#catastrophe au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artyandink · 3 months ago

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amoralism | thirteen

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Dean’s the mole, the Sucide Squad formation and it being a train wreck, a bit of family problems, angst, smut

STW: unprotected sex (do not do this at any circumstances), oral (f. receiving), betrayal!era Dean sex so it’s kinda like if Demon!Dean would do it which we all love, kind of angsty sex, rough sex, rather emotional

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Tears of Gold - Faouzia

catastrophism

You and Sam were hunched over a pile of papers and computer screens in his dimly lit living room. The room, usually a sanctuary, felt heavy with the weight of your mission. The hum of the computer and the rustling of papers were the only sounds breaking the silence as you scoured for any sign of Dean.

“We’ve got to find him before he goes underground completely,” Sam said, his voice strained but determined. His eyes darted across the screen, following the trail of data that might lead you to Dean. The pressure was mounting; it was evident in the lines etched deep into his face.

You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes glazed over as you flipped through a file with disjointed leads. The stress was palpable, and though you were trying to keep your focus, your thoughts kept wandering back to Dean—the betrayal, the manipulation, the overwhelming realization of it all. It was hard to shake the image of him as the mole, a shadow over every decision and interaction.

Sam glanced over at you, noting the weariness in your eyes and the tight grip you had on the edge of the table. “Hey,” he said gently, “are you okay? You seem...off.”

You blinked, snapping back to reality. “I’m fine,” you replied, though your voice was brittle and unconvincing. “We just need to keep going. We can’t stop now.”

Sam didn’t buy it. He knew you too well. “You’ve been pushing yourself really hard. Maybe we should take a break. It’s been nonstop since—”

“No,” you cut him off sharply, perhaps a little too sharply. “We don’t have time for breaks. Dean’s out there, and he’s a threat. We have to find him before he disappears.”

Sam’s expression hardened slightly, his protective instincts kicking in. “I understand that. But if you’re not in a good place, it’s going to make things harder. We need you at your best.”

You felt a surge of frustration, but underneath it, a deep current of fear and sadness. “I’m fine,” you insisted again, but this time your voice trembled.

Sam’s face softened, seeing through the façade you were desperately trying to maintain. “Look, if you’re struggling, it’s okay. We’re in this together. But you need to let yourself take a breath.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the pressure of it all was too much. You tried to hold back the tears, but they began to spill over uncontrollably. The stress, the worry, the betrayal—everything was crashing down on you, and you felt utterly defeated.

Sam stood up from his chair, his demeanor shifting to one of concern and empathy. “Hey,” he said gently, approaching you. “It’s okay to let it out. We’re going to get through this.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. You slumped forward, your shoulders shaking with sobs as the tears flowed freely. It was as if all the stress and pain you’d been trying to contain had finally broken free. The sound of your crying filled the room, raw and unabashed.

Sam moved quickly to your side, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. The warmth of his hug was a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s alright,” he murmured, his voice steady and reassuring. “We’re going to figure this out. You don’t have to carry this burden alone.”

You clung to him, taking solace in the simple act of being held. His presence was grounding, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in your mind. The tears kept coming, each one a release of pent-up emotion and stress. Sam held you firmly, his hand gently rubbing your back in a soothing rhythm.

As you began to regain some composure, you heard a gentle knock on the door. It creaked open, revealing Jess, rubbing her baby bump. She stepped in, concern etched on her face. “Sam? I heard... Are you guys okay? Do you need anything?”

Sam glanced up, his eyes apologetic. “Hey, Jess. We’re... we’re fine. Just had a bit of a moment.”

Jess looked between you and Sam, understanding dawning on her face. “Do you need something to eat or drink? Maybe just some time to relax?”

You pulled away slightly from Sam’s embrace, wiping at your tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

Jess shook her head, her expression gentle. “Don’t apologize. Everyone needs a break sometimes. Here, let me get you something. It’s the least I can do.”

She left the room, her presence a calming one. You and Sam were left alone again, but the tension in the room had lessened. Sam’s gaze was soft, and he gave you a reassuring nod. “It’s okay to take a step back. We’ll get through this together.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Thanks, Sam. I just...I didn’t realize how overwhelmed I was.”

“It’s understandable,” Sam said. “This whole situation is tough on everyone. But remember, you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You nodded, grateful for his support. Jess returned shortly with a tray of snacks and drinks, setting them down on the table. “Here you go,” she said with a warm smile. “Just some comfort food. It might not solve everything, but it can help.”

You managed a small, grateful smile as you took a sip of the tea Jess had brought. The simple act of kindness felt like a balm to your frayed nerves. Jess’s presence, combined with Sam’s unwavering support, helped you find a moment of calm amid the storm.

As you ate and drank, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, the atmosphere easing as you all shared a brief respite from the intensity of the situation. Sam and Jess talked about their plans for the weekend, and you listened, allowing yourself to be momentarily distracted from the pressing worries.

You and Sam made your way through the narrow, dimly lit corridors of the FBI headquarters, the weight of the last few weeks pressing down on you like a vice. The air was thick with the tension that had been building ever since Dean's betrayal came to light, and it was all you could do to keep moving forward. Sam walked beside you, his long strides purposeful, but there was a heaviness to his movements that you recognized all too well. He’d been carrying the burden of Dean’s actions just as much as you had, maybe even more.

As you approached the office of Director Bobby Singer, your stomach twisted in knots. Bobby wasn’t just your superior; he was practically family. He’d known Sam and Dean since they were kids, and he’d watched them grow into the men they were today. The thought of facing him, of telling him that you still had no solid leads on Dean’s whereabouts, made your chest tighten with guilt.

Sam paused in front of the heavy oak door, his hand hovering over the handle. He glanced at you, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of determination and dread. “You ready for this?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the uncertainty gnawing at your insides. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

With a deep breath, Sam pushed open the door, and you both stepped into the office. The room was dimly lit, the warm glow of a desk lamp casting long shadows across the walls lined with bookshelves crammed full of case files, old and new. The scent of leather and paper filled the air, a comforting reminder of the countless hours spent in this room, poring over case details with Bobby.

Behind the large, cluttered desk sat Director Bobby Singer. He was a grizzled man in his late fifties, his once-dark hair now streaked with gray, his blue eyes sharp and calculating. He looked up from the file he was reading, his gaze settling on the two of you with a mixture of weariness and concern. The lines on his face seemed deeper than you remembered, as if the weight of the world had finally begun to take its toll on him.

“Shut the door behind you,” Bobby said, his voice gravelly but not unkind. You did as he asked, the soft click of the door closing behind you punctuating the heavy silence that had settled over the room.

Bobby motioned to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Sit,” he said simply, and you and Sam both sank into the worn leather chairs, the familiar creak of the old furniture grounding you in the moment.

For a long moment, Bobby just stared at the two of you, his eyes flicking back and forth as if searching for something. You could tell he was trying to gauge the situation, to read between the lines of what you weren’t saying. Finally, he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’m guessing you’re here to give me an update on Dean,” he said, his tone neutral but the underlying concern evident.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “We’ve been working every lead we’ve got, Bobby, but…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening with frustration.

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, his expression hardening. “But you haven’t found him.”

It wasn’t a question, and the truth of it hung in the air like a lead weight.

You glanced at Sam, seeing the same frustration mirrored in his face. “We’ve been following every lead, Bobby,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s like he’s just… disappeared.”

Bobby’s expression didn’t change, but you could see the flicker of pain in his eyes, a pain that came from knowing just how far Dean had fallen. He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing a hand over his face as if trying to wipe away the exhaustion that clung to him.

“Dammit,” Bobby muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. He was silent for a moment, his mind clearly working through the implications of what you’d said. Finally, he looked back up at the two of you, his gaze sharp and focused.

“Tell me everything,” he said, his voice firm. “Every lead you’ve followed, every dead end. I need to know where we stand.”

You and Sam exchanged a quick glance before Sam nodded, leaning forward slightly as he began to recount the details of the investigation. “We started with his last known location,” Sam began, his voice steady despite the tension in his body. “After he escaped custody, we traced him to a safe house in Montana. But by the time we got there, he was already gone.”

Bobby nodded, listening intently, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face. “Any sign of where he went after that?”

Sam shook his head, his frustration evident. “Nothing concrete. We found some evidence that he’d been in contact with a few known associates—people we’ve had on our radar for a while. But none of them were willing to talk. It’s like they’re more afraid of Dean than they are of us.”

Bobby frowned, his fingers tapping absently on the edge of his desk. “That’s not surprising. Dean’s always been good at getting people to do what he wants. But this… This is different. He’s not just working with them, he’s controlling them.”

You nodded, the weight of Bobby’s words settling heavily in your chest. “We think he’s been planning this for a long time,” you said quietly. “He’s always been one step ahead of us, like he knew what we were going to do before we did it.”

Bobby’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he processed what you were saying. “And you think he’s working alone?”

The question hung in the air, and you could see the doubt in Sam’s eyes as he considered how to respond. “We’re not sure,” Sam admitted finally. “We know he’s been in contact with some high-level operatives, but we haven’t been able to confirm if he’s officially aligned with any groups. It’s possible he’s acting independently.”

Bobby’s lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening. “If Dean’s gone rogue, that makes him even more dangerous. He knows our methods, our protocols. He can predict our every move.”

The room fell silent as the reality of the situation settled over you all. Dean wasn’t just another fugitive; he was one of your own, someone who knew the inner workings of the FBI better than anyone. And that made him a threat like no other.

Bobby leaned forward, his gaze piercing as he looked at you and Sam. “So what’s your plan? How do you intend to bring him in?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words. The truth was, you didn’t have a concrete plan. Every lead you’d followed had ended in a dead end, every attempt to track him down had been thwarted. And now, sitting here in Bobby’s office, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of hopelessness creeping in.

But before you could voice those doubts, Sam spoke up, his voice firm and resolute. “We’re going to keep looking,” he said, his jaw set in determination. “We’re not giving up, Bobby. We’ll find him. We have to.”

Bobby studied Sam for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded, a reluctant sigh escaping him. “I know you will, Sam. But you need to be careful. Dean’s not the same person you grew up with. He’s changed. And I don’t just mean because of what he’s done. He’s… different.”

The words sent a chill down your spine, and you couldn’t help but wonder just how much Dean had changed. How much of the man you’d known and loved was still in there, and how much had been lost to whatever darkness had taken hold of him.

“We’ll be careful,” you said quietly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “But we need to bring him in, Bobby. Before he does something we can’t undo.”

Bobby’s gaze softened slightly, a hint of the familiar warmth returning to his eyes. “I know you will,” he said, his voice gentle. “Just… don’t let this consume you. Either of you. Dean’s made his choices, and now you have to make yours.”

The words hung heavy in the air, a reminder that this wasn’t just about finding Dean; it was about protecting yourselves, about not losing sight of who you were in the process. And that was something you both needed to remember, no matter how difficult it might be.

The room fell silent again, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you. You could feel Sam’s tension beside you, his fists clenched in his lap as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. You wanted to reach out to him, to offer some kind of comfort, but you weren’t sure what to say. How could you comfort him when you felt just as lost as he did?

Bobby seemed to sense the tension between you, and he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his graying hair. “Look, I know this is hard. It’s hard for all of us. But we’ll get through it. We always do.”

You nodded, grateful for the reassurance, even if you weren’t entirely sure you believed it. “Thank you, Bobby,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bobby waved off your thanks, his expression softening as he looked at you and Sam. “You’re family,” he said simply. “We take care of our own.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt a lump forming in your throat. You wanted to believe that everything would be okay, that you’d find Dean and make things right. But as you left Bobby’s office, the reality of the situation settled over you once more.

Dean was out there, a threat to everyone you cared about, and you had no idea where to start looking next. All you could do was keep searching, keep fighting, and hope that somehow, you’d find a way to bring him back before it was too late.

The night had settled into an eerie silence, the kind that left you hyper-aware of every creak and groan of your house. Your bedroom was dimly lit by the soft glow of the lamp on your bedside table, casting long shadows across the walls. You’d been sitting on the edge of your bed for what felt like hours, your mind spinning, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The revelation that Dean was the mole had shattered something inside you, leaving you feeling lost and hollow. You’d tried to focus on finding him, on stopping him, but every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was his face—the smirk that used to make your heart race, now twisted into something dangerous, something you didn’t recognize.

You knew you should be doing something—anything—but instead, you sat there, paralyzed by the weight of it all. Your hands trembled slightly as you ran them through your hair, the stress of the past few days catching up with you. How had it come to this? Dean, of all people, betraying you, betraying Sam, betraying everything you thought he stood for. You wanted to hate him, but the truth was, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. Despite everything, you missed him. You missed the way he used to look at you, the way he could make you feel safe and alive all at once. But now, all of that felt like a distant memory, tainted by the knowledge of what he’d done.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the door creak open. It wasn’t until you felt a presence in the room—familiar, yet unsettling—that you realized you weren’t alone. Your heart leapt into your throat, and you whipped around, eyes widening in disbelief as you saw him standing there, just inside the doorway.

“Dean…” The word came out as a whisper, a mix of shock and something else you couldn’t quite place.

He looked different. The Dean you knew was always intense, but this—this was something else. His green eyes were hard, almost cold, and there was a darkness in them that made your blood run cold. He was dressed in his usual jeans and leather jacket, but there was an edge to him now, a dangerous confidence that had always been there, but was now fully unleashed.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand up from the bed, though your legs felt like they might give out at any moment. “What are you doing here?” you demanded, your voice stronger than you felt. “How did you even get in?”

Dean just stared at you for a long moment, his gaze piercing, before he finally spoke. “You left the window unlocked.” His voice was low, rough, the sound of it sending a shiver down your spine. There was something different in his tone—an almost predatory calm that both terrified and thrilled you.

You took a step back, instinctively putting some distance between you. “You need to leave, Dean. Right now. You—” The words caught in your throat. “You shouldn’t be here.”

A slow, humorless smile spread across his face as he took a step forward, closing the gap you’d tried to create. “I shouldn’t be here?” he echoed, his voice dripping with irony. “I think you know that’s not gonna happen, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. The term of endearment used to make you feel warm, cared for. Now, it felt like a weapon, a reminder of what he used to be and what he’d become. You shook your head, trying to clear the fog in your mind. “Dean, please… We can talk about this, but not here. Not like this.”

His smile faltered slightly, a flash of something—anger? hurt?—flickering across his face before it was gone, replaced by that cold, hard mask. “There’s nothing to talk about,” he said flatly. “You and Sam think you can just hunt me down, lock me up? You really think I’d let that happen?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, the stark reality of what he was saying, what he was willing to do, finally sinking in. “I don’t want to lock you up,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. “I just want to understand why, Dean. Why are you doing this? Why did you betray us?”

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of the old Dean, the man you loved, behind those cold eyes. But it was gone almost as soon as it appeared, replaced by something darker, more resolute.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me,” you shot back, your desperation starting to bleed through. “I deserve to know, Dean. After everything we’ve been through, I deserve to know why.”

He stared at you, his jaw clenched, and for a moment you thought he might actually tell you, that he might break down the wall he’d built around himself. But then his expression hardened, and he took another step toward you, close enough now that you could feel the heat radiating off him.

“Enough with the questions,” he growled, his voice a rough whisper that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re not here to understand. You’re here because you can’t stay away.”

The accusation stung because deep down, you knew there was some truth to it. Despite everything, despite knowing what he’d done, you couldn’t stop wanting him. It was like a sickness, an addiction you couldn’t shake.

“No,” you whispered, trying to convince yourself as much as him. “I’m here because I wanted to make you see reason. To remind you of who you are.”

Dean’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a grip that was firm but not painful. It was enough to make your heart race, enough to make you acutely aware of how close he was, how easily he could overpower you if he wanted to.

“Who I am?” he echoed, his voice low and dangerous. “I know exactly who I am. And I think you do too.”

Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. “You can try to resist all you want, but we both know how this ends.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to push him away, but your body betrayed you. The feel of his breath against your skin, the heat of his body so close to yours, it was all too much. Despite everything, despite knowing that you should hate him, you couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him.

“Dean, please…” The words came out as a whisper, but you weren’t even sure what you were asking for. For him to stop? For him to keep going? You didn’t know anymore. All you knew was that you were lost, caught between wanting him and knowing you shouldn’t.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. His other hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a gesture that was surprisingly tender, considering the darkness in his eyes. The touch made you shiver, your resolve crumbling even further.

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for any sign of the man you used to know. “Why are you doing this?” you asked again, your voice barely more than a whisper. “Why, Dean?”

For a moment, just a moment, you thought you saw something break in his expression, something that looked like guilt or regret. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold, steely resolve.

“Because this is who I am now,” he said, his voice rough, almost resigned. “And you’re either with me or against me.”

The words hit you like a blow, the finality of them making your heart ache. You wanted to scream, to cry, to beg him to come back to you, but you knew it was useless. This was who he was now, and nothing you said would change that.

But even as you thought that, even as you felt the tears prick at the corners of your eyes, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into him, from letting him pull you closer until your bodies were pressed together. The feel of him against you, the heat and strength of him, it was intoxicating, and you hated yourself for wanting it, for needing it.

“Dean…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He didn’t say anything, just tightened his grip on you, his hand sliding from your face down to your neck, his fingers curling around the back of your head as he tilted your face up to his. For a moment, you thought he might kiss you, and despite everything, you wanted him to. You wanted to lose yourself in him, to forget everything for just a little while.

But instead, he just stared down at you, his gaze intense, almost searching. “Tell me to stop,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Tell me to walk away, and I will.”

The words hung in the air between you, a lifeline you weren’t sure you were strong enough to take. You knew you should tell him to stop, that you should tell him to leave and never come back. But you couldn’t. The truth was, you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want him to leave. Despite everything, despite knowing that you should hate him, you still wanted him.

You didn’t say anything, and after a moment, Dean’s expression hardened. “That’s what I thought,” he muttered, almost to himself.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle or tender like the kisses you used to share. This was different. This was rough, demanding, almost desperate. It was like he was trying to claim you, to remind you who was in control. And maybe that was what you needed—maybe that was why you didn’t push him away.

You kissed him back, your hands fisting in his jacket as you pulled him closer, giving in to the need that had been gnawing at you since the moment he walked into the room. It was wrong, you knew that, but in that moment, you didn’t care. All you cared about was the way he made you feel, the way he could make you forget everything else.

Dean’s hands moved to your waist, his grip firm as he pushed you back toward the bed. You went willingly, your heart pounding in your chest as the back of your legs hit the mattress. He broke the kiss just long enough to push you down onto the bed, following you down, his body pressing you into the mattress as he claimed your lips again.

It was all happening so fast, and yet it felt like time had slowed down, every touch, every kiss searing itself into your memory. You knew this was a mistake, that you should stop him, but you couldn’t. You were too far gone, too lost in the feel of him, the taste of him. You’d been craving this, needing it, and now that it was happening, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it.

Dean’s hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding under your shirt to touch your bare skin. You gasped at the feel of his rough hands against your skin, the touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. It was like you were on fire, every nerve ending alive with sensation.

“Dean…” His name slipped from your lips, a plea, a confession. You didn’t even know what you were asking for anymore. All you knew was that you needed him, that you couldn’t let him go.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You arched into him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you tried to pull him closer, needing more, needing all of him. It was like a fever, a need so intense it consumed you, and you couldn’t think of anything else but him.

Dean’s hand slid up your thigh, pushing your shirt higher as he went. You gasped, your head falling back against the pillows as his lips found a sensitive spot on your neck, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. It was too much, and yet not enough. You needed more, and he knew it. He could sense it in the way you moved beneath him, in the way you clung to him.

“Is this what you want?” Dean’s voice was rough, almost mocking as he pulled back just enough to look down at you. His eyes were dark, filled with a dangerous intensity that both thrilled and terrified you.

You met his gaze, your breath coming in short gasps. You should say no. You should tell him to stop. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself nodding, your body betraying you once again.

A slow, almost triumphant smile spread across his face, and he leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. His hand slid higher, pushing your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving a trail of heat as he kissed his way down your chest, your stomach.

You were trembling now, your body alight with need and anticipation. Every touch, every kiss was like a brand, searing itself into your skin, your soul. You were losing yourself in him, in the feel of him, and you didn’t know if you’d ever be able to find your way back.

Dean’s hands were rough, his touch possessive as he moved over you, his lips finding every sensitive spot, his hands leaving marks that would bruise by morning. You gasped, moaned, begged for more, even as your mind screamed at you to stop, to remember who he was, what he’d done.

But it was too late. You were too far gone, too lost in the haze of desire and need. This was Dean, and despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the lies, you couldn’t stop wanting him. You couldn’t stop loving him.

And so you gave in, letting him take you, letting him claim you, even though you knew it was wrong, even though you knew it would destroy you.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking harshly as he threw your legs over his shoulders, taking it between his teeth for a moment before tracing his name with his tongue. Dean’s fingers came in to break you further, delving into your soaked pussy as he lapped up everything you had to offer until his lips and chin were glistening, but didn’t stop even then.

You didn’t know how long it lasted—minutes, hours, it all blurred together in a haze of heat and need. All you knew was that when it was over, when the storm had passed, you were left trembling, broken, your heart shattered into a million pieces as you came hard and fast, not given time to think or speak.

Dean was still there, his weight heavy on top of you, his breath ragged against your neck when he quickly pounced back up, whipping off his jeans and boxers, his leather jacket and shirt and entering you with one quick snap of his hips. You could feel his heart beating against your chest, strong and steady, a reminder that this wasn’t a dream anymore, that this was real.

You didn’t want it to be real. He’d leave again.

But he removed that thought from your head, pinning your hands above your head, thrusting so hard you’d probably feel it for a week. “So good, baby girl.” Dean growled against your neck, chuckling. “So desperate for me to fuck you raw. I’ll explain everything, I promise.” You couldn’t think, speak, not when he was stripping you of everything in that moment.

Breaking you down and building you back up again as something broken - like him - until he came and you did too a few sloppy thrusts later, Dean’s hard, unrecognisable body collapsing on top of yours like it used to,

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the silence in the room deafening. You didn’t know what to say, what to do. All you could do was lie there, trying to catch your breath, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

Finally, Dean pulled away, rolling off you and onto his back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look at you. He just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart aching at the sight of him. He looked so different now, so distant. The man you loved was still there, somewhere beneath the surface, but he was buried deep, hidden behind layers of anger and pain.

“Dean…” You didn’t know what you were going to say, didn’t know if there was anything left to say. But before you could finish, he cut you off.

“Don’t.” His voice was rough, cold, and it made you flinch. “Just… don’t.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, the finality of them making your chest tighten. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to explain. He didn’t want to be saved.

And that hurt more than anything.

The following morning, you arrived at the FBI headquarters with an uneasy sense of anticipation. The memory of Dean's sudden reappearance in your life, his rough demeanor, and the fraught, emotional aftermath of that encounter left you feeling on edge. Your nerves were still raw, and the uncertainty of the situation made every step feel heavy, every sound magnified.

You and Sam headed straight to Bobby Singer’s office, where you knew you would receive an update on the ongoing investigation. The sense of urgency was palpable, and Sam’s expression was set in determined lines as he opened the door to Bobby’s office.

Bobby was already there, sitting behind his desk with a stack of files neatly arranged before him. His face was etched with concern, and the usual warmth of his expression was tempered by the seriousness of the situation. As you and Sam entered, Bobby glanced up, his gaze sweeping over you with a hint of the resolve he always carried.

“Morning,” Bobby said, his voice carrying the weariness of long hours spent working on a high-stakes case. “I’ve called a meeting. We’re going to need to think outside the box on this one.”

You exchanged a quick look with Sam, both of you wondering what Bobby had in mind. The weight of Dean’s betrayal had pushed you to the edge, and it seemed like the solution would involve something unconventional.

Bobby stood up, his demeanor taking on a more theatrical edge. “We’ve got a team coming together, one that’s going to work outside of the usual Bureau protocols. You’ll see what I mean.”

With a wave of his hand, Bobby began the introductions. It felt like the opening scene of a high-stakes action movie, each name and face meant to signal something important. You stood there, watching and waiting, as Bobby began.

“First up,” Bobby said, his voice taking on a dramatic tone, “we’ve got someone who’s not just a tech genius but also a force to be reckoned with. She’s the one who can hack through the toughest security systems and has a knack for getting things done. Ladies and gentlemen, Charlie Bradbury.”

The door to Bobby’s office opened with a flourish, and in walked Charlie Bradbury. She was a petite woman with an energetic presence, her short red hair styled into a messy bob that seemed to fit her vibrant personality. Her attire was a bit unconventional for an FBI meeting—a graphic tee layered under a plaid shirt, and jeans with sneakers. She gave a quick wave and a bright smile, her enthusiasm evident as she took her place in the room.

“Next,” Bobby continued, “we have Garth Fitzgerald IV. He’s got the smarts, the charm, and a level of resourcefulness that’s hard to match. Garth, why don’t you come on in?”

The door opened again, and Garth Fitzgerald IV strolled in. Garth had an easygoing manner about him, his long brown hair pulled into a casual ponytail. He wore a casual blazer over a graphic tee, and his demeanor was relaxed, almost too relaxed for the gravity of the situation. His bright blue eyes twinkled with a mix of intelligence and mischief, making it clear he was someone who could be counted on in a pinch.

“Now for someone with a bit more of a no-nonsense attitude,” Bobby said. “John Winchester, a Navy SEAL and Bureau veteran. He’s seen it all and survived it all. Let’s see him now.”

John Winchester entered the room with a solid, no-nonsense presence. He was tall and muscular, his uniform impeccably pressed, his hair cut short and neatly styled. His eyes were sharp and alert, constantly scanning the room with a practiced gaze. His stance was rigid, and there was an intensity about him that spoke of years spent in high-stress situations. Despite the seriousness, there was a quiet respect in his posture, indicating that he was here to get results.

“Dad.” Sam said almost breathlessly, getting a curt nod from John.

“Son.” He replied quietly.

“Coming up next,” Bobby said, with a hint of pride, “Agent Jack Kline. Young, but don’t let that fool you. He’s driven, sharp, and has a personal stake in this mission.”

The door swung open to reveal Jack Kline. Jack was in his mid-twenties, his youthful face marked by a determination that belied his age. He wore a perfectly tailored suit, his dark hair slicked back with a bit too much gel. There was an earnestness about him, a fire in his eyes that suggested he was ready to prove himself. He gave a quick nod as he took his place, his posture straight and attentive.

“Rufus Turner is up next,” Bobby said, his voice carrying a note of familiarity. “He’s a personal friend of mine, a man who’s been around the block and knows his way through the worst of situations.”

Rufus Turner ambled in with a relaxed air. He was an older man with a grizzled beard and a weathered face that told tales of a long life lived on the edge. His attire was practical and comfortable—a flannel shirt over a t-shirt and worn jeans. Despite his casual look, there was an air of quiet competence about him. He moved with the ease of someone who knew exactly how to handle himself in any situation.

“And finally,” Bobby said, with a hint of ceremony, “we have MI6 agent Mick Davies. Don’t let his British charm fool you. He’s a seasoned operative with a knack for strategy and an uncanny ability to get results.”

Mick Davies walked in with a smooth confidence. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his British accent evident as he gave a polite nod to everyone in the room. His dark hair was neatly styled, and his demeanor was polished and controlled, suggesting a refined sense of discipline and professionalism. He glanced around the room with a keen eye, taking in the group with an air of detached interest.

“Why did that feel too much like a movie?” Sam pointed out, extremely confused.

“Get with the times, idjit.” Bobby replied with a grimace.

You, Sam, and Bobby walked down the corridor toward the large conference room where the newly assembled team, unofficially dubbed the “suicide squad” by Bobby, was set to have its first meeting. The mood was a mix of trepidation and reluctant optimism. Each step you took echoed with the weight of the task ahead. You glanced at Sam, who looked as tense as you felt. He caught your eye and offered a small, reassuring smile.

“Ready for this?” Sam asked, his voice carrying a note of humor despite the underlying seriousness.

You shrugged, trying to mask your nervousness with a grin. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Bobby led the way, his demeanor a blend of determined authority and barely concealed exasperation. “Let’s just hope this motley crew can get their act together. We need results, and we need them fast.”

As you entered the conference room, the scene that greeted you was anything but what you had expected. The room, designed for high-stakes meetings and serious discussions, was currently a battleground of personalities. Papers were scattered across the large table, coffee cups and half-eaten snacks littered the surface, and a low murmur of voices competed with the sound of shuffling papers and the occasional burst of laughter.

Charlie was already there, surrounded by a mountain of tech gadgets and open laptops. She was energetically typing away on her keyboard, her eyes darting from one screen to another with frenetic energy. “Just give me a sec, I’m almost through with this encryption!” she called out without looking up.

Garth was sprawled comfortably in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on the table. He was engrossed in a large comic book, occasionally glancing up with a mischievous grin. “Hey, what’s up? Got any cool new cases for us?” he asked cheerfully, waving his comic book around.

John, standing at the window, was peering out with a focused intensity. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his posture rigid. He barely acknowledged the newcomers, his attention fixed on something only he seemed to see. His frown deepened as he muttered, “We better make sure our perimeter is secure. Can’t be too careful.”

Agent Kline, with his loosely tailored suit and too-gelled hair, was seated at the far end of the table, his gaze darting nervously between his notes and the door. He looked as if he was bracing himself for an incoming storm. “Is this where the briefing starts?” he asked, his accent tinged with a hint of nervous politeness.

Rufus Turner, the weathered veteran, was sitting back in his chair with a cup of coffee in hand. He was wearing a bemused expression as he watched the chaos unfold. “Well, ain’t this a sight,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his coffee. “Looks like we got ourselves a real circus here.”

Mick was the last to arrive, his sharp suit and neatly combed hair making him stand out even more in the already chaotic room. He entered with a smooth, confident stride, giving everyone a polite nod before taking a seat. “Morning, everyone. I trust we’re all ready to tackle the matter at hand?” he said, his British accent crisp and precise.

Bobby took a deep breath, his face a mask of restrained frustration. “Alright, everyone, let’s get this show on the road. We have a lot to cover, and we need to get organized.”

Charlie, still engrossed in her work, muttered, “Just a minute, Bobby. I’m almost through with decrypting this file. We’re going to need it.”

Garth looked up from his comic book with a raised eyebrow. “Decrypting? Sounds like a real party. How about we get some snacks and make this meeting more fun?”

John, still fixated on the window, grunted in agreement. “We don’t have time for snacks. We need to focus.”

Jack shifted in his seat, trying to catch Bobby’s attention. “Director Singer, if we could have a clear agenda, it might help streamline things.”

Rufus snorted into his coffee. “Streamline things? We haven’t even started, and it’s already a mess.”

Mick, attempting to bring some semblance of order, cleared his throat. “Perhaps a more structured approach would be beneficial. Let’s lay out our objectives clearly.”

Bobby’s patience was visibly wearing thin. He tapped the table with his knuckles, trying to regain control of the meeting. “Alright, everyone, listen up. We’ve got a lot of talent in this room, but we need to focus. The situation is critical, and we can’t afford any more delays. We need to find Dean and resolve this crisis.”

Charlie finally looked up from her screens, her face alight with excitement. “Got it! I’ve got some preliminary data here. We can start by narrowing down his recent contacts.”

Garth folded his comic book with a flourish and sat up straight. “Alright, let’s get to it then. I’m ready for action.”

John let out a huff and moved away from the window. “Fine, but we better not waste time. We need to be meticulous.”

Jack adjusted his suit and glanced at his notes. “I’ll handle the documentation and ensure everything is properly logged. Efficiency is key.”

Rufus shook his head, his expression a mix of amusement and skepticism. “Well, this oughta be interesting.”

Mick straightened in his chair, his demeanor all business. “Let’s proceed with a detailed strategy. We need to ensure that all angles are covered.”

As the team began to settle into their roles, the chaos seemed to simmer down a bit, replaced by a more focused, if still somewhat disorganized, energy. You and Sam exchanged glances, silently acknowledging the irony of the situation. The team was indeed a collection of diverse and conflicting personalities, but maybe, just maybe, that was what would make them effective.

Sam leaned closer and whispered, “Do you think this is going to work?”

You shrugged, a wry smile playing on your lips. “They said so much nonsense in five minutes that I’m not quite sure.”

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