#both dean and sam need therapy

[ramblingsupernatural]

everyone's like "sam's the emotionally avaliable brother!" as if he doesn't spend the entire 1st season having nightmares over jess's death and refusing to talk to dean about it

[monsterfuckermilligan]

i am not anti sam but i sometimes find myself hating sam because some samgirls are super into bio/gender essentialism whether or not they realize it. sam is a woman and dean is a man and sam is the victim and dean is his abuser like what show are you watching?

[sbd-laytall]

[batcavescolony]

S2 E11 Supernatural

That was cute but creepy. And Sam feeling like he has to save as many people as possible to prepare for if he goes evil! Then him making Dean promise to kill him if he does 😭.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Princess & The Playboy: Six Months Timestamp

Summary: Dean has retired from the NFL and has been enjoying his downtime with the reader. While she and Eric want to make sure he's safe, Sam and Max need to figure out what they want to do with their lives going forward...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 2,500ish

Warnings: language, very brief mentions of smut

A/N: This timestamp takes place ~ six months after the end of the original series. Please enjoy!

_______

“Hey, wait a second-” you heard Dean say behind you before he let out a loud groan. You turned off the treadmill and hopped off the back, catching your breath while you took in the scene before you.

Dean was on his stomach, hands behind his back in a pair of zip ties as Eric straddled him and ruffled his hair. 

“Watch and learn, kiddo,” he said, pulling Dean up by his shirt collar so he was sitting. “You’re thinking too much. Y/N? She’s been running for over an hour. Watch what she does.”

Eric waved you over away from the workout equipment. You ditched your headphones along the way, still breathing hard when Eric tossed a pair of zip ties at you.

“We’re playing Catch. Go.” Eric moved fast towards you, faster than any man in his forties had a right to be. You watched his footwork and dodged to the left, swing your leg out as he missed you and connecting with the back of his knee. He went down on the padded floor and you flew yourself on top of him, wedging your knee between his shoulder blades and using your own weight to sit on top of him. It was uncomfortable for him, painful if you really wanted to hurt him and put down more pressure. But you weren’t meant to stay here for long as he could get back up if he really tried.

No, you grabbed the back of his neck as you moved your knee to his side and when he instinctually shot his arm up to grab your wrist, you jabbed your fingers right into his armpit. It made his body jerk at the odd sensation and his hand slip, allowing you to force his wrist through one loop and tighten. Once you had it, you used the other loop to force his arm back and then with a carefully aimed jab just under the rib cage, he tensed again and you had both hands secured. 

You rolled off him with a hard pant, Eric wincing a bit as he sat up. “You weren’t meant to win you little asshole.”

“Shouldn’t have trained me so good then,” you said, giving him a thumbs up. You got to your hands and knees, sitting back to stretch your legs as Eric got himself up and over to the wall where he had a pair of scissors.

“How the hell did you do that?” said Dean, Eric cutting himself free and then Dean. “You were literally doing sprints three minutes ago.”

“I think Eric’s point is it isn’t always physical,” you said, Eric offering Dean a towel to wipe up his sweat with. “We have to always be prepared, even if we’re exhausted. I’m sorry babe but he’s right, you do think too much when he’s teaching you moves. I was the same way at first. Now nearly a decade later look at me. You’ll get there.”

“To be fair, we’ve only been doing this stuff six months and you got the basics down good,” said Eric. An alarm on his watch pinged and he started to head out. “I’ll see you guys later. Y/N, we’ll head out a four.”

“Have fun at therapy,” you said, Eric rolling his eyes but smiling as he jogged down the hall to catch a quick shower. You turned to Dean who was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling. “How do doing down there? Eric didn’t hurt anything?”

“Only my pride,” he sighed. You crawled over beside him, laying back so your head rested on his chest. “I can’t get any of this advanced crap. If anyone tries to bother you it’s not going to be some minor thing. It’ll be planned and-”

“And you didn’t start out throwing bombs down the field, knowing which play to run when. It’s just like football. You get the basics down and you build off of them. Sure, I know a lot now but I didn’t know the basics for two years. I still depend on Eric and Sloane and the team to keep us safe. It’s their job to protect us.”

“I know. Sometimes I worry though that I can’t protect you if it came down to it.” You laughed, Dean sitting up and sending you sliding down to his lap. He frowned at you. “Why’s that funny? I don’t know these moves. I couldn’t protect you back at that party. I’m not-”

“You stepped in front of me at that party when we found Sam and Max. You always walk between me and the street and switch sides if we go by an alley. You do so many little things that make me feel protected, Dean. Let the rest of them be the super soldiers. But you? I know if shit got real, you’re the most dangerous one of them all. You’re the one I want.” He pondered that for a moment, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek. “I know you got me.”

“Yes, I do,” he said softly, leaning down to kiss you. “I love you so much.”

“I love you.” You sat up, Dean’s arms pulling you into a hug. “Are you nervous about tonight?”

“A bit. I’m looking forward to it though. Are you excited to have the boys at a concert for the first time?” You hummed.

“Yeah, just keep an eye on them. I don’t want anyone with a VIP pass being weird to them. They haven’t been out in public much and those reporters are still hounding them.”

“I’ll ask my boys to watch their backs too,” said Dean, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “We ought to wash up. They should be getting out school soon.”

“Only if we can share,” you said, Dean chuckling before picking you up bridal style.

“Oh, I was planning on it.”

Thirty Minutes Later

“Hey Sammy,” you said from the kitchen, eating the late lunch Dean had prepared for you. Sam was smiling more than usual and you quirked an eyebrow. “Good day?”

“Amazing fucking day,” he said, taking off his backpack and pulling out a paper. Dean leaned over from across the island, Sam sliding it over. “I passed high school. Not even just my GED but I like passed it passed it. I’m gonna get a diploma and everything.”

“That’s awesome, Sammy,” said Dean, throwing his arm over Sam’s shoulders and hugging him tight. “You’ve always been such a nerd.”

You slipped away with your plate when noticed Max was on the back patio and hadn’t come inside yet. 

“How was school?” you asked, taking a seat next to him at the patio table. He shrugged, slouching down. You offered him the other half of your sandwich, Max taking it after a beat. “Can I be brutally honest with you?”

“About…” he said with his mouth full, eating far too quickly. You pursed your lips, breathing slowly. “What?”

“Sam got his diploma because he was abducted with only a few months of high school left. You had years. You’re going to get your GED and that’s that.” Max frowned, crossing his arms before looking away. “You can go to college with a GED you know.”

“I know that,” he muttered. You hummed, leaning your head back.

“So stop comparing yourself to Sam. I am just as proud of you for working on that GED as I am of him for his diploma. We all are. Max…I don’t give a shit if you have straight A’s or what you want your education to look like. You’re twenty eight years old. You get to pick what you want.”

“He’s always been smarter than me. He came up with the plan to-”

“Bullshit. Don’t act like a fucking brat.” He turned in his seat, angry and wide eyes meeting yours. “Sam was seventeen when he was grabbed. You were fucking fourteen. You said you didn’t meet Sam until you were seventeen. Three years you were on your own. You survived as a fucking kid on your own. I know every goddamn awful fact about trafficking children so I know you were fucking smart to make it on your own. Don’t you ever down-play your intelligence, do you understand me? You’re going to be whatever the fuck you want to in life because any kid that survives that can do anything he wants to. Now sulk how you need to and then go congratulate Sam because your brother just got his diploma and families celebrate that shit.”

You grabbed the plate and stood, halfway across the patio when Max cleared his throat. 

“Y/N.” You looked over you shoulder and sighed. He shrugged, a weird smile on his face. “Thanks. You and Dean, even Eric and Sloane, but you guys don’t baby us. I’m glad you’re still my sister.”

“Well I sure as shit ain’t your mom,” you said, Max laughing quietly. You nodded towards the door, Max taking his bag and walking over. “Let’s get a proper lunch before we head out, alright?”

Later That Night

“So you think the fans liked the show?” asked Dean around eleven. The house was much louder than you were used to after performances at the Wolves stadium. Someone had soft rock music playing through a bluetooth speaker on the patio. Half of the LA Wolves football team and their significant others were outside along with a few of his former coaches. Dean’s parents and Benny’s extended family. Eric and Sloane were talking in hushed tones in the kitchen with not an inch of space between them. Sam and Max were even talking to a few girls they’d met, younger sisters of a few of the players.

You rolled your eyes, laughing when Dean pulled you against his chest. “Based on the screams I’d say that all thought it was so lame when you came out to do your god awful dancing.”

“Um, excuse me but your choreographer said I was amazing,” scoffed Dean. You patted his arm, Dean pouting. “Was I really that bad?”

“You were great. That was for us anyways,” you said, both of your turning your heads when you heard a crash in the kitchen. Sloane was trying to pick up the mcdonalds boxes full of chicken nuggets off the ground while Eric held her waist, the pair of them giggling. “Can y’all keep it in your pants in public?”

“It was an accident,” said Eric with a shrug and smile that you recognized far too much these days. 

“Go get horny in your bedroom,” you said, pointing at the stairs. 

“Well if the boss says so,” said Eric, Sloane yelping when he picked her up, smacking his chest lightly. “What’d I do? You started it.”

“You’re such a liar,” she huffed, Eric humming as he waved goodnight. “Remember to-”

“Set the alarm,” said Dean. “Remember to wrap it up, old timer.”

Eric flipped him the bird as he headed up the stairs, mumbling something you couldn’t quite catch before they were gone.

“So those two are totally trying for a kid, right?” asked Dean. 

“Oh, absolutely. The wedding is in three months and I’ve already seen Eric reading articles about first time parenting.” Dean smirked, your finger going up. “We. Are. Not. Ready.”

“I know. But maybe in a few years we will be. Let their rugrat have a little cousin with our rugrat.” Dean took your hand, pulling your tattooed wrist to his lips, kissing it gently. “After our own wedding of course.”

“I’d like that…eventually,” you yawned, Dean brushing your hair behind your ear. “I’m alright. Just a bit tired.”

“You want to head up to bed? The boys and my folks can make sure everyone’s taken care of.” 

“You sure?” you asked, Dean humming. “They have fun tonight?”

“I’m not sure you have bigger fans than those two,” he said, chuckling when one of your songs filtered in from outside. “Sam’s decided to do pre-law at Stanford in the fall. Apparently being famous helps you get into an Ivy League school late.”

“Good for him,” you said. “I don’t think Max is ready for college though.”

“It’ll be good for the boys to get some space. Max mentioned taking his GED maybe next month and then maybe technical school in the new year, work on cars with my uncle Bobby once he gets done.” You raised your eyebrows, smiling to yourself. “I may have had a chat with him while you were in rehearsals.”

“He needed it. He doesn’t have to go to school and honestly, in a garage he can just blend in and be a normal guy which is what he wants.” You let out another yawn, shaking your head. “Are you excited to start your work soon?”

“Yeah. Nervous but excited. I know some people think I should have taken a higher level-”

“Dean.” He met your gaze, taking a deep breath. “You had over three hundred job offers. Literally. If you’d wanted a pro or collegiate job, you would have taken it. If coaching a losing high school team is what makes you happy, then you’re going to do that.”

“I still don’t think they believed me when I said my goal was to get these kids to state within three years.”

“Oh that’s because they bet you’ll do it in one,” you teased, leaning your head against his chest. 

“Come on, Princess of Pop,” said Dean, picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“Hey guys,” said Sam, walking in with Max on his tail. “These girls invited us to go out to a bar with them. Is it cool if we go? Benny and Michael said they’d come with.”

“You’re adults, you don’t need to ask,” you said with a smile. “Just take a few guys for security with you. And watch your drinks. And practice safe sex if you-”

“And goodnight,” said Sam, heading back outside with a groan. Dean laughed as he headed for the stairs, his chest rumbling against yours.

“I just want them to be safe,” you said, Dean patting your back.

“I know, I know. They’re smart. S’good they want to go out, stretch their legs on their own. It means what we’re doing is working.”

“I guess it is,” you said, nuzzling into his neck with another yawn. “God. I can’t believe I toured non-stop for most of last year. How the hell did I do that?”

“You were just a wee bit exhausted,” said Dean as he reached the top of the stairs. “Let’s get you to bed so you can do it all over tomorrow night.”

“You know what I would kill for?” you asked. Dean kissed your temple, giving your body a big squeeze.

“One foot massage coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you murmured into his skin, Dean setting you down on your soft bedding.

“My pleasure, sweetheart.”

___________

[physalian]

“Why doesn’t the villain just kill the heroes?”

Ah, plot armor. If you want to be a real go-getter and think up a more creative way for the heroes to always narrowly escape death out of sheer dumb luck, the villain being too slow on the draw, or the villain simply not thinking of it in the moment, you have to come up with a reason for why the villain doesn’t just kill the hero.

Four examples today.

1. Zhao & Aang

In “The Blue Spirit,” Aang is captured by Zhao, a man normally not above anything to further his agenda, including murder. The Avatar is the largest obstacle in his way, second to the Earth Kingdom, and all he has to do to take Aang off the gameboard is to kill a twelve-year-old. He’s got Aang in chains, not quite powerless but harmless enough, and could do it quickly.

So why doesn’t he? Per Zhao himself, if he kills Aang, the Avatar cycle will continue, born into some random water bender that may take them years to track down. Sure, they’ll be harmless for a few years and the Fire Nation might get lucky and find them easily, perhaps even sway the new one to their side, but what if the waterbending Avatar is born into the Foggy Swamp? Or they end up having to kill them, too, and then have to track down an earthbending Avtar across the entire Earth Kingdom? Does Zhao really want to take that chance when he can just keep Aang alive? Just barely?

Of course not.

Killing the hero in this case might stop the immediate threat, but it will just delay the inevitable, thus it’s in the villain’s best interest to exploit a loophole while likely committing war crimes in the process. He gets to secure a Fire Nation victory and make Aang suffer for the rest of his life.

Ozai doesn't kill Aang until the first chance he gets, which just so happens to be the series finale. And we all know why Aang has a no-kill policy.

2. Sam, Dean & The Angels and Demons

Hahaha it’s the show known for its refusal to kill its heroes. We’re gonna ignore everything past season 5. There’s obviously meta reasons—kill the main characters and you have zero supporting cast that could realistically take over the show.

But in season 4, despite multiple deaths already for both of them, so begins the “if you die we’ll just bring you back” threat, because they’re angels and angels can do that. Similar to Aang, Sam and Dean risk a fate far worse than death if they don’t cooperate with Zachariah’s plans. He happily gives them both a slew of diseases and illnesses to get his way whenever he gets the chance and reminds them both that if they just kill themselves to escape the Apocalypse, he’ll happily revive them. The Demons won't kill Sam and Dean because they're necessary to further their own plans by breaking certain seals on Lucifer's cage, though they're not above breaking bones and killing bystanders.

Fate worse than death is a popular threat, but usually the heroes offing themselves is still a viable, if deeply unpopular, option. Supernatural removes it entirely and for such a simple little detail, it does a lot to make their survivability believable.

3. Batman & Joker

Ahh the age old furious rant by people who don’t understand Batman: If Batman killed his villains they’d stop busting out of Arkham and murdering innocent civilians, Batman has so much blood on his hands—

Babe. Babe, he’s a comic book character. By his very nature, he can’t kill his villains otherwise he’d have no rogues gallery. Comic books are like a giant board of Monopoly, going around in circles and occasionally having a timeout in jail.

But the in universe reason there’s no killing has been essayed about extensively and so has why Joker doesn’t try harder to kill him, but I couldn’t not include these two. Batman does not kill because he is not judge, jury, and executioner of his villains, most of whom have mental health issues and while they certainly know better and their crimes aren’t justified, his villains need actual therapy and help and medication, not death. Even those who he might agree must be stopped and there’s no other way except murder, Batman himself will not be the one to pull the trigger. He must remain a hero, so that no matter who he comes across in the dark alleyways of Gotham, they know he’s not here to kill them, be it criminal or victim.

Joker doesn’t kill Batman for a much simpler reason, and Heath Ledger literally says it: “I won’t kill you because you’re too much fun.” He does not need a more convoluted reason, he enjoys the game, the chase, the tug of war (most versions of him, at least) and to kill Batman would be to end his greatest form of entertainment, and the only person probably in the whole world who is neither afraid of Joker nor dismissive of him as simply a freak.

4. Optimus and Megatron

Optimus Prime and Megatron are very similar to Batman and Joker but with literal eons of history between them. In most serialized Transformers media, as opposed to movies where the plot is more urgent, Megatron both wants to win Optimus over and just can't quite let himself finally win. Who is he without his rival, after all this time?

Optimus is in the same boat, refusing to kill him because he's still holding out hope for Megatron's redemption, that there's a peaceful way to end this war (no matter how much collateral both leaders end up causing). Shit gets real whenever Optimus breaks the unspoken rules of their no-kill rivalry and Megatron gets incredibly pissy about it because he's in love.

—

Suggestions to workshop this plot hole in your own narrative:

The hero staying alive is absolutely paramount to the villain’s plan (in which case, you have to have rock solid reasons for why they keep narrowly escaping capture)

The villain is so confident in their plan that they don’t even consider the hero a proper threat

The villain doesn't really have a bodycount, but if they kill the hero, suddenly all the other powers that be will take them seriously and they'll have a huge mess on their hands

The villain is so full of themselves or so in love with their rival that it’d break their heart to have to kill them just to win

The villain is simply not capable of murder either physically or morally (perhaps because the hero is a child)

Killing the hero would make them a martyr and the villain would end up with a far bigger mess on their hands when the lone hero is replaced with an avenging army

The villain is too proud to simply kill the hero and wants to win fairly in a proper fight on the battlefield and not take the cheap and easy shot

The villain does not have a phyiscal form or real presence in the plot, acting through their minions, and their minions are incompetent

It’s simply not fun if the hero dies/the hero is the only one who understands them and they’d lose far more than they’d gain by killing them

The villain still wants to try and win the hero over and is so dedicated to this path that they regularly sabotage their own plans desperate to change the hero’s mind

The villain firmly believes in a fate worse than death and while the hero’s survival isn’t crucial to the main plan, they want the hero to watch their own failure/become the villain’s minion/ prisoner/ partner by the end

There’s a million examples out there to pull from and I could keep listing them all night. So long as whatever it is doesn’t come out of nowhere or open a plot hole of “why didn’t they just do that earlier?” you can get quite creative.

One last example that’s a personal favorite of mine to implement: In Eternal Night of the Northern Sky there aren’t too many opportunities to ask this question, but when it does arise, Villain A has Hero B as a meat shield, and while Hero B’s love interest, Hero C, is more than happy to shoot through them to incapacitate Villain A, the person they take orders from isn’t so reckless, which later leads to Drama and Issues.

[imagineteamfreewill]

From the Dead - Five

Pairing: Soldier!Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Hearing loss, pregnancy, nervousness, nausea, mentions of PTSD, and fluff

Summary: Dean Winchester died as a war hero during his third tour overseas. He left Y/N behind, and she decides that she needs a change. She leaves Lawrence to work at Camp New Moon, where a mysterious visitor shows up almost five years after Dean first left for his tour.

A/N: This is the final part of the “From the Dead” series. As always, thank you for supporting me whether I’m writing Supernatural or Marvel, both here and on other websites. I hope you enjoy!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

From the Dead Series Masterlist

The months practically fly by after Dean receives his hearing aid. As part of his therapy, he creates a list of things he wants to do now that he’s back in the States, some of which you’ve never done together. One by one, you check things off the list. You spend sunsets—and a few sunrises—snuggled up on the beach by the lake, and when the fall hits, you and Dean are able to get away for a few weekends for hikes in a nearby state park. It’s on those nights at the lake and in the cabins you rent at the parks that Dean talks to you more about his tour. He can’t tell you all the details, especially since Sam is still advising you on whether or not to sue for everything you’d been put through, but he talks to you about his life in the village. Sometimes you lay together in bed as he talks, and other times you sit facing him so you can read his expressions. Sometimes he cries. You do too. It’s cathartic for both of you.

When winter descends on the South, you take him to Atlanta for some of the Christmas festivities. You go to a concert, go on a fancy date at an even fancier restaurant, and walk hand in hand while you look at Christmas lights. His family drives down for the holidays, and you put them up in a few of the empty staff cabins. Mary tells you one morning while you’re watching the sun rise over the lake that she understands why you’d want to stay at New Moon. It’s one of the best Christmas gifts you get.

Dean surprises you with trips to the zoo, aquarium, and museums. He takes you shopping, compliments you with every new thing you tried on, and he carries your bags. He cooks you elaborate meals and brings you picnic lunches. You’re pretty sure that he and Meg text because he always seems to show up for lunch on the days where you need his company the most.

Life is sublime, even on the rough nights when you sleep very little. Dean’s nightmares wake you up on occasion, but you don’t mind. He shows you his love in a thousand little ways, and lying with him and comforting him is one of the few ways that you do the same. You both lay on your sides, facing each other, and you murmur reassurances in the dim light from the bedside lamp. You’ve gotten used to sleeping with it on, especially now since you found out that the darkness is something that worsens his PTSD.

Some nights, you stay up late worrying about the girls. Others you spend sitting up with them or talking with them when they need support, or intervention. Oftentimes, on those nights, you walk back to your cottage in the dark, following the path with just an old plastic flashlight to guide you. Your phone is usually dead and you’re always bone-tired, but without fail, you open the door to find Dean waiting up for you on the couch. He has the TV playing low in the background, and if you haven’t eaten dinner, he has a plate of food ready to be reheated for you. He listens when he can, too. You tell him whatever isn’t confidential, and he listens in silence with a hand on your leg as you curl up to him on the couch, or he holds you close as you lay together in bed, just like when you listen to him talk about his time overseas.

It’s on one of these nights in early March when you’re curled up together, sometime just past midnight, that you realize you’ve been home late almost every day this week and that Dean had been alone almost all day, every day. Your thoughts roam back to the first dinner you’d had with his family since his return. He’d thrived in the living room bustling with people he loved, and he’d lit up any time he’d interacted with his niece and nephew. You haven’t seen that exact look on his face since.

“Dean?” you murmur. He doesn’t answer right away, but he keeps stroking your hair, so you carefully turn your head on his thigh to look up at him. He took his hearing aid out an hour ago, which meant he probably just hasn’t heard you.

“You need something, sweetheart?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Do you… Do you still want kids? We haven’t talked about it since you got back, but before your deployment…”

He hums thoughtfully and sits up a little more on the sofa. You sit up when he moves, pulling your legs in and propping yourself up with one arm on the top of the back cushions. He keeps looking at the TV, but you can tell that he really isn’t watching it. The show is something pedantic—a black-and-white sitcom from the 60s that only comes on during late-night television. It’s one of a few that are on rotation during your late night talks, and you know enough from the subtitles that you’ve seen this episode at least three times.

“Did you hear me?” you ask, reaching out to gently touch his arm with your fingertips.

Dean nods. His eyes still stay focused forward. “I heard you. I’m just… thinking.” He turns to look at you after a second. The furrow between his eyebrows is pronounced, and his lips purse ever so slightly as he searches your face. “Why? Are you—?” He glances down at your stomach, just for a split second.

Quickly, you shake your head and scoot closer on the couch so that your calf is pressed up against the side of his thigh. You reach out and grab both of his hands in yours. He turns slightly more towards you, and his thumb drifts over your knuckles as you answer,

“No. No, I’m not pregnant. I just…” You trail off and look down at your joined hands, trying to put thoughts to your words. Finally, you sigh and look back up at him, squeezing his hands. “When we were at your parents’ house, with Sam and Jess and their kids, you seemed really happy.”

“Those little guys are awesome,” Dean replies, chuckling lightly. The worried crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes at the memory. “I had no idea how much I’d really missed them until we got there. The videos you’d shown me on your phone weren’t nearly as good as the real thing.”

“It wasn’t just that. It was the way you cuddled and played with Jacob, and the way you held Ella and talked to her. You love them.”

“Of course I love them, Y/N, they’re my niece and nephew.”

His voice is patient as he gives you the reminder, and though you know that he isn’t trying to make you feel bad, you still find yourself searching for the right words to get your point across. You’re exhausted, and your thoughts are already scattered.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even brought it up, you think.

Nonetheless, you nod and squeeze his hands again. “I know. I just… It reminded me of all those conversations we had before you left, you know? And I see the way you look at babies and little kids whenever we’re in town. Anyone could tell that you want a kid of your own.” You pause and shake your head a little. “I don’t know, it’s late. Maybe I’m just thinking too much. If it’s gonna happen, it’ll happen, right? I mean, if that’s what you want.”

Releasing him, you rub your face with one hand and stand from the couch. He looks up at you, watching in silence as you gather your dinner dishes, along with the mug he’d been drinking from when you got home. Your stomach twists as you move, and though you hope he’ll speak up and put you out of your misery by giving you some kind of response, Dean says nothing.

“I should shower,” you tell him. The lights in most of the cottage living area are off already, and the light from the TV casts strange shadows over him and the couch. It’s enough light for you to see Dean already looking away from you, staring at the long wooden coffee table you’d bought from a thrift store shortly after starting at the camp.

As you pass by, however, he scoots forward on the couch and reaches out. His arm blocks your path and his hands rest on your opposite hip, holding you in place. Your heart skips a beat.

“I do want kids,” Dean admits, quieter than before. He holds your gaze. Though the room is dark, the hesitance in his expression is clear.

Has he been thinking about this too?

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, dishes still in hand as you wait for him to continue. He doesn’t, so you set the dishes on the side table to his right and take matters into your own hands.

“Yeah?”

Dean’s shoulders slump and he nods. “Yeah. I didn’t want to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? What for? Why didn’t you want to bring it up?”

Carefully, you lower yourself to sit on his thigh with your back resting against the arm of the couch. You drape your legs over his lap. Dean reaches his arm behind you and holds your hip to help you keep your balance on his legs, and almost immediately his thumb is rubbing small arcs on your side, back and forth at a steady tempo. His other hand rests on your thighs. It’s warm over your legs, and you can feel his body heat even more where your shirt has come untucked, revealing the bare skin on your side where his thumb has found purchase. He’s almost too warm to be this close to him, but you can’t bear to complain, not after so many painful years apart. You rest one arm over his shoulders, and with the other you cup his cheek, turning his face so you can look at him properly.

“I was nervous that you’d changed your mind,” he admits. The low sound of the TV almost drowns him out, so much so that if you were any farther away, you’d be straining to hear him. “It’s been so long since we talked about it, and I wasn’t sure if that was still what you wanted.”

His next words go unspoken: with me. Dean has never expressed it outright, but you know that he still sometimes feels insecure about wearing his hearing aid and his struggle with PTSD from everything that happened overseas. You’ve joined him for several video sessions with his therapist, and you know that they’re working on strategies to deal with both of those things. You try not to interfere or give your opinions on his recovery—he needs a wife and a partner, not a second therapist—but you support him in every way you can without overstepping. You never want him to feel alone because of what he’s been through.

You lean in to kiss him on the cheek opposite your hand, and you smile gently as you say, “I love you, Dean. It’s still what I want, but even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t change things between us, at least not on my end. You’re still my main man, no matter what. Kids have never been the endgame. It’s always just been you.”

The lines on Dean’s face relax, smoothing out to reveal the faintest smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They’re just starting to reappear now that the winter is fading and he can comfortably spend more time outside. Your stomach untwists as he smiles back at you. He shifts the hand on your hip and squeezes it just a little.

“I love you too, Y/N. No matter what.”

Dean kisses you on the lips, and it’s long, slow, and sweet. He’s warm against you. You’re bone-tired, but you close your eyes and kiss back, soaking up his warmth and the feel of being in his arms after a long day at work. It’s heavenly. You never would have predicted this moment a year ago. If someone had told you that Dean wasn’t dead and that he’d find you at New Moon, and that you’d be having a conversation at one in the morning about having kids, you would’ve thought they were crazy. Now, however, you’re just grateful.

After a few moments, Dean eases his arm under your legs instead of resting it over them, then stands. He carries you to the bedroom and you relax in his arms, keeping your eyes closed for the short walk. When he sets you down on the edge of the bed, you open your eyes to look up at him. You brace your hands on the mattress behind you to keep from toppling backwards as the memory foam dips under your weight.

“I don’t want to stress about this,” you tell him. “I’m pretty sure that wouldn’t help anything. If it happens, it happens.”

He nods in agreement, then yawns. You chuckle and sit up a little more so you can stand without fighting against the mattress. Dean always complains that it’s too soft, but you like the way you can sink into it after a long day. 

“Get to bed, soldier,” you order, patting his arm. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

A month ago, Dean had decided he was ready to get back to work. You’d offered to put him on the payroll at camp as a maintenance worker or groundsperson, but he’d opted for an online position, at least for the time being. It’s a dull job compared to his work with the military. Secretly, you’re thankful that he’s chosen a safe route and that he’s feeling well enough to get back to work, but you also worry a little. For as long as you’ve known him, Dean’s been a hands-on type of person. He likes to build and fix and create. His therapy appointments are virtual too, which means that he spends most of the day cooped up in the cottage, sitting at the kitchen table or on the couch in front of a laptop. Not only is it not the healthiest thing for him physically, you know that he pushes himself to work harder than anybody should, simply because the job seems so much easier than what he used to do. Plus, being that he’s home most of the day, he’s taken on most of the cottage upkeep, cooking, and shopping so that you can spend as much time together as possible whenever you are home. You don’t mind that as much, but it does make you feel a little guilty.

“I’ll wait for you to be out of the shower,” he replies, but you shake your head.

“It’s okay. You’ve waited up long enough for me, De. You need to sleep—you’ve been burning the candle at both ends just so you can see me in the morning and at night, and I’m starting to get worried. You were falling asleep during your meeting the other day when I came home for lunch, remember?”

“I’m fine,” he insists.

Sighing, you wrap your arms around his waist, reaching up until your hands press against the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Your cheek presses up against his chest and you close your eyes again. He returns your embrace, and after several long moments, you feel his body relax against yours. 

I could go to sleep right here, you think with a tiny smile.

“Come on,” you say as you finally pull away, then pat him on the chest with one hand. “Go lay down. I’ll be there in a minute, okay? Get the bed warm for me.”

He nods in agreement, and you step away. You hurry to get your pajamas from the dresser before heading into the bathroom. Dean had changed long before you’d gotten home, as he always did on late nights like these. You need to shower, but you know Dean would force himself to stay up until you’re ready to go to bed too, no matter how much you push him and try to coerce him to take care of himself first. You’re exhausted, too, and the thought of having to shower before you can crash isn’t appealing.

So, you forgo your normal shower and stick with simply washing your face and brushing your teeth after changing into the pajamas. You can shower in the morning, even though it means you’ll need to change the bedding sooner than usual. Though it isn’t quite as hot as it normally is this time of year, the humidity makes everything sticky, and you’ve spent most of the day outside. A thin layer of sweat coats your skin, making even your pajamas feel gross.

When you turn off the light and step out of the bathroom, Dean looks up from the book he’s grabbed from his nightstand. It’s a novel, if you remember correctly, but you’re not sure what about. The cover picture has a cactus on it. It’s probably another western—he’s been catching up on some of his favorite authors since Sam convinced him to get a library card in December.

“You didn’t shower,” he notes, clearing his throat and sitting himself up further against the headboard. He doesn’t fool you, however. You know that he’s been nodding off instead of actually reading the library book. He’s been on the same page the past three nights.

“I’ll shower in the morning,” you reply. You throw your clothes in the hamper against the wall. “I need to change the sheets anyway, so it’s not a big deal.”

Dean hums and sets his book back in its place, then reaches over to pull the covers open for you. You climb into bed and wait until he’s dimmed the lamp beside his nightstand to cuddle up against him. The room grows darker once he does, and your eyes take a second to adjust, but you can still hear Dean’s dog tags clink as he shifts to get into a comfortable position with you at his side. You slip one arm over him, resting your hand on his chest as you close your eyes. To no surprise, it doesn’t take you long to fall asleep. 

The next morning, Dean’s asleep when you wake up, which is a rarity. Despite the fact that you’re somehow still exhausted, you know that you need to get up before he does. If you doze until he’s awake too, he’ll want to get up and make you breakfast while you shower, meaning that he won’t get the rest he needs. His PTSD symptoms start rearing their ugly heads whenever he’s overtired, and you don’t want that for him.

Showering without waking Dean would be tricky, but after a few moments of lying in the dark, you find a solution. There’s a small bathroom attached to your personal office in the main camp building, and though you haven’t used it in a while, you know that it’s clean and that it still has your normal soap and shampoo. Before Dean, you spent most of your late nights sleeping on the futon in the office, then showering and dressing in the bathroom, rather than trekking all the way back to your cottage. You hadn’t had a reason to go all the way home back then, but now you do. The shower hasn’t been used in almost a year. This morning, however, it will come in handy.

As silently as possible, you roll out of bed and gather up the few toiletries you’ll need that aren’t already in the office bathroom. You pull on a pair of sweatpants over your pajamas, plus the faded Stanford hoodie you’d gotten in support of Sam shortly after marrying Dean. You grab a bag for the toiletries and a set of work clothes to change into after you shower, then shove your feet into a pair of sandals and slip out of the cottage to head towards the main cluster of buildings.

The sun is barely up. It casts an ethereal glow over the grassy field that separates your cottage from the rest of the camp. Dew dampens the path, and it makes wildflowers and the tips of grass blades glitter in the lingering sunrise. In the trees, birds sing and coo. The soft tap of your feet on the stones is the only other sound.

You pause to breathe in deeply, then exhale. Mornings at New Moon are special to you, especially after a long, stressful night. They remind you of why you stayed—every girl needs the peace and calm that the morning brings. They deserve it. You’ve certainly needed it many times yourself.

“You’re up early.”

You turn, already speaking as you meet Meg’s steady gaze. “I needed to shower, but I didn’t want to wake Dean. He’s been staying up late for me every night.”

She mutters something in acknowledgement, then tucks her phone in her jacket pocket as you close the distance to join her outside the only empty cabin, which she’s been checking for trespassers. It’s on the outskirts of the camp, and the four girls that had occupied it for most of last year transitioned to a more traditional foster home only last month. From what you’ve heard from their social worker, they’re on the path to reunification with their family.

Now that you’re closer, Meg’s giving you a strange, almost curious look, and you frown when she lifts her chin. Her eyes glitter with a secret. 

“I’m a little afraid to ask,” you say, “but do you know something I don’t?”

She chuckles and crosses her arms in front of her. Her lips press together in a smug smile. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

Unsure of what she means, you start walking towards the office. Meg falls into step beside you, just as you knew she would. 

“Fine, I suppose,” you slowly reply. You’re careful to give vague answers, just in case she’s looking to start a tiff just for her own amusement. “Why?”

She shrugs. “Just wondering.”

A minute of silence passes as you walk together, and the path changes from stone to gravel. It crunches beneath your feet, and all around you, life begins to stir in the cabins as the girls wake and get ready for the day. They’ll be coming outside with their counselors and gathering outside the dining hall within an hour, which means time is running out if you want to shower and have time to mentally prepare for the day.

Meg holds the office door for you and you mutter your thanks, then head down the hall to your personal office. You’re just reaching the door when she calls your name from the lobby.

Turning, you raise your eyebrows expectantly. She stands near the receptionist desk, her hands at her sides, and for a second, a genuine smile flashes across her face. It’s quickly replaced with her usual nonchalant look, however, so quickly that you aren’t entirely sure that you’d seen it. You must be more tired than you’d thought.

“You should take a test,” Meg says.

You frown at her, confused, and set your bag of clothes and toiletries at your feet, against the wall. “A test?”

She nods, widening her eyes as she repeats, “A test, Y/N. You know, the tests you keep in the first aid closet? For those rare, special emergencies?”

For a moment, you just stare at her. There are very few emergencies that you handle at the camp. True, due to the nature of your job, you’re trained in a litany of thing, ranging from first aid and de-escalation to basic animal control and building maintenance, all of which is in addition to your psychology degrees and training, but the rest of the camp staff is so well-trained that rarely do situations ever become actual emergencies that you need to handle.

If you’re handling a first aid emergency, however, you do basic triage before an ambulance can arrive. You keep most of the supplies in your office, both in a cabinet and in a bag, but there are also small first aid kits in all the cabins, as well as in every building and down by the lake.

You shake your head, a little baffled by Meg’s strange behavior and comments. Neither one of you needs any kind of first aid right now, at least not that you’re aware of. Turning, you reach for the doorknob on your office door, but you stop as soon as your fingers graze the metal. It’s as if lightning has struck you, and you immediately straighten, dropping your hand back down to your side as you whirl to face her again.

“What?” you exclaim, shocked at her brazen assumption. “Are you serious?”

She shrugs and leans against the wall opposite the desk, her arms once again crossed. Her stare, as always, is unrelenting, but suddenly it makes your skin itch with anticipation. Does she know something about you that you don’t? You pride yourself on being self-aware, but is it possible that you’ve missed something?

“You’ve been nauseous on and off for almost two weeks now, and you’ve been moody. More than some of the girls, actually,” she huffs.

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms, almost a mirror image of her. “Really? Moody? That’s your argument for this, Meg?”

“Don’t hurry to prove me right,” she teases, and you quickly drop your arms again, heat rising in your cheeks. “You’ve been constantly complaining of being too hot and then too cold all week, too. Didn’t you say that was one of the things your mother-in-law complained about when she was pregnant with Dean?”

It was, and a strange feeling rises inside of you now that you remember the conversation you’d had with Meg about it. How she remembered such a detail from a random discussion you’d had almost months ago is beyond you, but it doesn’t matter. She’s put the thought in your head, and with it comes another reminder—your period hadn’t come last month, and you’ve been due for almost a week now. If it was coming, it would have been here already.

You inhale shakily and give her a terse nod.

“Right,” you say. You smooth your hands over your thighs, trying not to seem so blown away by her hypothesis. “Okay. Okay. I’m—” Shaking your head, you close your eyes and try to focus on the mental to-do list you’ve made for yourself. Then, after a second, you grab your bag from the floor. “I have to shower.”

Meg nods. “Shower,” she repeats. 

“I’ll see you later.”

She nods again, then turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving you standing in the hallway. You stay still for a second, listening to the front door open and close. Outside, Meg shouts at someone for standing on a bench, but the sound of her voice fades as she gets farther away from the building. Finally, you turn and open the door to your office, then quickly close it behind you.

You close your eyes and press one hand to your stomach, over the sweatshirt. It’s bulky over your pajamas. Logically, you know that if you are pregnant, the baby would still be too small to show, but it feels wrong not to feel for a baby bump now that it’s been suggested.

Not daring to get your hopes up just yet, you let your hand fall as you march to the locked metal cabinet in the corner of your office. It’s mounted to the wall and reaches almost to the ceiling, and the pregnancy tests are at the back of the top shelf. You don’t use them often, considering that New Moon is only for girls, but you keep them on hand just in case you need them for a new arrival. You’ll be lucky if the test is still good, considering you haven’t had to use one in so long.

You dump the bag from your cottage on the desk, then fumble with your keys until you find the right one. The bag falls over and knocks a pen off the desk, but you ignore it as you unlock the cabinet, pull over your rolling desk chair, and carefully climb up on it to grab one of the tests. After checking the expiration date, you tuck the flimsy cardboard box under your arm and head to the bathroom, not even bothering to close the cabinet or right the bag that’s tipped over and dumped onto your workspace. All thoughts of showering and getting ready for the day are gone. They’ve been replaced with a nervous energy that buzzes beneath your skin, making your fingers feel weak as you open the box.

The lock on the bathroom door is sturdy enough to help you feel a little bit more secure as you take the test, all the while trying to take deep breaths. Your heart feels like it’s beating too fast, and you aren’t sure if it’s because you’re nervous or excited. Maybe you’re both.

Calm down, Y/N! Freaking out isn’t going to help anybody!

You wash your hands and read the back of the box again, checking the wait time printed in tiny black letters. The test sits precariously on the countertop, in between the sink and the edge of the counter closest to the toilet, and you give it a wary glance before unlocking the bathroom door and going to sit in your office while you wait. After setting the timer on your phone, you end up pacing in front of your desk instead, from the wall to the futon and back again. 

Finally, the timer goes off. You flinch at the loud ringing, then hurry to silence it. Your hands fumble with your phone and you stay tense when the office falls quiet again. Silently, you slip it back into your pocket and go back into the bathroom. When you reach the sink, you brace your hands against the front of the bowl, on the thinnest part of the counter. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a long few seconds, pointedly not looking down at the test that’s resting only a few inches from your hands. Inside your chest, your heart pounds even harder than before and your hands shake. Everything feels so unsteady, from your head to your feet, and for a second, you worry that you might pass out. Closing your eyes, you try to take a few deep breaths to calm yourself and to slow your racing pulse.

You’re reaching for the test on the counter when there’s a knock at your office door.

“Y/N? You in there?”

“Yes!” you yelp, almost too loudly. Your hand, outstretched and only an inch from the test, knocks it sideways, sending it clattering to the floor, along with a tube of toothpaste.

Dean calls for you again and you frantically scramble to right the bathroom. You practically throw the test onto the counter. It slides into the sink, and you’re pulling the bathroom door shut behind you just as Dean pushes the office door open from the hallway. He meets your eyes and you force a smile that you hope seems normal. 

“You left before I was up,” he says. He’s dressed already, in jeans and the green jacket you’d got him for his birthday, and his hair looks damp from the shower. 

Accepting a kiss on the lips, you hum a little and let go of the door handle to wrap your arms around his waist. Can he feel your heart beating too hard inside of your chest? What about your hands trembling against his back?

“I needed to shower and I didn’t want to wake you up. I have a shower here that I used to use when I was by myself.” You tilt your head back slightly, towards the door behind you.

Dean frowns. “You could’ve showered at home.” He looks down at you, and not only does his frown deepen, but the furrow between his eyebrows appears again. His worry lines are out in full force. “What’s wrong?”

Your stomach drops. Are you supposed to tell him? What if the test turns out negative? What if—?

“Sweetheart,” Dean soothes, pulling away so there’s space between the two of you. He takes your shaking hands in his and searches your face for an answer to his concerns. “What’s on your mind? I can see all the gears turning in there.”

The tips of his fingers touch your temple. You swallow thickly and look away. A line of dust lays gray on the hardwood where your old rug used to be. You moved it just last week to clean, but apparently, you’d missed it.

“Did I do something?”

Frantic, you shake your head and find his eyes. “What? No! No, of course not.”

“Then what is it?” Dean steps closer, crowding close in a tentative way that allows you enough time to move away, if you want. You don’t, and you let your eyes fall closed as you breathe in his scent and soak in his warmth. Your hands move to clutch the sides of his shirt, pulling him infinitely closer until your front is pressed against his again. Then, for the first time all morning, you relax. Your shoulders slump and you rest your forehead against him.

“I think…” you finally say after a minute. You take a breath, willing the words out on your next exhale. “I think I might be pregnant.”

There’s silence in the moments that follow, and though you know he’s probably just processing the news, it kills you. You stay frozen in place, unable to move as you wait for Dean to speak. 

Finally, you release his shirt and step back, just enough that you can see his face without tilting your head at too uncomfortable of an angle. He’s staring at the closed bathroom door behind you, with both eyebrows raised and with long creases along his forehead. His whole body is tense and the longer he stares at the door, the deeper the furrow between his brows becomes.

“Dean?” you prompt. “Say something, please.”

“You think? Or you know?” His voice is hoarse and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then looks back down at you. 

“I don’t know. I took a test. I was just about to look at it when you knocked.”

“Oh.” His eyes flick up again, over your shoulder at the door, then down to your face. The second hand on the wall clock ticks as you stand near each other, Dean processing the news and you holding your breath as you wait for a more concrete response from him. The ticking feels louder than it did before. Has it always been that loud?

His fingers against your cheek make you look away from where you’ve been watching the black plastic line clunk around the circumference of the clock face.

“What do you want it to say?” Dean asks.

You inhale shakily and search his eyes, hoping for an answer to the question. “What do you want?” you ask in return.

Dean shakes his head, then runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until he can lace his fingers with yours. You glance down at your joined hands, unsure of why he’s not answering. He’d told you only just last night that he wanted kids. His hesitation makes you wonder if something’s changed in only just a few hours.

“It’s not up to me. It’s your body, Y/N.”

The words tumble out before you can even formulate the thought. “I just wasn’t expecting this so soon. I thought we’d have more time with just the two of us. What if this changes everything? What if it’s not everything we thought it would be?”

“We’ll still have time together,” he tells you, gently squeezing your hand. ��It just might be less than we’d anticipated.”

“Would it even be a good thing if I was pregnant now? I know you said last night that it’s what you wanted, but we also said—”

“We said that if it happens, it happens,” Dean interrupts. “And if it’s happening now, then that’s a good thing. If it happens later, that’s also a good thing.”

You nod and take another deep breath. The butterflies in your stomach are out in full force. You have to close your eyes as you take breaths, trying to stave off the sudden wave of nausea that accompanies your worries. Dean’s hands in yours keeps you grounded as you breathe through your nose.

When you’re finally feeling more settled, you open your eyes and silently glance behind you at the bathroom door.

“You want me to wait out here?” Dean asks.

Swallowing thickly, you shake your head. Tears burn in your eyes, and you wipe them away with one hand, embarrassed by your reaction. “Why am I so scared? We just said that this is supposed to be a good thing.”

Dean squeezes your hand again. “This is a big thing, Y/N. It’s okay to be scared. I can be brave for both of us, okay?” He smiles a little, his lips pressed together, and you nod in response, inhaling deeply through your nose.

You feel stuck in place. Part of you wants to go look at the test, but another part of you is rooted to the floor, keeping you in this moment. The results of the test could turn your life upside down for the second time in a year, and you aren’t sure if you’re ready for that. What if you aren’t a good parent? What if you aren’t able to do your job while you’re pregnant? What would you do instead?

“Hey.”

You blink, then meet Dean’s eyes again. Another tear rolls down your cheek and you sniffle, wiping it away with the back of your free hand. His smile has disappeared, and now he watches you with a concerned frown that makes his lips turn downward at the corners and makes the wrinkle between his eyebrows reappear.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart. We’re in this together, and I’m with you no matter what. Do you want me to look first?” he asks.

After a few seconds, you nod. You don’t know what to say, but you know it won’t matter to Dean whether you speak or not. He’ll do and be whatever you need in this moment, just like he always does.

He releases your hand and carefully steps around you, opening the bathroom door to retrieve the test from the sink. You’d left the light on in the bathroom when you’d shut the door, and now it floods your office from behind you. Dean’s footsteps are soft and his jacket rustles as he picks up the test, and you hold your breath as you listen for some kind of sign or clue as to the results. When there isn’t any, you turn in a circle to look at him.

“What’s it say?”

His profile gives you very little information about the results, and you take a tentative step forward when he doesn’t move or say anything. Maybe he just didn’t hear you? His bad ear is on the other side, but it’s still possible.

“Dean?” you prompt, stepping closer a second time. You wonder if he’s disappointed and that’s why he hasn’t said anything. The thought makes you nauseous again.

“You’re pregnant,” he answers. His voice shakes as he stands staring down at the plastic stick. It’s so small in his hand, and an image of him cradling a tiny newborn flashes in your mind.

You freeze a few feet from the bathroom threshold. “It’s positive?”

He nods and looks up, meeting your eyes. Tears glisten on his lower lash line, and you press your hands over your mouth, inhaling deeply as your heart leaps inside your chest. The wrinkle between his brows is gone once again, replaced with the kind of shock you’ve only seen a few times, the first being when you’d told him you’d loved him all those years ago.

“We’re having a baby,” Dean tells you, letting out a laugh. A smile grows on his face as tosses the test onto the counter and closes the distance between you in two long steps. He crushes you against him in a tight hug.

Too shocked to hug him back, you let Dean wrap his arms around you and lift you off the ground. Your feet dangle for a second before your instincts catch up with you. Hurriedly, you move your hands from your mouth to his back as your legs come up to wrap around his waist. You bury your face in the crook of Dean’s neck as you smile. Your cheeks already ache and you’re blinking away tears, but it doesn’t matter.

“We’re having a baby!” you exclaim. He spins around with you in his arms, and you push away from his neck and pull one hand from his shoulders so you can cradle his cheek in your palm. 

Dean’s eyes are alight with joy, making the green of his irises seem even more vibrant in the morning sunshine coming in from the office window. Your smile matches his as the scruff on his jawline scratches at the soft skin of your palm.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” you tell him, gently rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone. “You’re gonna be a great dad.”

He takes a few steps, then sets you down on the only clear space on your desk, beside the bag you’d brought with you this morning. You let your legs fall from around his waist so they bracket his hips, but you don’t drop your hand from his face.

“I love you,” Dean says. He brushes the backs of his knuckles over your abdomen, and you laugh when it tickles. There’s no bump yet, but the effect is all the same. Dean smiles wider, his eyes flicking to your stomach, then back up to your face. “I love both of you.”

You laugh and pull him down for a kiss. “We love you too, Dean Winchester. Forever and ever.”

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[superawesome40]

Imagine this:

It starts with Bobby John. Dean can't let the baby go, he reminds him too much of Sam, way back when Sam was this age, and Daddy was always sad (or drunk), and when Dean tried to speak the words got stuck, and he could not make a sound. He can't let the baby go, so he doesn't.

Over time, they gather more. Bobby John, Ben, Joe and Ryan, Emma, Alex, Krissy and Aiden and Josephine, Magda, Claire, Jack. They find Jesse again, 16 years old and alone and scared of himself. They find Charlie and Kevin, and even though they aren't quite their kids, they treat them with the same care.

Somewhere in between the always rising tide of children, they find the Bunker. It's perfect - dozens of rooms for everyone to spread out, to have their own space. Bobby doesn't die, but he does move to the bunker "To keep an eye on ya' idjits,”. The modifications they make to the Bunker for his wheelchair are worth it to see the pride in his eyes. Linda Tran moves in, and she and Dean have an ongoing war over who's in control of the kitchen.

Of course, things aren't perfect. Chuck is still a problem, and eventually he must be dealt with. They win, but the cost is heavy. Cas and Jack are gone, and Dean... well he's as good as gone. He never leaves his room anymore, except to get a drink. Their dysfunctional family is mourning, both for those who they've lost and for themselves. Disappearing and coming back is much more traumatic than you'd expect.

Eventually, in an attempt to cheer him up, they convince him to go on a hunt. Just a small thing, a nest of vamps. They've killed a man and mutilated his wife, as well as taken their kids, two small boys. Someone (later, no one will remember exactly who) jokes that they can take in the boys. Sam and Dean leave, looking more cheerful than they’ve been in weeks.

They get the call a few hours later. Sam tells them over the phone, barely understandable through his tears, that Dean was hurt in the fight and that the doctors aren’t sure if he’ll pull through. Using the variety of cars in the bunker, they break a handful of laws and probably the sound barrier on their way to the hospital. Bobby pulls Sam aside and he explains, in detail, what happened. They wait for hours before a doctor finally enters the waiting room, asking for the family of Dean Fletcher* (Millie Winchester’s maiden name).

Dean survives, barely. Recovery is an uphill battle, and the damage done to his spine, muscles, and nerves leave him wheelchair-bound and in near-constant pain. Eventually, he’s able to move around for short periods of time using forearm crutches and leg braces, but it’s only after a few years and a lot of physical therapy. At the very least, the Bunker needs no new changes to accommodate him, having been updated for Bobby ages ago.

A year passes. The two boys from the vamp hunt are moved into the Bunker after their mother succumbs to her injuries in the hospital, and quickly adjust and thrive in the new location. Sam and Eileen quit hunting, permanently. They move to town, only fifteen minutes away, and visit every Saturday for family dinner. When they get married, Sam Winchester becomes Sam Leahy. Jody retires, and moves her hoard to the Bunker. They’ve got the room, after all. Donna follows not too long after. Miracle is officially trained as a service animal, to help Dean with his panic attacks.

One night, Dean can’t sleep. He hauls himself into his wheelchair and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. He stops at the sight of three people sitting at the table.

The reunion is a tearful one. Dean cries from relief, and guilt, and of course the burning pain that rips through his back as a result of him temporarily forgetting he can’t stand and launching himself out of his chair. Cas also cries, sobbing apologies into Dean’s hair from where they are curled on the floor. Jack, pressed between the two of them and both overwhelmed and overstimulated, can only beg for Dean’s forgiveness. His dads wipe away his tears and press kisses to his cheeks, assuring him that he has nothing to apologize for.

The only one who doesn’t cry is Adam, sitting slightly stony faced at the table. Later, once the commotion of the reunion has died and Sam has been woken and summoned to the Bunker, the three sit down to chat.

Adam tells them that he’s not angry anymore, and begs them to explain everything to him, starting from the beginning. He is especially curious about their father, and realizes through their stories that John badly mistreated them. Dean invites Adam to stay in the Bunker, but Adam declines. He says that there’s a lot he needs to do, but hesitantly suggests that they stay in touch. Their relationship is tentative at first, but eventually he becomes a permanent fixture in the family.

Cas and Jack are filled in on what they missed. Dean pulls them each aside and apologizes privately for the things he said and did before the end. He assures Jack that he is part of the family, and always will be. He tells him he’s willing to be Jack’s dad, if that’s what Jack wants. Jack enthusiastically agrees.

He can’t quite bring himself to say “I love you” to Cas, but he says something along the lines of “maybe one day.” He also implies to Cas that John was extremely homophobic, and the combination of that and the sexual trauma he has experienced through his life (getting money for food/rent as a teen, Hell, Lydia) makes him hesitant now to form romantic relationships. Cas, understanding as always, agrees and comments on how he has improved at opening up, to which Dean replies that there wasn’t much else to do when he was trapped in bed and couldn’t escape Sam and his relentless therapy-talks.

Jack tells them as a group that he has decided there doesn’t need to be a God, and has stepped down after reforming Heaven. He says that he used his power for the last time to bring back Castile and find Adam. He confesses to his parents that the power is not gone, and likely never will be. He also says that he would like to grow up as human as possible, and promptly shrinks to the size of a toddler, much to the bewildered amusement of his parents. They discover that he no longer has his memories, and Bobby suggests that they may come back when he’s older, and that forgetting is his young mind's way of protecting itself.

As time passes, Cas and Dean open the Bunker to other hunters as a research facility and safe space to stay for a few nights. Neither of them hunt anymore, but they offer support and badly needed organization. With Charlie and Kevin’s help, they set up a system like the one Sam originally had.

When Eileen and Sam announce they are expecting, Dean is ecstatic. When they reveal the baby is a boy and that they are naming him “Dean II”, he cries for a solid hour. He’s the first, outside of Sam and Eileen, to hold the baby, who he affectionately nicknames “Junior”.

In the end, they are happy. They live together peacefully.

Would anyone be interested in reading this on ao3? I miiiight be planning to write this… also any suggestions/question/concerns are welcome! Also, if I missed any kiddos (canon only, please), feel free to tell me! I’m perfectly open to expanding their hoard.

Also, I cannot take complete credit for this story. Quite a few elements are inspired by foolondahill17’s stories, Dean Winchester’s half-way house for orphaned half-monsters (and humans), and the miracles ‘verse by the same author. Both are absolutely amazing stories, and I highly recommend.

*According to the Supernatural Wiki, Adam Glass wanted the actress Louise Fletcher to play Millie Winchester should she appear on screen.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Rubato

Chapter Fifteen

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Lee/Pam, Sam/Madison, Benny, Charlie, Elizabeth

Word Count: 3340

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, mentions of Bela's childhood sexual abuse, lots of drunken shenanigans, Benny's not flirting, just being his own charming self, jealousy, Dean is slipping, unbeta'd

Series Masterlist

The week between Christmas and New Years is always a week of stasis, celebratory and lazy, just holding its breath for changes to come. In a word, it’s possibility. You still did some work, but not many requests were coming in and social media was bombarded with gratitude and self reflection. Not many people noticed the band’s lack of posts and you were grateful for not having to make excuses for some family time, for anyone.

Your flight home had been arduous, delays and a layover that just left you a zombie for a solid 36 hours afterwards. You woke up on the morning of New Year’s Eve with a sense of dread. You checked your phone just to be safe and all seemed well, or quiet at least. Annoyed with your brain, you decided to punish your body instead, or practice self-care, depending on who you asked. Your stationary bike had gotten a little dusty while you were out of town, but after a couple miles everything else fell out of focus. The rolling hills made you feel invincible.

It had started as physical therapy after your car accident back in college, but biking had turned into one of your go to hobbies. And as boring and non-creative it sounded, it did you a lot of good when your thoughts got too loud. It was like running away from your problems, but it still benefited you both physically and mentally.

Win win.

By three, you were just waiting to get ready. The outfit you picked out with Bela hung on the back of your closet door still wrapped in the Sister Jo’s bag. You slumped in your robe and scrolled through the news as you waited to switch the wash around. 

Different broadcasts covered the various local NYE specials and reminded everyone to drive sober, take the bus or get a ride. You thought Dean said he had gotten rides covered the last you talked, but you weren’t sure who was getting you or when, really. If you needed to meet somewhere to go as a group, you needed to order your ride now or everyone would be waiting on you.

Biting your lip, you called him instead of texting, because your worry was immediate not eventual. He picked up on the third ring, slightly out of breath.

“Hey, Trouble, what’s up?” “What’s the plan for tonight? Are we leaving from your place or are you picking me up? I don’t know where Elizabeth’s Nightowl Cafe actually is, Dean.”

Naturally, he laughed. “Hey, look, it’s not a great time. I’m in wardrobe right now. But I’ll make sure you get home safe. Maybe just head over to Bela’s and we’ll pick you both up on the way?”

“The photoshoot is today?! I could have sworn you already had it.”

“Yeah, well, Christmas took longer than I thought and they wedged me in.”

“Dean—”

“Look, I figured it out. And you didn’t have to hold my hand or anything. Now, look, I gotta drop trough, so if you need to continue this conversation with my dick out, by all means. They’re putting me in white pants, so bye-bye Batman boxers.”

You almost swallowed your tongue.

“Yeah, I’m good. You— you have fun with that.”

“See you tonight.”

“Right, bye.”

You slammed your eyes shut, but the damn visuals still flooded your mind. Gorgeous fucking bastard. You exhaled and called Bela, which was far less of a rollercoaster of a conversation and you agreed to be at her place after five to get ready together.

“You still haven’t said anything about your trip home,” you reminded Bela as she handed you another flute of champagne. 

You were both dressed and ready, nibbling on an assortment of cheese and crackers on her oversized kitchen island. From what Dean said about Benny’s cousin’s cooking, dinner was on the agenda, but you had started pregaming and didn’t want to get sloppy too early.

“I’m trying to black it out, honestly. It was such pretentious bullshit. And don’t get me started on my mother’s latest project involving the southern gardens at the summer home,” Bela rolled her eyes and shoved another slice of cheese into her mouth.

“Topiaries?”

“Close, a walking maze. Because apparently Queen Victoria is alive and well,” Bela dusted her hands and raised them in surrender. “At least she didn’t try to force me to bring Dean, that would have ended poorly.”

“Dean is actually really good with moms— but I’m pretty sure he’d get arrested if he had to sit down and have a meal with your dad like he isn’t evil incarnate.”

Bela hummed, sipping her drinking.

You took another bit of cheese and made a sandwich, sensing she was holding something back. “You actually told him about it?”

Bela swallowed and chewed on her words. “Let’s just say Dean and I bonded over our less than stellar fathers, but yeah, I agree with you. In fact he said as much, something about knowing how to hide a body and having a big trunk to drag it away.”

You laughed darkly. “That would be Dean. Prepared, but with violence at the ready.”

“Anyway, setting up another fundraiser for Prevent Together for the new year. Please keep both of your calendars free because I need all my people there, alright?”

“Of course,” you promised, reaching across the butcher block countertop and squeezing her hand. Bela never ceased to amaze you with her strength. You switched gears to grant her some space, “is this the first time you’re meeting the rest of the band?”

“Well, I’ve met Sam. But I’m guessing he’s in on the plan. They’re a bit attached-at-the-hip types?”

You smirked. “Basically a package deal, but I think he’s more protective lately. His girlfriend Madison is fun and I hope they work out, he’s a good guy.”

“So who else do I need to charm?”

“Pamela.”

“Pamela?”

“The drummer, possibly psychic and honestly a little frightening at times. But she’s got a big heart to go with her bluntness. If you can’t convince her, we’re all in for it, because she’s gonna dig. So we’ll make sure you and Dean are on all night. I am definitely snagging some midnight shots, so pucker up, darling.” You teased, but honestly, kissing Dean couldn’t be anything but a treat, even just for a camera.

Maybe you were biased.

“Naturally. Alright, and how does Dean know the owner of the cafe?”

“She’s Benny’s cousin. A good friend and head of tour security, sometimes a personal bodyguard.”

Bela nodded, “I think he’s mentioned him as being on standby if one of our nights out got to be too much.”

You were grateful Bela had paid attention, if she was actually dating Dean, she would know all of this already. The less you had to explain on the spot, the less chance of a slip up.

“Big Cajun guy, total teddy bear. He’ll love you,” you added.

“Nice.”

A mechanical crank sounded somewhere behind you. “Is that—?”

“The garage, they must be here,” Bela gathered the tray and unceremoniously set it inside the fridge.

“How did they get into the garage? I didn’t see you get a text.”

“Dean has the code. Finish your drink,” Bela rushed you.

You slammed the rest of your champagne and added your glass in the sink with Bela’s. Something felt weird that Dean knew Bela’s security override code, but then again you didn’t drive, must be why you didn’t have it.

“Hey— whoa!” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your sleuthing spiral. “Lookin’ good, ladies.”

You turned and took him in, burgundy suit without a tie, a dark undershirt with the collar popped. Fucker. 

“Thank you, likewise.” Bela leaned in and pecked his cheek.

Dean turned to you. “All set?”

You looked around for your phone and grabbed it and the charger off of the ledge towards the sidedoor. “Yeap. You?” you asked Bela.

“Do I need a touch up?” she asked, tilting her head side to side for your honest inspection. 

“Nope, lipstick did its job. You’re glorious,” you affirmed.

“Right, well, shall we?” Bela gestured toward the door which Dean pushed open for you and Bela to go first. Past Bela’s MG the big door was still open, showing a pair of black SUVs waiting on the curb. As you stepped out onto the short drive, Lee screamed out a backwindow from the first vehicle, “ladies, ladies, ladies, are we ready to have a good time?!”

You laughed, dancing a little up the incline and pumping your fist to an imaginary beat. 

“Trouble’s ready! What about you? You gonna give this one a run for his money?” Lee teased and then took a swig off of his own bottle of champagne.

“You can count on it,” Bela said darkly, eyes only on Dean. Everyone cheered as Dean put his hand on the small of her back and kissed her temple.

From the second SUV Sam emerged smirking and opened the door, waving you all inside. It was time to get the show on the road.

You had met Elizabeth a handful of times and everytime you were floored by her natural hospitality. The cafe was closed for the event, where barely thirty of you were gathered in the vintage-diner- themed all night cafe. She had tables set up with appetizers and a bartender working the soda fountain so you could get dessert with your booze if you wanted.

You wondered if Dean had requested the pie, because there were three cut and displayed on a stand with plastic domes to keep them from drying out.

Oldies played from the antique jukebox and everyone mingled as others arrived. You snapped pictures of the guests and the hand painted mural on the wall showcasing blues artists and faces from classic Hollywood. Everything was gorgeous and it was a little overwhelming seeing everyone dressed to the nines, but you remembered how smashing you looked in your outfit and tucked your shoulders back and held your head high. 

Eventually, Benny found you and pulled you in for one of his signature bear hugs. 

“It’s been too long, doll. Stickin’ to your namesake or have you been behavin’ ?”

 You chuckled, pulling back to look up at his handsome face. “Oh you know, I do what I can. You?”

Benny’s bright eyes searched for something and eased you back onto your heels. “Uh, yeah, good. Itchin’ to get back on the road. Working the movie lots is a real pain, glad it’s only temporary.”

The song changed and Benny hummed along, you caught a glimpse of Sam and Madison talking with Bela while Dean and Lee waited in line for drinks.

“I can’t wait for the tour either, I think we all could stand to get back to basics.”

“Boys causing a ruckus for ya?” Benny asked knowingly.

“Nah, just a feeling. They’ve been working too hard more than anything. So a little balance will probably do the trick.”

“Well, that’s what we’re here for. Time to play hard. Wanna dance?” You looked around and sure enough, Lee and Pamela had started swinging to Johnny B. Goode, while some of the other roadies were shuffling along with their partners in a less flamboyant way.

You flexed your knee and decided you were tipsy enough to risk it and your pride for such an earnest proposal. “Lead the way.”

Benny was surprisingly light on his feet for such a sturdy guy and he helped you get in a good groove, just for the song to switch into Patsy Cline. Benny slowed it down into a stroll to fit the song and you giggled as he told you about what his ex Andrea had done now, after getting out of prison for trying to stab him, of all things.

“You are so better off without her,” you told him, patting his chest as the song came to a close.

Dinner was phenomenal: medallion sized steaks that were still juicy inside with spiral cut fried potatoes, green bean almondine and Waldorf salad. There were four tables set for eight set up in the space that would usually hold a dozen two or four seaters. Elizabeth finally took a seat as you were half way through a plate, but you made sure to let her know how amazing everything was.

“Oh, it’s nothing, now make sure you save room for pie. Got Strawberry Rhubarb, Dutch Apple and Blackberry waitin’,” she insisted like a favorite grandmother and not somebody you could have gone to school with.

Dean groaned deeper as she mentioned each variety, making everyone around your table share a knowing look. 

“Easy there, Dean might need to claim a pie as his own, you know how he gets. And I am not one for sloppy seconds,” Benny teased.

The table erupted and Dean didn’t even look like he cared. “If she ends up sending me home with a whole pie, it’s my business what happens to it.”

Tears were burning in your eyes from laughter and the lecherous look Dean shot Benny. He was ridiculous.

You turned to Bela, “good thing Sam isn’t at our table or he’d need to excuse himself.”

“It is getting a bit indecent isn’t it?” Bela said out of the side of her mouth.

“Are you raggin’ on me now, too?!” Dean asked aghast.

“Of course not! Just don’t want your girlfriend to get jealous of a pastry,” you quipped.

A low rumble of an accepted burn answered from around the table.

“Hey now, my girl knows what tickles my taste buds, if you know what I’m saying,” Dean shot back, earning him a fist bump from Lee.

Bela rolled her eyes and shrugged, which only made the laughter louder. The humor dissipated until every noise was roaring like the ocean in your ears. This wasn’t even the worst thing you’d heard out of Dean’s mouth, after years of groupies and life on tour, you thought you’d heard and seen it all. But Bela not denying Dean’s prowess in pussy eating suddenly made you feel impossibly lost.

You literally set up the joke and now you wished for anything to take it back.

“Gentleman, please!” Elizabeth broke into the cacophony. “Or no dessert.”

Which promptly set them all off once again, but they got their act together enough to be gracious when the pie did arrive. You had blackberry and it was thick and rich enough to keep you from opening your big mouth again. Also the vodka cranberry you had switched to was a perfect chaser for the sweetness of the filling.

Two more drinks and three hours later, you were in better spirits and a sequined top hat. The noise makers were harder to come by, Madison and Benny fighting over the last one like toddlers over the last Hot Wheel. Sam had to break it up, which meant Madison won anyway, naturally. But at least Benny could still whistle. The countdown was getting close and everyone was crammed together on the makeshift dance floor under the dimmed lights, talking and swaying in circles. Dancing would have been too much with all the anticipation in the air.

You had your camera at the ready, taking small videos of the crowd and snapping selfies with anyone within reach. The lone television behind the counter hopped between coverage of celebrations in Vegas, Seattle and LA. You did a quick scan of your immediate vicinity for Bela and Dean. Finally, you found them next to Pam and Lee, who were sharing a bottle of bourbon between them, while Bela and Dean were whispering and readying their noisemakers and confetti respectively.

“Oooo, two couples one shot! I want you guys to make it count okay, this is for posterity’s sake!” you ordered, framing the shot just as the countdown began.

10…9…8…

Dean pulled Bela close by the waist. Lee tipped back another swig before almost losing his hat to the movement.

7…6…5…

Bela gazed up at Dean’s face and said something you couldn’t hear over the numbers shouting out of every corner of the party.

4…3…2…

Dean leaned in and started kissing Bela before she could get to one, tipping her back until she almost knocked into Lee, who was hauling Pam up by her haunches before starting to tongue fuck right there in front of your camera. You snapped countless shots, screaming and jumping in place as you worked your magic. Hot people doing hot things who were also clearly into it, was marketing gold. 

Eat that Crowley.

Sam swooped you up in a hug and wished you happy new year, then came Charlie, who had arrived after dinner with some girls from her LARPing group. After a few elbows to the side, Dean broke from Bela’s mouth and welcomed you and Charlie into a group hug. The speakers blasted Auld Lang Syne and everyone joined in, arms linked and swaying to the stilted beat. 

Elizabeth ensured the party was still going, so she had her people put out fresh appetizers and turned the jukebox back on. There was a run for the bathroom and then for refills and before you knew it it was after one. You had a fresh drink in your hand and a circle had formed around you of women grooving to Mustang Sally.

“Ride Sally, RIDE!” you all bellowed. 

Bela had taken off her shoes and was holding them over her head as she swayed her hips. You whipped your head and shoulders back and forth feeling loose and timeless. Charlie was snapping and getting soulful as she sang along, knowing every line of the verses even.

Sam Cooke followed Wilson Pickett on the jukebox, slowing it down and sending your little circle off towards their partners. You didn’t care, you just kept swaying and taking turns singing “yeah— yeah!” and sipping your cocktail.

The crowd was thinning and you knew either brother would be corralling the group for the after party at their place shortly. Thank the label for drivers and security all on the craziest night of the year. 

“Hey, you good?” Dean’s voice came out of nowhere and you turned towards his warmth, eyes closed and humming. 

“Yeah, is it time–?”

“Let’s get off the dancefloor, I can barely hear you,” Dean took your elbow and brought you over to the edge of the counter where the bartender was wiping glasses dry.

“How are you? Need to puke and rally before we get in the car?” Dean asked firmly, testing your sobriety by your answer and the focus of your eyes.

“I’m fine, why? Is Bela puking?” you looked around for your bestie amongst the remaining partygoers.

“No, look, I just, here,” Dean brushed his knuckles against your cheek to get you to look back at him. Once he had your full attention, he leaned in and licked his lips, watching you as you waited for him to finish his thought. And then he was kissing you, hand on the back of your head and impossible lips massaging yours into complete submission.

You shuttered around a breath and opened your mouth for his tongue. That delicious sensation was enough to reset your brain and you pulled back, gasping.

You couldn’t form words and Dean’s face went from sleepy to wary to disappointed all in the blink of an eye. 

“Look— you deserve a midnight kiss, too, you know. I just—- thought you should have one,” Dean said in the space between maybe and almost.

You cleared your throat. “Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then. Thanks?”

You couldn’t look him in the eye, you were too shellshocked, too exposed.

“I’ll start getting everybody towards the exit. See you at the cars,” Dean said lowly, fingertips brushing your hip as he moved through your space.

You finished your drink and got a road beer from the blissfully unaware bartender. It was time to slow down, especially if you were going to be in Dean’s space the rest of the night. 

Damn it.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

Chapter Sixteen: Schleppen

[shallowseeker]

At the end of The Big Empty, it's MIA who is in need of support. She's reeling, horrified, traumatized—

—and it's Dean and Jack who hold strong eye contact with her when she gets emotional. This is perhaps a more comfortable situation for Dean and Jack. This mutual honesty with Mia:

Jack jumps in, instinctually connecting with her, and Dean gives a slight twitch of a smile...

But Sam. Hmmm.

Maybe it's just my imagination, but Sam looks a little uncomfortable?

Maybe because he's the one who shot the guy.

Maybe because without Jack, the hunt would've gone completely belly-up, and they ALL would've died, and that sits badly in his gut. (It’s always a risk, but they're supposed to be professionals.)

Dean nearly died again. (So did Sam almost, but Dean was the one who got accosted, was “too easy.” None of them are ready to hunt, actually, but unfortunately I don't think Sam views his pressing too hard as a bad thing here.)

Or maybe it's the now that the cat is completely out of the bag, the fake "therapy session" feels weird to Sam.

EDIT: Oh wait. Per the last scene, it's also that Sam is also wondering if Dean's right about Mary.

Mia smiles back at Jack.

Jack may worry about feeling apathy (could have many causes: depression at losing his parents, being inexperienced in the world, not having real connections yet), but he effortlessly reaches out to Mia.

///

Dean and Jack are both very unfortunately for them in some ways heart / HEARTH characters.

Which is why I find it neat that they both got lad out near the fireplace here...

…almost like symbolic offerings. :(

[anewkindofme]

The delicious thing about Defan's co-dependency is it comes in a way you rarely see in media.

I think if you look at relationships like Sam & Dean, they're used to just being around each other always. One can't really survive long without having the other by their side.

Spoilers below the cut for both Supernatural and The Vampire Diaries.

With Defan, they're perfectly fine being apart from each other for decades a time. The issue is they simply cannot quit one another. Even when their dynamic is at it's most toxic, Damon is thinking of all the ways he can ruin Stefan's life next. Meanwhile, Stefan is in some ways always waiting for Damon to come back into his world. That cat-and-mouse game is what they depend on. Without it, they're lost.

Then they rebuild that bond and still have their struggles but at the end of the day will always forgive each other because they cannot live life without the other. They have spent centuries being so intertwined that they cannot picture life without each other. They need that to get them through.

Even when Damon is angriest with Stefan, he is so damn possessive. Whether it be his issues with Klaus or Lexi. Stefan is his baby brother.

I constantly see theories that we don't really know when Damon died. There's a chance he and Elena didn't actually have a happy ending. Especially considering their individual peaces are reuniting with family vs eternity with one another. Maybe Damon truly could not live a long human life without his baby brother. It differs from SPN. We see that Sam lived a long, average life and died of old age. Versus Damon who goes from the cemetery with Elena to suddenly the afterlife.

I'm not even suggesting Damon offed himself. Just that without Stefan, he was even more reckless. Combined with not used to being human, I could see him getting hurt in some way and subconsciously bringing himself back to his baby brother.

These two are so freakishly co-dependent and need massive therapy...but it's also oh-so-much-fun to watch.

[cas-coding]

okay deancas family au because fuck you they can all be happy give me a break

dean aka dad (emma, ben, jack). coaches jack's teeball league and refuses to let anyone but emma drive the impala because she is the only cautious driver who treats his baby right. a mechanic with a passion for car restoration.

cas aka dad (claire) and daddy (jack). likes drawing his family and taking care of the garden outside. has been banned from being in the car while dean teaches the kids to drive because (newly) human cas is a screamer. stay at home dad because they commit credit card fraud and do not need two incomes.

emma aka em (dean) and emmie (jack). twenty-two and enrolled in a college a few hours away. working on a career in social work because of circumstances related to jack's adoption. same height as cas and she mocks him for it every time she visits home.

claire aka clairebear (dean). nineteen and working full time at the same carshop as dean. has wrecked her car several times and is barely allowed to keep driving every single time. will never admit that she used to draw grumpy cat fanart as a teen.

ben aka would rather die than have another nickname. seventeen and freaky good at baseball. goes to therapy weekly and now insists that claire and emma try it as well. didn't like jack at first but bonded with him by cheating at family game night (jack is just distracting enough for ben to snatch some extra cash in monopoly)

jack aka jack attack (ben and claire). five and utterly incapable of eating any food that adults eat, dean has to make him special alphabet soup more than half of the week's dinners. was adopted due to his birth dad going off the rails and (his technically uncle) cas taking him in. do not give him sugar or he will not sleep for the next forty-eight hours.

bonus!

uncle sam aka sammy (dean). jack always insists he climb sam because he's so tall. has been made to let emma and jack braid his hair. is always dedicated jack carrier at the zoo because, well, he's the tallest and jack sees the best from sam's shoulders.

aunt eileen aka aunt ellie (jack). taught the rest of the kids sign language and volunteered to come in and show some kids at ben's school basic sign. makes a killer burger that dean will never admit is better than his but knows is better than his. loves tricking dean into wearing plaid so she can get a picture of her husband and brother in law twinning (both sam and dean despise this but cannot seem to avoid it)

[castiel-left-his-mark-on-me]

I know a million people have already shared their opinions and thoughts on Jensen’s “brother” comment in regards to the confession, so this may be nothing new; but I can’t stop thinking about it so I wanted to write it down.

One of the main reasons I love (and kept watching) SPN over the years was because of Dean’s character-growth. He is just so human—and that is a testament to both Jensen’s acting, as well as Jensen’s age when he started playing Dean.

For fifteen years, we got to observe all those micro and macro changes within Dean’s character; much like a parent watching their child grow up. We noticed how Dean’s face changed, how his voice and confidence and openness morphed and grew … but we also got to see all the ways he stayed the same. We got to see his habits resurface again and again; and we got to see him make the same mistakes over and over. And even though it was frustrating to watch at times … it was also very, very human.  It was natural. It felt real … and I think that was both intentional and unintentional on Jensen’s part.

But just like how our growing child can’t see all these changes within themselves, I don’t think Jensen can see them all within Dean—not like how we can. He’s too close; but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t psychoanalyzed Dean Winchester.

I think it’s become obvious in the last couple of years just how much Jensen has thought about Dean’s thought process, both individually as well as in the SPN canon—and he thinks of Dean as a real person. His answer at VanCon proves that. Like @pray4jensen said: it’s clear that Jensen doesn’t know where he ends and Dean begins. And how could he know? He started playing/shaping Dean in his late twenties; and science has proven that most people’s brains are still malleable at that age. He then went on to grow with that character well into adulthood—through all the formidable and pivotal moments in his own life … marriage, fatherhood, life and death. Dean IS part of him. He wasn’t just an “act” to Jensen. So much of his own development couldn’t help but sneak into Dean’s mannerisms, which made Dean feel very, very real on screen.

Think of it this way … so many of us have had difficult/complicated pasts. We have had to code-switch all our lives. There’s a version of yourself that you have to display in certain company and in certain environments; and sometimes, that version pops up without warning—when triggered by something familiar or traumatic.

Now, I’m not saying that playing Dean was a “trauma” for Jensen (at least—I hope it wasn’t), I’m just saying that we’ve all had experience playing a role in our lives; and even though we know that it’s just a role, we still think of it as a version of ourselves. We still feel like we’re just a moment away from reverting back to that person.  But can you define all the qualities of that other version of you? Can you explain—in detail, just how and when and why that version pops up? No.

You can identify some things, sure, but not all. That’s why we seek out therapy. We need an outside perspective to help us find a way to bridge these versions of ourselves and make them whole again.

This is just human nature. It’s human psychology.

Dean Winchester is a version of Jensen. He is a real part of Jensen’s life. So, when Jensen answers on Dean’s behalf, he can’t help but put himself directly into that character’s boots—exactly where they stand, here and now.

And if we flash back to that confession—Jensen knows that Dean Winchester would not have been able to comprehend all the ways Castiel meant “I love you” because Jensen was Dean in that moment.  And after Cas was taken, Dean still wouldn’t have been able to understand, because all the love he has ever known in his life—all the true, dependable, reliable love, has come along with the fight.  Jensen knows—because he lived it all with Dean, that any love his character felt was a direct result of his battles to save the world. Sam, Benny, Mary, Charlie, Kevin, and on and on … all of them of course cared for Dean—Dean knew that, but since the constant fighting framed every one of those relationships, he couldn’t help but view them all the same way: as soldiers, fighters, products of war. They were family, yes ... but they were all still soldiers. Even those he tried to keep out of the war, Dean still knew the reality was … they had to fight in order to stay alive. That was just the way it was. That was the way of the love Dean felt. Any kind of love beyond that was impossible, because war would inevitably take it away too. That’s why he ended things with Cassie and Lisa. That’s why he only ever pursued shallow flings and one-night stands. And that’s why, when he saw hunters who actually maintained romantic relationships—he always stared at them in wide-eyed-wonder.

Out of all the impossible things Dean had witnessed in his life, that was the one that consistently shocked him.

Hunters … in love and happy.

It felt unreal, even though it was right there in front of his eyes.

He couldn’t understand it. So, even though it apparently was possible for others, he never believed it was possible for him. It had nothing to do with sex … sex wasn’t a part of love for Dean. Sex was just a physical movement, like fighting and eating. It kept his body alive and moving forward. This impossible love he saw others maintaining … it had everything to do with heart; and for nearly fifteen years, Dean believed his heart was worthless.

It wasn’t until an angel stood in front of him on the brink of death and said: Dean, you are not a weapon to be wielded. You are beautiful. You are a man full of love who deserves to be loved, and I love you, that Dean thought any different.

It wasn’t until he heard Castiel say Dean was more than just a soldier, that Dean actually started to believe it. But that realization was still a long way off from what Castiel was actually telling him.

And Castiel knew that Dean wouldn’t understand—he knew that Dean wouldn’t be able to fully grasp his words and take them to heart; but he hoped that if he at least said them out loud … if he said them to Dean’s face and saved the man’s life, that Dean would go on to live and grow; and then someday, he would see that someone did actually love him once. Cas truly loved him—not because Dean could protect him in a fight. Not because he was a good hunter or the savior of the world, but because Dean was Dean, and that was enough.

And you know, if Dean got to live to 100, he just might’ve realized that; but he didn’t. He died too soon. And so, he never got to truly grasp what his angel was saying, and I feel like that’s what Jensen understands about Dean the most.

He understands that Dean never got the chance to understand love.

Not in that way. Not in the way Castiel meant it.

Dean was still too naive, too broken, too jaded; so, he did what all humans do, he put the complex into terms he could understand, and that was that Castiel loved him the way that Sam loved him. The way that Benny and Charlie and Kevin loved him, the way that all his found-family love him; and after Cas was gone, he buried his face into his hands and wept because once again, he failed to protect his family. And even worse, he failed to at least let Castiel go knowing that Dean loved him too—in the only way he knows how to love, he was too broken to say even that.

He let Castiel down in every way possible, so he curled into himself and sobbed.

He should have said it back.

He should have held the angel close and said it back.

Dean realized it too late, and Jensen knows how much that hurt him.

It wasn’t about sex.

It wasn’t about romance.

It was about love and loss, and Dean was all too familiar with both—but only in the ways he had seen all his life.

The love of family and the loss of family.

He never had the chance for more.

He never got to see what else his own heart was capable of.

That’s what I feel Jensen meant with that answer, and that’s what I think he understands the most about Dean's character. We may be able to see the bigger picture because we're on the outside looking in; but Jensen was in Dean’s boots every day for fifteen years.

All he could ever see was what was right in front of him—and when Castiel made that confession, Jensen could only see it through Dean's eyes. He could only feel what Dean felt. He knows that when Castiel said those words to him, that was his best and truest friend in the world saying goodbye.

Another brother-in-arms was lost to him; but this time, it felt different. It hurt more, and if Dean just had a little more time—he would've been able to understand why.

[dothwrites]

THE TRAP! THE TRAP! THE TRAP! (he's going to get down on his OLD MAN KNEES and he's going to PRAY; the man with no faith is going to PRAY to his angel and he's going to apologize ON HIS KNEES)

"just stop being so stupid" cas is being a little bitch here and he's valid for doing it

amazing to me like rob benedict is like. four feet tall. and STILL somehow manages to be menacing.

this is exactly what you want to hear your ex-husband talk about when you're in the place where your romance took off: him talking about his ex-boyfriend and meeting up with him again. cas, you're RIGHT to be irritated. "my sense of direction is excellent; that's a different corpse" you can take the husbands out of... whatever. dean and cas are still husbands and they're still capable of bickering, even when they're divorced

i REFUSE to believe that benny is dead. that leviathan was just lying through his teeth. benny is definitely the king of purgatory; he was just hiding from dean and cas because he didn't want to be Purgatory Relationship Counselor Part II. he had enough of that nonsense the first time

this little slice of life in chuck's "future" is so cute--until it becomes less cute. eileen is going to make POPCORN for their movie night! cas is bringing them beers! they have a FAMILY!

this little therapy talk is painful but SO necessary. it's the first time that dean and cas are actually talking about their differences and what they're angry about. cas admitting that he carries his guilt over his past mistakes, and then cas calling dean out over being so angry that he wasn't able to listen to reason "i left but you didn't stop me" MY GOD! it's the thesis of the relationship. cas leaves but dean doesn't ask him to stay! dean doesn't want cas to leave but he's not willing to ask him to stay! both of them want cas to be there, but they're caught in this endless cycle of silence.

in chuck's "future", sam and dean have both lost the person that they love. dean's "ever since" is losing cas in the most horrific way possible--he had to bury him alive, knowing that cas was going to be tormented for the rest of time. and sam's response is anger and fury and dean's response is fatalism and depression. and i do have to wonder if it's because cas isn't GONE gone. he's fallen into depression but part of him still clings onto life so that he can be there for cas.

this PRAYER! dean frantically wandering around purgatory calling for cas! dean praying and saying his goodbye to cas, knowing that he failed him. jensen KILLS this scene! the unshed tears in his eyes, the little wobble in his voice... he gets down on his KNEES! dean finally acknowledging that he gets angry and lashes out when he's hurt and grieving. "OF COURSE i forgive you" like it was never in doubt. this is dean saying goodbye to cas because he thinks that cas is either dead or not going to make it back to the portal and he's CRYING!

and then we have the "future" scene immediately afterward that opens with dean sitting with his eyes closed, MUCH LIKE HE WAS WHEN HE WAS PRAYING. i don't think it's too much of a stretch to think that dean was praying to cas while he's trapped in the box. that dean is praying to him pretty much all the time while he's trapped. these vampire faces are STUPID. sorry but they're DUMB.

dean still waiting for cas and looking around desperately hoping! and then cas is just. chilling. curled up in a tree. AND THE HUG! THE HUG! cas' look of shock when dean hugs him! and dean's "you did it" feels like a balm. DEAN WAS GOING TO TELL CAS THAT HE LOVED HIM RIGHT HERE AND THIS IS THE HILL I WILL DIE UPON! otherwise, why would he still say that he needed to talk to cas? why would he look disappointed when cas tells him that he doesn't need to say it? cas knew that dean was going to tell him that he loved him and he KNEW that confession would set off the empty deal. this is the hill i will die on.

and we see dean and cas just quietly chilling in the kitchen, and we know that they're okay! that they're not absolutely reconciled but that they're at least on their way. they've come to an understanding with each other and they're acting as a unit again.

[flownwrong]

Shipping bingo: rayk/fraser let's see if we can get bingo baby

okay I admit I cheated a little just to get a bingo but LET ME EXPLAIN

- comfort ship: self-explanatory

- criminally underrated: as of 2023, haha. I'm on a mission to convince more people to get into due south regardless of shipping anyway

- I could write essays: but I would prefer to write fic. and here's to me getting more confident about it

- fanon gets them so wrong: I don't know the current fanon, and what I can intuit from heaps of good fic left from The Times is a lot of varying but good fanon. however, in my imaginary discussions with an active fandom I am pretty sure I would find things to be ornery about because they're really easy to distort into stereotypes

- from what I know about Freud, he'd have a field day with just about anything. so I think I can safely include this one (also, I do have ray asking thatcher about not knowing who you are without another person playing on loop in my head)

- no one gets them like I get them: see above. there are many glorious and precise takes immortalised in fic but I can always find something I would tweak just a little to make it that much closer to my vision (which, oh well, I need to git gud at writing to keep my dignity while nitpicking the superior writing of others)

- facebook status: they would absolutely both think it's complicated. which it is, wonderfully so, canon timeline especially, but on fundamental level they're always just careening towards fitting together like puzzle pieces, so THEY'D THINK SO, BUT WE KNOW BETTER. also, watching ray, a shitty facebook user, make fraser a facebook account would be hysterical (because let's face it, fraser would never otherwise)

- it would never work in canon: here's my ultimate bingo cheat. because boy, does it ever work in canon. I can only explain it like so: in my perfect imaginary timeline they would never actually form a stable romantic bond without some serious soul-searching post-cotw. which is catnip to me because they really DO the puzzle pieces thing, but man, are they a ways away from communicating that to each other or even themselves, canonically (ffs ray's still waiting for the other shoe to drop AND not exactly serene re:Stella and fraser is so much reeling from the avalanche of finale happenings he can't see that and still hasn't fully learned the lesson about not being an island and I bet you my left hand they would be extremely unequipped for deciding where to go from there, so they'll definitely need the shiny quest liminality and then some to get it)

- I have so many questions: but mostly why are you both so blind arghh (and thank god for that, it's the driving force of my adoration and an endless exploration ground)

- they should go to therapy together: you know what, I really wouldn't mind. it'd be hilarious. but also didn't someone (speranza??) write a whole fic that takes it seriously that you recced and I keep putting off because I know it'll destroy me in ways both good and bad? because I can roll with that too

- I don't think THEY know what they have going on: again, thank god for that. they really don't. it's heartbreaking and adorable in equal measure.

- literally perfect, no notes: I say, after writing many notes. but now's the moment when I publicly admit they have a stronger grip on my mind than sam and dean do—at least currently, we'll see about the long run. because I'm mushy af even with my angst and miscommunication enjoyment and they're a dream come true for my sappy sappy heart.

- also, they could never do friends with benefits. they'd think they can, but no, they can't. it's a rock fact.

here, come, look at my embarrassing admissions!!! thanks for asking, I'm fucking dying to talk about them at all hours of the day.

[destielomegaversebigbang]

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

Posting 6th October 2023

Fic by swlove16

Art by slurpy

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Castiel Novak, world famous chocolatier and secret omega, enjoys his work mostly because he rarely has to interact with the public. Thanks to a small social media team and space in the back of his brother’s chocolate shop, he can experiment to his heart’s content. So it comes as quite a surprise when his team insists on hosting a video contest and inviting a fan into his chocolate lab.

Dean Winchester, non-traditional alpha and small-town mechanic, wishes he could meet the “chocolate guy” whose videos keep popping up on his social media, but there’s no way he’s going to enter the video contest to meet the man. One nosy moose-brother and a few co-conspirators later, Dean is having a one-on-one meeting with Castiel anyway.

Two years later, they’re about to hold hands and walk down the aisle. Follow their journey of finding strength in their vulnerabilities, working through miscommunications, and love despite their scars.

Tags: Alpha Dean/Omega Castiel; Top Dean/Bottom Cas; Top Cas/Bottom Dean; Slick-eating/rimming; Shower sex; Blowjobs; Knotting; Toys; Light D/s (Dom!Cas/subDean); Wedding; Past implied dub/noncon; Mating bites; Scent bonding; Chocolatier Castiel; Mechanic Dean; Miscommunication; Hurt/Comfort; Dean is in therapy; Dean has self-esteem issues; Cas has self-esteem issues; Beta Sam/Alpha Eileen; Omega Balthazar/Alpha Meg; Domestic fluff; Some fights bc both of them are bad at communicating; Sexting; Sexy video chatting; Issues with parents (John Winchester’s A+ parenting; Cas’ parents are bad too); Infertility; Surrogacy

Excerpt: Below the readmore

He calls about when he imagines Dean is close to halfway, and when Dean answers the phone, Castiel is expecting to hear the lowered but not turned off strains of some rock ballad and the rumble of the Impala’s engine. Instead, he hears a whole lot of silence.

“Dean?” he prompts, unable to keep his voice from shaking.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replies, and while Castiel can tell he’s shooting for confident and composed, he misses by a mile.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, body thrumming with adrenaline.

“Nuthin’,” the alpha says quietly. “Just needed to pull off the road for a min.”

“Alright,” he says.

The silence grows. Then.

“What the hell are we doin’, Cas?” Dean asks.

His heart stutters to a stop and he can’t breathe. It’s the same question Meg has been asking; the same question Bal has restrained himself from asking; the same question Gabe would ask if he wasn’t so swamped with business orders.

The truth is that he doesn’t know. He can’t seem to unstick his throat.

“Cuz I don’t know what we’re doing,” Dean continues in the face of Castiel’s silence. “And I don’t know what I’m doing right now. I don’t know what you want from me.”

Castiel’s heart aches, and the pain he hears rips the words from his throat.

“I don’t know either, Dean,” he confesses quietly. “But I know I like talking to you. I know I like getting to know you. I know that –”

He pauses to swallow the tears trying to crowd out his voice.

“I know that I’d like to figure it out. With you. If that’s something you want too.”