#bonding over their shared hatred of the disgusting bar i guess

[micarxena]

my BB's (Bitching Besties)

[hank-mcdankblade]

I Know A Bottom When I See One Princess (Part 2)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary

Chapter 1: You and Dean have been pals for as long as you can remember, practically raised together. Are things still the same as you remembered when you reconnect with him after a couple years apart? Well there is one thing you see differently and you’re about to call him out on it.

Chapter 2:  After you flirt back with Dean you start to rethink all of your life choices. Why did you flirt back instead of making fun of him? God it would be so much easier if you were just a genderless blob. Hopefully the new supernatural case a friend of your mom’s gives you will distract you from all this romance mumbo jumbo. 

Chapter 3: You and Dean both start to realize your feelings are not what you both originally anticipated them to be. If only you two could actually talk like adults instead of bantering like childish 8 year olds. The case picks up when you see a certain someone’s name over every case, a certain boomer’s name.

Chapter 4: You and Dean do some sleuthing into Chrissy’s apparent death. After learning the truth your trip to Wendy’s/Jack in the Box gets interrupted by Chief douchebag. Rick takes the three of you on a nice drive to the mountains to introduce you to his daughter.

Word Count: 4,697

Warnings: a fuck ton of swearing, self hatred, angst, fluff bits sort of

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        Ever since your little accusation of Dean, there’d been a little tension between the two of you. You were unsure of what kind of tension there was, or if there was even any to begin with. Surely Dean wasn’t upset about you teasing him, he’d let worse things roll off of his back without sparing a thought about it. Despite your doubts, your routine and friendship were pretty much the same in all regards. You still hunted together and made an awesome team. You still ate greasy food at establishments that barely deserved the title ‘Diner.’ And you still sang together to all his old music. So you were probably just over thinking things like you always did, but you still had an inkling that something was off about Dean.

       Black and blue streaks painted the night sky with speckles of stars scattered across the canvas. The street lights outside cast pale yellow rays from the crack in the curtains that hit across the corner of Dean’s bed and stretched up the wall. The rays revealed to you the quilted pattern of the comforter and Dean’s duffel bag thrown haphazardly on the floor with clothes leaking out of it. Parts of the room not in direct contact with the light were in view as well. Traveling up his bed, you could see the curves of his cheek bones as he slept. Dean truly was beautiful. This was when he looked completely at peace, when he was asleep. 

       You turned to your side again, the bed rustling while you did. You had nightmares like most hunters did, but that wasn’t the reason why sleep evaded you tonight. After that night in the bar you basically cemented that you both had feelings for one another. Sure you and Dean flirted back and forth as a joke, but the other night was different. It was more real. What you had before was just your normal relationship. Dean shamelessly flirted with you and you made a joke out of it. It was your go to move to dodge his affections.

       You didn’t really know how to respond to these advances from him, or anyone really at the moment. Your track record of relationships wasn’t the shiniest around and definitely nothing to brag about, most ending in either death or betrayal, but you were mostly scared to make things weird with Dean. He was your bud, your pal, your dude, any nickname that you could call a friend you’ve absolutely said it to him. 

       What would happen if you two did get together? A million and one questions popped into your mind when you thought about it, all ending with the same answer. Nothing good. It would be easier to play his flirting off as a joke to not hurt his feelings because relationships were nothing but trouble from your experience. 

       At first glance you’d think that Dean would never want to settle down and was content to have temporary lovers that lead nowhere, but he wanted what most people wanted, what you wanted too. True love. Pure and unadulterated love. But the bond you two shared was enough for you right now. You were ok with being alone, not that you really gave yourself much of a choice on the matter having sworn off relationships and meaningless nights with strangers. You couldn’t bring yourself to be with someone, not with the baggage you had strapped on your back. If anyone, hunter or not, saw the scar on your back you knew what they would say and the facial expression that would come with it.

       If you let your walls down for even a single moment you would lean closer to Dean and let what might happen, happen. But the growing void inside refused to let you, God if he saw your scar he would look at you with disgust. It’s not the scar that would make him turn away, but the identity associated with it. Across your shoulder blades read a prophecy in Latin, burned into your skin the day your powers were activated. It was a symbol of your power and title. The curved letters created the prophecy of the Slayer reading; 

“In omni generatione, est electus. Una puella in mundi. Et arte vires et solus geram et in surgere viribus a tenebris. Ad propagationem eorum mala prohibere et ad terras eorum numero. Quæ est Slayer.”

“Into every generation, there is a chosen one. One girl in all the world. She alone will wield the strength and skill to stand against the forces of darkness. To stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their numbers. She is the Slayer.”

       The night you got your scar was still fresh in your mind and could play back like a movie reel. It was an ordinary day just like any other. Your biggest problems were fitting in at your new high school, getting good grades, and avoiding whatever bullshit your mom was going to throw at you, but little did you know you had a big storm coming. The activation of a Slayer’s powers differs from Slayer to Slayer. Some feel nothing, others feel a tickle, but you experienced the worst burning pain you’d ever felt in your life. The moment the imaginary hot metal touched your skin a hellish scream was ripped from your throat. You swore you could feel your skin melt away to expose your bones. The pain was so white and intense that after only a couple of moments your body went limp as a way of protecting you. 

       For weeks the burning pain didn’t go away. The pain and scar served as a reminder that you would never lead a normal life. Never wear a strapless dress or swimsuit ever again. You could never let anyone touch your back. If they felt the raised skin on your upper back you knew they would have questions, and ones you couldn’t answer. It’s not everyday you see anyone with a large brand on their back, or a brand of any kind. But after the reveal the reactions were the same, eyes filled with pity and hands recoiling from disgust. 

       Dean would react the same way. He would look at you just like your mom did, nothing but a demon. I mean that is where you got your powers from as the Slayer, so you had to be a branch on the demon family tree. Dean hated demons more than anything in the world, so where did that put you in his eyes? Embers in your heart started to light at the thought of being related to scum, to vermin. Thoughts and fantasies of a normal life poured gasoline onto the fire until it burned away your entire existence. 

       “God damnit.” Hot air left your lungs as you sighed. The cardboard sheets of your bed pooled around your waist as you sat up. Your eyes were seemingly staring at nothing while you pondered what the hell to do now that you were awake. Your heart felt deflated like a popped balloon, crushed under the weight of your reality. 

       You would give both your legs and your entire movie collection to be able to sleep right now and forget about the harsh world outside the warm cocoon your hotel room proved to be. The desperate need to just sleep was choking you, making tears prick at your eyes.

       “Hey, you ok?” Had you been more awake, Dean’s sudden interjection would’ve made you flinch. Your reflexes and actions were much slower as you turned to look at him lying on his back. Your heart fluttered at the sight of him half asleep, hair fluffy and eyes barely open. 

       “Would you believe me if I said yes?” You asked in a rough voice. Your fingertips ran through your hair pulling it out of your face. Your eyelids fluttered closed in an attempt to concentrate on your breathing. Dean was taking his sweet time answering you. His eyes were scanning over your form. Your chin was perched atop one of your knees, arms around said leg while the other was stretched out under your covers. Your skin had been hardened by years of hunting, fingertips riddled with callouses from the weapons you’d handled. The only parts of you that were soft were hidden from sight. Dean also bet that your cheeks were soft, he had never had the chance to touch them but someday he’d like to. If you allowed it he would be able to stare at you for hours, trying to solve you like a Rubix cube. For the most part Dean could tell what you were thinking and feeling without second guessing himself, but there were always moments he was unable to read your body language. 

       He’s seen you in this state before, not too often but every once in a while. It was almost as if you were a statue, unmoving and barely talking. Whenever you were quiet he knew something was up. It was terrifying when you were quiet. At the pit of Dean’s chest an ache began to grow, he felt this way whenever he saw you like this. Physically there was nothing he could do, no mountain he could push or villain to defeat. This was something you had to work on your own in order to heal, and he understood that. But it didn’t make it suck any less watching you torture yourself internally when you were hit with these episodes.

       “Need some company over there?” You held your breath for a moment mulling over Dean’s question. A familiar touch caressed your mind. This wasn’t the first time you’d been in this situation before. Nothing registered as contact on your skin, it was just numb.

       “Yeah, I do.” Wordlessly, Dean padded over to your bed and lifted the covers. The shadows on his body moved with the light from the street lamps. There was a silent pact you two had to never bring up these nights, nights where you both needed some human contact with no questions asked. 

       Nights like these began after your activation. Dean had never seen you so upset before. As a teen he had no idea what to do, he probably still didn’t know now. But he knew that being held helped you and your mother was sure as hell not gonna do that for you. She was always too busy hunting with John. Truly those two were cut from the same cloth. Without the guidance from your parents you sought comfort in each other, and thus your silent pact was formed. Neither of you knew what the reason for this silence was, but nonetheless you kept it. Dean laid on his back with his arms open inviting you in, reminded of when you two used to do this before you left. 

       Feeling your head on his chest felt like home. A gentle surge of energy made his skin hum as you wrapped your arms around him. If there was anywhere Dean knew he was meant to be, it was here. 

       “Goodnight sweetheart.”

       “G’night.”

       And for the first time tonight, you actually slept.

       Once the morning came around you and Dean were already on the road heading towards another case, Colorado to be more specific. You got a call from a friend of your mother. Her name was Jen and she worked as a park ranger for the Grand Mesa National Forest near Grand Junction. During the past couple of weeks, people had gone missing with no evidence left behind. Jen knew that this wasn’t a bear attack like the police claimed, so she called you and Dean for help. Of course you both accepted excited for a new adventure. 

       The Impala roared across the black pavement, kicking up rocks and zooming past trees so fast the leaves shook. In your opinion, the day was perfect. All across your part of the hemisphere the temperature was starting to drop. It was early October and the snow was starting to fall in a beautiful light drift, letting the wind decide its path. The ground was dusted with white sparkles that glittered in the sunlight. The snow wasn’t thick enough to build igloos out of just yet, but it was just thick enough to stick to the ground. You closed your eyes trying to absorb the environment’s good energy. Somehow you convinced Dean to roll the windows down and here you were with your head practically out of the window taking it all in. You were never sure why, but something about the cold air woke up your bones. Dean would always claim it was because you ran hot and then wink at you. 

       The negative energy was evaporating into the air to be turned into a beautiful white mosaic. The wonderful weather made you think that maybe someone was looking out for you. Maybe someone out there saw your rough night and decided to give you a break. Whatever the cause, you weren’t going to question it and were going to keep singing along to the Blue Oyster Cult CD Dean had in.

       Dean looked over to you and committed the image to memory. No matter how many times he saw your smile it would never be enough. You were stretched out in the passenger seat with your shoes kicked off and jacket thrown in the backseat despite the low temperature. Seeing you beside him in the Impala brought on a flood of old memories. Dean wasn’t able to count the number of times Sam, him, and you drove to get ice-cream and dick around town just to get out of whatever motel you were stuck in at the moment. The three of you were inseparable as kids, always hanging out or messing with each other. But everything came to an end once you both turned eighteen. 

       By the time you had become the Slayer, your relationship with your mother was already strained. She was not the fuzziest person around and was certainly not fit to be a parent. The way she ended up in the hunting business was the same as John. Her husband got killed by demons and the rest was history. From then on she dragged you along on all her hunts and after a couple years she ran into John Winchester. The two made a surprisingly good team. 

       Your mother, Caroline, was always off putted by your existence it seemed. It was as if you were a burden to her, just extra luggage to haul around that reminded her of her late husband. There were never any bed time stories or hugs, just life lessons and the occasional pat on the back. At fourteen you considered yourself to be independent. You cooked for yourself, you took care of yourself, and with the help of Dean you were able to raise Sammy up to be a productive member of society. (Or dork as Dean would like to say) Your mother was barely around so it wasn’t a surprise that you grew up faster than you should have, but things only got harder after you received the call of the Slayer. Caroline resented you for what you were, even if she never voiced her opinion out loud. Her words were sharp and responses were short. You knew what she thought about you.

       Dean never understood how a mother could do that to her child, her only child. Mothers, parents in general, were supposed to protect their kids. The day you left Dean swore he could feel his heart break in two. But as much as it hurt him to see you leave to start your own life in the big world, he knew why you needed to. He knew that you needed to get away from your mom’s abuse and passive aggressive attitude. But none of that mattered because you were here now and Dean was incredibly thankful to whoever brought you into his life again.

       A violent buzzing on your thigh stole your attention away from the beautiful weather today brought you. You sat up from your seat and reached your hands forward, clasping them and stretching until you heard a few clicks from your joints. You stifled a yawn as you looked at your phone. “Hey Jen, yeah we’ll be there soon. No, no don’t worry. Alright. See ya.” Dean glanced over to you, silently asking you if everything was ok. “Jen’s just being paranoid. She thinks the police are gonna know that we’re up to something nefarious.”

       “What does she think we’re gonna do? Show up holding a sign that says ‘Hey we’re definitely going to murder someone?’”

       “You never know, those could come back in style.”

       After another hour of driving, the Impala rolled onto a gravel driveway connected to a log built office. As you stepped out of the car the crisp air of the forest nipped at your skin waking you up. The gas and pollution of the cities made you appreciate the fresh air and scenic views before you. As far as the eye could see there were only trees that looked straight out of a Hallmark movie perfectly covered in snow. For the last month all you had seen was gray buildings. It was suffocating how many people squished themselves into one place that they called home.

       Dead leaves and rocks crunched underneath your feet as you walked into the Park Ranger’s Office. A wave of hot air rushed past your cheeks as you stepped into the heated building. It was simple in structure having only four rooms, a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom and an office. The aesthetic was just as you had imagined it would be. The walls were covered with nature paraphernalia everywhere, with samples of tree leaves and forest fauna tacked onto poster board naming the different parts of the organism. Other parts of the wall were covered in maps and pictures of memories from years and decades ago, like a life size scrap book. The heels of your boots clacked against the wooden floor giving a signal to the workers inside that they had some company. 

       “Hello?” You called out. It’d been awhile since you saw Jen, so you weren’t sure what you were going to get. But after a few moments your voice was met with clunking boots and a familiar face. 

       “(Y/N)! Dean! Thank god you’re here, I’ve had enough of all the spooky shit going down here and would like to go back to fearing bears instead of monsters.” Jen said bounding towards you two with a smile. In her hands she was holding a manila folder that had papers sticking out in all different angles. You smiled feeling her bubbly energy, feeling yourself start to charge up a little after such a long drive. 

       “We’ll get you back to fearing those bears in no time. What do you have for us?” You asked stepping closer to get a look at the file Jen prepared, with Dean following your steps.

       “The disappearances have been happening for years and only during the late fall and winter season, but no one talks about it.” Jen huffed out. She leaned against the kitchen counter with her arms crossed.

       “The police usually just show up, ask their questions, and never do anything to solve the cases. Always claiming it’s bears. But I call bullshit, because bears only kill people when threatened or if they’re messing with their cubs. I doubt that many people would be stupid enough to play chicken with a bear. And even if they did end up dead bears bury their prey and feed on them until completely gone, but we haven’t found any evidence to support that claim. No body, no bears.” Jen’s description of the case was strange. Both you and Dean were already mentally working on a list of creatures to rule out in your hunt. 

       “Have you seen or smelled anything strange in those weeks?” Dean asked. He was thumbing through the file to see pictures of the site of the crime, narrow footprints on the ground, and trees scratched with bloody long claws. Jen looked at the ground, pulling her brows together in concentration as she thought back, willing her memories to give her some sort of clue to what happened here. 

       “Not that I can think of…” For a moment it looked like something clicked in Jen’s eyes. “Although….”

       “Yeah?” Jen shook her head again dismissing herself. “Anything will help.”

       Jen pulled her lips tight before answering you. “The claw marks I’ve noticed on the trees are odd.”

       “How so?” Your partner asked stepping in.

       “It’s not a huge difference from regular bear claw marks, but something feels off about them. The claw marks feel less like territory guarding and more like a result from an attack. If that makes any sense, they’re less precise.” You and Dean shared a look, almost as if you were telepathically sharing the same idea. Your gut was telling you already predictions of what was terrorizing the woods, but you wanted to get all the details before you jumped to conclusions. The case seemed like a pretty open and close shut one. You were about to thank Jen when the office door suddenly swung open. After a moment of panic, Dean quickly picked up the case file and hid it in the confines of his leather jacket. The door swung back hitting the wall with a loud smack revealing an older gentleman in a police uniform. His face was grim, every crease in his face probably from frowning so much. Your eyes looked to his breast pocket with the name tag, ‘Rick Sullivan, Police Chief.’

       “Ms. Clinton, you’re not scaring the locals again with your fairy tails are you?” The policeman’s voice lacked any humor or sarcasm whatsoever. From the cadence of his words you could tell that this wasn’t the first time Jen had this conversation with him. Jen’s body language switched. She stood up straight with a stoic look on her face. Oh yeah, they had definitely met before. Jen bit her tongue, wanting so badly to tell him off and reveal to him the true nature of this world and watch as his face morphed into one of pure terror.

       “Not at all,” Jen said, clipping her words as short as she could. “just telling these kids that now might not be the best time to go hiking. Ya know, what with the disappearances and all.” Her eyes narrowed slightly with a fake smile. She couldn’t help but get in at least one jab before the conversation ended. It was a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation. But at least with this option she was able to do what she wanted, regardless of the consequences. The police man, now known as Rick from his name tag, clenched his jaw. Tension built up into the air as the two stared at each other for a moment.

       “Just some bears getting their energy out, nothing more than that. But regardless the department needs to check all the bases and I need the sign in form.” Jen breathed deeply, most likely to stop herself from saying anything else and walked out of the room to get the clipboard the office left out at the entrance on a pedestal for guests to sign in at.

       “Is everything ok? We heard there were some people who went missing here.” You asked casually slipping your hand into Dean’s. The rush Dean felt from your skin touching his made his heart beat quicken. That familiar hum of energy traveled up his arm and dissipated into the rest of his body. He knew you were only doing it to protect your cover, but it still didn’t fail to make him nervous. Feeling some sort of magnetic pull, Dean moved closer to you. You would be lying if you said that playing this role didn’t feel natural to you. It was odd how easily you could slip into the role of a fake girlfriend, holding onto his arm and leaning your head on his shoulder.

       Rick shook his head and sighed. “Nothing so dramatic happened here. We just have a few residents that like to stir things up and make trouble where there isn’t any. As long as you don’t hike where you shouldn’t be you should be fine.” He stated this like it was such an obvious fact that even a mouth breathing four year old would be able to see it. Rick seemed to think highly of himself, towering over you two in condescension. To him you two were just some dumb kids looking to cause him grief.

       “Are you sure? We read that there wasn’t any damning evidence that pointed to a bear attack.” Dean butted in. Your grip on his hand tightened almost as a warning to get him to cut the attitude he was sporting. If it wasn’t in his voice, you could see it all on his face. Dean’s eyes were locked on Rick with his lips pursed. Of course that shit head had to have at least one word in on this, his personality wouldn’t have it any other way. He always had issues with authority, something you thought he picked up since he was always under John’s thumb.

       Rick could sense Dean’s snarky attitude a mile away and reciprocated. His posture straightened even more, if possible, and he pulled his shoulders back. “Son, I’ve been on the force for damn near forty years. I think I know a bear attack when I see one.” You were sure if Dean uttered another word Rick would have him arrested just for being disrespectful. Truly the police chief before you was the epitome of the angry baby boomer’s generation, and Dean was just another millennial in his eyes here to ruin the diamond industry by spending all his money on avocados or not getting married. 

       You tugged on Dean’s arm wanting nothing more than to get out of here before the situation escalated. “Hey love, why don’t we head home and come back another time?” You  asked leaning into Dean, affectively playing the part of the girlfriend. The two of you had everything you needed from Jen to start working on the case, and if you had any more questions you’d call her. Guess she wasn’t kidding when she mentioned over the phone that the cops around here were twitchy. Dean couldn’t help the smile that crept onto his lips looking at you clinging onto him. Fake or not he loved being able to have these moments with you. 

       “Sure thing sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes followed your figure as you lead him out of the door to the office, ignoring anything Rick Sullivan had to say to him. 

       Once you knew you were out of ear shot of the asshole back in the office you felt the need to speak up brewing inside you.

       “You are going to get us arrested with that smart mouth of yours.” You poked at Dean. Looking over to him you saw a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He didn’t regret a word he said. You both walked in sync to the car with clasped hands, no longer safe from the cold outside. 

“Well my mouth could be doing other things if you want sweetheart.” Dean tugged on your hand, pulling you to him with a smirk. Your laughter filled the air as you shook your head.

       “Like what? Complain and bitch about the cold? You are pretty good at that.”  Rick’s crotchety behavior was long forgotten by the time you two got in the Impala. Yet again your rapport with Dean remained the same. Maybe harmless flirting was just your friendship and you were making too big of a deal about it. Analyzing your history with him did remind you that this dynamic of yours had been going on forever. Nothing came from it then, so maybe nothing will come from it now. The two of you settled back into the Impala to start yet another adventure into the supernatural world. 

[drunkenhills]

Supernatural rewatch

I have been rewatching all of Supernatural for the third time. As I have been reading a ton of meta on the show, I have found a new understanding of it, a clearer grasp on its themes and a deeper appreciation for its storytelling.

So as I am rewatching I will share notes on some of the episodes. For myself first, but feel free to react!

This section follows a thematic logic. It won’t necessarily always be the case.

Episode 2.03 ‘Bloodlust’

Season 2! I love season 2!!

Oh, and I do love a good episode name. The vampires’ lust for blood, and Gordon’s, hellbent on what is beyond revenge at this point; pure hatred. If it has fangs, it has to go.

This episode is the first to set up the grey area of hunting and the definition of monsters. Is it anything that’s evil? Anything that’s not human? This is one of my favourite themes throughout the show and I will probably talk about it a lot.

This episode serves as foreshadowing for what John told Dean, which we only learn in 2.10, the second instalment of the Gordon storyline.

 ‘I guess there’s a lot your old man didn’t tell you’

John is all over this episode. He’s in Gordon, he’s in Dean, and he’s mentioned a few times, through stories and strolls down memory lane.

Gordon is obviously the biggest John mirror. First of all, he’s hunting vampires, which is what all three Winchesters hunt together in 1.20. The way Sam and Dean bust in at the last minute to save Gordon in the first half is a direct mirror to a scene in that episode. Mentioning John and his admiration for him is like the third thing he says when they meet. Not to mention Sterling K. Brown has a fantastic presence that matches John’s quiet strength.

Dean takes to him right away and they bond over hunting. Gordon fills the void left by John’s death and Dean mirrors him, learning from him, just like he imitated his father his entire life, down to his car, clothes and taste in music (see 3.10). Sam even calls him out on it in the third act, with a line that’s a bit on the nose.

Even the very first conversation between Sam, Dean and Gordon is telling. It’s all about what’s under the surface, which we get glimpses of by looking at Dean’s reactions. Sam and Dean are curious to hear about the habits of hunters and everything about the hunting life that they know very little about. What’s relevant is what Gordon says when he realizes the brothers have no idea what he’s talking about. There is indeed a lot that John didn’t tell them, which is a point of conflict between him and Sam when they reunite in 1.20. But Dean has an interesting reaction to this line. It makes him realize something. He didn’t tell us a damn thing about the hunting community, but he had time to tell me to kill my brother?

Of course, we won’t understand his reaction until much later. This episode is purely about foreshadowing, which means that a lot of things escape our understanding upon first watch. And this is where Gordon serves the narrative as a John mirror: he is willing to kill anything that isn’t human, even his own family.

 ‘It’s all black and white, there’s no maybe.’ / ‘Decapitations aren’t my idea of a good time, I guess.’

This episode highlights a fundamental difference about Sam and Dean’s outlook on hunting that will come up throughout the whole show. Sam hunts because he has to. To follow John’s orders, for revenge, to honor his memory. Ever since season 1, he has made conscious choices to hunt even though he claims to hate it, because of external reasons, or to serve a goal. But Dean is made for the life. He’s a hunter through and through. Hunting defines him.

At least that’s what this episode wants us to believe, and though I’m sure it’s somewhat true, that’s not the whole story. Dean only became a hunter because his father wanted him to. There is no way he enjoys it as much as the episode suggests; part of it is keeping the performance for Sam, playing the part. But another aspect is narrative. It’s about the fallout when Dean realizes he killed a somewhat innocent creature trying his best. Dean’s face full of blood right after he kills the vampire, red spots in the otherwise neutral colors, is extremely uncomfortable to watch. And that’s before we know the truth about those particular vampires.

At the bar in the next scene, Sam feels wrong and he takes issue with Gordon, like he did with John. Gordon calls him ‘Sammy’, trying to bond, but it doesn’t work out. After he leaves, Gordon textualizes that difference, lumping him and Dean together opposite Sam as born hunters. He mentions that he sees no shades of grey. As we will later learn, the vampires aren’t killing people, but he hunts them anyway. Dean doesn’t agree, but instead brings up Sam as potentially disagreeing with that black and white approach, which his only a proxy to show that he’s not sure either. He’s not quite there with Gordon. He looks more and more lost in that scene whereas Gordon increases in confidence and steadiness. But he’s so desperate for approval, for a John substitute, that he lets him talk, though his expression at the end of their conversation is telling. He’s not entirely into it.

In the end, Sam’s intuition was right. He had the sense to mentally estimate the route to the nest. He’s the one showing the instincts of a born hunter, not Dean, who lets his grief and anger at John completely cloud his judgement.

 ‘Gotta keep my game face on…’

When the analogy between the vampire and Sam becomes clear, Dean is disgusted with himself for killing that vampire earlier. His anger at the end is confusing upon first watch. He roughs up Gordon more than needed, not because he is protective of the vampires – his empathy only goes that far – but because Gordon represents his father’s last order, the horror of what he may have to do, and the part of himself who went buddy-buddy with Gordon. He is angry at himself for falling for it. And he is angry at John for what he dumped on his shoulders.

If family members can be monsters, it would probably stop any hunter, but not Gordon as he unashamedly admits to killing his sister when she turned. And it makes Dean sick, because he sees himself. He sees the task that lays ahead, of potentially killing Sam if he turns bad. He sees himself in Gordon and he sees himself in John.

Talking about John’s death, Gordon and Sam both describe the pain as a “(black) hole”. But whereas Gordon advises Dean to use the pain and throw himself in the job, Sam warns Dean not to “fill it with whoever” he wants to, because it would be “an insult to his memory”. To which Dean reacts by punching him. What memory? The last, horrible thing he told Dean?

 ‘Once you have our scent, you’ll keep tracking us. It doesn’t matter where we go.’

As announced by the double entendre in the title, the episode flips the hunting narrative on its head. Last time we saw vampires, they were bloodthirsty hunters. This time, their leader Lenore is the one who tells Sam “You have our scent”, the phrase used by John last season to describe the tracking abilities of vampires last season.

When she mentions hunters tracking and killing them, Lenore uses a whole bunch of words that hunters use when they talk about the monsters and the predators. This time, the monsters are the prey, and even though humans hunting monsters is kind of the basis of the show, it has a different flavor here, and again asks the question: Who is the monster?? Even though Sam’s blood made her instincts kick in, the difference between Gordon and Lenore is that she knows when to stop. In the end, she resisted the temptation to go darkside. The bloodthirsty one, in the end, wasn’t the vampire, but the human.

When Sam tells Dean that the vampires aren’t killing people, Dean is adamant that they’re lying. I find this fascinating. Shouldn’t he jump at the occasion to prove that they/Sam can fight their ‘true nature’ and be good in the end? Or is he terrified of the implication that Gordon is killing good creatures – that John would have killed Sam, even without him turning bad?

References: 1.20, 2.10, 3.10

[mistressofmuses]

Holiday Special

“We have a holiday special running,” chirped the barista at the register. “If you get one of our peppermint mochas, a second one is only a dollar!”

Brenden wrinkled his nose in disgust before he even thought about it. “Er, no thanks. Does the special apply to a regular mocha?”

“Sorry, no, just the seasonal peppermint.”

“Okay, I’ll get a medium regular mocha.”

“We have peppermint stir sticks for only fifty cents.”

“No thank you. I’m just not a big fan of peppermint.”

He paid for his drink, and went to wait at the bar and look out over the café. It was crowded, with no unoccupied tables. He sighed. He didn’t have class for another hour, and no way did he want to wait outside in this awful below-freezing weather.

The man who’d been behind him in line came up next to him at the bar. Judging by the line of cups on the counter in back, they’d both be waiting for a while.

“I thought it was just me,” the other man said.

Brenden glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, assuming the other man was on the phone or something. More than once he’d acknowledged some comment from a stranger only to get a weird look and belatedly realize they had a Bluetooth receiver clipped to their ear. This stranger was cute, dressed for the weather, yet looking like he’d stepped out of a fashion spread, with a black wool coat perfectly tailored to him, and red scarf artfully draped over his shoulders. Definitely the type who might have an earpiece.

“That disliked peppermint, I mean,” The stranger clarified. “This time of year is practically torture.”

“Oh,” Brenden replied, blinking. “Yeah, it’s all but unavoidable, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Suddenly everything has to have a candy cane in it. Perfectly self-respecting mochas, brownies, sugar cookies, ice cream, for heaven’s sake. All of them suddenly adulterated with peppermint.”

Brenden laughed.

“I’m Ryan, by the way,” the other man stuck a hand out.

Brenden took it. Ryan’s hand was warmer than his. “Brenden,” he introduced himself.

“Come to this coffee shop often?” Ryan asked, brushing his bangs to the side.

“Not real often,” Brenden said. “Just when the bus schedule and my classes don’t sync up quite right. It’s a nice spot to kill a few minutes out of the cold. My classes don’t start until 3:00 today.”

“Ah, you’re a student?” Ryan asked. “I’ve been thinking about maybe taking a few classes. I wanted to take a year off after high school, but then I got a job, and a year turned into, well, a lot more than that.”

Ryan certainly didn’t look like he’d been out of high school “a lot more than” a year. He looked about Ryan’s age, just an extremely well-put-together twenty instead of a self-described-disaster twenty. Must have been a damn good job he’d gotten.

“Regular mocha!” a barista called out, setting the drink on the counter.

A second barista almost immediately called out, “Cinnamon latte, extra whip!” and set that one down next to Brenden’s mocha.

Ryan picked up the cinnamon latte and then gestured to a table across the room. “Look, a table opened up. We could grab it before anyone else swoops in.”

“Er, sure,” Brenden said, picking up his mocha and following Ryan to the table. It made sense to share the table, considering how packed the café still was. Sharing with someone you’d at least said ‘hi’ to was a bit better than having to ask a complete stranger if you could sit next to them.

Brenden set his bag and his coat on the other empty chair at the table, not wanting them to touch the ground, which had snowmelt all over it. He prepared to dig out a book to read to pass the time.

But to his surprise, Ryan didn’t immediately pull out his phone or a book of his own or something else to pay attention to. He had a notebook with him, but he just set it down. Instead he looked at Brenden and asked, “So what are you studying in your classes? Let me guess… business major, maybe?”

“Nothing so practical, I’m afraid…” And then Brenden was explaining his weird decision to major in literature and minor in both anthropology and world history. “It’s awful!” he said with a laugh. “I know I’m condemning myself to a future of teaching, but I can’t help it, because I love the subjects so much, I just keep adding more classes.”

“Isn’t that a good thing, then?” Ryan asked. “If you love the subjects, you’re the one who should be teaching them, don’t you think? Your far-off-future students will be glad for a little enthusiasm.”

Ryan brushed his bangs to the side again, and took a sip of his latte. He was clearly waiting for Brenden to reply, and Brenden found himself a little tongue-tied. He was used to people—strangers, acquaintances, and friends alike—seeming almost disappointed in him for his choices. Usually this was the point in a conversation where he said something self-deprecating, or laughed about how impractical he was being.

“I guess I never really gave it that much thought,” Brenden admitted. “Everyone just tells me that that’s what I’m doing—condemning myself to being unsuited for anything except teaching—like it’s a bad thing, so I just sort of resigned myself to it. Not many people rushing to hire lit majors for anything else.”

“I mean, if you hate the idea of teaching, of course you should aim for something else, but don’t let some snide jerk convince you that it’s a terrible fate. You love the subjects; teaching other people to love them too doesn’t sound like the worst thing to me.”

“That’s a fair point,” Brenden said. And it was. He really had been thinking of teaching as something he was going to somehow be forced into, like a sad fallback plan, as if it wasn’t a worthy goal in and of itself. When his high-end event-planning brother and his environmental scientist sister sighed and shook their heads at him, he’d just accepted that he was the flighty slacker sibling.

He shook his head and broke out of his thoughts. “How about you?” he asked Ryan, acutely aware that he’d been the topic of conversation for far too long at this point. “You come to this café often?”

The alarm on Brenden’s phone went off, alerting him that he had twenty-five minutes until class started, and he needed to get going. He tapped the snooze button, buying himself an extra three minutes.

“Not really,” Ryan answered. “It was just a whim today. I’m usually not even over in this part of town. I just had an errand, and was really craving some caffeine. Glad I did.”

“Yeah, this café is pretty good,” Brenden said. “Outrageous number of peppermint holiday specials aside.”

Ryan smiled and took another sip of his latte. “At least peppermint season isn’t forever. Did you have to go?” He glanced pointedly at Brenden’s phone.

“Nah, I’m good for a few more minutes,” he said. Then Ryan wrote something in his notebook, and he worried that Ryan had been trying to hint to him that they should part ways. His brain struggled to find something else to ask Ryan to justify those extra few minutes. “So if you were going to go to school for something, what classes would you take?”

Ryan laughed and tore out the page he’d written on. “Oh, probably something wildly impractical, like literature.”

Brenden laughed along with him.

“Maybe you could tutor me,” Ryan said, grinning. “Since I’m a few years out of practice with academics.”

“It’d give me some practice for my inevitable teaching career,” Brenden said, stroking his chin in mock-thoughtfulness.

His snoozed alarm lit his phone back up, as it rang and vibrated across the table. He sighed, genuinely regretting that he had to break off the conversation. Ryan was nice to talk to, and just unfairly attractive. It wasn’t the kind of opportunity that Brenden had every day. “I really do have to get going,” he said apologetically, swiping the alarm off. “Or I’ll be late.” 22 minutes would already be cutting it close.

“No problem. I hope I didn’t take up too much of your time,” Ryan said. “It was good to talk to you.” Ryan stood up too, and handed Brenden his coat.

“Thanks. I hope you do decide to take some classes.”

“Thank you. And I hope you have good luck with yours.”

As Brenden rushed out into the cold outside air, he jammed his hands into his pockets. It was a shame he was unlikely to see Ryan again, since he admitted that he was never on this end of town.

His fingers brushed a folded piece of paper, which didn’t feel like a receipt. He pulled it out, and read the note below the phone number written on it.

I was hoping you’d ask for my number, but you didn’t take the hint, and I’m giving it to you anyway. Read between the lines, lit-major! And call me sometime. –Ryan

~

@yourbookcouldbegayer

Prompt was: "Your characters meet at a coffee shop and bond over their shared hatred of peppermint flavored drinks. When they leave, one of the characters is pretty sure they’ll never see the other person again, but guess whose number they find in their pocket?”

Managed to get this one done mostly in the morning before work! It’s another meet-cute, kinda like day 1, but since I never get to write purely fluffy things like this, I enjoyed indulging in it. Even though I love peppermint.