I need Sam and Ruby interactions. Somehow they do a Chuck/Cas Empty swap and get Cas back. I would introduce a new mechanic that the only way to get Cas out of the Empty is to wake him up (the Empty actually gets him to sleep) and so they have to go through Cas's mind to wake him. Jack gets to use his powers and like beam Dean into Cas's mind and I get a self indulgent sexy recap of every single regret that Cas has ever had flashing in front of Dean's eyes.

Anyway something something Dean finds Cas in the barn where they met on earth, something something Cas tells him to leave him there and then obviously Dean gets to say "don't you think you deserve to be saved" and it's vomit inducing. Just as Castiel wakes up, so does the Empty and shit hits the fan.

Cas tries to play mr self sacrifice to get everyone out, but Dean won't let him bc he's sick of that shit. The portal Jack opened is closing, but last minute Dean grabs Cas and their soul/grace interact, recharging Cas back to full power and he flies them out.

Something something, Chuck gets chucked (lmao) into the Empty, something something, Michael/Adam was involved this season, something something either Michael, Amara, or whoever the fuck is in charge of Heaven and not Jack because he deserves to be a normal person without that insane responsibility.

Dean retires and opens a bar, Sam continues hunting and expands the hunter network (and Samwena canon bc istg 🔫), Cas and Jack dont hunt, dont not hunt, but do a secret third thing (commit funny felonies).

Also Destiel canon sex scene. If Jensen Ackles and Misha Collins can hump on stage in front of us, they can take their pants off for a pg-13 sex scene on my monster show.

That's the BROAD strokes of what I would want for a s16. If we're pretending that there are more seasons after s16, then all of that would go a little differently and I wouldn't have Dean quit hunting.

Alternative answer is that I'd submit Shal's s15 finale fix-it fic for a supernatural movie directed by Jensen Ackles.

[scoobydoodean]

WAIT WAIT WAIT pleaseeee expand on sam separating his soul himself??? i’ve literally never heard this before (i really wanna agree cause i just can’t work out how cas just did not realize he’d forgotten sam’s soul)

This is just a pet theory I have. I first suggested it here when talking to Shal about Bobby not clocking Sam as soulless. The TL;DR is that Sam has a tendency to create emotional distance to protect himself from grief and other painful emotions. Shal's careful examinations of scripts reveal that it's even in the script direction when Mary dies that "Sam disassociates". In 8.08, Sam is paralleled with Fred, who disassociated to deal with grief (I talk about Sam distancing himself from his emotions in season 8 more largely here). I've been slowly collecting (when I remember) little bits and pieces around this idea that Sam tries to distance himself from his emotions in the tag #i just stopped—named that because of 11.11 when—after being confronted by Lucifer—Sam apologizes for leaving Dean in Purgatory, saying—seeming perplexed by his own actions:

I should've looked for you. When you were in Purgatory, I... I should've turned over every stone. But I didn't. I stopped. And I've never forgiven myself for it.

So this pet theory I have is that in The Cage, to cope with the torture being inflicted on him, Sam simply separated his soul from his body. It was the most extreme possible case of dissociating from his own suffering possible.

6.22 strengthens my belief in this theory because Sam splitting into three pieces is treated as a defense mechanism. It's kind of like an Id/Ego/Superego situation, except that the pieces are soulless Sam, Sam the hunter and family man, and the Sam who remembers hell.

SOULLESS!SAM: Well, your BFF Cas brought the Hell-wall tumbling down and you, pathetic infant that you are, shattered into pieces. (he points at Sam) Piece. (he points at himself) Piece.

SAM: I - I have no idea what you're talking about. SOULLESS!SAM: Why would you? You're jello, pal. Unlike me. SAM: What are you? SOULLESS!SAM: I'm not handicapped. I'm not saddled with a soul. In fact, I used to skipper this meatboat for a while. It was smooth sailing. I was sharp, strong. That is, 'til they crammed your soul back in. Now look at you. Same misty-eyed milksop you always were. That's because souls are weak. They're a liability. Now, nothing personal, but run the numbers. Someone's got to take charge around here, before it's too late. 

Sam and soulless Sam have a power struggle inside Sam's head over who gets control. Soulless Sam is really an enforcer, trying to protect Sam from his worst memories. As we see after Sam kills him:

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

Then when Sam finds the other part of himself:

SAM: I have to know what you know. What happened in the cage? TORTURED!SAM: Trust me, you don't wanna know it. SAM: You're right. But I still have to. TORTURED!SAM: Sam, you can't imagine. Stay here, go back, find that bartender, go find Jess, but don't do this. I know you. You're not strong enough. SAM: (exhales) We'll just have to see.

Of course, one could argue that Sam's subconscious creates this scenario with soulless Sam and the Sam who remembers hell because Death told them Sam would crumble and Soulless Sam was scared of the fallout of having his soul reinstalled. But idk. I feel like it goes deeper than that, and tortured Sam and soulless Sam's attempts to protect Sam from the truth feed into that to me.

[hexedwinchester]

Early seasons of SPN are superior

so I'm re-watching Supernatural (I'm always re-watching SPN, don't mind me) and I realised why the early seasons are so freakin good whereas the laters ones are a complete mess...

Horror was the core theme of Supernatural (yes, I'm not discarding the brothers' drama, I'll get to it in a minute). These beautiful scare tactics that they employed were amazing: the crib mobile toy rotating, shadows moving out of the corner of the eyes, toys going off, subtle bloody Mary reflections in the mirror, creepy skulls dug from the ground, the ghosts flickering. Hell yea they nailed 'Scary just got sexy' with these.

Don't get me started on the background music. Whimsical music crescendo, building up the anticipation. The rock music blaring through the Impala. What happened to the cool ass music in the later seasons? They just played this weird, sad tune like someone's blowing raspberries to show grief and that's it!

Monster of the week theme and the lores/legends in early seasons were much, much better than S12's Foundry or the later season episode with bizarre tentacle porn thingy (you know which one I'm talking about). It just didn't feel the same. The stories were poorly written and even more poorly executed.

Early seasons used to be purely about Sam and Dean (as it should have been throughout) Them against the world, heaven and hell. No dumbass angel lurking in the background like a pathetic third wheel. No king of hell bitching about his sad childhood for two whole seasons. No Soccer mom half assing their way into hunting.

Foreshadowing was done so beautifully! Everytime I re-watch the early seasons I find a few bits that connects to something that happened initially in say S1-2. The parallels are done beautifully and writing is good, and I mean 'I wanna use this quote as a wallpaper' good.

The struggle for the boys was real. They had to do their own research, save their own asses, stitch their wounds, pop their dislocated shoulders back in the place. Later seasons? Bunker has answer to everything, angel healing wounds with a flash of light, Lucifer bringing Sam back from the dead without asking for anything (and no, taking him to Jack is not a good enough bargain), Jack healing wounds or whatever. Where is the damn struggle?! Where is the hero's journey?!

I miss the beautiful, colourful motel rooms that had its own personality. I HATE the bunker (yes I know a lot of people love it because Dean has a good shower, they have a home etc, etc) but no! Bunker is lame and boring and monotonous. There isn't a single thing I like about it. Gimme back my motel rooms with the sunburst mirror!

Story arc or lack thereof from S12 onwards. The main plot just got duller and duller from S12 onward and it felt like the writers got lazy and stopped putting efforts. There was no build up and the plot felt forced. The main arcs didn't feel exciting enough. BMoL and Kelly's pregnancy: the who and why? Jack: predictable. Other Micheal and Micheal Dean: meh, next! God as the big bad: interesting but I don't think they have it in them to execute this correctly.

Irrelevant/Unnecessary characters and their mini plots. S1-5 focuses purely on the brothers and that's what I'm here. I don't care how and why an idiot angel opened purgatory. It sounded more like a dull spin off plot than main story arc. I don't care about prophets and their lives (yeah Kevin is in Advance Placement, what am I to do with that?). I don't care about the different angel garrisons at war (again a plot for a lame spin off). I don't care about Crowley, his son or his relationship with Rowena. Tell me how this affects the boys. If it doesn't, please let's move on. Whatever was going on with Cole Trenton was pointless. I don't care about Mary and her hunting escapades with BMoL. I don't care about Kelly's pregnancy. The multi-universe and all characters they vomited back in the show with this. Not needed! Let Charlie, Gabriel and Bobby's memory rest in peace. Nick's killer storyline and wayward sisters. Enough said. Empty and the deal with Cas and Meg 2.0? Boring! Billy playing the bad cop, the whole death's library? Poorly executed and it turned into a bowl of cold spaghetti. In the end, the focus moved from the boys to useless characters and mini plots. Fuck that! Supernatural is about Sam and Dean and that's about it.

The direction. Later seasons lack the beauty of scenic shots of the landscape, close on up the boys' faces, the lights hitting their faces to show their beauty. Camera angles and slow panning shots. I miss the beauty that were the early seasons.

[rewatching-sam-and-dean]

Is Claire Really some Perefct Dean Parallel?

And, if I like one, don’t I have to like the other?

(Spoiler alert: no)

1) She lost both Parents: One being essentially scarified when they tried to save her (Castiel coercing Jimmy), and she saw her other parent die, too.

This is true for Dean, but it’s ALSO true for Sam. Sure, John trading himself for Dean is a more direct comparison, but Mary also tried to save Sam in his crib and was Killed by yellow eyes. Dean witnessed many dying, like Claire did her mom. But, Sam also walked in on his dad who had just died moments before. In this case sure, she parallels Dean a bit more closely, but Sam has had similar experiences.

2) She’s snarky, rebellious, rejects authority, and always thinks she’s right.

- Dean is also snarky, but he is only rebellious and rejects authority depending who it is. He never reallly defied John until Sam came back into the hunting life, and he kind of took a page out of his book. If we are talking cops or societal authority, Dean at least starts off as more defiant than Sam. However, Sam is the more inherently rebellious when it comes to dealing with John or Bobby. Sam is less snarky than Dean generally, but he gets his digs in at times, particularly at Dean when he’s going. As far as always thinking they are right, I do think this fits Dean more than Sam, but it also depends on the Season and situation.

3) Claire wants to leave her family (Jody and Alex) to go off on her own to hunt.

- Dean does initially like hunting more than Sam, but Dean is obsessed with trying to keep his family together, NOT branch out on his own. Sam is the one who breaks away to be independent from his family by going to Stanford. Sure, it’s not hunting like Claire, but the need for independence and to do their own thing, even if their family isn’t happy about it, is similar.

4) Claire had literally no charm, she is mostly only hostile and abrasive without the softening elements that make Sam and Dean more lovable, imo.

- Dean can be abrasive, but he’s also very charming and has an impish quality, especially when he’s younger. And he’s funny. He also is a complete simp for his dad and brother, and one of the things that makes him so lovable is how much he loves his family. Sam, while less cheeky than Dean also often tries to be less abrasive and more sympathetic with people, particularly early on (of course both of the boys identify more and show more sympathy to different victims they each relate to more).

And … I’m done with the parallels because, other than both Claire and Dean being snarky, I honestly don’t think there is a lot there to say she can only parallel Sean but not Sam. If anything, she kind of parallels Dean in personality and wearing leather jackets, but Sam in story/motivation.

Anyway, many people that I’ve seen push especially hard for the Claire/Dean parallel are shippers. They seem think if they came make her a standing for Dean, than her falling for Kaia (after 2 seconds) and losing it when she gets sucked into another dimension and “dies,” means Dean is also in love with Castiel who also dies .. again (because that’s never happened to Sam 🙄). But, she can just as easily parallel Sam depending on what episode we are looking at, or even her losing a significant other arc (Jess anyone, or Sam losing Dean). But honestly, I think writers did intend to make her like one or both of the brothers, but we aren’t exactly in the seasons of the best SPN writing here, so whatever. It’s not people paralleling Claire either Dean but it’s supposed implications thst bug the crap out of me.

On that note, I hate the notion that if you don’t like Claire, you are a misogynist (I’ve literally seen people say this): “She’s exactly like Dean! So if you love him, but hate her you’re being misogynistic!”

Umm, no.

As I mentioned above, Dean has softening qualities to his personality that Claire does not (occasional sweetness, silliness, and unhinged love for his brother, bring a caretaker), which make him infinitely more lovable. Sam does too for that matter.

He’s also earned our respect as a good hunter. The show tries to do this with Claire, but it does it so badly. Yes, there’s a hunt where she is right about the monster. But there is also an episode where she gets bitten by a werewolf because she’s throwing a tantrum over Sam telling her to stop acting like a child (you are so right for this Sam, and I’ll love you forbear for this and many other reasons).

If Sam hadn’t gone after her, the werewolf would have probably stayed and killed her, instead of just turning her. And she would have stayed a werewolf if a magical cure for being a werewolf had not deus ex machina-ed itself into the episode. She even says she wouldn’t be able to fight killing people, and based on her personality so far, I believe her. So, they would have had to end up killing her. Still, at the end of the episode, she walks off all triumphant like she proved herself. When alll she proved is that she is a bratty idiot who isn’t good enough at hunting yet to go off by herself. It’s frustrating as hell. Even Sam and Dean mostly don’t hunt alone, and they’ve been doing it for like decades at this point. But, it’s supposed to be empowering, I guess, when a rash idiot goes off on her own … because she’s a girl.

So no, me loving Sam, and especially Dean in this case (with the mirror and parallel claims), who can both be dicks, but disliking Claire’s character is not mysogsnisyic, it’s a response to an obnoxious character, who hasn’t earned my liking her just because she’s “a teenaged girl with trauma and two dead parents,” and who is playing at bring a junior hunter.

I have certain issues with Charlie being called a hunter, but I think even she is better than Claire. Jo, who is also young when she wants to get into hunting because of trauma (with motivation that makes more sense than Claire’s) is WAY better. Jody and Donna, who have experience as police that lends itself to bring hunters are also better. Many is better. Not liking wannabe hunter Claire is also not an issue of being sexist. Women can absolutely be hunters in the SPN world, but when they are a shitty one and and unpleasant character, it’s actually okay to dislike them.

Finally, Claire should have kept hating Castiel forever for taking her dad away. And her mission should have been to hunt angels only. It’s weird that she decided to become a hunter in general. She could have been interesting if she became an enemy to Castiel, instead of yet another “little sister” or “not quite child” to the boys.

Also, people who treat Castiel as her father (in an attempt to make him and Dean her parents) are sick. That angel highjscked her dad’s body and got him killed. This is not okay.

End rant.

(Sorry to anyone who reads this, but this one is even less coherent than usual).

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

What are your shipnames (if you have them) for your ppt au?

Oh!!!

For Angel x the Prototype, their ship name is Prometheus, and their stuff are tagged as #ppt prometheus. Prometheus stole the fire for humanity and was punished by it, and depending on the version of the myth he was freed later, which is a nice parallel for their dynamic! The name was suggested by an asker :0)

Catnap x Dogday is tagged as Daynap, Hoppy x Bobby as Cuddlejump, Kickin x Bubba as Starstudent, and Marie/Mommy Long Legs x Miss Delight is tagged as Mommy's Delight!

[stagefoureddiediaz]

What I can’t figure out with this jealousy piece is how this fits into the relationship breakup (because that is the only place that is going). We’ve now seen plenty of examples of him being on the outside with the group chat and standing off to the side at the grave (a visual difference between Buck and Eddie at Marie’s grave). But the thing I’m stuck on is T seems to want to be part of this family Buck has created. So how does it go from him wanting to be included to the breakup (this is not a spiral that it won’t happen but the frustration at missing that final clue to this puzzle)

Hey Nonnie

So my thinking on the jealousy aspect is that it leads to Tommy revealing a part of his past which actually shows him for who he really is and that is what leads to the breakup (after buck us a spiral and talks to bobby Maddie and Josh) what exactly that looks like idk exactly, but I could maybe see buck and tommy in a club for a date night - buck gets flirted with or something and tommy gets jealous and possessive and things get revealed from there. Or something happens on a call/ a call is really interesting and buck is telling him about it and he ends up revealing whatever it is that is going to be revealed - because Tommy was in a similar situation maybe or he gets annoyed at buck for doing something to help save one of the 118 - or one of them saving buck and tommy saying something ridiculous like they never had his back when he was there etc etc (which we know isn’t true!)and that green eyed monster leads to him revealing something about his past that leads to the break up.

I don’t know how it will play out exactly, I just know that there is a reason we keep being shown tommy as being on the outside of things - not included - and also jealous of those things - so while I don’t think those aspects alone are enough to lead to a break up, I can very much see the cumulative effect being that the reveal the thing we’re waiting to be revealed!

The distance between them is widening - that graveyard scene made that pretty clear - even down to tommy having to jog to catch up with Buck - so I think we’ll keep getting those visual reminders of that space between them right up to the point of impact on the reveal!

I have also joked that tommy is trying. To become buck - so he can replace him at the 118 and get the family he had but never appreciated when he was there. There is also Bucks own jealousy in play a bit here as well - Buck wanting Eddie’s attention back on him - because that’s the other thing 805 showed us - Tommy and Eddie through bucks eyes again - and how buck is behaving towards the two of them, how he himself is a bit jealous - it’s a really interesting parallel to 704 - worth watching side by side if you can!

We just have to remember that the show is laying these things like the jealousy and outside-ness down in the text to provide a catalyst - not because they are the actual thing that will lead to the break up!

[shallowseeker]

I was thinking about your description of "Sam running Dean and Cas ragged" after the whole Jack-Michael debacle. I think you're right that it's a little sad that Sam is so wrapped up in his own pain that he doesn't allow Dean to rest. I like how you pointed out that Dean was wrung out from protecting Sam on wild-hair hunts, from worrying about Jack, and even being the phone to talk to Rowena on the phone. That's when it struck me. Sam wasn't checking on HER. She'd been a VESSEL.

OH.

Yes.

via @spnscripthunt-inactive

Is Sam checking on Rowena?

Charitably, maybe.

It’s hard to be a "good friend" when you've got your hands full and your mental health has crashed into the toilet. Especially Sam, who is legitimately, tragically... kind of bad at doing it in the first place. When the emotions get too overwhelming, it’s even worse.

(((Sam isn't completely alone in this: like how Dean "wasn't there for human Cas" or how a young, exploited Rowena wasn't mentally equipped to handle Fergus. Or how a stark, raving Cas "wasn't there" for Sam and Dean to clean up his own Leviathan mess. Or how Mary 'wasn't there" for her kids because she was spiraling over her FRESH-feeling grief and rocked by the apparent inevitability of hunting itself. Or how John wasn't there for Sam and Dean because he was re Toni: "going slowly mad." We can go on and on.)))

///

But YEAH. ROWENA. IT SUCKS.

I suppose we could assume that Sam has checked in on her. After all, just because we don't see it on screen doesn't mean it didn't happen.

But in Charming Acres, (script-) Cas doesn't invoke Rowena. He invokes the loss of the AU hunters.

Sam is spiraling mostly over responsibility. Autonomy and safety. The leadership is what his whole arc with AU Bobby was about in s14.

And Sam is so unused to taking responsibility for other folks that he just freezes into this awful paralysis type of emotional upheaval.

I think you put it perfectly when you said it makes him a little blind to Dean's and Rowena's Michael-vesselship trauma and Jack's soullessness/battle wounds.

He's even blind to Dean's need to eat and sleep… blind enough that Cas has to step in and put his foot down about it!

///

Sam is Spiraling over Leadership

He blames himself for bringing the AU hunters here, even though the AU hunters were a group effort:

///

Sam is racing towards hunting the way that Dean raced towards hunting post-Michael possession, in 14x03 The Scar. But the difference is, Sam's running is more like a MARATHON than a self-limited sprint.

Hunt after hunt after hunt: Sam's indeed running them ragged. We see here that Dean's struggling to even EAT.

//

Cas and Dean are used to having this kind of responsibility, and they're used to the weight and tragedy of it, and it blowing up in their faces. But Sam isn't.

Cas IN PARTICULAR is used to commanding an army:

In the aired episode, it emphasizes Sam not failing Dean and family, but the script gets to the proper heart of the matter and shows why CAS specifically came along to offer mentorship.

///

I think the loss of the AU hunters is tangential to Rowena in a specific way, though...

Facing the loss of those hunters ALSO means facing that it's Rowena who was the tool, whose hands were marionetted to do the act. It's a bit of an off-key parallel to Sam’s whole Gadreel thing with Kevin.

And Sam won't touch that with a ten-hundred-foot pole. ☠️

Because this time, it’s Sam who went for the "experimental-coded treatment," re: Dean. Instead of putting Dean in a box, he was hoping desperately that Dean could keep Michael caged...

...and now Rowena sees her hands murdering the people she had grown close to.

///

Anyway, I DO think we can extrapolate how Rowena looms large in the thick of this psychological wound of Sam's. However, I tend to think that Sam might actively avoid her vessel connection, as well as the "I see my hands killing them" connection.

Overall, I agree with you: it's most likely Dean and Cas who are checking on her in this era. It's Dean and Cas who are trying to hold down the fort, even with their own respective psychological burdens.

They take on more individual strain.

[soft-pine]

Hey hey, I saw you said you don't get many asks. I have one! Can you do any freeform thoughts about Pastor Jim? (What he represents, his skillset, how long John's known apparently him, how John cried for him, etc? Whatever you feel like, really.)

I'm fascinated by the fact that by your timeline, it seems that the once John starting leaving the kids with others, those folks started getting picked off pretty early, perhaps inflaming John's sense of paranoia and isolation in parallel to how Azazel isolated Mary and picked off her support systems.

And I'm curious how Pastor Jim fits into this. :-)

hi Shal! that's so nice!! sorry it took me so long to reply!

i love the connection you made with the timeline and people getting "picked off" as you say! yeah i think that would have certainly fueled john's paranoia and stretched him and stressed him even more!

also i apologize in advance because i know you're maybe not a self-described john-anti. and, though i find his character complex and fascinating and sometimes even sympathetic, i do have mostly harsh criticism for him. and also sorry cause your posts are so tidy and well formatted and this is gonna be kinda a spill out. i can pull up citations for anything here if needed though!!

but okay jumping in! i'm really fascinated by the people john had connections to while he was raising sam and dean and i'm interested in the two main subcategories of that group - people he had a falling out with versus people he didn't. pastor jim falls into that second category, along with martin, travis, fred jones, deacon, jefferson (?), and caleb. (the first category includes elkins, bobby, tara, ellen, etc).

i think that part of the reason john kept his family separate from the hunting community at large is because hunters tend to tell each other that kids shouldn't be involved. at least that is the kind of hunter dean became. and i think it's possible that some of the fallings out john had with other hunters was over that issue. that certainly is a contributing factor to the strain in his relationship with bobby.

so what does that say about the hunters which john remained in community with? we don't know much about jefferson or caleb. but martin has a black and white view of monsters and isn't worried about harming civilians himself to get results. travis also is impatient and cruel in his methods. fred jones gave both dean and sam alcohol before they were 10. and deacon is a physically abusive prison guard. maybe this is me being too harsh but those actions stick with me as they overlap with john's own black and white views and in contrast to bobby or ellen for example. none of that says anything specific about jim himself i guess but the general pattern of hunters who didn't have a falling out with john is interesting to me!

unfortunately, the other reason i have a somewhat negative view of pastor jim is i was raised evangelical and ... i did not care for all that. as best as i can tell jim is some form of protestant minister... and one whose denomination has some kind of liturgical tradition. one of my early fic chapters is kinda about him actually. or i mean about the kind of person/pastor that he strikes me as and about the comradery and tension between him and john.

i tend to think of john as somewhat of an atheist. a "nothing up there's gonna save you, you gotta do it for yourself" kinda guy. so i think he kinda puts up with jim's beliefs and faith because jim has a very safe base of operations and seems very well equipped. i also imagine that jim is someone who can offer the kind of emotional support johh might need. from his brief conversation with meg at the beginning of 1.21, it seems like he's used to offering kind of talk-therapy-esque conversations. here's a little excerpt from my fic that shows that kinda?

Dad must have wrapped up his hunt cause he's back in the morning when Dean goes into the house to brush his teeth. “I just don't know how to do it,” Dad's voice is saying, low and quiet from the kitchen. He sounds like maybe he's crying. Dean crouches down low in the front hall. If he walks past the kitchen door, they're going to hear him. “I know, John,” Pastor Jim says. “I know.” “You know, I... I try to do right by those boys... not lay it all on them. But I just. I miss her so much.” Dad is crying now. “You're doing the best you can, John.” “Sam's too young to really understand all this stuff and I know Dean tries,” Dad lets out a long sigh. Dean digs the tips of his fingers into the coarse hallway rug. He doesn't want his Dad to feel like this. He hates that his Dad is sad and he hates that he hasn't done a good enough job making sure Dad knows he can talk to him if he needs to. That he'd do anything. “I've got to hold it together for them, Jim. And some days I feel like I can't.”

(rereading that chap and it's possible i put a bit too much of my own knowledge of and baggage about evangelical issues in the late 80's into it... oopsie)

i really am inclined to think john knew jim for the longest of most of his contacts. i mean in the semi-canonical john's journal, he meets him at the end of the month that mary dies! but even by the show's timeline, jim is trusted enough for john to have him as a backup safehouse for the boys as early as 1988 which suggests he's known him at least some time by that point.

from all the conversations sam and dean have with travis, martin, fred, and deacon, it doesn't seem like they or john have seen any of those people for a long time. but in s1, they're still very in touch with pastor jim. is he perhaps john's oldest and most consistent friend?

which tracks with john's deeply emotive response to jim's death. i would argue the most grief he shows in the show besides for mary. i think that tracks with the loss of a support and confidant of decades. certainly both caleb and jim's death show a devotion to john beyond a care for their own lives.

i'm sorry i don't know if i have much to say about jim's skill set! some of the specific mechanics of hunting and the supernatural are not quite in the purview of the way my spn-special-interest shows up im sorry! but i think the church as sacred ground and jim's familiarity with the concept of demons would both protect him somewhat from azazel's lower level minions and also probably endear john to him.

and what he represents!? oh gosh! i think your narrative analysis is on another level from the one im dabbling around in.

thanks for the ask!! and thanks for all your amazing analysis!

[ananke-xiii]

I’ve ended my post about Mary as a symbolic gift by saying that there wasn’t real space in the show for a Mary who was “not just a mom” but, truth be told, I think there wasn’t real space in the show for any character whose story wasn’t connected to Sam and Dean. As far as I’ve understood the show, the obsessive focus on Sam and Dean is both its main strength and its main weakness and I think that the finale showed it.

It’s not news that in SPN every side character who stops being useful to the plot dies. Or they die because their death is instrumental to the plot and/or the emotional arc of either Sam or Dean. Or both. This is true of every era and, I believe, it’s a rather foundational aspect of the show. This is the reason why, from a general narrative pov, I often compare the brothers to two cosmogonic forces because they are the ones creating their world which is THE world where everything and everyone depend on their story. There’s even an episode, “Weekend at Bobby’s”, where Sam and Dean sort of get called out because they only seem to care about themselves. Which isn’t true (well, more or less I'd argue, lol) but it is true that the show is exceedingly concerned with them and them alone. This extreme focus on the main character(s) is something that I haven’t found in any other show, to be quite frank with you.

Partial exceptions are Jody, Donna and the rest of the Wayward Sisters but that’s just because they wanted to use those characters for a spin-off. In reality we never know what happens to them after “Inherit the Earth”, what happens to Eileen, to AU!Bobby, to AU!Charlie, hell even to human Chuck. A good opportunity to show them one last time and tell us what happened to them would’ve been at Dean’s funeral. A funeral where nobody shows up. I know it was because of COVID restrictions but they still filmed and left that scene. So they wanted to tell us something with that, wanted us to see it. And we saw it, which I take as a way for the show to tell us that the story was really over and Dean’s death was final. I don’t want to go into the big “family is hell” vs “found family” debate but wherever you are on the two sides of the argument you kinda have to admit that it was very sad and quite cruel to show us that nobody attended Dean’s funeral.

The other exceptions are Crowley, Rowena and Castiel, three characters that have their own individual storylines that, to the surprise of no one, end when they get inextricably linked with that of the Winchesters. Crowley dies slowly and painfully of the Winchester Derangement Syndrome, whereas Rowena is revealed to be united with Sam in death. Her death. Castiel is the only character who escapes this narrative destiny right until 15x18 where he says that the reason he cared about the world was because of Dean. And then he also dies.

Perhaps the association between “worlds” and the “brothers” is at its most blatant in S13 where the Alternate Universe is a universe without Sam and Dean and, therefore, a boring universe, imo. And when I say “without Sam and Dean” I don’t mean in the sense that they were never born there but that they never even stepped foot there until, like, the last three episodes (and, by the way, they made them act like total dicks bossing around people in a war-zone.). This is not to say that, for example, Original Bobby (since I’ve mentioned him before) doesn’t have his own story, quite something else. This is to say that the vast majority of side characters in SPN have their own stories but their own stories only serve to “mirror and parallel” Sam and Dean’s. In other words, other characters’ stories are, apart from the above exceptions, always functional to the cosmogonic brothers. Case in point is that episode in S15 where Chuck eliminates all other worlds/drafts because what he cares about are “our” Sam and Dean. Sure, that was a jab at all the failed SPN spin-off but, again, this proves my point: people, much like Chuck, are interested in Sam and Dean and Sam and Dean alone (Big hello to those two Sam and Dean hopefully living a good life in Brazil, cheers! Or did Jack fix that as well? Who knows!).

The reason why Sam and Dean are absent in the Alternate Universe is not because they’re dead or were never supposed to be there but because Mary didn’t deal with Azazel. This interests me a lot because the cosmogonic aspect here is Mary’s choice: Mary is, de facto, a creator of worlds. Two to be precise but still, not bad. Now this would actually be an interesting spin-off, right? A series where Mary is one of the main characters and we get to focus on her? Oh wait, there is a spin-off about that. Or at least I think this is partly what “The Winchesters” is about because I haven’t watched it yet. It was, sadly, canceled and I don’t know why (these days they cancel shows according to the mood of the day apparently) but I’ll have to go with the current obscure ways of making profit in the media industry (as far as I know, people have no access to data to understand why certain decisions are made). This is, after all, the real world and in the real world god is profit and not a writer.

The centrality of Mary’s choice in S13 is not part of the original story that, on the contrary, was based on the notion that everything was predetermined and the struggle of our main characters was exactly this: will they or won’t they be able to exercise free will? However S13 reframes the original story because now what is deemed to be relevant is whether or not Mary is just a mother or… “not just a mom”. To use an image that’s become dear to me, the main weight put on one scale was still imagined motherhood: Mary as a character could only compare&contrast against that, against herself (as originally conceived by the narrative) and how she had imagined herself to be. She is therefore never fully free from being Sam and Dean’s mother because she’s never fully free from her own imagined motherhood. Which means she’s never fully free from her Special Heaven where she’s fake-happy with two fake-babies in a fake-perfect house and with who must be a fictional, imagined version of John. Which means that she’s not complete.

I mean, I'm surely not the only one who sees the illogicality here: Mary represents a myth about motherhood and safety and this myth takes the form of a nuclear family living in suburbia with the infamous white picket fence. Okay. She comes back to life to debunk this myth and we see that she's actually very different from how she was portrayed because she's adventurous and wild and taciturn but also leader-like, cold and secretly very sweet. Again, okay. But then she dies and we're told she's complete but we're also told (we don't see it, we're told) she's in a Special Heaven with John which, by the way, sounds very suspisciously close to Heaven's Prison. Fine, alright, okay! BUT THEN what is Mary's heaven (and, later on, everybody's heaven)? A myth about family and safety in the form of a nuclear family living in a sort of overexposed country-side. Like, what???

As I see it, what was needed to deconstruct Mary’s myth was for her to come to terms not only with the fact that her sacrifice was made in vain because there’s (apparently) no escape from the hunting world, but that she had deceived herself. For example, she might have discovered that she kinda doesn’t like leading the imagined life she used to dream about or perhaps her dream was always tainted in real life by what happened with Azazel so she never felt safe anyway, thus removing the one thing she ever wanted by getting out of the huntig world. I could go on and on but what I want to say is that it’s not enough, for me at least, to know that Mary likes to fuck and used to feed her children store-bought meals. This is cool but accessory. Do not show me the conflicted emotions of a character re: her past choices by giving me a WORLD where that character doesn’t make said choice (and therefore feels better about it). Let me see her as she realizes she was also going after a myth, let me see her as she realizes that the man she loved went basically half-mad with grief after her death, let me see her as she realizes how sorrowful her sons’ lives have been. Let me see her interact and generally be around the main characters/focus of the show.

As I’ve said, she couldn’t be free from her own myth because the narrative still needed her for Dean to be free from his own myth. To be honest I think it was a very cool idea and the two things could’ve been done together (I think it’s clear by now that I feel sorry for Mary as a character but that doesn’t mean that debunking the image of a parent isn’t a cool concept to write about). However, it totally was a retcon because S11 Amara, as much as I adore her, didn’t have the experience nor the emotional tools to understand such a deep human concept. She understood that humans need to experience/feel unconditional love and that this love can take the form of parental love from a time when humans are babies that need to be nurtured and cared for. So she saw a picture of Dean and Mary and, by virtue of her bond with Dean, she thought: oh now I get it! And she was right!!! But, like, human relationships are OF COURSE more intricate than this and there’s no way she could’ve understood all this in S11. If she had really understood it she would’ve never brought back a person just for another person to learn a lesson.

This ultimately also proves my point: Mary couldn’t be anything else than a mother in the show because the show itself is focused on Sam and Dean and everybody else depend on them to stay or not in their story. Mine is not necessarily a criticism, on the contrary, the show strikes a real chord with the mythical parent vs real one. But it didn’t let us see it because they decided that bringing back Mary just for her to be a mom would be awful. And they were correct! but, again, you can’t just bring back a central character like her and then spend the rest of THREE seasons writing her OUT of her sons’ story just for her to re-appear on time for her scheduled appointment with the fridge.

But they couldn’t do it because to have Mary back as a real fucking person would have meant, at some inevitable point in time, for the show to have her and her sons sit down and seriously talk about what the fuck happened since her death. To talk about John, to talk about the abuse, to talk about the demon blood, Hell, the Cage, the mark of Cain and, oh by the way we killed grandpa! Which means the show would have had to directly deal with trauma and they clearly didn’t want to go there. Only parallels and mirrors, mirrors and parallels. Mary never left that fridge.

[deancasforcutie]

While we’re I’llJustWaitHereThen.mp3 for Act Two of The Winchesters -or rather thee reboot, which should be known for the extra high bar it’s gained this year- I’d like us to round off 2023 considering a song choice from the finale I haven’t seen discussed, but illuminates Dean’s path going forward.

The moment Dean, Jack, Bobby, and Baby disappear, “One of These Things First” by Nick Drake plays. For the curious, Nick Drake is ingrained in the cultural consciousness as a precursor to the likes of Kurt Cobain and Elliott Smith for his musical talent, melancholic lyrics drawn from a troubled life, and (at 26, one year too young for the original 27 Club of Jimi Janis Jim Morrison) untimely tragic death.

Such allusions seem all too pertinent to our not-so-Mystery Man who’d also sooner burn out than fade away, huh? But first and foremost, “One of These Things First” here evokes the multiverse reveal - playing over scenes of Lata helping restore Ada’s soul and Mary and Samuel parting. The characters could be any number of things, but as Mary says of her possible alternate selves, “I’m gonna make my own”; with the meta knowledge that Dean is “picking the music” non-diegetically, this track’s relevance to his own life (and death) becomes apparent.

I could have been a sailor, could have been a cook A real live lover, could have been a book

From the start we see well-chosen lyrics for thee episode of Dean “Hello Sailor” Winchester; it goes without saying, here and in the series’ deafeningly loud negative space, how Dean’s desire to be “a real live lover” drives his search for happy endings in this Supernatural Romance. Genius.com notes that “a book” in Nick Drake’s metaphor means “someone who spent their time gaining knowledge about the world”; leaving them his own book, evidently a record of Supernatural’s main events and likely intended as a setup for revelations about his postseries shenanigans, Dean becomes their absent guide opposite John’s original series role through his journal.

I could have been a signpost, could have been a clock As simple as a kettle, steady as a rock

Following lyrics about metaphorical objects also evoke Dean’s role as a guide - but given his view that “I think I did” find a model for his found family’s happiness in them, it goes both ways (and so does he).

I could be here and now I would be, I should be, but how?

These last few lyrics played in the episode call to mind the final undying core of Dean’s self-doubt: his inability to move on, like so many restless spirits parallel him. Dean’s sensation that he is not “here and now,” being unstuck in time and lamenting that he’s “already dead,” highlights his distance from the lead characters and their sense of closure - as does his use of the James Hetfield alias as a false name, dodging the central question of Who You Are. For all his heroism, Dean’s role as the central mystery never fully solved implicates him as the haunting force derailing another story into his own as much as any reality-warping trauma parasites.

Minding all these exhortations to mind the gap, it’s absolutely relevant that the episode omits a second verse centering on romantic longings. (It wouldn’t be the first time - “So on your woman and your child/You release your bitterness,” anyone?)

I could have been your pillar, could have been your door I could have stayed beside you, could have stayed for more I could have been your statue, could have been your friend A whole long lifetime could have been the end

Mary and Samuel’s exchange (“Be safe out there” “I love you too, kiddo”) continues the theme of Just Saying It before any goodbye - acknowledging you can say “I love you” without saying it and be understood. But apropos of everything, the romantic pair never exchanges what they promise they will on reuniting - at once begging the same question as Dean’s aborted love confession(s) to Cas (indicting the heteronormative double standard that makes the answer “obvious” here) and keeping their promise of no goodbyes, meaning “Ramble On” with its tale of a romantic reunion can only refer to one yet to come.

So with Dean left to learn that death is no goodbye for him either, The Winchesters reaffirms Supernatural’s humanistic heart: the conviction that -whether for great artists we romanticize or fictional characters representing our values- we need not mythologize and bemoan death as “robbing” the world of someone’s promise at the expense of affirming the intrinsically worthy human life as they are now and forever (we will all live forever no matter how dead we may sometimes seem to be). A life cut tragically short was still a life worth living, and its legacy one worth carrying on. And I can think of no truth more apt from the series cut short at 13 traxx we will nevertheless replay and remix and resonate with for years to come.

As we ramble on to future installments, I reiterate: “If you had the chance to do it all over again, would you?” “I followed my heart. I don’t think that’s ever a mistake.”

[tavolgisvist]

You learn a lot of tricks when you write as many songs as I do. I mean, to call them tricks might belittle them a bit. We could dress them up as ‘skills’, but they are tricks when you get down to it. You might not write them down and think, ‘These are my tricks,’ but they’re stored in the back of your head, and when you’re writing a song you use the ones you like best. One of my tricks is to have two short lines followed by one long line: Going fast Coming soon We made love in the afternoon I’m sure there are millions of echoes and parallels with things I’ve read, or even nursery rhymes like: Rain, rain Go away Come again another day

(Paul McCartney about We Got Married in The Lyrics, 2021)

This nursery rhymes also are in Rain Rain Go Away which released by Bobby Vinton in August 1962:

I can still remember When you moved in next door I brought you some choc'late From the corner candy store When it started raining You started crying too That was the first time I sang this song to you Rain rain go away Come again some other day Rain rain go away Bring my love a sunny day We grow up together And as the years went by Ev'rybody knew that we were Sweethearts you and I Through many april showers I held your hand in mine Between the raindrops We sang time after time Rain rain go away Come again some other day Rain rain go away Bring my love a sunny day I went away to college You said you'd wait for me Then I got your letter Asking me to set you free Tomorrow you'll be maried There's nothing I can do But wish you sunshine Now and your whole life through Rain rain go away Tomorrow is her wedding day Rain rain go away Bring my love a sunny day

[twobluecows]

Supernatural “Heart of the Dragon” by Keith R.A. DeCandido

This is the second installment of my reviews of the Supernatural novel series, here is the first.

"Heart of the Dragon" is the fourth book in the series, and takes place shortly after season fives episode Changing Channels. (there is a historians note in the beginning of the book.)

Rating: 3/5 (getting better!)

This story follows another ghost murder cycle, this time it is every 20 years and takes place in Chinatown, San Francisco. We follow Sam and Dean in 2009, John in 1989, and Samuel, Deanna, and Mary Campbell in 1969 as everyone tries to get rid of the ghost and demon on the same hunt.

First things first, this book has some insanely racist shit through (mainly) the first third of the book, and it nearly pushed me to DNF when I first began. The author consistently uses dated slurs for Chinese and Japanese Americans throughout making the story overall plain awful and difficult to read. This book is well written and interesting in other respects, and it is great in regards to it being a story about Supernatural. If you’re going to read it be careful and know what you’re getting into. That all being said, it is impossible to ignore the racist bullshit so I’m docking two points.

Other than that, this story caught me off guard with how well it handled the Campbells and John's perspectives. In the main SPN canon we don't know much about Deanna, other than she was just kind of there, in this story she is fleshed out more and is really a badass. Samuel and John are paralleled a lot between their two perspectives, both being generally bad fathers who raised their children in constant danger. In the 1989 sections we also get a glimpse of Bobby caring for a young Dean and Sam, which made me very teary-eyed. Oh, and bonus points for Cas appearances, while they were few and far between I enjoyed them.

Overall this story was a great dive into characters we didn't see much of in the main series, and an expansion of what we already knew about John's A+ parenting. If you decide to read this book precede with caution, as mentioned before it comes with a heaping of racist BS in the beginning.

Here are some quotes from the story that I want to highlight:

2 books done. . . 15 more to go. . . (Btw I’m on spring break so I have been doing nothing but reading and petting my dog, so on to the next one!)

Oh, and Shortie tried to eat this one too.

[gayhuckleberryinatrenchcoat]

I can’t believe it took me so long to watch “The Winchesters” but now that I did I am NOT OKAY😭 I only started watching cause I wanted to hear Dean’s voice one more time, in a new situation and I immediately fell in love with every single character🥺

But also there are so many things that scramble my brain PLEASE SOMEONE TALK TO ME ANOUT THIS!!

1. They SERIOUSLY used a watergun filled with holy water?! Jensen knows THE POST TM!

2. They made a HOLY WATER HAIRFLIP?!😭

3. They made a main character VERY CANONICALLY BI!!!

4. I did SO NOT expect any actors from spn to have an appearance and I literally squealed with joy every time someone new appeared I mean first the trickster, then Rowena and then Dean actually has a bigger scene and BOBBY and ofc Jack?!😭

5. They literally gave spn a new spin on that HORRIBLE end and I love that they mention that Jack has all that power and used it to give earth free will and restore everything again.

6. The “it’s time to get to the ‘there’ll be peace when you are done’” comment?!😭😭😭 I am so not okay cause YES DEAN GET SOME PEACE but also how Jensen used EVERY opportunity to reference meaningful spn things😭😭😭

7. I am not okay with Cas not being mentioned, obviously Jack must have gotten him back, why not throw in a tiny half sentence that says he’s back and they’re still besties (yeah we all know they’re husbands but if that’s too difficult to get in there cause of stupid networks or whatevs at least don’t erase him!!)💚💙😭

8. I am SO NOT OKAY with the show being canceled can we please just get it back?! I mean besides needing closure and a happy ending for Dean AND Cas, it’s so comforting to watch adventures out of this world again, even without the original characters. I will never feel as strong about the new characters cause NOTHING could ever come close to what Dean and Cas make me feel but I really love the new cast🥺

9. Also seeing baby again🥺

10. The fact that they changed the whole story of how John became a hunter but did make it still work and fit into the supernatural universe cause it’s just a different world. (Also I really like this version of John)

11. How John and Mary literally act like Dean and Cas like the parallels😭💙💚

12. Also the fact that this show made me ONCE AGAIN log into this hellhole after like 2 years of being out of here. All just because I cannot cope with spn and I need to talk to people who have experienced and feel this same insanity😭

[lavenderleahy]

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