#but sam. bless. is so SO intent on saving his brother.

[bardicbeetle]

MY BOYS <3

The Lost Boys (1987)

[testingcheats0n]

Massive Dream SMP Fic Rec!!

Hey- Hi, I just feel like there are a ton of fanfiction that's really underrated in this fandom- so I'm going to dump it on your dash!!! Most of it is going to be Tommy-centric or SBI-centric, but they are very good!

Source: Me

Finished Fanfics:

Multi-chaptered Fanfics:

that's, like, a hundred miles by No_one_you_know

Dream would kill him. Dream was going to kill him- he was going to- no, he wouldn’t. Dream was his friend- friends don’t hit each other- Dream was supposed to take care of him- Dream /was/ taking care of him.

It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He couldn’t clear his thoughts as he stumbled to the family computer, pulling up a tab on google and frantically typing the name into the search bar.

The words Technoblade Watson stared back at him, the little black bar at the end of the letters blinking slowly, mocking him.

Why, of all people, did it have to be Technoblade?

in short: the one where dream sucks as a parental figure, tommy runs away, and visits his least favorite family member technoblade

Hard-hitting, but has a happy ending, though I recommend reading the prequel (in the same series) first, otherwise, it's lowkey depressing.

MORE RECOMMENDATIONS BELOW THE CUT!!

you’ll rise above (crowned by an overture bold and beyond) by azvremoon

Tommy is not sixteen. He has faced too many open wounds, dripping ichor onto blood-stained warzones, to be just a child. He is Blood and War and needless Death, an all-in-one special of everything that can ruin reality.

(Tommy is the blood god. No one should know, but this server can't stop pushing him over the edge.)

+2 more Works that were Inspired by this one

Tommy is a BAMF and Dream, Technblade, and Phil get fucked it is what it is.

Responsible Forever by SilverWing15

“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.” /////

“So,” Techoblade says, slow and deliberate, his face shows clearly just how unbelievable he finds all of this, “you saw a boy last night, in the middle of the night, living with raccoons and eating our garbage?”

“I know how insane it sounds,” Phil says, “but I know what I saw. We need to help him, who knows how long he’s been out here?”

“Okay,” Wilbur interrupts, “let’s say that raccoon-boy is real. What is it you want us to do? We can’t go searching the woods for specific bunch of raccoons, I don’t know if you’ve noticed Phil but there are a lot of them out there.”

“Going out and hunting him isn’t going to get us anywhere,” Techno says, “we have to let the raccoon-boy come to us. He’s already come once, you know how tenacious raccoons are. If they came to the garbage pit once, they’ll come again. We just have to set a trap.”

“Those raccoons aren’t gonna know what fucking hit them,” Wilbur mutters.

Or: RaccoonInnit taken well beyond its logical conclusion

Tommyinnit is a Raccoon boi that lives with other Raccoons

Protecting the Traumatised Youth by spookyserpent

Sam blinks. “What?”

Even behind the mask, Sam has the distinct impression that Dream is grinning at him. “A week and he was begging for my attention, even after I stole and burnt his armour, even after the beatings. He couldn’t stand me leaving him because I was the only one to show up, to pay him attention. It was hilarious.”

Sam is going to be sick.

Or, Sam decides to ask Dream about his intentions and ends up becoming a big brother to Tommy and Tubbo. All the while, Dream and George fight, Niki and Jack plan child murder and Ranboo is slowly getting adopted into the SBI.

Awesamdad written back when it was possible... ahhh

Chaos In a Bottle by Lovetribable

After a realization, Tommy leaves the pillar, but instead of going to Techno. He just disappears, leaving everyone to think he's gone.

It takes a war to bring him back.

+2 Sequels and an Alternative Ending

Dadinnit!! + A Sympathetic Dream

Absolutely Anything For Them by Numanum

“There’s a lot you don’t understand, Tubbo,” Dream sighs, meeting his eyes cooly. Tubbo, back against a tree, shudders at his tone, at the look on his face.

The sword at his neck skims across his skin as Dream shifts his grip on it, and he flinches back into the rough bark behind him. Dream smiles at his reaction, seeming pleased- like the cat that’s been toying with a mouse that always tries to run no matter how many times it’s caught. And, despite this being his first encounter alone with the man, he thinks that the comparison is fairly accurate; Tubbo has never felt smaller than he does now. There’s supposed to be a buddy system to prevent things like this- he shouldn’t be alone here, stuck in this situation.

Or: Tubbo becomes a traitor to save everyone and has to struggle with his choices

Traitor Tubbo, but it has the happiest ending possible since it follows the rest of the story.

Where Did You Come From, Kit? by KadeAK (zacixn)

Hybrids are an ancient species of humans crossed with animals, blessed with the favour of nature. They used to live in peace on the SMP’s land, but ever since the dawn of humanity’s modern culture, they have become ostracised and hunted by their once-brethren. Now, the once-thriving subspecies of hybrids have been reduced to ashes, the majority of their peoples struggling to survive in a city capital that can't stand their presence.

To the members of L’Manburg, General Wilbur Soot is just another mildly prejudiced human being, stuck with a hybrid fox kit for an adopted child. However, that assumption could not be farther from the truth. As it turns out, there's a reason why he is the man he is today.

This fic is entirely pre-L’Manburg.

Part of a series, very good.

Take It Easy by sweet_magnolias

Five times Techno scared Michael, one time Michael scared him, and the resolution of those fears.

AKA - Techno learns how to be an uncle.

Technoblade's POV, so expect some Tubbo bashing on the margins of all that Michael fluff.

I suppose it’s never my time to die, is it? by Birb_Whale

The first time it happens, he barely remembers. The second time is when he realized. The third... Twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern

“It’s not your time to die yet, Tommy”

Messed up, but not unrealistic. Purely for the Hurt/Comfort lovers.

This Wasn't Planned, But It'll Work Out by Anonymous

Dream isn't sure what to think when he finds a kid on his doorstep, but he can't just leave him there, now can he?

(He doesn't know what he's getting into, or what he's gotten the kid into, either)

Long, and angsty, with a bittersweet ending Imo.

let's play a game by Aria_Cinabun

Tommy was once a slave. That's gone now - shoved in his past with the memories of blood and gore and death. He wants to forget who he was; what he has to do to survive. Of course, the Elementalists will always come back to haunt him. They aren't the ones who killed his mother, but they're close enough. And now he and his brother have been dragged into the mess, as Elementalists with their own, separate covens, to find the Pit - the place where he'd lived and killed and hurt for the first twelve years of his life. His coven can't know. Can't know who he really is, what he can really do. Can't know anything about his past. He doesn't want a coven full of Elementalists who don't trust him; one of whom he's pretty sure despises him. He doesn't want that life. He wants the life of a pickpocket, on the streets, because nobody questions street kids, and nobody comes asking about his past and pushes him to tell his secrets that he holds closest inside. Tubbo tries to tell him to trust people. But trust is how you die.

Good fantasy AU, has SBI, and is thus fluffy.

Turn of the Tide by SilverWing15

Tommy’s fins twitch at the mention of Dream’s ancestors. Dream talks about them a lot, how they made their fortune hunting down mer pods, how they were cruel and greedy. Nothing like Dream is. They’ve both overcome their roots he says.

Tommy is nothing like the wild mer out in the ocean, who spend their lives scraping by just to survive, who kicked him out of the pod when he was a baby because he was too small. He’s also better than the pit mer, who can’t overcome their wild instincts and know nothing but fighting.

He’s different from them, he’s better than them. He’s Dream’s. //// OR: Change is like the tide, when it comes, you can only sink or swim. You would think that a mer would be better at keeping afloat.

Mermaid AU Pooog. Part of a series.

One-Shots:

Snapped by AmberRunnel

“You don’t know what I went through in that prison cell.”

Jack burst out laughing, blinded with rage and the overwhelming urge to hurt Tommy, to give him everything he deserved. “Oh, is the poor child traumatized? You want pity now?” He twisted his blade, and Tommy’s axe was sent clattering to the ground.

“If the prison was so awful, why don’t I send you back there?”

-|-

Jack doesn't handle Tommy's revival well. There's a simple solution, though. Kill Tommy, and Dream revives him right back into that cell. Problem solved, kid dealt with.

It takes a few confrontations for Jack to realize he's an asshole.

It's fucked up, but god does it hurt in a good way.

the sky is coming down blue by salinesolution

An imagining of New Milo's perspective throughout the Skyblock Randomizer adventure. What did he think of the world he found himself in, and how did Wilbur's feelings and actions change things for him? Here's my way of answering those questions.

He made the fish think, funniest shit I've seen.

You told me to be a hero (so let me die like one) by spiromachia

"You told me to die like a hero," the blond interrupted, spinning on his heel to face the others, holding his arms wide open, "So why not fulfil the ending that was always meant to be."

Across the battle field, through the chaos and destruction, a tree burned.

Even the sound of explosions and cries and bloodshed felt distant enough for the world to become silent for a few moments, each individual slowly coming to the same conclusion, each of their bodies tensing.

Tommy's face broke out into a grin as he lowered his head, glowering at the people around him, and Philza's face flashed with recognition.

"Kill me."

Or... In the middle of Doomsday, Tommy decides to ask Technoblade to be the Lycomedes to his Theseus.

Heavy and dark, but at least Dream gets it.

tomorrow night by meridies

Tommy is desperately searching for his missing brother. Techno is the reluctant psychic who unfortunately got dragged along.

or, two people, more alike than different, learn what it is to have a family at their side.

It's cute what can I say :]

maple syrup by itisjosh

"We could run," Tubbo stares at the sun. "We've got everything we've ever wanted right here. We could run."

"Yeah," Tommy agrees, feeling his head swim. "We could."

(or, tommy and tubbo run away together)

Children get away from toxic adults :)

Why’d it have to be so sunny? (The sun shouldn’t shine without you.) by AToZRainToBe

‘A realisation hits Phil in the face like a truck. “Wi- Ghostbur,” Phil says, turning to his grey-scale, translucent, actually-dead son. “You definitely told Tubbo that Tommy’s alive, right?”’

To get away from Dream, Tommy agrees to fake his death, going with the cover story that he jumped from the pillar in Logstedshire. Unfortunately, someone forgot to tell Tubbo.

Misunderstandings are one of my favorite tropes.

sugar and ice by princedemeter for Aenqa

“He is my son,” Philza says. “Mortal or not, I would see him grow strong.”

Technoblade looks down on earth, at the tiny, angry bundle of cloth and pinking, wrinkled skin. This mortal child, he thinks, lungs filled with breath from the king of gods himself, will not grow strong.

It's mostly centered around Technoblade and Wilbur with Phil being a shitty dad. Pog Gods AU.

a matter of time by meridies

Tommy is twelve years old when his wings first appear, and he is twelve years old when Phil tells him, "All it takes is time and patience, Tommy, and soon you'll be flying even better than me."

or, Tommy grows up feeling like a failure, and it takes him a while to figure out where he's happiest.

Tommy is just finding his place in the world. Powers AU.

That Time a Baby Decided to Raise a Baby by Scitrust

Tubbo wasn't good at making excuses, so when Schlatt asked him why he was leaving in the night, he made something up on the spot. That had been months ago.

At least he sort of had an alibi for that, now.

Or, in which Tubbo finds a baby in the woods on his way to see Tommy, and promptly adopts it.

Part of a collection!! Read it all.

spider lily by blue000jay

Wilbur has a body.

The freckle on the base of his left pinky finger (shared with Techno). The scar on his chin from when he was twelve and over ambitious, diving into too-shallow water. The scar on his throat from the final control room, and the puckered skin on his shoulder from the poisoned arrow that killed him next. Various other nicks and things that litter his skin from years of rebellion and living wild, a kid thrown into a vicious world with too little self-preservation.

(Resurrection AU, for when/if Wilbur comes back.)

The author knows how it's like to live with chronic pain, and it shows :(

Hands tied loose by rabiddog

"Let's run away, Tubbo." Tommy breathed; a wide grin split across his face as his hope grew. "Let's get out of here – far away. We can go anywhere, can't we? Let's just go, you and me right here, right now."

-

Tommy needs to leave. He has to get out of L'Manburg, he has to leave the Dream SMP for his own sanity, and he wants Tubbo to come with him.

But Tubbo has a family now, a better life - something that he can't give up... not even for his best friend.

Unhappy ending :(

The serpent underneath by rabiddog

Tommy and Techno sit at the memory-filled bench and talk. Technoblade reminisces, he talks, he admits his pent-up feelings, he cries. And Tommy? Tommy listens. (That's all he can do.)

-

“I’m sorry for everything, you know? For all of it. I’m so sorry about... about the first war, about the withers and the fighting, about...” Technoblade's fingers began to curl around Tommy’s blonde locks. “About Wilbur and everything after. I'm so, so sorry.”

:((((((((

Damning choices by rabiddog

Ranboo would have never expected to find himself in a horrifying situation such as that one - quite literally sandwiched between a rock and a hard place, with three lives dangling over his head and the answer on the tip of his tongue.

Tubbo, Michael, Tommy.

It's his choice. He chooses who lives, and who dies. His new family, or his first friend. But Ranboo... Ranboo already knows.

-

"Ranboo," He hissed out, voice cracking and somewhat staticky, "It's not your fault. It's not. You had no other choice; I know that, okay? I- I know that- I know- I know..."

:(((((((((((((((((((((((((((

Jealousy is a disease by rabiddog

Tommyinnit isn't new to the idea of jealousy. He understands it completely. He understands the way it runs rampage through his body each time he catches even a glimpse of Tubbo and Ranboo's new relationship, he understands that the emotion makes his heart clench uncomfortably from time to time. He sees it, feels it, and yet he doesn't care.

He doesn't care at all.

-

"You took Tubbo away from me. You took him away. You took my best friend, and now he's- now he's not my best friend anymore, and I-!"

:)

Word of Honour by rabiddog

Tommy could only stand and stare as Technoblade agreed to hand him over to Dream - as his brother traded him off like he was nothing. Like Tommy wasn't important.

-

Technoblade was a man of honour. He was a man of pride and sticking to his word. He knew that he owed Dream a favour, and no matter what that favour might be, he'd be compliant with it. Nothing would change his mind. (Not even Tommy.)

Almost canon. F.

Sweet Repentance by rabiddog

Perhaps Tommy should have told Phil about his arguably life-threatening injury the minute his father had opened the door. But of course, Tommy being Tommy, did not.

Dying seemed like a nice enough option as long as he was with his family.

-

Tommy just wanted acceptance, forgiveness, and peace. He wanted to close his eyes for the last time and finally be able to let go.

Tommy dies painfully.

A White Tulip by astervoid

He picked the white tulip from the bottom of the stem, standing up carefully as he held it pinched between his fingers. It would die now, inevitably, but Tommy relented and held the flower to his chest. What a silly, stupid thing to ground him. He almost hated that it made his breaths come easier and his steps feel lighter. Almost.

Tommy & Ranbooo chill on the bench.

lying to the authorities (again) by touchgrass

"Please tell me that my right-hand-man, my soon-to-be vice president, one of the people I trust the most on this godforsaken server, did not lie straight to my face and tell me he was twenty-fucking-years-old.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but then closes it shut at the furious look on Wilbur's face. Oops.

~

It is the day of the elections and Wilbur Soot could not have chosen a worser time to realize that half his staff is underage.

The ONLY fic with this premise I've seen on Ao3.

Dear Theseus by rabiddog

Tommy had thought that they'd won - thought that they'd finally beaten Dream, and that everything would be okay. As it turns out, however, apparently Dream had called in that favour from Technoblade after all.

-

“Please,” Tommy whispered after a beat, quivering hands edged upwards to hesitantly press against the tip of the sword striking through his chest. Why, why, why? Why him? Why now?

Tommy almost wins.

A Shifting World by AplusIsRoman

How was Wilbur supposed to know it would end like this?

The smoke hung in the air and soot clung to his skin. His brother - adopted, but older by two minutes - stood back-to-back with him. The chilling cries of people and the calls of the withers rang through the air above the chasm that was once his home.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

How could he have known this would happen?

-

Sequel to A Child's World

Age-swap AU. Has a prequel.

heart of the sea by RyDyKG

Here is the secret that he barely thinks about, a secret that he shoves deep and far down in himself:

Wilbur Soot is a siren, and he’s not exactly proud of that fact.

Wilbur-centric. Urban Fantasy AU.

He knows, ok? by Ralli

By some means, Techno has given his raccoon younger brother some cotton candy. It doesn’t end as well as either of them would like.

Very, very cute :)

that's it, it's split (it won't recover) by Jk_Kat

Tommy has always been the fighter.

He has never been the fought for, and he knows it, with every whisper Tubbo directs at Ranboo, with every glance thrown his way- Tommy knows, the way he wishes he didn't, that they think he's dead.

If they're so convinced he's still dead, maybe the one good thing left he can do for them is die.

---

Or, Tommy gets addicted to being dead and thinks that nobody cares about him. The people who very much do try to pull him back from the brink before Dream can't resurrect him anymore.

Messed up, but with a happy ending.

Hugs 'n PTSD by rabiddog

Ranboo knew from the start that the recovery process would be hard - that moving on from quite literally being beat to death would be something hugely difficult to step away from, and that's if Tommy could even manage it at all.

He knew that it would be stressful and arduous, demanding and tough... he just hadn't expected to be holding Tommy through a PTSD-induced panic attack only days after his release from Pandora's Vault.

-

Ranboo isn't typically an overbearingly protective person. But for Tommy? He just might be.

I love this author if you can't tell.

Big Men don't cry by Shiny22Snivy

The room is small and warm, almost stifling compared to the cool openness of the ravine. It’s cosy and candlelit, and a chest sits open in the corner, full of what looks to be burnt rags of a former smart suit. And sitting in rumpled blankets on a bed, cradling a mug of something steaming, sits Tubbo.

At first, Tommy forgets all about Niki’s vague warning. He’s just so happy to see his best friend again, alive and well and all in one piece. Tubbo’s okay. Tubbo’s okay, and in front of him, and suddenly everything bad in the world is gone, if only for just a moment.

“Tommy?”

And then Tubbo turns to look at him.

Clingyduo fluff.

sins of the father (i broke all my bones that day i found you) by ryter

The thing that hurt Wilbur most was when he saw Fundy tear down the walls of L'Manburg. After all, those walls had gone up to protect his son. But in this world, Fundy trusts his father just a little bit more, and it ruins him.

Or: there's only one way Wilbur never becomes the villain. It's unclear whether this was the better path.

SOME VIOLENCE WARNINGS/BLOOD MENTION. CHARACTER DEATH. SO MUCH ANGST.

Sad, but cathartic.

REVIVED TOMMY HEADCANNONS AHAHAHAHA by racooninnit

i’m dropping ALL the fucking revived tommy headcannons on you guys today get ready for some ANGST

this is different from what i usually post but it was fun

i don’t think there’s a lot i need to put warnings for, obviously there are mentions of the way tommy died and the aftermath of that (i.e. injuries and trauma), but if there’s anything that needs a warning please tell me!

What it says on the tin- not really a fic.

Unfinished Stories:

Ongoing (Less than a month since the last update):

Over the River Styx by CorpseArt

I feel like we should name him.

There’s a scuffle at the back of his mind as he rolls up, curling tight with a shiver despite the heat of the flames licking up his back.

I mean, he’s like – us, but like a worse version clearly because oh man, this is just weirdness. There’s a flare of a tangle of emotions, complicated and fearful, resentful and livid with anger. I can’t believe this is what I’ve been reduced to, stuck in the mind of this- this child.

He’s like your age, Tommy. Are you calling yourself a child?

I mean, I am one so fucking duh. Child murderer.

-

Or: trauma bonding in the most unconventional of senses.

Just- Read it. Show the writer your support, it's unique, it's amazing and there needs to be more of it.

If history is dead and gone by iregretallmydecisions

“Don’t come any fucking closer,” Tommy shouted, startling Phil into stepping back. Tommy was still looking around wildly, like a trapped animal “Don’t fucking do it.” ---- In which Tommy finds himself faced with his splintered family, while it was still mostly whole. The past is not an easy place to be when the future was not kind. His family is forced to deal with the fall out.

It's better than Rewind, but you didn't hear that from me.

Wilbur Soot's Redemption (OR Ghostbur's Retry) by luckykitty0523

Wilbur had many regrets in his life, being lost in his madness and the urge for revenge drowned leaving a shell of who he once was. It was only in his dying moments that he regained himself but it was already too late for him leaving him drowning in wishes and regrets. However waking up in another different universe where wilbur was never born and family soulmates exist, so when wilbur said he wanted to fix the mistakes he never expected this turn of events.

OR

In one world wilbur dies and he would return as a ghost missing his memory and trying to fix what he did in life but in this one wilbur dies and wakes up in another world where soulmates exist and the wilbur of that world was never born so wilbur/ghostbur takes his place and tries to make up his mistakes to the other version of his friends.

Wilbur adopts SBI + Fundy + Dream.

A Talk Long Overdue by penink

Tommy has his first therapy session with Puffy.

Tommy gets therapy.

Into the Night by Interjection

“Don’t touch me,” Tommy hisses, leaning against the railing. “I will - I will-”

They’re a hundred stories up. Wind lashes against Phil’s face. Next to him, Sam makes choked noise.

“But why?”

Tommy looks up to meet Phil’s eyes, terror struck so deep in those pale blue irises Phil thinks they must hold all the world’s fears within them.

“You’ll die,” he whispers. “And then I’ll die. But I’ll come back.”

“And I don’t want to come back.”

Others have the freedom to live. Tommy doesn’t even have the freedom to die.

But maybe they can teach him that living doesn’t have to be so bad.

---

(Superpowers AU where whenever someone touches Tommy, they both die. But Tommy will always come back to life eventually. He just wants it to end - but instead, he’s on the run, terrified of how his power will be exploited if he’s caught.

A few people reluctantly team up to save him.)

Funky SBI dynamics + a Sam that cares. Also a lot of angst.

[estrel]

suptober20 day 30 prompt: dress up (ficlet) | tfw 2.0, destiel | ~2.4k words

read on ao3 | read all my past suptober20 prompts

“Are we really doing this?”

Dean was already fitted into jeans and a white button-down that had been buried somewhere deep inside his closet. He’d just finished combing his hair through with his fingers, spritzing it with water to get that off-shore look about him.

“Sure, Dean,” Sam smiles, “It’s for Jack. C’mon, the kid’s three. We can at least do this. Besides, what’s the harm in it?”

Dean crosses his arms. He doesn’t have a good argument, and he knows it.

“I’ve just never…you know, played dress up before. You can’t blame me for being uneasy.”

“Sure we have, Dean. We dress up for cases all the time.”

“That’s different.” He stares at Sam a moment. “Hang on,” Dean points a finger at him, “who did he tell you to dress up as?”

Sam smirks, finishing with the buttons on his black button-up and finally turning to him to answer. “Guess you’ll find out.”

“Hey! Not fair,” Dean motions to himself and his attire. “He wouldn’t even tell me who I was supposed to be. What story are we doing? Shouldn’t I, y’know, be getting a script, or something?”

“Dean, this is playing dress up for our kid, not dress rehearsal for an award-winning film of the year. Just—take a deep breath, relax. I’m sure you’ll be happy with who Jack wanted you to be.”

Dean isn’t convinced, but follows Sam nevertheless into the Dean Cave, where Jack had asked them all to meet after getting dressed. They were the first ones there, so Dean flops on the couch and turns on the tv. Sam almost immediately yanks the remote away and sits down next to him, flipping channels.

“What the hell? This is called the Dean Cave for a reason.”

“Yeah, well,” Sam yawns, “You owe me for the case in Iowa.”

Dean grimaces but rests again against the couch, watching Sam flip between some murder mystery show and a documentary from National Geographic during alternating commercial breaks, until he feels boredom start to kick in.

He hangs his head back on the couch, about to let his eyes slide closed when he sees the upside-down figures of Jack and Cas step through the doorway. Dean’s head jerks up then, clinging to the blue he’d gotten a flash of, and he twists in his seat to get a better look.

It was blue, alright. It was Cas, dressed in a blue button-down and a darker blue vest on top, hair mussed so that it looked like he had just gotten out of bed. Jack, beside him, wore a red hoodie and jeans.

What the hell kind of story were they about to play?

“You look great,” Jack grins. Sam turns around to look too, then, shutting off the tv. “Both of you!”

“Jack, will you finally tell us what this is about?” Cas asks, exasperated. He pulls absentmindedly at the hem of his vest.

Dean watches as Jack and Sam share a look.

“Hold on, were you two,” Dean glances between both of them, “Were you two plotting something?”

Sam shrugs, trying to hide a smile. “Plot what? The story already exists, Dean. We’re just going to…act it out.”

“What story?” Cas frowns.

Dean feels his heartbeat speed up, looking to Jack for the answer.

“The Little Mermaid!”

He lets out a shaky breath.

“Seriously?” Dean asks. Sam nudges his shoulder, chiding him.

“Yes! Cas reads me a lot of stories before I go to bed, and he told me the tale of the little mermaid. It sounded…familiar,” Jack glances at Sam again, “So I thought it’d be a good idea to see if dressing up would jog my memory.”

“Familiar,” Cas says. He stares down at Jack with confusion. “Jack, none of us here are mermaids.”

“Yeah, and who exactly did you make us dress up as?” Dean adds on. He looks around at all of them, trying to reign in his distant, foggy memory of the one time he’d gotten a glimpse of the movie.

Jack smiles and points at himself, “I’m Sebastian, because he’s my favorite.”

Dean turns his gaze Sam for help. “The crab,” Sam whispers. Dean nods like he knows what that means.

“Sam’s Ursula,” Jack continues, clearing his throat to say the next part in one quick exhale, “Dean-is-Prince-Eric, and Cas-is-Ariel.”

Dean blinks at him, mouth dry. “What?”

“I believe he said that you are the prince,” Cas responds, eyes studying the ground. “And…”

“And you’re…”

“The princess,” Sam finished for both of them.

They all look at Sam, who shrugs and stands up. “Well, time to get this show on the road! Where do you want us, Jack?”

“Now, wait a minute,” Dean holds up a hand, brain still processing, working over the implications of what Sam just said. “Just how far into this are we going?”

Sam looks down at Dean with an evil glint in his eye.

“I think we can fast forward through the beginning parts where it’s just Ariel and get to the part where she meets the prince,” Jack suggests.

“Jack–” Cas protests, but Jack’s already dragging him over to the couch and plopping him down next to Dean.

“Alright,” Jack holds his hands up, as if to set the scene. “So Ariel, you’ve just saved Dean—I mean, Prince Eric—from drowning in the ocean. Eric, you’re still unconscious on the sand.”

“Un–?”

Jack pulls out a small slip of paper for Cas to take.

“What’s this?” Cas asks.

“Your lines!”

“So there is a script!” Dean glares over at Sam, who’s crouched on the other side of the couch. “What are you hiding over there for?”

Sam peeks his head over the back of the couch. “Well, I’m not in this scene. I wasn’t there when you—I mean, Ursula isn’t there when Ariel saves Eric.”

Dean narrows his eyes at his brother, trying to ignore the way his nerves had started to bubble up for no reason.

“Jack, I can’t—” Cas starts to say, eyes skimming his lines, but Jack shushes him and goes around to the back of the couch to hide with Sam.

“Hey, we’re doing this for you, and you’re not even watching?” Dean asks, heart hammering in his chest.

“It’s a private moment!” Jack whisper-shouts. “Besides, we can hear you from here. Just play your part, Dean, and act like you’re asleep.”

Dean sighs. Sounds easy enough.

He moves so that he lays flat on the couch, fighting his own lungs to keep his breathing even. He glances at Cas once, gaging from his slightly panicked expression that Cas had reservations about doing this as well, before closing his eyes and letting Cas take the wheel on this one.

Dean hears Cas clear his throat.

“Is he…dead?” Cas asks. Dean resists the urge to open his eyes at that, smiling a little instead. This was ridiculous.

“I can’t hear his heartbeat!” Sam says from behind the couch. Dean hears Sam and Jack giggle at the tone of voice Sam had put on. Dean’s smile turns into a grin.

“No, look, he’s breathing,” Cas says in the most monotonous tone of voice that is so Cas that Dean has to force down a chuckle.

But the thought to laugh fades quickly when he feels a hand rest gently—carefully—on his face, cupping his cheek and jaw. Dean’s breathing stutters. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut, feeling the rest of Cas looming over him like a cloud.

“He’s so beautiful,” Cas continues. It still sounds to Dean like Cas is forcing the words out, but Dean can honestly barely hear them anyway over the sound of his heart beating against his rib cage.

“I would…” Cas falters. Tries again. “I would give anything to live here on earth with you, to see you smile at me. If we could stay here forever, where would we go? Just…just you and I? If I was part of your world…”

Dean opens his eyes, met with Cas’ blue ones staring down at him intently. Cas withdraws his hand and sits back on his calves, holding onto the paper Jack gave him like his life depended on it. Dean swallows hard.

The moment is broken when Sam pops his head up above the couch with a wide smile.

“Ahh…I’m Ursula!! What do you want, Ariel?”

Cas looks lost. “I don’t know…Jack didn’t give me a script for this part.”

“You’re the one that read the story to him, Cas,” Sam deadpans. “You don’t need a script.”

“But then why—”

“Hurry up, Cas!” Jack’s voice says from his spot on the floor.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Fine. Um…hello, Ursula…I’ve come to uh, ask for a favor.”

“Yes?” Sam drawls.

“I want to go on land to meet Prince Eric. Can you, by chance, bless me with bipedalism?”

Sam presses his lips together to contain a laugh, continuing when he’s got it under control, “Perhaps. But for a price!”

Cas stares, waiting for Sam to continue. When he doesn’t, Cas sighs. “What price?”

“You have a beautiful voice, Ariel. If you want to go on land, then I want to take your voice. Hand it over,” Sam outstretches his hand towards Cas who, frowning down at it, makes a motion over his throat, like he’s extracting his voice to give to Sam. Dean thinks the gesture is oddly familiar.

Sam waves his hand around like he’s doing some type of magic. By now, Dean has calmed down enough to huff out a laugh.

“There. Now you have legs. Go find your prince.”

Sam disappears back behind the couch, and Jack pops his head out next.

“Ariel! That was a bad idea! But I will help you go to land because I am your friend. Let’s go!” Jack grabs Cas’ hand over the couch and drags him to go hide with himself and Sam. A few moments later, just when Dean is about to ask what the hell he should be doing, Cas reappears back on the couch.

“Uh…hi?” Dean asks, before remembering that Cas isn’t supposed to speak. He leans over the side of the couch to where Jack and Sam are.

“What do I do now?”

Jack looks up at him. “We can just skip to the part where you guys are on your date on the boat.”

Dean stares, wondering how much trouble he would get into if he reached over and wrapped his hands around Jack’s neck for putting him through this.

“Don’t worry, Dean, you don’t have to say much, just make casual conversation, ask him his name. It’s mostly my lines, anyway.”

Dean turns back to Cas, who looks like he wants to say something more than he has ever wanted to in his life. Dean thanks Jack, at least, that it was up to Dean to lead their fake date, instead of Cas with his frankly horrible improv skills.

“So…I think we’ve met before, but I don’t know your name,” Dean starts, looking anywhere but at Cas. “Since you can’t talk…should I take a guess?”

Cas shrugs, but Dean takes it as a yes, to move the story along. Of course, he already knows what it is, but he might as well humor the kid some more while he’s already here.

“Is it…uh, is it Cassandra?”

Cas frowns at him. Dean smiles back cheekily. “How about Anna? No? Not Anna?”

“Ariel, it’s Ariel!” Jack whispers.

“Ariel?” Dean asks. Cas nods. “That’s a pretty name, Ariel.”

“This is the perfect time,” Jack starts to say, “to make a move! Eric, you should kiss her, and give her her voice back!”

Dean’s stomach sinks. He nearly tips the couch over with how quickly he looks back over the side. “Do what?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam says, “I forgot one of my lines, earlier. Uh, the only way Ariel can break the spell and get her voice back is if Eric kisses her.”

Dean grips the couch cushions so hard, his knuckles turn white.

“No way–”

“Just a kiss on the cheek, Dean,” Jack gives him puppy-dog eyes. “It’s not for real. Please?”

“Jack, you can’t ask Dean to–” Cas tries.

“Ariel, you don’t have your voice back yet,” Sam says, cutting Cas off before he can finish. Cas shuts his mouth. “Go on, Dean, it can just be a hug.”

Dean turns back to Cas. Just a hug. They’ve hugged before. This would be fine. Normal, even.

So he nods and leans forward, wrapping his arms around Cas in a hug. He feels Cas’ hands on his back, fisting the fabric of his shirt, and when Dean pulls away it’s only far enough back that he and Cas are nose to nose. His eyes flit down to Cas’ lips, and then back to Cas’ eyes. His breath hitches in his chest, heart racing—

No. 

Dean pulls away.

Sam and Jack were just inches away from them. They were pretending. It wasn’t real.

He got up, abruptly, and stormed out of the Dean Cave without a word, just about done with the shenanigans he’d had to endure for the night. When he got to his room, Dean pushed the door shut with a thud, and flopped onto the bed as if the mattress were a black hole.

A few minutes had passed—or maybe it was more than a few minutes, Dean wasn’t exactly sure—when there was a knock on his door. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. The door opened anyway.

“Leave.”

There were footsteps, and a dip on the mattress next to him. Dean turns over to see who it is. 

Cas was playing with his fingers nervously. “I’m sorry, Dean. That um,” he shakes his head a little, “that went too far.”

Cas was still wearing his stupid blue shirt and the stupid blue vest and his hair was still ruffled, and Dean was still angry. So he grabbed Cas’ hands to stop him from picking at them, and brought his other hand to Cas’ face like Cas had done to him earlier.

This time, Dean didn’t think. He leaned forward and pressed their lips together in a kiss, letting his frustration and pent up emotions show through to Cas in the only way he could think of.

When they pulled away, Cas was looking at him with what looked like confusion and worry. Dean tilted his head.

“What?” he asked.

“Was that…was that kiss real or just…part of the story?”

Dean breathes out a gentle laugh. “Both, Cas,” he says. “It was both.”

-

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[whatareyousearchingfordean]

Supernatural Series Finale

It took me a couple days to collect my thoughts on one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to watch in my life. Like I said a few days ago, I cried even harder watching it the second time around. But now that I’ve had a chance to process and also see what other people were saying, I think I can finally put into words my impression of the finale. 

Buckle up, this is a long one....

Let me preface this first off by saying that as an adamant Dean girl that has said numerous times over the years that all I’ve ever wanted was to wrap Dean in a blanket and give him some forehead kisses and tell him everything is going to be fine, this episode gutted me. I fully believe that my boy did not deserve to fight so hard for so long to just die as soon as he was free. He deserved a lifetime of truly enjoying time with his baby brother, the person he loved most in the whole world.

Now with that being said, having watched this series so many numerous times, I truly don’t believe that the show could have ended any other way. It’s something that has been pointed out by the creator, the writers, the actors, and even the characters themselves in the show. Dean never saw anything else for himself than dying doing the one thing he knows best, hunting. I saw a post that discussed how this would have happened numerous times already had Chuck not been interfering in their lives, and I wholeheartedly agree with that sentiment. 

And Dean had been raised to never think anything of that. It goes back to Cas’ declaration that he is “the most loving human he has ever met”. Dean is and always has been a man of duty. He would gladly die at the end of a blade if it meant he saved someone from the fate his family was ‘destined’ to live. He has always cared more about other people than he ever has himself. It part of the reason that his freak out in 15.17 didn’t throw me because for fuck’s sake wasn’t it his turn to be a little bit selfish for once?

Anyway, I digress. Dean has been fighting for others his whole life. And as stated in 15.19, him and Sam were free to finally write their own story. Is it not 100% on character that Dean would die a hunter’s death? As we see in the beginning of the episode, the Winchesters could have chosen to walk away from the life then. They could have chose the apple pie life, a wife and 2.5 kids. But they didn’t, they chose to continue saving people, hunting things. They were writing their own story, even if it ended tragically. But that’s life, it’s messy and depressing, but it’s also beautiful and even if Dean only got a small taste of that, I can be happy.

I know a lot of people feel like that negates their character growth throughout the seasons, but I disagree. I think that the way this ended shows just how much both of them had grown. Sam very well could have went to Jack and begged him to bring Dean back and Dean could have asked him to. But neither felt that it was necessary any longer. Without Chuck pulling the strings, that scary, neurotic, codependence they used to hold was gone. Dean was okay with dying and Sam let him go. Dean told him how much he loved him and how scared he had been to go get him at school. Dean opened up, something that season 1 Dean never would have done. Just look back at “Faith”, the episode where Dean makes every joke in the book about dying instead of facing the truth that his time was up and Sam refuses to accept it so much that his one source to save him (unwittingly) is black magic. The men I saw in 15.20 were far from the men we met in season one. 

Coming back to finally being free, I have to talk about the dammed paperwork in Dean’s room. I’ve seen the speculation about that. But that’s all it is, speculation. We have no idea what that was supposed to be about. If they had meant for us to see it, they would have shown it to use like they showed us the “Dean’s other other phone” sticker. But they didn’t. So it’s perfectly fine to speculate about it, that all a part of art interpretation, but in my opinion, even if Dean was working on ‘something else’ I don’t think he ever could have fully walked away from hunting. This ending was for all intents and purposes, inevitable. 

For all the rest, as a writer, I fully understand the way that they chose to do this episode. Sure covid played a role but the boys had said that the crux of what the episode was did not change. There is a certain nuance to storytelling, like I posted back on Thursday and something that is probably one of the most famous lines from this show. Endings are hard. Writing is hard. It’s impossible to please everyone and even harder to tie up all loose ends. At the end of the day, the writers had to be satisfied with the story that they put out, irregardless of what you or I think. As Jensen so beautifully puts it, Supernatural is a piece of art, one that has numerous hands in the pot. From writers to actors and directors. And art is always up for interpretation. But that’s the beauty in it. 

I talked to a dear friend, @waywardbeanie after the episode and was like “I want to know x.y.and z” because a part of me wanted all the answers from them. I’ve always been a person so very deeply rooted in canon (I know as a fanfic author that sounds weird but stay with me). I trust the information given to me and take it as face value. I seen my stories as an extension to canon, not trying to rewrite it. So it took me a few days, and more conversations with other fans of the show, like @winchest09 , to understand that the facts left out of the final were most likely intentional. 

This is a show that has such a passionate and loving (mostly) fandom. Together we have done so much good for the world, and that is something even if you hated the finale, you can’t take back. The writers left the ending open for us, to write our own stories, whether it’s just your thoughts or if you actually write a piece of fanfiction. There is so little about what happens after Sam leaves, presumably for Austin (don’t even get me started on the essence of that cause I might cry again), because it’s our job to decide. Did Sam quite hunting all together or was he a pseudo Bobby, manning the phones for other hunters? Did he finally go to law school or end up getting some other mundane job? Who was his wife or girlfriend or baby momma in the background? Was it Eileen? If not did she know about his life? One could drive themselves crazy answering these questions, and it’s your right to do so however it will make you happy. But at the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter to the story. 

At the end of the day, what mattered was the peace that the boys found together, in heaven. Sure Dean missed Sammy when he first got there, but he didn’t fuss, because as Bobby said “he would be along”. So Dean did what he’s always done, he took a drive in Baby, and Sam was there when he finally brought her to a stop. In the end their story ended just as it had started, our boys together. 

And I know a lot of people are angry because one of the big themes this show touched on was that family doesn’t end in blood. And I agree wholeheartedly that I would have loved more familiar faces or even the mention of them (I screamed when Donna was mentioned), but at the end of the day, something Eric Kripke has been saying since season one, this show is and always has been about the brothers and their relationship. I in no way think that this negates the family they found along the way or how they could not have done a lot of it without them but, it’s not their story. I’m sorry but it’s true. 

It’s not about Cas, Jack, Bobby, Crowley, Ellen, Jo, Mary, Eileen, etc. It’s about Sam and Dean and it sucks that people can’t let that go, but I get it. I can’t imagine putting so much time into something to let something like that ruin the whole experience for you. I hope that you can find peace eventually. I guess that’s my blessing, that I never really cared for anyone besides Dean. Which isn’t to say I didn’t like characters but what happened to them never mattered to me, as bitchy as that sounds. 

I’m at peace with this ending, no matter how much it hurts me. And I think it’s just the finality of it that hurts. Jensen and Jared and Kripke are satisfied with their little show that could and that’s what matters most to me. Because those are the real people with real feelings that I care about. 

So there you have it. I have zero tolerance for negativity, so please keep your comments off this posts. You are free to your opinion but I don’t want to see it and put any seed of doubt in my acceptance of this ending. I’ll be the first to admit I’m too easily swayed, ha!

But if you need to talk, my inbox is always open. I’m still coping with the loss of this show and everything that comes with it. I don’t do well with change or facing my own mortality, something that has rattle me these past few days. I feel a million years older and that scares me. So know your feelings are valid and I’m here. 

[tfhub]

Promise

I can't believe how beautiful my life is now. During highschool i was your everyday thug below average grades, bully, drugs addict, etc.

My life took a turn when she came to me, she was like an Angel, a Nobel women it was love at first sight. Her Love changed me for better. Soon after highschool we got married.

It's been 3 years since then and I have a decent job now, not to mention she is pregnant and I feel like the happiest man on earth.

On the day of delivery,

Near the operation theatre doctor seems to be ina hurry

" Doctor!! Is everything alright and going smoothly. "

" About that..., there seems to be complications and we are sorry to inform that we can only save one of them you must choose between your wife and child.. "

I was shocked but without thinking much "The wife... Please! Doctor save my wife!"

Moments later a loud noise followed

"NOOOOO....!! THE CHILD NOT ME THE CHILDREN!!"

It was my wife , and her words like end of the world. Tears broke from my eyes. Soon after the doctor said iam blessed with Triplets 1 Daughter and 2 Son's.

"And my wife.."

" She is still awake and want to meet you"

In operation theatre,

"Dear did I do well 3 children hahaha..."

With tears in my eyes I began to sob "Yes honey..... you did well...... very well.. .. "

"Dear.... take good care.... Ok..and promise me.. you will stay with them..."

After she finished, she left me, with a Nobel like peaceful smile on her.

Now, it's been 10 years since she died and I unable to fulfill my promise to her died last year. Now just as ghost I try to fulfill my promise to her.

Shana ( daughter ), Shun ( elder brother ) and Shaun ( younger brother ) they all live separated now because they were adopted by different families. Initially they don't want to leave eachother but,

Shana was very identical to her mother thus, was chosen to be adopted my a big family so Shun and Shaun did not put much resistance to let her go for bright future.

Soon after Shun and Shaun too were separated.

Shaun was very confident and was comfortable around stranger so I don't need to worry about him much.

But,

Shun was a nice kid infact he was way to nice to live in this world. He even helps his bully and saves him from punishment after getting bullied.

Years passed my nothing much happened They all are in college now. Shun no longer gets bullied apparently because he was the luckiest when it comes to good genes not to mention he is smart and innocent as hell. Look at him drinking coffee with his friends.

But good things don't last forever. The college scum Danny have bad interest towards Shun. He always look at him with this uneasy look. But sometimes Danny remindes me of my past self imean he is not like me but gives similar badboy Vibe not to mention he is from a very rich and powerful family so he act all high and mighty. He doesn't even care about college rules and smoke whenever he gets a chance.

Just after finishing gymnastics class in locker room,

It seemed fishy when the coach asked only Shun to stay after class with him but little did I know Danny bribed coach for this. Shun returned to the locker room it seemed deserted but when Shun was in middle of changing I heard a shout,

" Ah....!!! "

I never look when my children are changing or taking private time but I had to this time.

It was Danny , he hit Shun with a metal bat. I can't believe my eyes, was he trying to murder my son I started praying to God to save my son's life but, Danny had different intentions.

He tied Shun to a bench took off his remaining clothes and started doing some nasty stuff to him. I can't believe this if happening, Danny seems to be only preparing and waiting for him to regain consciousness.

I know what I have to do now, I have lived as a ghost for 10 years now in this time I have met other ghosts and they taught me about my current position. Unlike them I am not bound to this realm with desire but promise instead therefore i can't possess but have greater influence. I flew to Sam, Shun's roommate he is short and fat but he is a true friend of Shun. I can't use my powers unless we share same goal.

The night passed away and Sam way now worrying about Shun. He was half naked but I don't have time to worry about such things. I was a bit worried since it was my first time but continued by overlaped my presence with him and formed a symbiotic relation.

"It will be painful but endure it" I sad to him

Sam seemed flustered but moments later Sam's body now engulfed in burning pain as his body fat melted and rock hard muscles started appearing with his hight now rapidly increasing. Sam in agony rushed out of the bathroom in confusion and pain,

"Wha..t. is happening...to....me!!?"

He noted the change in his voice and was shocked to the bones.

"I know it was painful but it was necessary your old body was not adequate to save Shun"

In shock Sam turned to the mirror.

"I know you are surprised and confused but save it for later and move we must help Shun quick!"

"Wait what!? My body is moving on its own but I am still in control.. what is happening?"

"Don't worry kid, I will not be here for much longer and currently you are far better than your old self "

"Truly I have never felt this energy before but what do u mean by you will not be here for much? And...."

Interrupting in between "All you need to know is that this is the new you weather you like it or not."

Meanwhile In locker room,

Shun started to wake up" What happened... ahhh..my head wait What!!? why am I tied? what is happening here!? "

In a cocky voice " Good morning, mister Nice guy! You sure sleep like a baby. I kept pumping my self up with vitality booster all night for you."

Shun in confusion "Danny is that you. Why am I naked and whats going on.... Wait!? What are you doing AHH.....ahm......... STOP no please! Ahm...........ah....!!"

Danny while grin on his face "HAHAHAHA... l can't believe you all I did was suck you dick and God! Where were you hideing a huge 10 inch monster like this. I never thought DEFILING a pure sprit like you can be so... much fun!"

After some time Sam arrived in the locker room and in desperation looked for Shun but the search didn't end pleasant with eyes wide open he saw Shun covered in cum and Danny thrusting his dick inside.

Danny in pleasured voice "hm....I don't know who you are, anyway Look Shun we have got some company maybe they want in on the fun hahaha..... You are so popular are you not by little pure Shun... correction by Monster Dick Bitch!"

Both Sam and I looked at Shun his eyes no longer had the light to live on, we were furious and wanted to distroy Danny so bad we rushed " YOU BASTARD!!! " and punche him with all our might. A bright flash occurred .....

Moments later,

I realised I have been separated from Sam. And Sam was carrying Shun and was preparing to leave it seemed like he doesn't remember me at all. I looked around for that bastard and saw him on the floor in most miserable position But, something doesn't fell right.

After a few months,

Looking back now I totally messed up, that day the bright flash was because reality changed a lot. Let's say Sam have no recollection of his past self or me and was a total dude from beginning. Danny is trash with no talent or smarts and to top it all off now belong to a poor family with no background. But, Shun got a total upgrade, he still have his past characteristics and trait with new found confidence. Also, he was adopted to a strong and rich family in this new reality. Only down side is he is no longer our inocent Shun but who cares he is still cute.

[benevolentsam]

Corruption (Ao3) Pairing: Pre-Nancy/Ruby Rating: Gen Wordcount: 600 Warnings/Tags: 3x12, Canon Divergence Square: “Nancy Fitzgerald” for the @spnladiesbingo

The plan was ridiculous, Ruby knew. There was no way that the Winchesters could kill so many demons, not by themselves. It was a shame that Sam was so pure of heart. She had to follow along with the half-baked plan him and his idiot brother came up with. Couldn’t push him too far, not yet. So, no sacrificing the poor receptionist, no matter how willing she was.

And Nancy, bless her, was dutifully collecting an arsenal for them.

“What are you gonna do with your life?” Ruby couldn’t help but ask. Couldn’t help but watch her. Felt hungry for this sweet, sweet girl. “If we make it out alive, I mean.”

“I don’t know, really,” She said. She stopped what she was doing, gently placed the three shotguns in her arm down. “Travel maybe?”

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Travel? A tad cliché, isn’t it?”

“I don’t want to,” Nancy sighed, paused, collected her thoughts. Pretty face frowning. “The world is scary, I mean- demons? I don’t want to sit behind a desk and forget about this. I want to- I want to experience things.”

And she picked up the shotguns again, started walking them towards the main desk. Ruby couldn’t remember much about the human psyche, but she felt the same every time she was blessed by holy water. Something about danger puts life into perspective. Ruby could see those cogs turning in her brain. Nancy stopped again, hugged the guns close to her chest.

“What about you? I mean, you’re one of the good ones, right?”

Ruby shrugged. That was a matter for debate, not a debate she wanted to drag this poor girl into.

“What will you do when you get out of here?” Nancy asked.

“Tell Sam when he’s being an idiot, try and stop other demons, the usual.”

“Save people?” Nancy asked. Her eyes were bright and curious, and God this girl was so naïve. Ruby shrugged again; she didn’t have any better answer. Nancy twisted her fingers in the hem of her shirt, arms wrapped tight to hold up the guns. “Do you need, do you want someone to help you?”

And Ruby barked out a laugh. She laughed until she saw Nancy’s soft frown. Brown puppy dog eyes, and the girl wasn’t joking. Softest Nancy wanted to join a demon on her travels. Ruby paused. She lived a lonely life and having someone by her side, someone who didn’t hate her like Sam and Dean. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea.

“It’s a hard life,” Ruby said. “Always moving, always fighting. I haven’t had a break since I came topside.”

“That’s fine,” Nancy jumped in.

“And if you really want to be my apprentice, I’ll have to teach you some witchcraft,” Ruby said. “I need you to be on your toes, I don’t want you dying on me.”

“But you do want me?”

And Ruby looked her over. Attentive eyes, beautiful girl, reading and willing. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Nancy gave the brightest smile Ruby had ever seen. She was pure sunshine. Ruby had never seen an angel, but she was sure Nancy was the closest thing to one. And maybe she was perfect for Ruby, well perfect to corrupt. Wouldn’t ever know Ruby’s true intentions but. At least she was more willing than Sam was. Nancy nodded excitedly and shuffled off with her shotguns.

“We’re going,” Ruby shouted after her, “as soon as these demons are dead.”

“That’s cool!” Nancy called backwards. There was a spring in her step.

And damn, something was bubbling inside Ruby as she thought about showing Nancy the real world. It might even have been happiness. Hey, maybe Nancy would be the one to corrupt Ruby.

[cherry3point14]

To Catch A Winchester.

Pairing: Demon!Reader x Evil. Dean x Pie. Warnings: Demon!Reader likes bad things. The first scene is, like, kind of evil. Killing people and such. Also complete demon crack. Word Count: 3,056. Prompt: This post. A/N: I don’t have a good excuse for this. I made this gif and loved it so much I wanted to write something and it’s terrible. But mainly I need y’all to tell me how much you love this gif I made because I have watched it a thousand times.

Ao3 if your prefer

You’re reminded of that old show Madeline.

With lightning slicing through the night—occasionally illuminating the pews as you wandered through the church—here you are with your very own version.

Twelve little nuns lined up in a row. Slit their throats and a seal will blow!

A holy river of blood from steeple to sanctuary. A fancy way of saying bathe a church in blood, holy blood at that. It was such a delectable prospect you’d practically begged for the opportunity.

They’re tied up in the pews and you take them one by one. Each nun only goes so far. A couple killed in the tower, the belfry, a few in the lantern. The only problem is there’s one that won’t stop talking. On and on about how you could be saved, it wasn’t too late. How God still loves you. After your third trip down the stairs for your next victim, you’d gone as far as landing a punch to her ancient jaw. The way her bones had cracked under your hand was lovely.

She’d looked like she’d almost died. Beautiful, knocked the wind right out of her until she catches her breath and tells you. “You catch more flies with honey.”

Coming from a super-nun aside you like that turn of phrase. You lock it away in the back of your head for a rainy day, it’ll come in handy you think.

Then finally you take Sister Mary-won’t-shut-up to the bottom of the spire, climbing out into the humid night. It had rained but it’s stopped. The wet surface of the building, with your crimson additions, makes for a very pretty, glossy sight. Reflective even in the darkness. Really does look like an entire river when actually it’s only twelve dead nuns.

Eleven, you suppose. You’re about to kill number twelve. A flick of your wrist and she whizzes to the top while you climb, a knife between your teeth and the inky black of your eyes saying more than the mouth of your meat suit ever could.

Demons can’t be saved. God doesn’t love me. Lucifer does.

You’re straddling the cross at the top of the church, because why the hell not, while you drain her now limp body. Thunder booms and another strike of lightning reveals the outcome of your efforts. You wish you could take a fucking picture. This is what most demons are missing, some goddamn artistic vision. This church covered in holy blood was your hellish Mona Lisa.

After the seal’s break and Lucifer rises you had arrogantly assumed that evil and shadow would finally rule the Earth. Couldn’t heaven give it up and accept defeat already?

Now, it’s a whole new ballgame. The Winchesters are to be meat suits. Lucifer actually wants to wear one of them. Even Michael the dickless could do better. Although it wasn’t your place to say that, ever, unless you wanted to become a sacrifice to the demon blood cause when the time comes. Which, you didn’t. Things were more fun top side. There are only so many hundreds of years you can torture people in hell before it becomes repetitive.

You’ve fought on Earth for the cause for decades now, and you have no intention of stopping. Everyone has their part to play. Unfortunately, a big part of yours was breaking seals. You were fucking great at breaking seals because it required one of your best skills; creativity. So, you’re turning that creativity to something else. Hunting down Michael’s sword. Hell’s most wanted.

Dean Winchester.

Which leads you to Canton. Although technically you’d started in Cleveland. You’d caught wind of that stupid car they drive and followed them. Dumbasses the pair of them.

Whatever. Not the point. Nobody needs these boys for their brains, it's what's in their blood. The point is you’re in Canton now, so are they. They’re trying to stop some people dying because, disgustingly, that’s what they do with their limited time left on Earth.

See, here’s where you’re taking a slightly different approach. Most of your fellow black-eyed friends would go in swinging, throw them against a wall like all the demons who have failed to take them down before. Sometimes demons are so... so… obvious.

Not you. In all the time you’ve been up here you’ve had time to be bored. There are only so many missions and murders to commit. Even sex has grown tiresome. Humans are weak and none of them like pain as much as they claim to. Pathetic. So, you’re creative and you’re bored, and that’s how you learned patience.

It’s not enough to catch them in a moment of weakness. Those moments don’t last. They’re downward blips with quick recoveries, the Winchesters have impressive rebound rates and a knack for getting out of trouble. You need to focus on their weaknesses, those two extra letters make a huge difference.

You needed to find out what would bring them down and stay down. Or Dean at least. Figure out Dean’s vulnerability. Because Sam has some sort of loathsome bond with his big brother, enough that he’s given up on demon blood—for the time being. It won’t be enough to hurt Dean, you’ve got to split them up.

Which is how you end up in a bar, playing with the plastic cocktail stirrer between your fingers. The old fashioned the bartender made you is passable at best, no one has made you a good once since prohibition. Across the room is Dean Winchester knocking back beers like they’re going out of style.

This was going to be a time-consuming project it seems, how much could you really learn watching him like this? Clearly he’s an alcoholic but that’s not something that's helpful.

After the fourth beer, after he’s patted his empty glass at the pretty little tap whore, is when it happens. He looks up. Not at you directly, just up. His nostrils flare and you’re convinced that he’s smelt you. They may be dumb humans but they know about demons. You don’t freeze in fear for your life or anything, you didn’t want to give up this meat suit is all, she’s pretty enough to get free drinks most places.

The spell breaks when his phone rings before he has a chance to scan the room and lock eyes with you. You take a long drag of your drink, enough to empty the glass before you use the opportunity to escape. He’s turned his back to answer and you’ve seen all you need to see for now.

It’s a good thing you’re so patient or you might have fucked that up.

There’s something powerful in Nebraska. You can taste the cackle of demon in the air as soon as you arrive a few hours after Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber. The only thing you can think is, whoever it is better not waste your time. The Winchesters are officially yours and nobody will be taking them from you. Nobody else knows that and actually, you aren’t all that focused on Sam. Sam is Lucifers and you aren’t stupid enough to come between that. But, Dean?

Dean, you were looking forward to getting your hands on. The man has been to hell already and when you caught him and took him back with a bow on…? Oh, you would so enjoy breaking him. Again.

Until that blessed day, you slink around after them. Being subtle in the way you plot and scheme. So, yes, whatever demon is in Nebraska needs to stay away from your side mission that has become your sole focus.

You were project managing this bitch and you weren’t looking to delegate.

Ignoring the powerful thing in Nebraska, the town is wonderfully insane. People scratching their own brains out or that guy who ended up with square eyes from watching TV too long. Even the stuff that isn’t life-threatening is so fun that you have to respect the game.

You had no idea that the thing you could feel was him. The antichrist. You were an idiot.

The demon trying to get him goes in guns blazing, obviously, and the kid destroys him. Absolutely casts him out. Not just out of that meat suit of a mother, out of existence. And you’re watching the whole thing from across the street like a creep. You’re about to go in because you need that kid. Lucifer needs that kid. More than you need Dean. Enough to blow your cover but before you can, he’s gone.

The power disappears from Nebraska like it’s been sucked off the face of the planet. As much as it is a shame you can't say you're upset. Now you get to carry on your game.

The hotel is the sort of place you’d love to burn to the ground. It would look fantastic lit up in yellow and orange.

When you first step foot in the place nothing makes sense. Not the hundred wannabe Winchesters or the fact that there are humans walking around pretending to be demons. You don’t like being confused. You were supposed to be getting somewhere and now it’s like being back at square one.

After your initial shock, you actually want to test this out so you sit there in your pretty new meat suit and flick your eyes onyx. Some idiot next to you has the audacity to lean over and compliment your Ruby costume.

As if you would be caught dead calling yourself Ruby. Your fingers itch to snap his neck for the fun of it and you almost do. You only resist because you picked up your new skin a few days ago and there isn’t anyone that you can see who would be a suitable replacement.

Everyone piles into the conference room for some sort of announcement, eventually, leaving you in the hotel bar to figure things out.

There are books. How did no-one in hell talk about this? Everyone is obsessed with finding those boys and nobody thought to do the research. That’s the problem with demons these days, new evil, it’s all so rushed. Sometimes a lighter touch is required.

You steal copies from a stand while everyone is cheering about something in the other room. This follow the Winchesters crap is making you soft because that act of defiance alone makes your meat suit tingle. You should be concerned about that. Except only doing a light skim of the pages, you have a veritable bullet-pointed list of ways to make Dean Winchester cry. So, you’re still getting somewhere.

Hours later you’re in the car you stole along with this body and you see a word in the books, so innocuous that it shouldn’t stand out to you. Pie.

You remember that nun then, must have been more than a year ago. You remember that sentence you tucked away for a rainy day. Maybe you’re weakened by remembering how good it felt to break a seal that night. Maybe that memory makes you weak for the words she’d said after you felt her jaw crack.

You catch more flies with honey.

Most humans would call it a beautiful Sunday morning. Sweet Lucifer, crap like that made you sick.

It’s the perfect cover though. Nothing bad happens on Sunday mornings.

They’ve been staying in this bumfuck nowhere town outside of Phoenix because they escaped from a mental hospital or something. The ‘or something’ is probably pretty relevant but you don't care, not really, not unless it helps you.

If their guards are down, sure, it’ll help you out, if not, that was fine too. You’ve got the perfect plan anyway.

You watch Dean leave the motel they’re in looking, surly? Doesn’t matter, the fact is he’s alone. His face is explained when he stops in a diner to get coffee. He's tired. You’d been following him on foot till now because it’s easier to keep you distance walking around town, he won’t be in town much longer though.

You’ve been setting this up for days, weeks actually, but in this town; days. The plan has been in motion for a while you'd only been waiting for them to settle down for a few and finally, they did.

The woman behind the counter of the diner is named Glenda. Glenda is the sweetest little old lady this side of creation. Or at least that’s what you’d told her the last time you went in. You’ve been speaking to her every day, laying the foundation, taking the time to become her friend. It would be exhausting if you ever got exhausted.

Glenda has been telling anyone in a 30-mile radius about the pie truck that’s pulled up on the old Applewood farm, run by a ‘sweet young thing’. You run the best traveling bakery in the country, your mama taught you everything you know. You’ve been supplying the diner all week.

And now she’s telling Dean.

“Oh yes,” you can see Glenda nodding enthusiastically through the large windows. “All the pie we’ve had all week came from that truck. Apparently, she has a big setup for today and then she’s moving on.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up.

Perfect.

You jump into the car you’re using this week and wait the three minutes it takes for him to come sauntering out like the cat that got the damn cream. This idiot thinks he’s getting pie. Well, there is pie. You couldn’t lure him without having the pie. There’s also a trap is all.

It’s nice to follow Dean out to the farm, it’s nice because you know it’ll be the last time you have to follow his stupid car. After today you were cashing out.

Hayley is standing at the pie stand. You couldn’t be there obviously. Dean wouldn’t want a side of sulfur with his cherry pie. Hayley is a local you hired when you came into town. She’s more than happy to do everything for you, for the amount you’re paying her. You blame this whole 'catching with honey' schtick because you’re actually paying her too. You’d need to kill a whole mess of children after this to get the nice off of you.

Or breaking Dean might get you back to your brilliant, evil self.

He pulls up and his crapmobile bounces on its suspension with the same excitement he jumps out of the car with. Yes, you would enjoy making him pay for the months you’ve spent on this project.

Dean is so pleased as fucking punch to get a pie he doesn’t even notice your car crawling along the dirt path and parking some ways behind him.

The key here is the sign that says Try Our Award Winning Cherry Pie. It is award-winning. The bakery the pie actually came from won a gold star or some shit. You didn’t pay attention to the ins and outs, only that the pie looked perfect. That’s what you need, him to want that pie.

He does. The son of a bitch sees it and he grins. Points at the sign. He’s practically giddy.

Hayley nods to the second table, there’s only one left. You hadn’t planned that part. She must have had some customers already this morning. Glenda and her big mouth.

He takes a step towards it and you get out of your car. Another step and you start walking. A third and you pick up your pace.

He takes that last step, plants one foot in front of the table, and reaches out for the pie. Unlucky for him you’re sprinting to catch up and with a flick of your wrist, the table jumps back. The pie is in his hands so that’s fine, that’s safe, but now there’s a little space in front of him. Everything happens quickly. His second foot tries to catch up with his first except there’s no floor beneath him. The cloth mat the table had been sitting on falls away, supported by nothing.

You can’t help the laugh that comes out of you when he growls, “what the fuck?” before disappearing.

Hayley screams, whether at the table moving or the trap her customer falls into, it’s delightful. Fuck you missed hearing someone scream. Bloodcurdling and scared, it's a whole meal for your ears.

“Run home Hayley. Tell anyone about this and I’ll find you and kill you. ‘Kay?” She nods, tears starting to roll over her cheeks. She runs, as fast as she can, in such a hurry to leave she forgets her bike. If you remember later you’ll kill her anyway because damn is it nice to be back.

You have a Winchester to deal with first though.

The hole is 15 foot. You figured that would be enough to capture the 6-foot ape without him getting away.

You stand at the edge of the hole and look down. You almost laugh at the sight. Dean is standing in the bottom of this pit, the mat beneath his feet and the pie still in his hands. He's scuffed a little but the pie is perfectly intact. Damn, if you had a heart you'd say he deserves the pie.

You don't laugh though. It's time to put on your game face which means hands on your thighs as you lean over and stare down at him all-black eyes and satisfied smiles.

"Hi, Dean. A little birdie told me you like pie and I had the most, delicious, idea. Whatdy'a think?"

He looks equal parts stoic and mad, which is adorable. "Since when did you bitches get into baking?"

"What else are we gonna use all that fire and brimstone for?"

"Alright. What's the big plan then?"

His eyes don't leave yours, his hands still holding the pie as if it will save him. Somehow what you're about to do feels as wicked as painting that church.

You wave your hand and he slams into the dirt wall of his captivity. The pie falls to the floor, top first, his boot lands smashes into it.

"We're going on a road trip. Don't worry you won't need that where you're going."

By 'that' you mean the pie and by 'where' you mean the trunk of your stolen car.

Once this was all over you were going to teach fucking seminars on catching Winchesters. Because nobody does it better. 

5eva tags: @divadinag​ @darthdeziewok​ @fluentinfiction​ @witch-of-letters​ @supernatural-teamfreewill-blog​ @magnitude101999​ @alexwinchester23​​ @jesseswartzwelder​​ Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles​​ @akshi8278​​ @erins-culinary-service​​ @bloodydaydreamer​​ @iamabeautifulperson18​​

[inkedsoldier]

AMOR VINCIT OMNIA - Chapter One

A/N: Here it is – the official chapter one of the Sam Drake x reader series. I’m still not sure how the planning will look like from next week on, but I will keep you guys updated on the upcoming parts. I’m ready to start writing chapter two. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Y/N = Your name.

Characters: Sam Drake, Nathan Drake, Rafe Adler, Y/N. 

Warnings: angst.

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

Masterlist

Chapter One 

If Tomorrow Never Comes

 Panama City, August 2000

Only a few days ago you were listening to a professor during a lecture about the Middle Ages, and now you are here, in Panama, together with Nate, Sam and Rafe. You smiled, greeting your three best friends, “Hey there, sailors! Ready for a thrilling adventure?” Rafe called you a few days earlier to share the news about him finding a way to get into the old fort where one of Avery’s mates was imprisoned. He managed to bribe one of the wardens from the Panamanian jail to get him and the Drake brothers inside the building, to look for the lost treasure of the Gunsway heist, which was estimated to be worth a total of four hundred million dollars. They needed you to follow their tracks outside the prison and plan the escape after the job was done.

Mid-August in Panama City was a month of subtropical heat waves and shockingly humid afternoons. The hot air rained down on you like a breath of hell. And you could feel the sweat trickling down the necks and backs of the men hugging you one at a time. You missed them so much while in Europe, especially Sam. From the moment you met him you two had a special bond. Innocent flirting turned into a sweet romance only around a year ago. You were one year younger than Nathan, who was like a brother to you. And Rafe, he was the adventurous rich kid that got everything handed to him on a silver platter. Shy and uncomfortable back when you were kids, but so different now with just a tiny bit of softness remaining. 

After a loving welcome you decide to drive to the apartment Rafe had rented for during the Avery job. Nathan jumped behind the wheel, Rafe called shotgun, and you and Sam where sitting in the back. You smiled and held onto him until you arrived at the apartment. You made Sam a better person, and enchanted him with your laugh, intelligence and kind spirit. From the sun-baked dryness of outside, the air conditioning of the apartment was a blessing to the skin. The exterior was that of an abandoned building, but the inside was calm, almost perfect. It was welcoming from the light blue door to the wide hallway. The floor was old-fashioned parquet with a blend of browns and the walls were the greens of summer gardens meeting small art pieces. It soothed the soul and was tastefully furnished, with attention to details. The living room consists of a huge sofa covered with soft pillows, a television, a small library and well-equipped kitchen plus dining area. Behind the screen in the living there was a small hallway connecting three spacious bedrooms, a toilet and a bathroom with tub, second toilet and shower. There also was a small balcony overlooking the city square. From the apartment it was easy to walk to the small shops, restaurants and historical sites that the city had to offer.

“So, what do you say we get some preparation done?” Rafe said after you three settled in and got a bite to eat. You nodded and led the way to the huge dining table were the equipment and plans are spread out. You each went over the steps you had to undertake to find the treasure at the old fort, only accessible from within the Panamanian prison. 

Time flew by and when you were done you and Sam decided to take a stroll around the neighbourhood, while Nathan and Rafe were going to grab some beers in the café a few blocks further. “How is Europe treating you, sweetheart?” he asked while you slowly walked towards one of the old bookshops. “It is amazing, Sam. It really is! You should come with me after the job is done. Let’s take some time off and explore Rome, Berlin and Amsterdam,” you said while looking at him before stopping in front of the window of the small shop. A few months ago, you decided to take up some courses again in history and this summer program you attended in Oxford was one of the best. You had saved some money for tuition, travel and your stay just outside the British city. He grinned and placed a soft kiss on your lips. “That sounds like a great idea.” Your gaze slid to his lips and you let out a tiny gasp before wrapping your arms around his neck, tickling his ear with your breath. His lips softly graze your neck releasing the bubbles in your stomach. It may sound cliché, but every touch made you fall deeper in love with the charming treasure hunter. “Let’s go back, Sammy. I want to show you something,” you smirked at him while grabbing his arm and picking up the pace. A cocky smile appeared on his face, because he knew what you were talking about - he saw it when you emptied your bags earlier this afternoon.

The next morning

Upon waking, Sam burrowed himself into your warm body and the soft sheets. The light of the morning sun trickled through the curtains. He had missed you next to him. A few months back you told him about your dream to finally finish a degree in history, and he supported you no matter what - but having to miss you for weeks didn’t do him well. And now he had to miss you again for a few days, because he had to spend some time in a rotten Panamanian jail with Nathan and Rafe to find the pirates’ treasure. The thoughts trundled through his brain like a train, with no intention of stopping. But knowing you were here with him now made him whisper those three little words he didn’t say enough, “I love you.” Still sound asleep your chest rose and fell in rhythm, not hearing the soft whispers from the love of your life. Unfortunately, it was the last time you had the chance of ever hearing them again. Lurking in the distance is the day that will remind you that tomorrow never comes.

Two days later

“Sam – no. No, you hold on! C’mon, reach! No!” Nate yelled while bullets hit Sam in the back. With shock in his eyes he started to cough up blood before going limp and falling through the roof. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Everything went according to plan, except for Rafe stabbing that greedy bastard Vargas. He had to help Sam, what if he was still down there? He couldn’t be gone. Rafe tried to pull Nate with him, but he was frozen in place. “Sam… Oh God no, no. Shit,” he said, before coming back to reality and reluctantly running after Rafe towards the lighthouse, where you were waiting for them to come back.

You barely closed an eye since they left for the prison, and now you were even more on edge when you heard the gunfire in the distance. The thoughts and images wrecked your mind while you started the engine of the small boat you picked up a few hours ago. You loaded your gun just in case and checked the area for anything that should not be there. A few minutes later Rafe came flying off the cliff followed by Nate. You reached down and looked back up waiting for Sam to jump. Why wasn’t he here yet? “Where is Sam?” you asked the guys with panic in your voice. Rafe said something behind you, but you couldn’t make out what. The panic took over your body when you finally heard the words coming out of his mouth. “He is not coming. We need to go. Now!” You started to shake violently when Nate wrapped you in his arms. What the hell happened? Why was Sam not coming? All these questions in your head were answered when you heard the sobs coming from the younger Drake. “He is dead, Y/N. He is gone.” You fell on your knees, while Rafe took the wheel, leaving all the commotion coming from the top of the cliff.  Tears started to fall on your cheeks, knowing you just lost your other half, your soulmate, your Sam.

[castielscarma]

Ahh, Spn on main. First, of all, it's such an honor that we clowns will be in this last episode. Thank you, Dabb! xD I just wanna say thank you to everyone I met through Spn. Honestly, I'm not that big of a fandom person (I don't like stan culture at all, people purposely misinterpret text, ship wars, and not to mention the shifting goalpost of what canon, text and subtext is.) But the friends I've gained through Spn has been worth it all. I've laughed with you, written some great (and not so great xD) meta with you, specced and theorized. I've joined several sm's (I'll take you back, Twitter! lol), joined discord and writing contests. I've joined a server that deals with alchemy and hermetic, been blocked by Kelios, beta'd a ton of writing and had convos with the writers of Spn. I just wanna say thank you to everyone I met through Spn. Honestly, I'm not that big of a fandom person (I don't like stan culture at all, people purposely misinterpret the text, ship wars, and not to mention the shifting goalpost of what canon and subtext is.) But the friends I've gained through Spn has been worth it all. What a ride this has been. I know that Spn is important to all of us. Some of you have been here from the very beginning and a decade and a half later you're still going strong. Some were there, burned out and came back. Some joined a year ago. Whatever the circumstances, this amazing story about two brothers hunting ghosts and vampires and monsters appealed to us. Not just because it was paranormal and Supernatural, but because it was *normal*. Stories about fighting, never giving up, always having someone to have your back especially when the circumstances have been less than ideal resonate with a lot of people. Issues of self-worth, to constantly question yourself, how parents fuck up their children by taxing them with their *own* issues, always fighting for others but not yourself, escaping your problems, not feeling that you belong, having to hide who you truly are, feeling that you're not loved and worthy or belong, we all have felt that. Aren't we all Dean, or Sam or Cas or Jack? This show has been about monsters on the surface but peel that back and it's a rich, deep, and complex saga about finding self-worth, love. It's about introspection, about, digging deep and getting dirty, dying over and over until you go and find your truth, who you really are and shout it out into the world. No wonder so many of us saw that budding spark of what was to be the epic love story between Dean and Cas. Dean who his whole life has struggled with being good with who he is, feeling accepted and worthy of love, who has put a shield around his heart to  keep him save yet yearns to belong and be loved. Sam who was protected by Dean's love, but still grew up under his father's shadow, who had his relationship with Dean spoiled due to John's toxic masculinity and repressed a lot. Cas who never belonged, always had a crack in his chassis, was reprogrammed over and over again and came to despise his own kind, yet always had too much heart. And in a spiral that seemed never ending, with distrust, betrayal, monsters, death and Apocalypses over and over again, this remains a story about hope, love and faith. Because Castiel did fall after rescuing a human from Hell. And Dean truly was saved when an angel gripped him tight and raised him from Perdition. And in this ouroboros of a story, with two characters that created sparks as soon as they met, something was born. We saw what was there (that something was there), even before the actors and writers were aware of it. And from then on, this thing called Destiel grew a life of its own. In this weird and collective creative process that this fandom and its writers became things percolated and simmered until a new collective thing was born. We who read those small parts, (that honestly was just small nods in the beginning) that grew into subtext and now into text, what validation this is. We can read this later text that clearly signals intent, a conscious work of the writers. One carefully crafted over the seasons were actions, words and plot lines tell the greatest love story ever told. And we've all been gaslit, and shouted upon and shunned for reading what is there, mocked and belittled and yet here we are. Destiel is canon. Acknowledging subtext is a thing and reading (and finding) queer narratives is not some magic thing you find in a spellbook, it's real and valid (and very intentional). And what a blessing these writers are (mirroring the entirety of season 14 and 15 with them as the villains) who tried to fight the characters but unlike Chuck they let them go. They allowed Dean and Cas to fight for their own path, their own free will within and outside the narrative. And they saw that it was good. What other show, what other writers would actually go there and acknowledge the creative power of the collective, trust that, trust the characters and fans and the story and just go with it? Only Supernatural. And in this story that is ending tonight, through love, family, faith, and friends, through connections, Dean and Cas have grown so much. Faced their Shadows, reached self-actualization, spoken their highest truth (Dean, love, we're waiting for you). That is what Supernatural is about. Fighting, never giving up, working on your inner work, shedding that skin, facing your darkness and coming out (in some cases literally) whole, alive and with the sun shining on your face. Hope, Love, Faith, that is what Team Free Will are. And with hope, faith and love I hope that Supernatural will be everything you want it to be tonight, To all my friends, you mean the world to me. I love you. Nothing truly ends. <3

[mattzerella-sticks]

Kick Ball Change (a Destiel fic inspired by 15x10 “The Heroes’ Journey”)

Dean has the Bunker to himself at a time after he and Sam regain their supernatural abilities. With nothing needing his attention, he decides taking time for himself wouldn't hurt. But the usual fare leaves him bored and tired.

So he tries something new. Something he wanted to try, but wasn't sure he would be good at. Dean starts off strong, but doing it on your own can only be so fun. Get you so far. Luckily a partner happens by and truly allows Dean to enjoy a part of himself he knew was there, but didn't want to share.

           He leans forward, studying the laptop screen intently. Frowning, eyes flicking left and right while counting along with the instructor. His finger clicks on the trackpad and then pulls back. Restarts the video for the umpteenth time. When Dean feels confident, he pauses the video at the two-minute mark.

           Distancing himself from the table, Dean’s stare dips down towards his feet. Watches them repeat the steps. Slowly, like if he were walking on a wintry lake where the ice thinly covered the surface. Imagines the clicks with each soft tap of his heel or a scratchy swoosh when he dragged his toes across the floor.

           Through repetition, his skill improves. Instead of the jerky movements from which he began Dean moves with a touch of grace. Soon, he tears his gaze away and trusts that his feet will lead him through the routine without having to watch. Panting, beads of sweat dripping through his hairline, Dean dances the mini-routine at least ten more times. Then he stops and slumps over to the laptop again.

           Two minutes. Out of thirty.

           “Son of a…” he runs a tired hand through his hair, ignoring the aches in his joints and hits play.

           There was only so much time he had anyway.

           “I’m heading out.”

           Dean glanced up from a magazine, Sam standing a few feet away with his duffel packed. “Where you going?”

           “Jody’s,” he said, walking to the stairs, “she called about issues with a wolf pack and wanted some help. By the time her, Donna, and Claire make it there they’ve picked up and moved on.”

           Nodding, he marked his page and stood. “Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll be ready –“

           “Actually,” Sam coughed, blushing, “I was planning on driving over there alone.”

           Stunned, Dean allowed a beat to pass before asking. “Oh?” brow raised, “You sick of me already? Alaska to Kansas too long being stuck in a car with your brother.” It’s only been a day since they returned, but it’s all the difference. Dean and Sam felt more like themselves after their luck returned. Being average was an interesting experience, one Dean never wanted to go through again. He would go mad if it became his reality. “Because I’ll tell you,” he continued, “it wasn’t me stinking up the cabin with those Gas-n-Sip burrito farts.”

           Sam’s lips pursed and then thinned. “No,” he said, “you were too busy puking into a plastic bag after eating Bess’s grilled cheeses… again.”

           Dean shrugged, neck heating up at the memory. “What? They were good.”

           “You were lactose intolerant!”

           “I call bullshit on that,” he argued, “Cavities, I get. Skills getting rusty, sure. But me gushing chunks after so much as a cheese stick? No – that makes no sense. Chuck was just being a dick with that one… keeping me from cheese.” Dean huffed, crossing his arms, “At least that’s not the case anymore, right? Me and cheese are friends again.” Sam’s bitchiness intensified. “Anyway… why’re you leaving me behind?”

           As if Dean stabbed a pin into his balloon, Sam’s irritation deflated into a shyness. His shoe scuffed against the floor. “Well… I wasn’t the first person Jody called.”

           “Right, you mentioned Donna –“

           “Because, well… because Eileen is still en route.”

           The clouds parted. Light streams through and brightened Dean’s face, his grin stretching wide until his cheeks hurt. “Oh,” he said, “that’s why –“

           “Dean…”

           “You don’t want me crashing your little date,” he chuckled, delighting in Sam’s scowl. “What? Afraid I’d embarrass you in front of her… like she didn’t see enough when she was haunting our home like Casper.”

           “Dean –“

           “You already kissed her Sam, and she’s still kicking,” Dean said, slapping the magazine across his knee. Aware of how close Sam was to having a meltdown, he pumped the brakes. “Go. Have fun with your girlfriend hunting weres,” he sighed, “I’ll watch the fort… alone… with nothing but my hand for company.”

           Sam huffed, a smile threatening the dark corners of his lips. “You can always call Cas.”

           “He’s busy,” Dean told him, mirth draining from his voice. “On his way back from Heaven he found a case in Southern California.” He wrung the magazine in his hands, wrinkling the pages. “You’ll probably be back before him.”

           After exchanging quick goodbyes, Sam left. Seconds passed after the front door’s heavy slam, Dean wasting no time to sneak away towards the kitchen. Using his first night to revel in all the shameful acts Sam would cast a judgmental stare at. Like piling meats and cheeses – no vegetables – onto toasted bread. Paired with as many different fries he could find in the freezer and empty onto the baking tray. Enjoyed his meal alongside a very adult film, one Sam would make him watch hidden in his room. Where the grunts and moans were contained. They echoed in the War Room, mixed with Dean’s own laughter.

           Except porn can only be so interesting.

           He lost interest rather quickly without someone being there, around to possibly walk in. Catch him in the act and then admonish him. Loneliness softened the edges of thrilling danger. By the fifth movie, Dean tied his robe shut and waddled off towards the showers to clean up.

           All throughout the shower, Dean wondered what he should do next. Pranking Sam felt too pointless, knowing his brother would return with a goofy smile and good mood that would be difficult to ruin. If he wanted any chance his energies were better saved coming up with over-invasive questions to pester him with.

           Outside the washroom, Dean turned and wondered about the shooting range. The idea fit like an old shirt. Familiar, but ineffective. Dean outgrowing the need to blast bullet holes in his problems. Especially boredom.

           He kept thinking while in the shower, lathering his body on autopilot. Not realizing he finished until he saw his reflection. Towel wrapped around his hair, eyes tinged red from where shampoo must have fallen in, and a piece of floss hanging from his mouth.

           “I want you to promise me you’ll floss from now on,” Garth said, shoving the plastic cartridge into his hand.

           Lips pursed, he tried handing it back. “If Alaska’s what you promised, I doubt I’ll need to worry about my teeth again.”

           Garth fought, forcing his fingers around it with the supernatural strength he reminded Dean at every chance during this encounter. The pressure around his wrist sent sparks firing up his spine like fireworks. “It don’t matter,” he growled. “Luck is temporary. Good teeth are forever.”

           His gums tingled with minty freshness, but it wasn’t too horrible. Better than the cavities, or the process it went to fill them.

           “But that laughing gas…”

           He propped himself up on the sink, remembering the insane choreography his mind dreamed up during that affected state. Inspired by some Ginger Rodgers-flick he must’ve caught late at night when he couldn’t sleep. And after flipping through channels, stumbling upon her spinning in Fred Astaire’s arms and marveling at the ease with which they both glided through the number made the late hours pass in a blink until Sam knocked on his door, inviting him for breakfast.

           It looked supernatural, but Fred and Ginger weren’t blessed like Sam and Dean. Their talent came from hard work, and not a boost from God.

           “But anyone can be a good dancer,” he mumbled, “I bet, with time, I could…”

           Resolved, Dean tore the floss from his mouth and hurried to get changed. A simple hoodie and sweats, easy to move in. Hurried to his laptop left in the war room, frozen in ecstasy, and began the search.

           The first few websites he tried were articles. They detailed what Dean needed to start and the different types of dancing he could try. A few looked rather impossible for a beginner like him, and others required two participants. An hour in, he found one written by a former tap dancer detailing the history of the style and their experience in the last twenty years. He sat, captivated, learning how it was more than just simple clickity-clacking. How tap mixed together a variety of cultural styles and grew in popularity. Transitioning from minstrel shows to vaudeville acts and jazz. Booming from the late Eighteen hundreds into its height of the twenties and thirties, slowly falling out of the spotlight after that.

           “Each class I took I felt a little bit happier with myself,” the author wrote, “I didn’t really have much to be proud of… some days it was like I passed through the day. Existing, but doing nothing with my life. Watching myself dance in the mirror and complete a complicated routine and thinking ‘I did that’ it… it gave me the energy to make it into the next day.”

           At the bottom of the article, a few links auto-populated to tap dancing videos. Dean clicked on the first and spiraled.

           He’s hungry, skipping lunch and dinner to dance. It’s probably nighttime, except Dean won’t check his phone. All Dean knows is that there is a minute left of the video, his ankles hurt, and he has only a few more steps to go until putting it all together.

           “Okay,” he says, dragging the button to the very start, “let’s give this a try.”

           Dean waits for the music to play, nerves twisting together and strangling his heart. He ignores them in favor of focusing on the instructor counting him in. His foot slides to the side and lightly taps the floor. Gentle smack mixing with the jazzy piano and clack from the professional tap shoes. Repeats the process with the other foot.

           And then he’s dancing.

           It’s not the greatest, Dean stumbling a few times. But he powers through. Does as he read and keeps moving onto the next step.

           Halfway through he finds the pain in the lower half of his body overpowered by the ache in his face from smiling too wide, for too long. Exhaustion fades as Dean allows the joy of dance to flood in. Stops thinking and blacks out, coming to when the video ends.

           Silent save for the singular clapping from nearby.

           Dean whirls around, startled. He trips over himself, snapping the laptop closed. Fire crawls up his shirt and tints his neck, Dean glad the hood hides most of it.

           Castiel arches a brow at the display, hands paused on the downswing in a mock prayer. “That was wonderful Dean,” he says, “I didn’t know you could dance.”

           Tongue heavy, he tries his best. “I don’t. I mean… not really. Not professionally and, usually, not at all. But I… I had the time, and I thought I could do it. Figured, while I was on my own, I’d see if I could do it.” Dean folds his arms over his chest, huffing a deep breath. Painfully aware of the sweat stains soaking his fists while they hide in his armpits. “Just started doing it a couple of minutes ago actually.”

           “Really?”

           “Yeah.”

           He hums, drifting closer. Castiel drags his fingers across the map until he reaches the laptop. Hand hovering over Dean’s, almost touching it. Radiating heat and electricity that leaves him jumpy and frozen to the ground.

           “You’re really talented,” he says, “and you never did this before?” Dean shakes his head, too afraid his voice would break if he were to use it. “Amazing… do you think –“ Castiel chuckles, gaze darting to the side and away from Dean. “Do you think I could join you?”

           “You… what?”

           “I might not be any good,” he continues, “but you were enjoying yourself, and I could…”

           His expression shifts, crinkles of delight smoothing around his eyes into a somber reflection. Dean frowns, “Hey. You could what?”

           “I could…” He breathes deeply, “I could use the distraction. Things haven’t been going my way the past couple of days…”

           “The hunt?”

           Castiel draws into himself, Dean following until his fingers hit the edge of the laptop. “I wasn’t all that needed,” he says, “When I got there, it was in time to group up with another pair of hunters who already taken down the shifter in its nest. Barely spent an hour in town…”

           “Well,” he shrugs, “at least the monster was taken care of.”

           “Still,” Castiel wryly smirks, “I can’t help the selfish feeling of wanting to be the one to solve the case. To come back home with some sort of accomplishment under my belt.”

           Dean understands where his angel’s mind is. Replays their last conversation, where Castiel told Dean that none of the angels left in Heaven had an inkling of where Chuck might have gone. If he hung around their plane of existence or moseyed on to greener pastures. How disappointed he felt. “Another failure –“

           “Don’t say that,” he mumbled, turning away from Sam so the other man couldn’t hear him. Wouldn’t if he kept his head buried in his book. “You got the Leviathan blossom, remember?”

           “And look how well that went.”

           There wasn’t any other option. So, when he opens the laptop and clicks on the next video, he guides Castiel to where he stood when practicing. “Let me know when you want me to pause it,” he says, “and don’t be afraid to ask me to play it back if you need to. Oh,” he tugs on the trench coat’s lapels, “You might want to lighten your wardrobe. Probably be more difficult dancing with all this on.”

           Castiel nods, slipping free from his armor. Allows Dean to hang both coat and suit jacket on a nearby chair, tossing his tie after unwrapping it. He finishes rolling up his sleeves when the first video begins. “Thank you, Dean.”

           “It’s literally nothing Cas. Now pay attention, it’s… dammit, she already started. Hold on let me go back.”

           Dean tries his best. But dancing becomes increasingly difficult with the addition to his class. Every so often Castiel’s elbow knocks into his and the entire routine falls apart. Lucky that he didn’t own tap shoes to start with, so mistakes went unnoticed. Castiel’s heavy brow furrowed while he pieces together the steps.

           “I think I’m getting the hang of it,” Castiel says, foot flapping on the floor like a dying fish. Laughing, hopping between left and right. “I like this.”

           Dean giggles alongside him, dizzy from either the lack of food or air. His friend stealing all of it from his lungs. “Yeah. Dancing’s fun.”

           “Why don’t we do this more often.”

           “Well, uh…” Dean scratches his chin, “I mean, men aren’t… men don’t dance, all that much. At least we’re not supposed to.”

           “Who said?”

           “…Society?”

           Castiel nods. He pauses the video, never breaking his stare with Dean. “I see… that’s why you were doing this when neither Sam nor I were here, then?” Dean shrugs his answer. “Society’s rules are stupid,” Castiel continues, smiling, “and you’re a lovely dancer. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it.”

           “I’m not,” he rushes to defend. Wincing when Castiel’s brow arches at him. “I wouldn’t be… if I knew I was good. I hadn’t done all that much dancing before now.”

           “And after?”

           “After what?”

           “After today,” Castiel asks, “Will you continue dancing?”

           His face burns hotter. “I don’t know,” Dean says. Pouts and hides his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “It’s fun, but at my age… all this is kind of a killer on the body. I might not be able to kick for about a month.”

           He hums again. “Well,” Castiel turns to the video, “what you chose to do can be… intense. Are there any other styles of dance you’re interested in exploring?”

           Dean didn’t think he would agree so readily. And after explaining how it would work, figured Castiel would respectfully decline. Instead he asked Dean what song would best fit the style. Hung close while Dean typed into the search bar, hip pressed tight to his shoulder. Devil nowhere in sight because the presence of his angel shone too bright.

           “So,” he says, soft music playing in the background, “we kind of… leave our hands like this.” Dean places one of Castiel’s on his shoulder, the other floating for a long beat until, taking too long, Castiel twines their fingers together. “What –“

           “I’ve seen some people do this,” Castiel says, “Is that not right?”

           “No, no you’re right. It’s just…” Very intimate. A loaded gesture. Not an act he ever would have pictured escaping his dreams and becoming reality. People like Garth and Bess could enjoy it… Sam and Eileen if they worked through their issues… but him and Cas? “It’s fine,” he says, “really.”

           “You’re sure –“

           “Dammit Cas, shut up and sway.” Dean ends their conversation, coaxing the other man into a rhythm so he wouldn’t have to talk any longer. Calmed when he joins and relinquishes the fight. He dives headfirst into the gentle waves of guitar strings. A soothing country melody the soundtrack to their first dance.

           Dean peeks at Castiel’s profile and tamps down the awed sigh exploding in his chest. Only a glimpse needed to see the whole picture. Fills in the blank canvas with an unviable future. Maybe Dean wears something fancier than the hoodie with holes in random places from countless moth bites. A sleek black tuxedo tailored to show every curve and angle. Or pure white, so radiant and shining he personifies Heaven. Shiny wingtips that would capture the reflection of the happiest day his life could produce.

           All the fancy window dressing for him wouldn’t fit Castiel. He would wear his armor like always, Dean holding tight to the trench coat as they circled the floor. Dean stares at it where it rests now. Hides his smile in Castiel’s shoulder, giving nothing away.

           “Dean?”

           Humming, Dean squeezes and grips Castiel’s shirt tight in his fist. “Yeah?”

           “I don’t think this is appropriate…” Wings clipped, Dean hurdles to Earth. His feet stumble over each other in his rush to stop, and suddenly his angel’s touch turns cloying. Before he can say anything, though, Castiel continues. “Aren’t we supposed to go fast when the music picks up?”

           “What?”

           “The song’s over,” Castiel says, lips quirking at the ends. Dean tunes into his surroundings to find the music changed to a mid-tempo rock song that, while not too speedy, definitely put their earlier moves out of place. He blushes, stepping away from Castiel. “Wait,” he says, closing in around Dean’s wrist. Keeping him close. “are we done dancing?”

           Hope glitters in Castiel’s eyes, blinding Dean from escape. “No,” Dean tells him, “We can still dance.”

           “How does one dance to a song like this?”

           “…Watch.”

           Dean spins on his heel, startling Castiel. Wastes no time in shedding the sludge of his overreaction, shaking it off with each wild bounce of his limbs. Hops from left to right, grinning like he was sixteen again. Slammed between punks in the middle of a crowded room while a band blasted his eardrums deaf.

           “What are you doing?” Castiel asks, laughing.

           Dean bounds close and snags Castiel’s hand, dragging him forward. “I’m dancing!”

           “This is dancing?”

           “Yeah!” He won’t release him until the other man joins him. Holding Castiel hostage, demanding a ransom of stupidity and silliness. His angel reluctantly allows his shoulders to shrug in time. From how horribly he schools his features, though, Dean knows not an ounce of disdain lives within. “Come on, Cas. You wanted to dance? It’s not all sweeping ballrooms or planned directions. Sometimes it’s frantic. It’s crazy. It’s the first thing that comes to mind!”

           “The first thing that comes to mind?”

           Dean reigns in his excitement at the deviousness peppering Castiel’s grin. Lessens his jumps to tiny hops. “What are you -?”

           Castiel spins him off. Sends Dean flying with a strength that nearly has him kissing the floor. Instead he slides to a stop and spends a beat regaining his balance. Confident in his ability to stand straight, Dean whirls to face Castiel. The comment locked into the barrel of his mouth misfires and leaves his jaw hanging.

           His angel mirrored him, slightly. Jumps tinged with caution, hesitation etched into the lines of his smile. Arms arcing to and from, fists raised high above his head until slamming down. “Like this?” he asks.

           Nodding, Dean hisses a low whistle. “Beautiful.”

           “...Dean?”

           “Yeah?”

           “Are you going to watch me or are you going to dance?”

           He chuckles, “What I do Cas… you can’t just call dancing.”

           When listening to music, Dean always paid attention to when it began and ended. Learned how to tell when one song bled into another. Differentiate between the minutia, varying chords played or notes sung in the arrangement. Could identify a song in the first few seconds of air time.

           However, with Castiel, Dean cannot believe one song can last into eternity. Loses himself in the moment and lets everything else fade into static. Nothing more important than seeing how wide Castiel’s lips can stretch until they rip in half. Dean goads his good humor with ridiculousness after ridiculousness. He shimmies hips and drags his fingers across his eyes, Castiel smirks. Kicking a chair, collapsing into it and pretending to drop a bucket of water over his body makes his angel chuckle. Laughter erupts when Dean tries to teach Castiel how to do the macarena.

           They’ve devolved in their movements. Exhaustion cutting the wires above Dean’s elbows and wrists. His panting overpowers the music.

           Dean shuffles backwards to sit on the edge of the war table. Castiel joins, bracketing him in on either side with his arms. Accidentally closing the laptop with a drunken slap from his hand. “Oops.”

           “Cas,” Dean sighs, lightly shoving his chest, “serious party foul.”

           “My bad,” he says, tilting his head in the familiar way that causes Dean’s hear to beat double-time. “Although… I doubt this party would have lasted any longer.”

           “What makes you say that?”

           “The fact you can barely keep your eyes open for less than a minute…” Castiel’s hand traces Dean’s arm, crawling up it and leaving fire in its wake. It settles on his cheek, thumb brushing against the stubble there. “Dean…”

           He fights against the molasses slowly pouring down his face and covering his eyes. “Yeah?”

           “Dean, I –“

           Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

           Castiel slaps his face. He doesn’t, but the speed with which his hand tears itself away from Dean stings like a slap. Both turn and stare above at Sam, the taller man clapping from the balcony.

           “Wow,” he says, stomping down the nearby staircase, “you two were good. I didn’t know either of you had the skills… but I guess that’s on me, isn’t it?”

           “Sam,” Castiel says, pouting, “How long have you been…”

           “Not long.” He shrugs off his duffle, dumping the bag at his feet. “I caught the grand finale… a nice welcome home. Although you didn’t have to. I could’ve enjoyed it at breakfast instead of three in the morning.”

           “Three in the morning?” Dean asks, fumbling for his phone. Blinking on, the curved number mocks him. “That long…”

           A throat clears from nearby. He looks from his phone to Castiel, his angel fiddling with his hands. “I didn’t realize,” Castiel says, gathering his jackets, “it’s late… I should probably let you two rest. Sam. Dean…” One meaningful gaze that leaves Dean feeling exposed and raw later, Castiel exits.

           Something rocks into his side, knocking him to the left. Sam smirks, sitting too close to him on the table. Eyebrow cocked in brotherly mischief. Dean scowls, “Seriously?”

           “What?”

           “You’re a jerk, you know that.”

           Sam laughs, “I think I was within my rights.”

           “I could’ve been so much worse to you, y’know,” Dean says, “I almost cut holes in all your underwear.”

           “Glad to hear you didn’t.” He claps Dean’s leg, pushing off the table and snatching his duffle. “Cas is right. We need our rest…” Sam walks as far as the doorjamb, stopping underneath to round on him. “By the way… remember what I was talking about? About Cas’s staring? That’s what I meant.”

           Dean fumes in his wake. “Oh yeah? Well… at least he stares at me!” His brother’s obnoxious laughter was the worst music he heard that night. Too wired to follow the others to their respective bases, Dean instead opens his laptop again and hits play.

           It’s not the same, but it’s a reminder. A possibility. Hope.

[webcricket]

Castiel Imagine

Imagine: Eavesdropping on your beautiful singing - something you do when you think no one else can hear you - is Castiel’s guiltiest pleasure until he gets caught in the act (ft. Dear Abby, aka Dean Winchester).

Requested by: @earl-grey-cafe

“Dean-” Castiel pushes the bedroom door inward; widening the sliver of an inch the hunter left it open, he swings it all the way to the gaping limits of the hinges.

A wall of pepperoni grease, malt hops, and gun oil - none of which he finds alarming or unusual - accosts the angel’s senses; nor does the sight of Dean in boxers and socked feet scrambling to mute the horror film scream of the television whilst simultaneously shoving a half empty pizza box under his pillow and sloshing beer onto the bed sheets while he sits up provoke any special interest beyond the fleeting thought that Dean’s dietary choices, perhaps, are not ideal for his long term cardiovascular health.

Cas pauses after stating his friends name to allow Dean’s threading pulse a moment to recover from the surprise of the sudden intrusion. Not that Dean should be surprised by the suddenness of the intrusion after nearly a decade of friendship spent unsuccessfully trying to teach the celestial being to knock first.

The seraph takes Dean’s grumbling around a mouthful of coagulated cheese and irately glistening green eyes as an invitation, if not into the space itself, as one begging expedience to clarify whatever the hell he wants in order to beat a hasty exit. He speaks both without apology and without further delay, “I need to ask you a question.”

Dean swallows hard to dispatch the gummy wad of pizza. He swipes his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “Do you ever knock?”

Cas ignores the query, determining Dean to be employing sarcasm on account of the obviousness of the answer. He moves on to the matter on his mind; namely, you. He overheard you singing in the shower again last night when you couldn’t sleep, which - the singing and the sleeplessness - happens often enough to pique his concern.

It’s a habit of yours to stretch your voice - a heavenly voice if the angel ever heard one, and he would know - only when you believe no one is listening. “Have you ever heard Y/N sing?”

Dean’s glower wobbles and weakly rolls, his temper consoled and conversely further incensed at the lack of seriousness in the situation. He makes a mental note to have a conversation with his friend about what does and doesn’t warrant the disruption of his preciously rare me time; not - Cas’ idea of urgent often dwelling in the empiric satisfaction of curiosity over the human condition - that it will make any difference.

“Yeah, I’ve caught a couple notes here and there, and-?” Dean’s huff accentuates his annoyance.

You’re talented - talented and shy. You keep your gift to yourself and Dean, having sacrificed much for family, respects the need to shroud some things in a shield of selfish pleasure to preserve the status quo of inner sanity; for example, a double cheese double meat deluxe deep dish Chicago-style pie from Gianni’s in central Lebanon on a Saturday night.

Cas’ gaze narrows; some of his friend’s snark refracts in the brightness of the blue; he feels Dean knows the unspoken remainder given what he knows regarding the angel’s especially interested affections toward you and is playing a game of chicken. In retrospect, he thinks he should have sought out Sam.

Dean sighs, and concedes to the seraph’s silence if only to be quickly rid of him to restore his peaceful pepperoni and slasher movie solitude. “Listen up - some things, people don’t share with anyone. That’s Y/N with singing. Just leave it be.”

Crease of brow softening in comprehension, Cas thoughtfully eyes the corner of the pizza box peeking from beneath the drape of the pillowcase. “So it’s like you wanting to consume copious amounts of artery clogging cholesterol while lying prone and watching Hatchet Man in private.”

Deeply wounded by the angel’s holier-than-thou tone, and a recent brotherly lecture regarding bacon from Sam, Dean scoffs, “Nobody asked you.”

Cas gets it - your singing, however beautiful, is a subject of taboo unless you choose to share. He’s glad he didn’t go directly to you and cause you the discomfort of a compliment and discomfit of a request to hear more without the barrier of a bathroom door or concrete wall between you.

“And shut the door on your way out,” Dean grouses since the angel continues to linger meditating upon this newfound clarification and the sentiment of disappointment stirring in his chest that it means he cannot compliment you or request the favor of a direct audience to your talent.

“Thank you, Dean.” Stepping backward with a grateful bob of the head, Cas does as directed and strides into the hall.

In as much as Dean has his secret enjoyments, and you your solo performances, Cas, too, considers his routine of straining to catch your murmured melodies a guilty pleasure; those sweet reverberant notes caress his ears irresistibly like a siren’s call and nurture a reverence for your singing in his celestial center such that it seems to hum musically in time, delightfully thrumming through his vessels veins, whenever he chances to perceive your sensuously strung voice.

He thinks it not a guilty pleasure in the traditional sense of the phrase, a saying which suggests he finds profound pleasure in a sound which would not inspire general awe in whomever heard it - quite the opposite, there can be no doubt in his mind, or any other, excepting perhaps your own in not sharing, of your talents; nor is it because he feels any guilt in the actual eavesdropping - one hears much, whether one wants to or no, when blessed with the aptitude of angelic perception; rather, he considers it so only because you yourself, seeming not to trust to your gift in a capacity allowing you to openly share it, and it light of Dean’s elucidation, save your songs for a safety inherent in solitude.

Your lips part, tongue plucking strings of air in vibrant tone in moments when you believe you have a motel room or the bunker all to yourself. The oxygen belts from your lungs with force to flood the vaulted heights of the ceiling on those welcome weekends with a buffer of many miles between you and the Winchester brothers.

In the spaces in between, when you aren’t quite as alone as you surmise, Cas cherishes every illicitly captured dulcet lilting of soulful tune.

It’s not that you don’t account for Castiel being around; it’s that he’s so damned quiet padding around the place with divinely dampened footfalls. And it’s not that he’s lurking intentionally long around corners or in shadow before announcing his presence; it’s that he is struck in rapture, determination of direction and intent distracted as he stills to follow a phrase of lyric or two to its mellifluous terminus.

This time though, there’s no sneaking about on the angel’s part to blame. Sat at the kitchen table in the semi-dark, flesh of his forehead folded in a neat stack of seriousness over a knotted brow, Cas sifts through Dean’s box of Krunch Cookie Crunch in search of the cheap plastic trinket promised in colorful graphics to be hidden inside - the absence of which the elder Winchester will hold his brother accountable for whenever their latest adventure permits them to return home; needling his friend’s nerves in this manner is a lesser of the angel’s surreptitious and innocent amusements.

He stops his rustling task at the scuffing approach of your slippers and turns toward the threshold. He thought you were asleep when he arrived back and did not deign to wake you to inform you of his late arrival. His features flatten beneath the involuntary feeling of gladness the promise of your presence fosters; the early assemblage of your name rasps in the back of his graveled throat as he prepares to greet you. There, it husks into unspoken oblivion when the first hum of your voice titillates the air.

Oblivious to the celestial company, you step into the kitchen, swiping the light switch as you skip down the two shallow steps and make for the sink to fill a glass of water. Cushioned toes tapping the concrete floor, the kitchen being one of your acoustically favorite rooms in the bunker, the fullness of your unfettered voice echoes off the walls.

Glass brimming, stopping to wet your palette with a sip of the cool drink, you spin on a heel, snap shut your eyes to isolate yourself from the room and the rigors of this life, and settle your spine to the steel skirt of the sink.

Having no contingency plan that doesn’t involve awkwardly breaking for the door, Cas stares, cereal sugar-dusted palm propped to push himself up from the table, wide-eyed and speechless as you continue the tune.

By gradual degrees in sensing a worshipful sort of warmth washing your cheeks with heat, and then the unmistakable scent of the seraph tickling your nose - that uniquely stormy discharge of revving grace skimming his vessel’s skin in lieu of sweat when his adrenaline rises - you become aware of being watched and listened to.

Tongue skipping mid-note on the back of your teeth, your lashes flare and flash on the seraphim-shaped mass of trench coat seated at the table, his stance somewhere between sitting and standing, and the outline of an apology molding his mouth.

“I’m sorry, I tried-” he stumbles over the words and his feet as he straightens upright and steps into the light and nearer- “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay. I didn’t see you.” You soothe his fumbling; your chin drops to your chest, a bashfully-tinted flush unfurls across your face. “I just don’t usually sing in front of anyone.”

Cas cannot help his blunt honesty in reaction to your confession. “Why not? Your voice is exceptional.” His already bass register lowers as he extends his fingers to loop at your jaw, gently lifting your gaze to his. “Beautiful.” He does not add the ‘like you’ that naturally links to the accolade in his thoughts; the impact of that bit of unspoken affection stamps his own cheeks to match your blush.

A smile tugs doubtful at your lips. “You think so?”

His attention flicks from your eyes to your mouth, following the minute movement, and back. “Without a doubt.”

Self-conscious at the magnetism of desire felt to press his pout to yours in physical proclamation of his praise, his fingers falter from your chin and the tenderly glossed blues revolve to study the span of inches set between your beating hearts.

You feel it too, have felt a sentiment stronger than friendship solidifying between you for a while. The seams of your body tremble to contain a soul bursting in song at the suggestion of something more. “I could, I mean, if you wanted me to - if you’d like it-”

“Yes.” The bright shine of his eyes spill unfettered happiness to crinkle the skin surrounding them before the essence of a smile spreads to lighten his entire aspect.

The seraph’s smile - it’s purity, and the adoration reflecting the radiant potential of you as the source of his joyful feelings - is all the ovation your heart needs.

Castiel tag list:  (Closed, if you’d like to be removed please let me know!)    @jeepangel  @sammiesamness  @willowing-love  @roxy-davenport  @blueicevalkyrie   @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11  @thesugargalaxy    @bluetina-blog  @dont-trust-humanity   @honeybeetrash  @bucky-thorin-winchester  @superwholockz   @tistai  @wordstothewisereaders  @gill-ons  @mrswhozeewhatsis  @marisayouass  @stone-met   @castiel-savvy18  @samualmortgrim  @trexrambling  @magnificent-mantle  @kdfrqqg  @xdifsx   @mandilion76  @rockfairy  @peaceloveancolor  @unicorntrooper  @anisolatedship  @itsilvermorny  @aditimukul  @kudosia  @goofynerd-67babylove  @uninspirationalsonglyrics  @gray-avidan  @mishascupcake   @mishapanicmeow   @praisecastielamen  @roseyhxnt  @jessikared97  @let-the-imaginationflow  @warriorqueen1991   @sebastianstanslefteyebrow   @hisnameisboobear  @kristendanwayne  @fuschiarulerinthebluebox  @coolpencilpie  @jenabean75  @luciathewinchestergirl  @morganas-pendragons  @heyitscam99  @fangirl-and-stuff  @selahbela  @realgreglestrade  @splendidcas  @pointlesscasey  @i-larb-spooderman  @thewhiterabbit42  @thelostverse  @castieliswatchingoverme  @beccollie18  @dragonett8  @dixie-chick  @jtownraindancer   @carowinsthings  @passionghost  @ladyofletters67 @futureparent  @gabbie7-11  @myfandomlife-blog  @dreamerkim   @shamelesslydean  @earthtokace  @neaeri  @justanormalangel  @lone-loba  @supernaturalymarvel  @lilrubixx  @wings-and-halo  @thehoneybeecastielfollows  @musiclovinchic93  @81mysteriouslyme  @the-bottom-of-the-abyss  @jaylarkson @pixiedusts  @spookysculderfiles  @laqueus-ludovicus  @missjenniferb @lexininja  @jessiekay2010   @skrratata  @rhiannonj79  @calicat79

[beanie-beebo-writes]

Faith Pt.II

Category: Oneshot; genfic

Summary: Another life saved, another lost. Day in and day out it's the same for the Winchesters. Continuation of the episode from s1, Faith

In the life of a hunter, you couldn't have connections. Ties to the normal civilian life meant putting others at risk. Sam and Dean knew this, but nothing would stop them from feeling connected to the people they saved. Every once in a while, an opening would come up between hunts. Giving them the perfect opportunity to catch up on the lives of those they saved, however they could. Usually it was through local papers; it was safer that way. Calling meant the connection would still be there, and opened the possibility of a blossoming partnership.

One early summer afternoon, Sam and Dean had settled back into their chintzy motel room. Their previous hunt had consisted of nothing more than a measly vamp infestation, but still nonetheless grueling. It was enough to make Dean want to sleep for a few days after a nice, hot shower.

"I wish more hunts were this easy." Dean said, plopping onto the nearest bed.

"Yeah, you're telling me." Sam said, failing to observe Dean was on his bed. "Alright, I don't know about you, but I need a shower. I can still smell that last vamp we took out, perfume included."

"Bathroom's all yours. I need a breather, maybe a nap. Just don't use up all the hot water, Frieda." Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes before shutting the bathroom door with a huff. Dean gave himself an approving nudge on the shoulder and smirked.

"Dean 1, Sam 0." Dean muttered to himself triumphantly.

He momentarily began to doze, but it wasn't long before his thoughts got the better of him. It had now been almost two months since his father chose to sacrifice his own life for Dean. He still couldn't wrap his head around it all, of what exactly happened and why his father seemingly gave up so easily. He wondered exactly what could have been going through his mind when he did what he did. There were so many unanswered questions, ones he would probably never get the answers for. The likely deal his father made to save him was just as much of a knee-jerk choice as Sam going to that faith healer that one time. How desperate was his father to make such a choice?

Dean still remembered the look on Sam's face when he found out his brother had drawn the short straw, from that hunt not too long ago. He never was good at hiding how he really felt, not from Dean anyway. The hurt shone brightly in his younger brother's unshed tears, and it was obvious the only reason Sam brought him to the faith healer was out of desperation. But deciphering his father's true intent was like trying to focus a laser on a minnow in murky water.

Had Death whispered in his ear, or was he really so far out of options? Dean paused as the image of the reaper coming after him in Nebraska came to him. He shuddered as the memory clashed with his father's final moments.

Dean opened his eyes and sat up, suddenly feeling sick. A knot formed in his stomach for a completely different reason as a face wedged itself to the front of his mind.

He almost reluctantly opened up Sam's laptop and went through Ford City's past few obituary sections in the local papers.

There had been so much going on, he hadn't recently checked in on any previous hunt survivors. Guilt seeped deep into his heart. Last time they had talked, she had months left to live.

Sure enough, in the second most recent newspaper was Layla's face, sticking out like a sore thumb.

"Layla Rourke; beloved daughter, niece, granddaughter, and friend to many passed away Thursday, June 29th 2006. Services will be held Friday, July 7th at Munderloh Funeral Home from 1pm to 3pm and 5pm to 7pm."

Dean's stomach dropped. Another name to add to the list of the people who he didn't save, once again. He almost wanted to laugh, the last conversation they ever had, involved faith. Where was this so-called God now? Where was He whenever good people needed it most? It was easier to believe that a God never existed than to get his hopes crushed every time a life drained away, at his stupid expense nonetheless. Yet, the people who still believed, got their hopes crushed in the end. Dean only wished he knew how to feel.

"Hey, you okay?"

Dean turned around to a fully dressed Sam, fresh out of the shower.

"Uh, do you remember Layla? The chick who was at that faith healing session?" Dean asked.

Sam huffed in amusement. "Yeah, I definitely remember. Why?"

"She uh, her funeral is this week." Dean said.

"Oh.." Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wow, um. I'm sorry to hear that."

"I think I'm gonna head up to Nebraska, you good for a few days?" Dean asked.

"You sure you don't want me to come with? I'll be fine, but I know how much that last conversation…" Sam trailed off.

Dean clenched his jaw. "I need to do this by myself, Sam. I'll be fine."

"Alright, just let me know if anything comes up." Sam said. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but-"

"You're always there, blah blah. I know. Enough touchy feely crap, I'm headed out." Dean retorted.

"And Dean?"

Dean turned around, a hard glare set in his eyes.

"Just be careful."

Dean slammed the hotel door behind him in frustration, roared the Impala's engine, and sped off towards Ford City.

Dean pulls into a decent sized parking lot, thankfully while all the other grievers seem to be heading away for intermission. He takes a swig of whiskey and exhales roughly before heading inside the nearly empty funeral home to pay his respects. After finding his way to the correct viewing room, he comes across a shorter woman standing by the casket, blocking his view of Layla. He hangs off to the side out of sight, waiting until she is ready to leave the room.

"You can come up, if you wish. I won't be too long." She says.

"It's alright. You take your time." Dean says.

"You're not bothering me, hun. I don't bite." She responds.

He takes up the invitation; Dean figures it probably wouldn't hurt to give her some company.

"She really was something, wasn't she?" Dean asks.

She sniffles lightly. "Layla truly was one of a kind. One of the brightest souls I have ever had the blessing to come across."

Dean nods, taking in Layla's peaceful presence.

Brief pause. "How did you know her?" The woman asks.

"Layla.. She was kind to me even when I didn't deserve it. Even when I was for some reason chosen to be saved over her, she never held it against me. I think she even had faith for me."

"Yeah, that sounds like Layla. She didn't have a mean bone in her body. I'm Jamie, by the way; Layla's aunt."

"Nice to meet you; I'm Dean. Sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, same to you."

Another brief silence.

"You know, I may not know you, but I can tell you're worth more than you think." Jamie says.

"Sorry, but you are highly mistaken." Dean replies.

"Layla, she was a person of good faith. She only kept you around, if she felt your intentions were good. She may have been kind to everyone, but if you knew her, you also knew she wasn't one to condone ill intentions. If she had faith in or for you, you are a good person."

Dean didn't have an answer; his eyes focused on Layla.

"Did you come far?" She asks to break the tension.

"Uh, yeah," Dean finally glances back into Jamie's direction momentarily. "I was originally working in Jersey this weekend."

"Hm, now if you weren't a good person, then why did you come all this way for her?"

He stares at Layla's portrait next to the casket. He knows Jamie was trying to make a good point. Although, that point didn't condone everything he had done.

"It was nice meeting you Dean, take care." And with that she walks away, leaving Dean alone with Layla.

For a few moments, he didn't even know what to say. What could he even say? One of the last times they had been together, he stopped her from being healed. He felt so dirty, standing here when he clearly felt he shouldn't have been. It's not like his brother couldn't kill Azazel without him. Yeah, Sam would be broken without his brother, but not incapable. He would have Bobby at least. Sam survived college without him, he could have survived Dean pulling the short straw.

"Hi Layla.." Dean's voice begins to waver. "I bet I'm the last person you wanted to hear from, but.. I'm here anyway. I couldn't not say goodbye.."

Dean plays with the denim of his jeans awkwardly.

"Listen, about what happened months ago.. I need you to understand, I never wanted this to happen to you. The reason I was healed...wasn't God. Although, I'm sure if you were here, you would say so anyway. My brother brought me to Roy because... he was desperate. And.. He made a mistake. I mean, I guess if he didn't find Roy, we never would have met and I would have never saved those people.."

Dean pauses and glances behind him, making sure he was still alone.

"My brother and I, we hunt things..Unnatural things. I'm not going to explain everything but, if you were to follow us for a day, maybe you would understand. And what healed me, was something.. not natural. And God.. He wouldn't condone what it was. Now, I know I couldn't save you. But there hasn't been a day that has gone by, that I haven't regretted that. Hell, if anything, I would have traded my life for yours in a heartbeat."

Tears begin to sting his eyeline.

"Layla I.. I wish things could have been different for you. I'm sorry." He sniffled. "I know your Aunt Jamie was saying all these things about me being a good person, but.. If I was a good person, I would have let you be saved, even if it was unnatural. But me being me, I hunted the unnatural thing before you could get that chance."

Dean pauses to collect himself.

"Yeah.." He whispers to no one in particular.

He gives her a final farewell, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, and somberly heads outside. Just after he walks out the double doors, a paper smacks him in the face causing him to flail briefly. After gathering himself, he holds out the paper to observe.. a poster appreciating the troops. "Thank you, for putting your life on the line. You are our hero."

Suddenly he looks up, feeling as if he has eyes on him. Standing across the parking lot in a beautiful, rose colored dress is Layla, smiling. Before Dean could think of what to do, she disappears.

Dean/Jensen tags: @akshi8278​

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Best Friend’s Brother

Fandom: Marvel (College AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’ve been best friends with Rebecca Barnes ever since you were twelve. No you’re 22 and now you feel that after for so long, you might not be able to hold back your crush on Rebecca’s brother, Bucky.

A/N: Inspired by Victoria Justice’s song Best Friend’s Brother

“Y/N! Finally!” Rebecca pulled you into a tight embrace as soon as she opened the door. Summer break was upon you and that meant spending it entirely with the Barnes Family, which you didn’t mind one bit. 

You and Rebecca Barnes have been best friends since you were twelve. Ever since then, you were the thickest thieves and George and Winifred Barnes considered you as another daughter to them. 

Over the years as you grew in your friendship with Becca, your feelings for a certain someone, her brother, Bucky, grew as well. 

You didn’t always have a crush on him. You always saw him as that overprotective older brother. It wasn’t until you got into high school, when he was a junior and you were a freshman, that you realized something. Your best friend’s brother was freaking cute!

But God, you would never be able to tell that to Becca. She’s probably disown you as her best friend! You’d be dropped like the meat jello that the cafeteria serves on Wednesdays!

Ever since you got into high school, you tried to act cool around him. Especially when Becca would leave you two alone for a moment. 

Like now. 

The three of you were gathered at the kitchen table, your respective textbooks and notes out doing homework. Becca excused herself for a moment to look in her room for some notes that she noticed she was missing.

That’s when Bucky looked up at you, “Hey.”

You looked up surprisingly, “H-Hey me?”

He chuckled, “Yeah. You see anyone else I could be sayin’ hey to?”

You ducked your head down shyly, “No. I guess not.”

Bucky softly laughed and then cleared his throat, “So, uh, how’s your first year of high school going?”

You shrugged, “It’s going. How ‘bout you? Soon enough you’re gonna be a senior. Gonna be varsity captain of the football team and everything.”

It was Bucky’s turn to duck his head shyly, “I don’t know about that, Y/N.”

“Bucky, c’mon! Last year you were a sophomore and made varsity! You’re co-captain this year which means you’re definitely gonna be captain next year! Everyone knows how amazing you are. I’ve seen you during your practices. You’re great!”

“You watch me during practice?”

You froze and began to fumble over your words, “I-I, well, kinda? I mean, I’m not just watching you. I’m watching the entire team too! Just to see how they’re playing and all that.”

“Oh. Yeah. That-That makes sense.”

“What does?” Becca asked as she stepped back into the kitchen.

You felt your cheeks heat up, feeling like you were caught doing something bad, “Just this problem! Your brother was helping me with it.”

You quickly glance towards Bucky and he nodded, “Yeah. Quadratic formulas are hard, am I right?” he quickly goes back to his own homework, mentally kicking himself for acting for freaking weird around you. While you yourself were doing the same thing and mentally cursing yourself for being so awkward with Bucky.

_______________________________

You and Becca were hanging out in her room, talking and catching up with life. You two had gone to different colleges. You attended NYU while her and Bucky went to Fordham University. Sure, technically, you were thirty minutes away from each other, but with your school and work schedules, you never had much time to see each other. That’s why summers with the Barnes’ was always such a blessing. 

You two were currently talking about the difficult classes you took, when your ears perked at the sound of yelling and hollering downstairs. 

Becca rolled her eyes, “Looks like Buck and Steve are back from playing football with the guys. I’ll go tell ‘em to tone it down.”

You shook your head, stopping her, “It’s alright! I got it. I gotta refill my drink anyway.” you hopped off her bed and headed towards her door.

“If they give you a hard time, you have my permission to punch both of ‘em!” Becca hollers and receives a thumbs up from you. 

You anxiously make your way downstairs, your empty cup in hand. In order to get to the kitchen, you have to pass the living room, which was wear Bucky and Steve were. 

Steve’s back was to you and Bucky was facing you. You glanced his way, catching his eyes for a second and you look away. You don’t see how his entire face lights up, “Y/N!” he rushes up and heads towards you, “H-Hi! You-You look different than the last time I saw you. In a good way, I mean!” 

You chuckled, “Thanks, Buck.”

“It’s good to see you.”

“So...whatcha doin’?”

“I was gonna get myself a drink. You want one?”

“I’ll just come with you!” you walk into the kitchen, him following closely behind. He watches as you pour yourself from orange juice and he chugs down 2/3 of a water bottle. 

You snickered, “Thirsty much?”

He smirked and wiped the droplets of water from his mouth, “You could say that.”

His comment rubbed you the wrong way...or the right way because you felt your face heating up. You cleared your throat, “So...how’s the dating life?”

“Um...I don’t know. Haven’t really bothered dating anyone.”

“Oh? Yeah, um, school and work take up all my time. What about you? Any lucky guy or gal sweep you off your feet?”

“Not really. Well, there’s this guy that I’ve been liking for a long time now...but I doubt he’d ever give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a hand on your shoulder, “Sweetheart, he don’t deserve you if he doesn’t give you a chance.”

Meanwhile, while you and Bucky chat in the kitchen, Becca and Steve watch from around the corner, whispering to each other. 

“i swear for the love of all things holy and unholy, if they don’t get on with it-”

“Maybe they just need a little nudge?”

Becca turned to her brother’s best friend, “What’re you thinkin’, Rogers?”

____________________________

Wednesday night and the Barnes’ household was bumping. People had red ups and beer bottles in hand, people lounged about talking and laughing, and drinking. It was an awesome way to start off summer break. 

You nursed a cup of your own alcoholic beverage of choice, listening intently as one of Bucky’s friends and a former classmate of yours, Sam Wilson, told you a story about a prank he pulled on his bio professor.

“-Coulson was so confused! For months he was searching for that skeleton head and it was seriously above his head the entire time!”

You threw your head back as you laughed, “That’s too good, Sam.”

Becca came to towards you and Sam, waving around a bottle of tequila, “Who wants to play a gaaaaame?”

You both groaned, “What game. Bec?”

“Truth or dare,” she said proudly.

Bucky scoffed from the other side of the living room, “I didn’t know we were at a teenager party, Becca!”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh come on! Now that we’re all of drinking age, this game can be a lot more fun! Take a shot of tequila if you can’t tell the truth or do the dare! Simple as that! Now, who wants to play?” she looked at you epectantly

You sighed and slid off the couch and onto the floor, “Fiiiine.”

“Yay! Anyone else?”

“Why not?” Sam said and other people proceeded to follow suit. You looked up at Bucky, cocking a brow at him, silently asking if he was going to play. He took a swig from his beer bottle and playfully rolled his eyes as he walked over and sat beside you. 

He leaned in whispering, “No good is gonna come from this.”

You shrugged, “Just enjoy a little bit of mischief, Buckaroo!”

Five rounds later, everyone is completely smashed. Everyone was relentless on their questions and dares. The only one who seemed totally fine was Steve.

“That’s because Steve is a fucking saint!” Bucky cried out, tossing an empty red cup at him, making everyone laugh. 

Steve smirked, “Alright, Buck, your turn.”

“Aw fuck. I’m not looking for a painful hangover so I guess I’m doin’ this one,” he grunted, sitting up and awaiting his truth or dare. 

“Truth or dare.”

“Dare. Gimme your best shot, Stevie.”

“I dare you to kiss the most beautiful girl in this circle right now.”

Everyone waited with bated breath as Bucky’s eyes looked around the circle of people. He had to make one of two choice: kiss any girl besides you in the circle, or kiss you like he’s been wanting to since high school.

It’s when you spoke up that Bucky made his decision, “Buck, you could just take the shot and-” your words were silenced as Bucky’s hands cupped your face and he pressed his lips against yours. People in the circle and the room hollered, while others glared, wishing that they were in your place. 

Bucky pulled away, panting. Looking into your eyes, he breathed out, “Y/N, truth or dare.”

“Truth,” you breathed out, staring intensely into Bucky’s beautiful blue eyes.

“What are your feelings for me?”

You gulped. Should you tell him? Or should you lie? But could you really lie after that wonderful kiss?

“I...I love you, Bucky.”

“FINALLY!” you both jumped from the outburst. Steve and Becca stood up, giving each other a celebratory hug and high five. 

“I’m so lost,” you mumbled.

Bucky nodded, “Me too.”

“We planned this!” Becca exclaimed, “Steve and I planned this so you two could confess your feelings for each other! I mean, I kinda wish we did this way back in high school ‘cause it would’ve saved us a lot of time and less pining and whining from your oblivious asses.”

“But,” Steve stepped in, “Nonetheless, we’re very happy that now both of your feelings are out in the open and you guys can finally be together like you always wanted.”

“We did good, Stevie!” Becca high fived Steve again and fist pumped into the air, “Now...GAME IS OVER! IT’S 2AM SO GET OUTTA MY HOUSE!”

People began to scramble to their feet and heading towards the door as Becca ad Steve shooed them all out, yelling at people to find their drivers or call an uber or whatever. Meanwhile, you and Bucky continued to sit next to each other, fingers now intertwined, and looking into each other’s eyes. A fondness and softness in each other’s.

“So...you wanna go on a date tomorrow?”

“If my hangover from this game doesn’t last until then, then sure.”

Bucky chuckled, “Well...these were the consequences of enjoying a little mischief, sweetheart.”

You shrugged, “I don’t regret it though.”

“Neither do I.”

You both leaned in for another kiss, but was rudely interrupted by two pillows hitting both of you, “Clean now, kiss later, lovebirds!” Becca yelled as Steve handed you garbage bags. 

You chuckled, “To be continued?”

“My room?”

“I’ll see you there, Barnes,” you gave him a wink and then proceeded to pick up every empty cup and bottle you saw. 

Looks like you hadn’t much to worry about. You were now dating your best friend’s brother. 

[beanie-beebo]

Oneshot: Dean pays respects to an old friend.

A/N I know I never really write like I used to, but I do come up with a few good things now and again. Enjoy. ❤

In the life of a hunter, you couldn’t have connections. Ties to the normal civilian life meant putting others at risk. Sam and Dean knew this, but nothing would stop them from feeling connected to the people they saved. Every once in a while, an opening would come up between hunts. Giving them the perfect opportunity to catch up on the lives of those they saved, however they could. Usually it was through local papers; it was safer that way. Calling meant the connection would still be there, and opened the possibility of a blossoming partnership.

One early summer afternoon, Sam and Dean had settled back into their chintzy motel room. Their previous hunt had consisted of nothing more than a measly vamp infestation, but still nonetheless grueling. It was enough to make Dean want to sleep for a few days after a nice, hot shower.

“I wish more hunts were this easy.” Dean said, plopping onto the nearest bed.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Sam said, failing to observe Dean was on his bed. “Alright, I don’t know about you, but I need a shower. I can still smell that last vamp we took out, perfume included.”

“Bathroom’s all yours. I need a breather, maybe a nap. Just don’t use up all the hot water, Frieda.” Dean said.

Sam rolled his eyes before shutting the bathroom door with a huff. Dean gave himself an approving nudge on the shoulder and smirked. 

“Dean 1, Sam 0.” Dean muttered to himself triumphantly.

He momentarily began to doze, but it wasn’t long before his thoughts got the better of him. It had now been almost two months since his father chose to sacrifice his own life for Dean. He still couldn’t wrap his head around it all, of what exactly happened and why his father seemingly gave up so easily. He wondered exactly what could have been going through his mind when he did what he did. There were so many unanswered questions, ones he would probably never get the answers for. The likely deal his father made to save him was just as much of a knee-jerk choice as Sam going to that faith healer that one time. How desperate was his father to make such a choice?

Dean still remembered the look on Sam’s face when he found out his brother had drawn the short straw, from that hunt not too long ago. He never was good at hiding how he really felt, not from Dean anyway. The hurt shone brightly in his younger brother’s unshed tears, and it was obvious the only reason Sam brought him to the faith healer was out of desperation. But deciphering his father’s true intent was like trying to focus a laser on a minnow in murky water.

Had Death whispered in his ear, or was he really so far out of options? Dean paused as the image of the reaper coming after him in Nebraska came to him. He shuddered as the memory clashed with his father's final moments. 

Dean opened his eyes and sat up, suddenly feeling sick. A knot formed in his stomach for a completely different reason as a face wedged itself to the front of his mind.

He almost reluctantly opened up Sam’s laptop and went through Ford City’s past few obituary sections in the local papers. 

There had been so much going on, he hadn’t recently checked in on any previous hunt survivors. Guilt seeped deep into his heart. Last time they had talked, she had months left to live.

Sure enough, in the second most recent newspaper was Layla’s face, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“Layla Rourke; beloved daughter, niece, granddaughter, and friend to many passed away Thursday, June 29th 2006. Services will be held Friday, July 7th at Munderloh Funeral Home from 1pm to 3pm and 5pm to 7pm.”

Dean’s stomach dropped. Another name to add to the list of the people who he didn’t save, once again. He almost wanted to laugh, the last conversation they ever had, involved faith. Where was this so-called God now? Where was He whenever good people needed it most? It was easier to believe that a God never existed than to get his hopes crushed every time a life drained away, at his stupid expense nonetheless. Yet, the people who still believed, got their hopes crushed in the end. Dean only wished he knew how to feel.

“Hey, you okay?”

Dean turned around to a fully dressed Sam, fresh out of the shower.

“Uh, do you remember Layla? The chick who was at that faith healing session?” Dean asked.

Sam huffed in amusement. “Yeah, I definitely remember. Why?”

“She uh, her funeral is this week.” Dean said.

“Oh..” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow, um. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I think I’m gonna head up to Nebraska, you good for a few days?” Dean asked.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with? I’ll be fine, but I know how much that last conversation…” Sam trailed off.

Dean clenched his jaw. “I need to do this by myself, Sam. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, just let me know if anything comes up.” Sam said. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but-”

“You’re always there, blah blah. I know. Enough touchy feely crap, I’m headed out.” Dean retorted.

"And Dean?” 

Dean turned around, a hard glare set in his eyes.

“Just be careful.”

Dean slammed the hotel door behind him in frustration, roared the Impala’s engine, and sped off towards Ford City.

~~~

Dean pulls into a decent sized parking lot, thankfully while all the other grievers seem to be heading away for intermission. He takes a swig of whiskey and exhales roughly before heading inside the nearly empty funeral home to pay his respects. After finding his way to the correct viewing room, he comes across a shorter woman standing by the casket, blocking his view of Layla. He hangs off to the side out of sight, waiting until she is ready to leave the room. 

“You can come up, if you wish. I won’t be too long.” She says.

“It’s alright. You take your time.” Dean says.

“You’re not bothering me, hun. I don’t bite.” She responds.

He takes up the invitation; Dean figures it probably wouldn’t hurt to give her some company.

“She really was something, wasn’t she?” Dean asks.

She sniffles lightly. “Layla truly was one of a kind. One of the brightest souls I have ever had the blessing to come across.”

Dean nods, taking in Layla’s peaceful presence. 

Brief pause. “How did you know her?” The woman asks.

“Layla.. She was kind to me even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was for some reason chosen to be saved over her, she never held it against me. I think she even had faith for me.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Layla. She didn’t have a mean bone in her body. I’m Jamie, by the way; Layla’s aunt.”

“Nice to meet you; I’m Dean. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, same to you.”

Another brief silence.

“You know, I may not know you, but I can tell you’re worth more than you think.” Jamie says.

“Sorry, but you are highly mistaken.” Dean replies.

“Layla, she was a person of good faith. She only kept you around, if she felt your intentions were good. She may have been kind to everyone, but if you knew her, you also knew she wasn’t one to condone ill intentions. If she had faith in or for you, you are a good person.”

Dean didn’t have an answer; his eyes focused on Layla.

“Did you come far?” She asks to break the tension.

“Uh, yeah,” Dean finally glances back into Jamie’s direction momentarily. “I was originally working in Jersey this weekend.”

“Hm, now if you weren’t a good person, then why did you come all this way for her?”

He stares at Layla’s portrait next to the casket. He knows Jamie was trying to make a good point. Although, that point didn’t condone everything he had done.

“It was nice meeting you Dean, take care.” And with that she walks away, leaving Dean alone with Layla.

For a few moments, he didn’t even know what to say. What could he even say? One of the last times they had been together, he stopped her from being healed. He felt so dirty, standing here when he clearly felt he shouldn’t have been. It’s not like his brother couldn’t kill Azazel without him. Yeah, Sam would be broken without his brother, but not incapable. He would have Bobby at least. Sam survived college without him, he could have survived Dean pulling the short straw.

“Hi Layla..” Dean’s voice begins to waver. “I bet I’m the last person you wanted to hear from, but.. I’m here anyway. I couldn’t not say goodbye..”

Dean plays with the denim of his jeans awkwardly.

“Listen, about what happened months ago.. I need you to understand, I never wanted this to happen to you. The reason I was healed...wasn’t God. Although, I’m sure if you were here, you would say so anyway. My brother brought me to Roy because... he was desperate. And.. He made a mistake. I mean, I guess if he didn’t find Roy, we never would have met and I would have never saved those people..”

Dean pauses and glances behind him, making sure he was still alone.

“My brother and I, we hunt things..Unnatural things. I’m not going to explain everything but, if you were to follow us for a day, maybe you would understand. And what healed me, was something.. not natural. And God.. He wouldn’t condone what it was. Now, I know I couldn’t save you. But there hasn’t been a day that has gone by, that I haven’t regretted that. Hell, if anything, I would have traded my life for yours in a heartbeat.”

Tears begin to sting his eyeline.

“Layla I.. I wish things could have been different for you. I’m sorry.” He sniffled. “I know your Aunt Jamie was saying all these things about me being a good person, but.. If I was a good person, I would have let you be saved, even if it was unnatural. But me being me, I hunted the unnatural thing before you could get that chance.”

Dean pauses to collect himself.

“Yeah..” He whispers to no one in particular.

He gives her a final farewell, shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, and somberly heads outside. Just after he walks out the double doors, a paper smacks him in the face causing him to flail briefly. After gathering himself, he holds out the paper to observe.. a poster appreciating the troops. “Thank you, for putting your life on the line. You are our hero.”

Suddenly he looks up, feeling as if he has eyes on him. Standing across the parking lot in a beautiful, rose colored dress is Layla, smiling. Before Dean could think of what to do, she disappears.

[fanfictrashdump]

Queening a Pawn, 1

I am kind of Loki trash. I take pleasure in attempting to write some of the cheesiest/most cliched fanfiction around. Honestly, my policy is that if it makes me “awww” or giggle to myself, it goes in. So enjoy this WIP and let me know what you think!

Summary: During the Time Heist, Loki stole the Tesseract and escaped. He did not expect, however, to be pulled through a Time Loop that delivered him to a Midgard more than a decade older, wiser, and bitterer. Having just lived through his unsuccessful attack in New York, Loki must learn to live in Midgard after the defeat of Thanos (post-Endgame). The question is, who is Loki without a quest for a throne or total domination?

Loki x OC 

==

The air was still and silent, as it had been for the last several hours. The guards had not been around for a few hours to check on him– why would they? He was trapped in a gilded cage with little to no chance of escape. Not with those wretched manacles that stopped even the lightest whiff of his seidr to come alive. It was very early morning, if the light streaming in from the windows was to be believed– he didn't. Not that it mattered. Not that he was anything more than a sitting duck at the mercy of these annoying, useless mortals and his buffoon of a brother. Briefly, he wondered if they were ever going to attempt to torture him for information. Maybe that would liven up his current situation. 

Bright, fool-hardy whistling echoed down the concrete halls and made his ears ring uncomfortably. The blessed, unmarred silence that seemed to be soaking up all of his self-pity was now gone, which meant that the hare-brained Midgardians would be back with questions. A single human appeared within the doorway, headphones in their ears, and hands laden with a box of what seemed to be colorful ornaments. 

Loki sighed, rolling his eyes much like a petulant child. "What are you, then? Psychic? Super-strength? Power to boil me from the inside? Therapist?"

The sudden noise seemed to startle the newcomer, and they placed the box on a nearby table before turning towards the source. Behind the cardboard box was a woman. Her chocolate brown hair was cropped short, though the messy fringe fell into her eyes as she moved. It made her look messy in a very purposeful manner, like she wanted to look approachable and kind, but also didn't want you to think she didn't put effort into her appearance. The green eyes turned his direction sparkled nearly as bright and excited as the grin perched on her lips as she pulled the buds from her ears and shoved them into her jeans pocket. Loki frowned. This was… different. 

"Sorry, didn't hear you. What was that, sir?" Her head tilted sideways like a curious pup at a weird noise, though twice as enthusiastic. 

"Are they sending children in to question me now? What, not enough ice-thawed super soldiers to do the job? And Stark? What of him? It's odd he hasn't come to gloat, yet." Loki scoffed, throwing himself into the only chair available in his cell, growing more impatient with every passing moment. 

The woman's face fell, if only slightly. "Oh. You don't know, do you?" Green orbs snapped up to her saddened expression, curious. "Mister Stark died with the Titan and Captain Rogers… well, you wouldn't recognize him if you saw him."

"Who are you, then?"

"I manage the Compound. I was just putting up the Christmas ornaments." She gestured over her shoulder at the box with the trinkets, as if it were an obvious response. 

Loki frowned further, trying to process the information as it was received. A moment later, he stared back, deadpan. "You realize this is a prison, yes?"

The woman's cheeks darkened as she fidgeted with her jumper sleeves. "To be honest, I couldn't really see over the box, so–"

He rolled his eyes, opting rather to pinch at the bridge of his nose with a groan. "Norns, I am surrounded by idiots. Why am I still here?"

"Well, Sam and Valkyrie have been trying to find your brother for the lon–"

"It was a rhetorical question!" He seethed, and the woman snapped her jaw shut at once. 

She awkwardly looked around the room before her eyes stopped on a holographic chess board that was sitting just outside the cell. Clearly, this was some of Tony's sense of humor showing through the AI he left behind, FRIDAY. He would have probably summoned up the board with a how about you think about what you've done, and if not, just play with yourself. She had encountered more than a fair share of these ghosts inside the code in her time, like the nervous Is that a trick question? whenever she asked the smart mirror in her apartment if she looked OK. 

There was a single knight in play on the white side of the board. "Are you a chess enthusiast?" There was no response. "Stalking the knight out first is a powerful move." This sentence was accompanied by a huff, but no verbal retort. "FRIDAY, favorite pawn forward." The second to last pawn zoomed gracefully into place a square further and settle there. She looked up at their captive demigod, sneer locked into his lips and eyes staring dead into the wall. She waited several minutes for a move, any move, but came up empty. 

"Lilah, there you are!" Sam strode into the prison floor, still clad in his black flightsuit and more than a little on edge. "FRIDAY, tell Valkyrie Lilah's fine." The AI acknowledged the command, immediately. "What are you– are you putting up Christmas ornaments in the prison deck?"

"Just checking in with our guest," she lied, smiling. 

Sam turned on his heel to face Loki's cell. A shiver ran past him as if simply gazing upon the Liesmith gave him the heebie jeebies. "How is he, then?"

Lilah shrugged, disinterestedly. "No worse than last time."

"No, not like last time. Last-time-Loki helped save the world and his whole realm from his psycho sister. This Loki just came off trying to enslave New York."

"Tomato, tomahto. Same dude, different day, Sam." With an amused smile, she turned the glaring superhero and nudged him out ahead of her. "Someone should be down with your dinner in a bit, OK?" She assured, as if that cleared up the rest of the questions brewing in Loki's head. 

Loki knew was out of sync with the time. He could feel it in the air and with every pulse of his veins. The agents who brought him into the basement gave him a barebones recollection of what had happened– how the Titan known as Thanos, how half the population died, how time had to be altered to change the course of history. Dangerous games played by children who didn't know any better. Once the Stone had been pulled from his timeline, he had jumped, as well. 

It took an impressively short amount of time to apprehend him, as they had the benefit of time to adapt to his wily nature. He had found it odd that he was not immediately chained and scrapped for every bit of information he could give, that they didn't bother monitoring him 24/7, that there seemed to be only a handful people employed in the facility. Midgard was different: older, wiser, a little jaded. It had lost many of its heroes in a short time, it seemed. The corner of his eye caught the subtle glow of the chess board, effectively interrupting his internal monologue. 

Lilah walked cautiously across the threshold of the prison floor. In her hands she balanced a tray with covered food and a large pitcher of sweet tea. Funnily enough, none of the staff found it a great opportunity to bring their prisoner his dinner, despite the fact that he had been doing nothing but bellyaching at the walls and pout for the week he had been there. That meant it was up to her to slow walk some food and drink over to the prison desk and hope she didn't spill. Lilah wasn't particularly clumsy, but she also never had the need to carry a tray full of food and drinks across a couple of floors before. 

"I don't know what you wanted to eat, so I made you a plate with some of everything. Then, I brought sweet tea and then remembered that almost no one outside of the South likes sweet tea, so I brought you some water, but you're free to have some tea if you can tolerate it," Lilah rambled, passing a plate through the hatch on the door along with a bottle of water and a glass of sweet iced tea. Though he tried to seem disinterested, the smell of food made Loki abandon his in-bed lounging and cautiously approach the cell door. He first took the glass of tea and took a tentative sip. His face screwed up unpleasantly a moment after. "Yeah, it's an acquired taste– like watered down cane molasses."

His face turned hard as he swallowed down a few gulps of water to wash out the taste. "Is your intent to poison me?"

"I don't know. Do Asgardians get diabetes?"

"What?"

"That's a no." Glancing over her shoulder, Lilah glanced at a chair by the empty sentry desk. "Mind if I join you?" She gestured the remaining plate on the tray. 

For a long moment, he did not reply, instead glaring into her as if his eyes could become lasers and explode her from the inside out (though they probably could if he tried hard enough). "If you wish." A satisfied grin perched itself on her lips as she placed the tray on the floor and jogged over to collect the chair. She carried it right to the cell's side and collected her tray before sinking into it cross-legged. 

Loki had not moved from his place in front of the food hatch, quietly watching the mortal woman dig into a plate of vegetables, chicken and rice as if it were the most exquisite of treats. The weight of his gaze pulled her attention, and she glanced upwards. "Eat. I don't want Thor griping about you getting thin. God knows he already has enough going on in his brain. If Valkyrie even finds him."

"You must be mistaken. The Valkyries are dead," Loki says, simply, an observation. 

Lilah stopped chewing, putting down her fork back on her plate, speared carrot and all. "I suppose they still are, for you."

"Where is my brother?" Lilah hesitated. "You also said earlier that I saved my people from my sister. I don't have a sister."

"Fuck, Thor. Where the hell are you when I need you?" She muttered to herself. "FRIDAY, can you pull up the records on Asgard and Hela, please?"

"Are you sure you want to show him this, Delilah?"

The woman rolled her eyes at the AI's sass. "Do you know where Thor is?"

"King Brunnhilde has yet to find him, as of ten minutes ago."

"You know the answer, then." The glass of the prison cell lit up with pictorials of Asgard. "Some time ago Odin Allfather disappeared." An image of Odin faded into the ether on the screen. "You, in true Loki fashion, had taken up the throne dressed as his clone. Thor found out and forced you both to find him. Odin died shortly after." The images of Thor, Loki and Odin faded and Hela was left in their wake. "His death caused the release of Hela, Odin's eldest child and death-bringer to all realms. You tried to fight her off, ended up on a trash planet called Sakaar." The images on the screen turned to the bright, metal and pastels of Sakaar, complete with Hulk and Thor fighting while Loki stood in a corner laughing. 

"On Sakaar you met Brunnhilde, the last Valkyrie. Thor, Banner, and Valkyrie escaped the planet to rescue Asgard. Surprisingly, so did you." The images of Loki graciously arriving in the giant cruiser ship with Korg and Miek flashed before them, and Loki could not but feel fascinated by this stranger who wore his face. The people of Asgard smiled and thanked him as he ushered them into the ship and jumped into the fray of battle below. "Eventually Hela was defeated and you fled with your people from Asgard. They've made a new colony in Iceland called New Asgard."

"They, not you?" He asked, perceptively, brow furrowed. "I did not survive the trip," he added, matter-of-factly. 

"Thanos happened," she quipped with a sigh. She leant a small smile to him knowing full well it was not to be returned. "You died protecting your people."

Loki seemed as surprised as anyone who heard the tale from Thor, afterwards. "I died a hero?"

Lilah now smiled in earnest. "It seems you are capable of amazing things when you want to. You rose to the challenge," she finished, watching the holographic Loki sink his dagger into an undead sentinel and toss another over his shoulder with dangerous precision. 

Despite himself, Loki smirked, staring somewhat proudly at the ferocious warrior hopping around the scene. He took his plate to the small desk in his cell and tucked into his meal, seemingly satisfied with her answers thus far. Lilah followed his lead, eating her dinner in silence before picking up the remainder of her dinnerware and preparing to leave Loki, once more. Before she did, she noticed the chess board hds moved. Smiling, she glanced shortly at Loki, who had taken up a book and was quite immersed in it, though she swore she saw him briefly gaze at her while she thought of her next play. With a quick jolt of her fingers, her bishop conquered his knight. She then swore she saw him frown. 

"By the way, you can ask FRIDAY for more books, access to the archives, or movies or something. You're not meant to be here to rot in your boredom." She gave a friendly wave. "Good night, Loki."

[hellcures]

✧･ﾟ @sunsymbols​​ °。cont. from here.

         “Lana.” He’s not disappointed to see her, he’s just tired. A lifetime of hunting had left him weary and the last fight with his brother had been enough to drive him away from it all (again). This time, to a bar somewhere south of nowhere and despite everything, he likes it. He likes being free from demons and hunters alike – far away from his expectations – it’s simple and almost easy.

         Almost.

         He knows Dean didn’t send her his way. That’s not like him, though it is very much like Lana to track him down. It wasn’t even a matter of if she’d find him, but when, and Sam was maybe just hoping for a little more time to keep his head buried in the sand. He’s not ready to be a hunter again or to go back to his family. He still feels the urge to drink and it’s not safe for him. For anybody.

          “I’m not going back yet. I can’t. And I’m sorry, but there’s nothing you can do to change that.”

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐄  —  sam hadn’t made it that easy of a feat to find him as she'd anticipated.  one eventually learns that usually is because they don’t  want  to be found, but lana wasn’t known to be one to give up easy.  or at all, for that matter.  both a blessing and a curse, but as the ex-girl next door  pushed her way into the raunchy hunter’s bar, she didn’t stop to choose which of the two this categorized as.  all she knew was she was damn happy to see her best friend, safe and sound, cleaning off the top of the bar minding nobody’s business.

however, her arrival didn’t remain announced for long, and so she gave her pressence away with that one-liner.  after all, it  was  ironic  —  a hunter hiding away from hunting in a hunter’s bar.  only sam could pull of that kind of logic.  but above all, she didn’t buy he could simply give it all up.  if something had been proven in recent events, it was that he and dean had literally been put into this world to do what they did best  —  saving people, hunting things.  and she’d be damned if she watched one half of that pact fall off the wagon without trying to do something about it.  which is why she’d soon walked over to one of the stools, sitting before him, and preparing to counterback his unwavering arguments with her own unwavering, stubborn statements.  

❛ can’t blame a girl for tryin’. ❜  a small grin toyed around the corners of her rosy lips, in an attempt to lighten the mood between them.  despite her wishes for him to come back home, she had no intention to drag him back kicking and screaming.  lana hadn’t stopped listening or paying attention just for the sake of self-service, she never had.  she knew there was a reason for him to do what he did.  one she couldn’t fully understand, nor would she pretend to, which is why she had to respect his choice.�� nevertheless, they’d have to manage to find themselves some middle ground, because now that she was there?   lana wasn’t going out that door on her own.  ❛ fair enough, but you should know that i ain’t leaving this place without you.  and i’m sorry, but there’s nothing  you  can do to change  that, so . . .  ❜  lips pressed onto a thin line, before hazel eyes looked up from their near-touching hands to find his familiar gaze.   ❛ looks like you’re gonna have to get used to having me ‘round here. ❜