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drop-of-infinity · 4 years ago

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I have continued my weird destiel fic thing! This part is canon compliant with season 6.

Chapter one is here

Chapter two is here

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Chapter 3: season 6

The Third Man

{“I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here-“ and then suddenly Cas was there in all his trenchcoated glory. He hadn’t come when Sam had prayed all those times, but Dean had called once and here was Cas. Well, no time to think about that now.

{“Dean and I do share a more profound bond..” he’d been very careful with his wording, yet the that was too honest feeling had returned. Cas sighed inwardly. He was not built for emotions. He was not built for choosing his words.

{“You’re gonna torture a kid?”

“I can’t care about that Dean! I don’t have the luxury.” Cas’s voice cracked as he said it, and Dean knew he did care about it. After all, if there was one thing he knew about Cas, it was that he cared more then he should.

6-7

{“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but I do want to help.” Couldn’t that be enough for Dean? Cas had a war to worry about, he didn’t have time for this. Yet he was helping Dean anyway, because- no. Shut it down. Yet he was helping Dean anyway. Wasn’t that enough? Aren’t I enough?

{“Of course. Your problems always come first.” Coming from anyone else, Dean would think that was sarcasm, but this was Cas. Plus, the look the angel gave him... well, he was pretty sure Cas was being honest. The guy had a war to fight, and he was still helping them. Dean felt a twinge of guilt, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Cas was already gone. Fricking angels.

Caged Heat

{“I learned that from the pizza man.” Dean couldn’t help but stare at Cas and the demon he had just been making out with. Since when has he been interested in that stuff? He watches Cas smooth a hand over swollen lips. An odd burning sensation roots itself in Dean’s stomach. Suddenly, he wants to strangle Meg. Because she’s a demon, probably, he tells himself. It’s just instinct.

My Heart Will Go On

{“You have me confused with the other angel. You know, the one in the dirty trench coat who’s in love with you?” Dean’s brain wisely decided to shut down at that. When Balthazar left, the only thing he let himself think was Cas’s coat isn’t dirty. The other thoughts-well they weren’t so much thoughts as half formed screams and fast heartbeats-he pushed to the back of his mind to be taken out and examined never.

{“You need new friends Cas.”

“I’m trying to save the ones I have, Dean.” It’s always strange to call Dean his friend. The word friend encompasses so much to humans, everything from ‘this person makes me happy’ to ‘I don’t want to live without you.’ Humanity is still fascinating. Cas will keep Dean safe. It is his priority, always. This person makes me happy.

{“50000 new souls for your war machine.” As fate talks, Cas can only be grateful that the Winchesters can’t hear her. If they knew... well, it wouldn’t be pretty. Dean takes trust so seriously. Cas has the odd feeling that he is digging himself into a hole. This is the only way, he thinks. Lie, beat Raphael, keep them in your life. Simple enough. He stops Balthazar from stabbing fate, because her sisters would come after the Winchesters, and he can’t have that. As time unfreezes, and Cas watches Dean startle awake back into his own timeline, green eyes flying open, he realizes something terrifying. He is an entity, an eldritch being millions of years old. He has known Dean for less then a fraction of his immortal life and yet... I don’t want to live without you.

18-19

{“I think you call him when you need something.” Rachel’s words cut deeper then they should. Dean considers Cas the best friend he’s ever had, but their life means friendship is built in the middle of life threatening situations. There was another thought too, buried deep. At least needing something gives me an excuse. At least if he doesn’t show up I can pretend he doesn’t want to help, not he doesn’t want to see me. It’s strange to need an excuse to talk to someone, but Dean can’t help it. Instead of studying either of these revelations, he denies what this angel has said, and resumes arguing with her.

{“There are millions of lives at stake here not just two!” Even as Cas says it, he feels the weight of his words on his own actions. How many people had he sacrificed to save two recently? Cas doesn’t stop Dean from leaving with the children. He could have, but he knows how hypocritical it would be. The greater good doesn’t always mean everything, he reasons.

{When Cas gets his powers back, the first thing he does (well, after smiting all the monsters in the diner) is heal Dean. The bite on his neck vanishes as Cas places a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He tells himself it is for grounding purposes, but he knows he doesn’t need to touch someone to heal them. He also knows he doesn’t usually want to. He also knows that he’s had to use the word usually instead of always a lot more since he met Dean.

The Man Who Would Be King

{“But Cas, you’ll call right? If you get into real trouble?” There is more Dean wants to say, but he can’t. Usually they would be hunting Crowley together, but Sam and Bobby think Cas-their Cas, who has saved their lives more times then he can count-might be working with the king of Hell. It’s ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. And yet... his instincts are telling him they’re right. He always goes with his gut, but with Cas... there’s something in his heart straining against it. Innocent until proven guilty, he thinks stubbornly. As Cas teleports away, Dean wishes he could believe the angel will call if he has to, but he has a feeling those words will be ignored.

{“I still considered myself the Winchester’s guardian. After all, they taught me how to stand up, what to stand for.” As he goes over the story in his head, Cas thinks about what else he’s learned from them. From Dean. How to smile, how to cry. How to feel so much and then repress it like your life depends on it. How to love.

{“This is Cas guys!” Dean knows it’s a weak argument, but they don’t know the guy like he does. He thinks of Cas saying “profound bond” and realizes it’s true. Sam and Bobby weren’t there in Hell. They weren’t there sitting on that park bench, or in that bar. They didn’t sit in the Impala afterwards, actually laughing for the first time in years. Dean blinks a few times. There is an emotion hovering at the surface of his mind that he does not want to look at too closely right now.

{“Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

“I was there. Where were you?” There are tears in Dean’s eyes as he looks at Cas over the fire. I hurt him again, he thinks numbly. Sam and Dean don’t understand the stakes of the war in heaven is all. They don’t understand that this betrayal was necessary. But as Cas looks at Dean, his certainty wavers. It feels like the moment before he chose to stop Lucifer, except this time he is already in the wrong, and it is too late, and he hurt Dean.

{“I’m doing this for you Dean. I’m doing this because of you.” Dean stares at the angel in front of him. Cas is always saying shit like this, but this time it’s a lie and they both know it. Has it always been a lie? What were his real motives? Of course he wasn’t always doing this stuff for me. I was stupid to believe it. His father’s words ring in his head. Useless. Pathetic. Cas betrayed them. Cas betrayed him, and it hurts like hell.

{“Next to Sam, you and Bobby are the closest things I have to family.” It feels like a knife, sliding below Cas’s layers of self righteousness and belief and inserting itself into his chest. He stops breathing. Dean did legitimately care about him, and now he’s gone and burned it all down. What choice did I have? He thinks desperately. It is too late now.

Let It Bleed

{“I do everything that you ask, I always come when you call, and I am your friend.” Dean wishes he could accept that. All he wants is to hug Cas and tell him it’s okay, and have everything go back to normal. But Cas betrayed them, and now Lisa and Ben are in danger, and Dean feels like he’s falling through the floor.

{“I wish this changed anything.”

“I know. Me too.” He ruined it. Castiel, the broken angel, the fallen angel. Whatever he might have had with Dean he ruined it like he ruined everything else. It feels like a black hole opening up inside him. He feels something on his face, and lifts a shaky hand to touch his cheeks. They are wet. Just keep going. All you can do now is defeat Raphael. Now you have no reason not to. Now you will do what you must. Dean clearly doesn’t care anymore, so there is nothing holding Cas back.

The Man Who Knew Too Much

{“we were family once. I’d have died for you. I almost did a few times. I’ve lost Lisa, I’ve lost Ben, I’ve lost Sam. Don’t make me lose you too.” It was the closest Dean could come to saying what he meant, which was please, I need you here. He thought he saw Cas’s expression waver for a moment, but then the angel steeled himself and Dean felt a sinking sensation. He knew it-whatever it was or had been-was over before Cas opened his mouth.

{“You’re not my family Dean. I have no family.” He almost choked on the words as he said them. It was true, he told himself. Dean wasn’t family, he never would be. He was just a human. He is more than family, whispers the traitorous part of himself that had made him betray Heaven for this one human. But Cas sees his words hit Dean like a javelin, and he knows there is no going back. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

{All the souls from purgatory are in Cas, and he remembers why he wasn’t supposed to fall. This is his destiny.

{As Castiel tells them to kneel or die, Dean remembers why he’s been scared to fly since forever. There’s always a crash.

Then all hell-well, all Purgatory breaks loose, and neither of them have time to get lost in memories.

#destiel #supernatural #spn #deancas #castiel #supernatural thoughts #spn thoughts #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #spn season 6 #supernatural season 6 #the man who would be king

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fanaticalthings · 5 years ago

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Dance With Me

AO3 Link

Destiel 15x09 Coda

It’s over.

They’d defeated God himself. They were free at last— free to be whoever they wanted to be— free to do whatever.

Sam seems content, and so does Cas. And for a split second, everything felt fine.

But Dean knew better than to believe everything was alright.

Chuck was gone, but there was now another problem that needed dealing with— the Mark.

Dean should’ve stopped him. He knew he should have. But deep down, he felt a disgusting amount of relief at the thought that he would not have to bear the Mark of Cain again.

Dean’s sitting in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey in hand when Cas walks in.

He looks tired, but when his eyes land on Dean, they soften.

“Are you doing okay?” Cas says.

Dean almost wants to laugh, but all he manages is a weak grimace. He knew firsthand what the Mark did to you— how it twisted you into someone you weren’t. Cas shouldn’t have been worried about Dean. He should have been worried about himself.

Cas must notice Dean’s inner turmoil because he grabs the chair next to Dean and sits down.

“I think I should be the one asking you that, buddy,” Dean says.

Cas looks at Dean with so much affection that it hurts. Dean doesn’t deserve those looks.

“Please don’t blame yourself for this, Dean. I chose to bear the Mark and I would do it again if it meant you never had to suffer its effects again,” Cas says this with so much certainty that it scares Dean.

This angel was willing to sacrifice so much for him. Falling from heaven, killing his own brethren, rebelling against the one thing he was made to serve and all for what? For one human?

It makes Dean realize how stupid he was for taking Cas for granted all those years.

“Cas, I’m scared.”

Dean feels vulnerable expressing his feelings so freely with Cas, but after everything that’s happened in purgatory, he realizes that it’s time to suck it up and stop running away from his emotions. He may not get any more moments like this with Cas in the future.

“I know,” Cas says. He doesn’t reassure Dean.

Deep down Dean was hoping the Mark wouldn’t affect Cas like it did for himself. He hoped desperately that maybe Cas’ grace would help him.

He knew better than to believe that.

The thought of Cas turning into a blood-thirsty killer makes his stomach churn. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They’d gotten rid of Chuck, they should’ve gotten their happy ending, they shouldn’t be dealing with more problems, they shouldn’t-

“Dean,” Cas says softly. His eyes convey an infinite amount of sadness.

He intertwines his fingers with Dean’s as if to let him know he’s still there— that he won’t leave.

“We’ll look for something, Cas,” he says. “Maybe we could find a cure this time.”

Cas looks unconvinced, and frankly, Dean feels pretty unconvinced too.

They’d tried so hard to find a solution before— back when Dean was the bearer of the Mark. Chances are if they tried looking again, the results would be the same.

Cas’ grip tightens around his hand.

“Dean, if I start turning, promise me you’ll stop me. Do whatever it takes to stop me.”

Dean’s heart starts to clench in pain. He avoids looking into Cas’ eyes.

“Please,” Cas almost whispers. “Don’t let me become a monster.”

Dean drinks the rest of his whiskey and chances a glance at Cas. He seems eerily calm— like he’s already accepted what’s to come.

But Dean would do whatever it takes to keep Cas with him. He’ll try his damn hardest to fix Cas before giving up. At the moment, though, he can only reassure.

“Ok,” Dean reluctantly relents. “I promise.”

Cas offers him a small smile, but Dean doesn’t feel any better.

“Just-” Dean begins. “Just…Stay with me…For a little while longer.”

Blue eyes meet his, and Cas leans in closer.

“Of course, Dean.”

~~~~~~

It’s not okay.

Dean desperately clung to the hope that the Mark wouldn’t affect Cas— wouldn’t take him. But it was clearly hopeless.

He’d spent months looking for a possible cure. Nothing.

Little by little, Dean could see Cas’ sanity slip through the cracks.

He wanted to brush it off at first—play it off as just Cas getting restless from always being cooped up in the bunker.

But Cas would only get worse.

It was just small incidents in the beginning— Cas impulsively smiting a vamp they were interrogating— Cas recklessly running into a werewolf nest.

Dean hoped it was just simple frustration and impatience after the monsters started increasing in numbers.

It wasn’t. Dean knew and so did Cas.

It was the last straw when Cas nearly killed a group of high school girls, claiming that they were in the way of solving the case.

When they returned to the bunker, Cas took Dean aside.

“It’s changing me,” he says. Even now, those blue eyes don’t look like they belong to Cas. They look remorseful, but they hold a murderous intent.

“Cas-”

“You have to stop me.”

Dean didn’t want it to have to come to this. It was all he really had left— clinging to a fraying string of false hope to keep him going.

“You have to stop me,” Cas pauses “or I’ll end up killing you.”

Cas says it with so much conviction— so much confidence.

Dean believes him.

“I don’t wanna lose you, Cas. Please,” Dean whispers.

The space between them lessens, as Cas grabs Dean’s hand.

“You know what you have to do.”

Dean knows. He’s known what he’s had to do from the very moment Cas took on the Mark. He knows, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to accept that he’s losing a bit of Cas every day. They can’t lose this battle.

“You can’t go dark side on me, Cas. Not yet.”

Dean drops his head to lean on Cas’ chest. He can hear the faint heartbeats of the angel. It grounds him. It makes him remember that they’re real— that Cas is still here with him— that he hadn’t flown away with his invisible wings just yet.

“Just…Please….Stay with me, for a little while longer,” Dean pleads.

Cas, ever loyal, stays with him.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean knows what he has to do. He has to lock Cas away. He has to build a ma'lak box.

——-

On rare days, Cas is able to fight the mark and stay himself but even those days are dwindling. Dean doesn’t know how much longer he can stall.

He’d finished building the ma'lak box some time ago. But Dean was selfish. He didn’t want Cas to leave just yet. He didn’t want Cas to leave at all. But Cas grows more restless, more angry, more dangerous.

Dean doesn’t know how much time he has left with him. Not much left, that’s for sure. He’s so frustrated that he sometimes takes it out on Sam. They fight about the Mark. About how there is no cure, about how this is going to end. But Dean is tired, and the fight leaves him as quickly as it had arrived.

The worst almost happens. Cas nearly kills Sam during a case in Illinois. They were investigating a series of bizarre murders. It started off normal. Well, as normal as things could get in their lives. But one disagreement from Sam sends Cas flying off the edge in a blind rage. It happens so quickly in front of Dean that he doesn’t react fast enough. Cas has got Sam pinned beneath him in a stranglehold.

Dean pleads for him to stop, yells for Cas to snap out of it. But Cas doesn’t listen. And Dean believes he would’ve gone through with it, had Dean not reached out to touch Cas’ shoulder.

In a swift movement, they’re face to face. Cas’ eyes suddenly soften, but only for a brief second before they widen in terror. He looks down at Sam and frantically backs away from the brothers.

“I’m sorry,” he simply states in a broken voice before disappearing.

They finish the case without him.

——–

Once Dean patches Sam up, he goes to his room to turn in for the night. They don’t talk about what happened.

He doesn’t feel like sleeping. Hell, he hasn’t been sleeping much at all lately.

Instead, Dean sits on his bed and prays. Prays to Cas.

“Cas, I don’t know how much longer I’ve got with you, man, but please…please come back. Come back home. I need to know you’re alright. I need to know that you’re still you.”

A pregnant silence fills the room, and Dean almost believes that Cas won’t show up, until he hears the familiar beat of wings.

Cas stands in front of him. But he doesn’t look okay.

The angel in front of him looks so lost, so broken.

“Dean,” Cas speaks quietly.

Dean stands up and reaches forward to pull him into a tight embrace. Cas barely hugs back.

“I can’t stop it anymore,” Cas relents.

His once vibrant blue eyes now reveal a lack of motivation. They show that the man behind those eyes had given up. They both know they aren’t winning this battle.

“Do it now, Dean. While I’m still myself.”

Dean feels tears start to trail down his cheek. He clings to Cas tightly, but Cas pulls away.

“You have to, Dean. Lock me away. Send me to the ocean.”

Dean wants to scream at him, to lash out and blame Cas for not trying hard enough to fight the Mark, but it’s hopeless. He knows it is. But that doesn’t stop him from feeling guilty. It should be him locked in the ma'lak box, it should be him dealing with the consequences. Not Cas, definitely not Cas.

Dean doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands up and turns on the radio.

They let the hum of the music fill the silence of the room. Dean closes the space between them. Cas lets him.

“Dance with me,” Dean says.

Cas stares at him but must see the sadness in Dean’s eyes because he agrees without a fuss.

They intertwine their fingers and hold each other like it’s the last night on Earth. They don’t really dance. They just sway around, really. But for a moment, Dean can pretend that this was the happy ending they deserved. No more monsters, no more fighting, no more Mark. But those feelings quickly disappear when he feels the presence of the ma'lak box.

Realistically, it’s rooms away from them. But Dean can feel it’s weight burning holes through the walls and floors to remind him that it’s never over. It really hits Dean that this is it. End of the line for him and Cas. So he says the words he’s been meaning to say for so long now.

“I love you.”

It’s so quiet that Dean thinks Cas might not have heard him. But he does. He always does.

Cas looks right into Dean’s eyes and cups his face. He’s smiling sadly.

“I wish we could’ve done this under different circumstances,” Cas murmurs.

“Me too.”

All of a sudden, they’re kissing. It’s soft and gentle and full of unimaginable sorrow. Cas embraces Dean like he’s the most important thing in the world.

And he is in Cas’ eyes.

“I love you, too.”

Dean starts to sob. This can’t be happening.

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Dean says, but there’s no venom in it— just hopelessness.

“I know,” Cas whispers back.

They continue to rock back and forth to the music. None of them wanting to admit what happens next.

“Stay with me, for a little while longer,” Dean chokes up.

Cas’ grip on him tightens.

“Of course, Dean.”

The radio drowns out the silence as a new song starts to play. They lament together.

I.. Can't….Help….Falling In Love…With…You….

They lose the battle.

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fragiledewdrop · 5 years ago

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11 Questions

Rules: Always Post the rules. Answer 11 questions, then make up 11 new ones and tag 11 people. Inform the person who tagged you that you answered their questions.

Tagged by @procasdeanating . You are so right, we used to do this a lot! It brings back fond memories. Thank you.

Okay,I’ll try to put as much spn as I can in my answers, but I have been reading mostly works in other fandoms as of late, so be prepared for a bit of everything.

1. Favorite fic you read this year?

Definitely Keeping You in Sight by gingerswag , which I had been following since the beginning. It’s a slave fic, but focuses mostly on the recovery and the consequences of the abuse. I love it to pieces and will keep hoping for a sequel. Check it out, you won’t regret it (read the tags and triggers, though).

Outside the supernatural fandom, the best was without a doubt Finding a Voice by Roselightfairy , my absolute favourite legolas/gimly story EVER (and that’s saying something)

Also shout out to don't you dare by LoveIsNotAVictoryMarch , aka the silverflinthamilton precious black pearl of a fic you wrote for my prompt and that I keep close to my heart. It’s beautiful.

2. First memorable romantic scene that comes to mind?

SPOILERS for “Keeping you in sight”

This might seem unconventional, but at the end of this story, former slave Dean Dean decides to leave Cas behind because he understand that learning to take care of himself, to be a person on his own, is the only way he can truly love Cas:

“Listen to me, Cas.”

Cas does.

“What I’m saying is…you can’t fix me by being nice to me for long enough, or in the right ways, or anything. There’s no cheat code. There’s no right answer. I’m screwed up, and I’m gonna be screwed up forever. I’m doing my best, but there’s always gonna be shit that makes me panic for no reason.”

He swallows.

“That’s why I have to go. I can’t be your responsibility. I’m not a child, or an animal, or a toy that needs to be put back together. As long as I’m your responsibility, I’m still yours. Every time I fuck up, every time I cry, every time I get scared, you’re gonna feel like it’s on you. And I’m gonna feel like an object, ‘cause even my screw ups are yours.”

He drops his hand from Cas’s mouth, knowing he’s not going to interrupt now.

“And as long as I stay, you’re never gonna admit to me when you’re upset or exhausted or pissed at me, because you know I’ll freak. Like right now. You couldn’t let yourself be even a little frustrated, because it was scaring me. And you won’t even admit…you’re pretending you’re fine with me leaving, because you think I’m so fucked up and desperate to please that I’ll change my mind if you admit that you want me to.”

Cas pulls away from him. Dean hadn’t realized how close together they’d been until they aren’t any more.

“Dean…”

“It’s not fair!” Dean insists. “You know it’s not. We have to be free to feel sad, and be angry, and make mistakes without worrying someone we love is going to kill themselves over it.”

His heart bounds in his chest, pumping everything he’s held inside of it into his bloodstream. He feels braver than he ever has.

He thinks about Sam, fourteen and falling apart under the pressure of holding Dean’s psyche together.

“Cas, we have to learn to take care of ourselves, ‘cause we can’t take care of each other. We gotta stop hanging our happiness on other people, and then falling to bits when they let us down. They didn’t ever agree to be the way we measure our own self worth.”

With the same certainty that he knows Cas would never keep him against his will, he knows that Cas does not have the strength to make him leave if he decides not to. He can hear it in the heartbreak trailing down Cas’s cheeks.

It’s not fair to expect him to have that strength. It’s not fair, and it’s not love.

Love is choice.

Love is knowing that you can lean on someone without losing the ability to stand on your own. Love is knowing you can lean on someone without them falling apart.

You can’t lean on a person you’re holding up.

Dean knows, then, that if he allows himself to fall apart now, allows himself to be swayed, that Cas will not have the strength to make him leave, but he will also never show himself to Dean again.

Cas is trusting him to stay solid, to stay real, to not disintegrate like a hologram at the first sign of weight. He’s allowing Dean to look at him, trusting that his true face won’t turn Dean into stone.

Dean isn’t going to let it.

He takes in the image of Cas, red-eyed, blotchy skin. Calmed, now, but with still hitching breath. He lets it ingrain itself in his mind.

“Cas, I’m in love with you.”

He’s surprised at how steady his voice sounds, and how solemn.

And so Dean leaves, and Cas lets him leave, even though they love each other. That love manifests itself in their respective efforts to become better people, for each other and for themselves. It takes so much strength and so much courage to love someone like this, to change yourself for the better despite your fear, to let someone go even though you want them near just because it’s what they want and it’s the right thing to do. More than that, this is REAL, it rings true to me: not a big romantic gesture, but hundreds of small, day to day ones; something that is not built in a moment but through a lifetime.

3. A line that you can’t forget?

Every Christmas I reread A Winter's Tale by NorthernSparrow . There is a line in it that has been my mantra for years:

Many of the trees in the stores have an angel at the top. Always with its wings spread wide. A symbol of that hope, perhaps? A hope that spring will come again?

It spoke to me deeply. I kept looking at the little angels on the tops of the conifer trees and I thought, I've fallen off the tree. I want to get back on the tree.

I WILL get back on the tree. I WILL survive this winter. The sun WILL come back; for me, and for everyone; somehow, someday.

Another one that I can’t seem to forget is this:

Where I am from, finiteness does not diminish the value and pursuit of things. Just because something will end does not mean it is any less worthy of love and effort. Like flowers and trees and lovely things that grow.

I wrote it down while reading months ago and keep thinking about it, but I can’t find the story it’s from. It should be a Glorfindel/Legolas fic on ff.net, which is not at all my usual fare, but it was lovely, and this tiny extratct has so much wisdom in it.

4. A writer who inspires you/had an impact on your own writing?

The anwer to this will always be @awed-frog . But recently also @roselightfairy

5. A fic that made you cry?

Listen, I cry at most fics, Okay? So I’ll tell you which one didn’t make me cry: The Life of Death by yellowturtle . When I finished reading it I had trouble breathing and I had to go out for a walk to avoid collapsing in a heap and sobbing for days. I’ll never understand why this story isn’t more well known.

6. A new author you found and subscribed to on AO3/followed on tumblr?

@roselightfairy (great gigolas) and tothewillofthepeople (awesome Les Miserables fics)

7. A fic that you wish would get more recognition?

All the ones I have mentioned here.

8. If you could pitch a fic (one of your own if you’re writing) to be turned into a script for the show, which one would you choose?

Another weird answer, but Torn by Misachan . It’s dark but I would love to see a) Cas hurt by the angels b) Sam and Dean taking care of Cas c) Dean’s protectiveness and d) Dean FINALLY bringing up his past as a torturer in hell to put the fear of himself into someone who deserves it.

As for my own fics, I would love for something like The Gold-shackled Singer, or the story of Erasmus and Kallias to be part of the Captive Prince universe.

9. A cracky prompt for anyone who stumbles across this and wants to write it?

I am not really in the mood for crack, but maaaaybe Sam and Crowley trying to get Dean and Cas together for Reasons, while Crowly is jealous and Sam is done with all of them.

10. The story that never fails to make you smile.

The Apple Thieves by: Lindir's Ghost

It’s funny and happy and warm and the reason I know how to make cobbler.

11. A fic that you would rec to people outside fandom?

Probably The Sawdust Men by linoresearch

MY QUESTIONS

I am in a nostalgic mood after the holidays, so let’s talk about memories and childhood.

1) What is your first memory, if you remember?

2)The first time you realized something big (good or bad) was going on in the world?

3) The first book you remember reading

4) First movie you loved/were obsessed with

5) Your favourite game as a child

6) Favourite food as a child

7) Favourite song

8) Favourite fairy tale, if you had one

9)Do you remember your first day of school?

10) A childhood adventure

11) What did you want to be when you grew up?

Tagging @procasdeanating , in keeping with tradition (fill free to respond to your own questions too ;) ; @nevernotlikelove ; @maryshelleey ; @vengefulnoob ; @awed-frog ; @justsomeonerandom17 ; @leeaneea ; @pod7et ; @snovolovac ; @vivianecarstairs ; @roselightfairy and whoever else wants in.

This is meant to be fun, so obviously do it only if you want to.

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cogentranting · 5 years ago

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Because I Would Not Stop For Death Pt 2.

Summary: My version of the ending of Supernatural, with a specific emphasis on Dean as the main character.

Also on: AO3 Accompanying Meta: X Part 1

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Loss affects everyone differently. In the days and weeks and months following Dean’s death this was especially true.

To Jack it gave a hard edge. There was an anger and fierceness about him so like that of the Winchesters who had known so much loss themselves. It pushed Jack to reckless, relentless fervor. He tried tracking down the demons that had killed Dean, but to no avail. In the meantime, he prepared for the fight that they all knew must come, stretching and expanding the limits of his powers. And as he did so, he practiced his hunting skills as well, tracking down ghosts and demons and gaining for himself a reputation as a hunter of such prowess that he could only have been a Winchester. Which makes sense. After all, it was avenging the death of a parent which first drove Sam and Dean as well.

To Castiel, loss brought weariness. Dean had been his first real link to humanity and with Dean gone he couldn’t help feeling that humanity itself was just less. He kept on, same as before, but shadows dragged down his eyes and hope’s light was a weak flicker. Even Jack’s growing power and passion could not quite reawaken in him any faith in victory. But for Sam and Jack he persevered. He’d rather fade away, slowly dragged through Hell, than let them down. He kept a watchful eye over Jack, paralyzed by the thought of such another loss, and spent his days in dogged pursuit of some secret bit of lore which might provide them with a new weapon.

To Sam, loss gave instability. A part of him had died and with it had gone his balance. He teetered erratically on the verge of a thousand states of being. Each day might bring a new version of himself. Would he be the lost little boy looking for his brother? Or the cold, driven machine seeking revenge? Some days he was rock and leader, others he seemed to be awkwardly shaping himself to fill Dean’s shoes. No matter how hard he strove he could not find his footing. A fatalism sunk deep into Sam’s heart and quietly he despaired of ever feeling truly whole again. But there was a fear too. A fear that if he gave in to that despair then Dean’s death would be in vain and everything he had left would collapse around his head. He would not press this train of thought too far, so mostly he didn’t think beyond the here and now, the tasks he set himself when he had mustered the strength to do so. Introspection made him feel he might shatter. The future was a dark void, the past an open wound. So sometimes he lead the charge, sometimes he trailed behind Cas and Jack, but always he kept his eyes locked on that Sisyphean task before them.

And thus the three trekked forward, gingerly navigating the shadows and haunted spaces that Dean’s absence left in their lives.

If long ago, before he had the privilege of knowing death like an old song, you’d asked Dean what he thought dying and going to the afterlife felt like, he likely would have guessed that it was like losing consciousness and waking up again. Now, some 12 or 13 years after his first death, Dean knew differently. He was all too bleakly aware that death felt irrefutably and indescribably Other. So it was that from the moment Dean opened his eyes, he was under no illusion that he had somehow been saved. He knew with absolute certainty that he was dead.

He found himself sitting in a black office chair, a little too small for comfort, with an empty table in front of him. Beyond that were bookcases, stretching high above his head, and far beyond what he could see in either direction, each one labeled with a letter and bearing endless stacks of nearly identical thin black books. His feet squeaked against the starkly polished black floors as he scrambled to his feet, uncertain whether he should still expect to face enemies. Almost as quickly he relaxed. He’d been here before, two years ago. This was Death’s library. Nearly the same instant as his realization, Billie emerged from one of the many corridors of shelves. Dean thought he detected an even more severe look on her face than usual. However, four years hadn’t been quite enough time for Dean to begin to decipher her enigmatic expressions.

“Hello Dean.”

He gave a curt nod and shifted his feet, waiting for her to speak. She did not. “What am I doing here Billie?”

“You’d rather be in Heaven or Hell?”

“Do I get a choice? You open a new afterlife travel agency- choose your destination? Or have we come back around to that promise you made Sam. That you’re going to throw us into the Empty when we die.”

“Tempting as that may be sometimes, no. I thought I’d been pretty clear that we’re past that. ‘Larger picture’ and all that.”

“Right, right. New job, new outlook. I remember.” Dean was relaxing, gaining confidence. One might even have called him hopeful. Surely just being here was a good sign. And hadn’t Billie, after all, been an ally to them more often than not? “So uh,” he clapped his hands together. “If you’re not gonna turn me over to the angels or the demons, and you’re not gonna drop me in the Empty, can we just skip through this little pep talk or lecture or whatever you have planned and get me back down to Earth?”

“I never said I was sending you back.”

“So what am I doing here?” He barked impatiently. As confidence in his own situation had grown, the thought of Azazel in the Bunker had crept its way into his mind, along with thoughts of the revenge Alistair might want for the man who’d killed him.

“You’re here because you and I need to have a talk.”

“Great let’s get this heart to heart over with. Sooner the better. I need to get back to warn Sam about what’s coming.”

Billie came closer, impatience mixed with an uncharacteristic note of sympathy in her eyes. “You’re misunderstanding me, Dean. I’m not sending you back at all.”

Dean jerked his chin up and squared his shoulders. “I need to go back there. Sam, Cas, and Jack, they need me. They need to know who’s coming for them. And Chuck- Chuck needs to be stopped.”

“And you’re the one who’s going to stop him? Dean Winchester with a can-do attitude and handgun is going to stop God?”

“I’m going to try! And Sam and them, they need all the help they can get. I thought you were on our side in all of this! You’re the one who brought Jack back. You’re the one who backed us. You’re pulling out now!? You do one thing and after that you’re just ready to throw in the towel? To run and let Chuck have his way?”

Billie’s eyes narrowed. “You should watch what you say. You might come to regret it.”

Dean jabbed a finger in Billie’s direction. “You said that Sam and I were important. You said that we had work to do.”

“Argue all you like Dean. But I couldn’t send you back even if I wanted to.”

Dean scoffed. “You’re Death. You’ve done it before, and more. The Old Death even pulled Sam’s soul out of the Cage.”

“Circumstances have changed.

Despite the endless hours spent in anticipation, the end caught them unawares, though not unprepared. It had been a long time since they believed they’d find any weapon to help them fight Chuck, but recently they’d begun to suspect that Jack was as strong as he would get (at least within Sam’s lifetime). So for some time they had been waiting, in anxious tension for the day when Chuck would make his move.

As for Chuck, he loved his parallels. So exactly ten years after Michael and Lucifer took their fighting stance in that very spot, Cas, Sam, and Jack found themselves standing on the dry dead grass of Stull Cemetery.

Storm clouds had rolled in, casting a pall over the stark field, and a few cracks of lightning tore the sky because, of course, Chuck had a flair for the dramatic. And this was Chuck’s doing—all of it. The field in Kansas, the fate of the world, the battle lines drawn. Team Free Will was down a man and felt it as if missing a limb. They’d debated whether or not to bring in backup—Jodie, Donna, Bobby, Eileen, whatever others they could find—but in the end all the arguments of who to involve and what good it would do were pointless; Chuck decided for them that it should be they three standing alone. It could be said that it was a mercy that Chuck brought so few to stand on his own side. Certainly, he could have raised a host of angels, demons, and monsters to back him. Instead he’d brought with him only Alistair, Abaddon, and Azazel, neglecting entirely the angels he seemed to have grown bored of long ago, in favor of an all-star grudge match. Still, Sam hadn’t been fooled into thinking the odds were any more favorable to them. And within the first minute of the fight, his judgment was proved right, as very quickly their best laid plans unraveled.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl and Sam watched as if in slow motion. Abaddon and Alistair were toying with Cas, who was bloodied and bruised. They circled like jackals as he desperately gripped his blade. Further away, Chuck had Jack in a similar position. Jack’s eyes glowed and he flung out an arm, but whatever he had attempted was nullified by Chuck, though not without effort. Jack looked tired and scared and every inch of Sam wanted to run and rescue the boy, as impossible as that might be.

Azazel wrapped a hand around Sam’s throat and lifted him from the ground. Sam made a desperate stab with the angel blade, but the demon caught his hand and flicked the weapon away. Sam struggled to draw in a breath. It was rare that Sam felt small, but staring into those yellow eyes he felt like a kid. A kid who’d grown up hunting and thought he knew everything there was to know about monsters. A kid who only really realized how out of his depth he was the first time he stared into those same yellow eyes. And just like when he was scared as a child, in that moment, all Sam wanted was his brother.

It was as if Azazel had read his mind. He grinned. “Oh, we’ve come a long way, Sammy. You and me, we were the start. And now we’re gonna be the end. I killed Grandpa. I killed Mommy. I killed Daddy. I killed Dean.” He paused for a moment to watch the rage and pain in Sam’s eyes. “And now, I’m gonna kill you, and put an end to the Winchester’s once and for all.”

He flung Sam to the ground, where he lay gasping for air. He wanted to stand, to fight back, but his body wasn’t listening to him. Before he could recover, Azazel clenched his fist and Sam felt knives in his gut. He heard the cries of pain and fear from Cas and Jack as they fought their losing battle, and he felt the cold weight of helplessness. The yellow gaze bored into his head. Sam closed his eyes. Desperately, illogically, he thought, “if only Dean had been here, we might have made it.”

An engine roared a heraldic cry. A sound as familiar as a friend’s voice. Across the field the two sides froze. The gleaming black Impala surged over the hill, like it had 10 years before. It looked like new. Not a dent. Not a scratch. No trace of the explosion which had destroyed it. It rolled gracefully toward the stunned combatants. In shock, they waited.

The door opened. The field was hushed, but from the car rolled the exultant chords of a rock song. He stepped out slowly, calmly. A silhouette against the raucous music. He was dressed in a suit, every inch of it jet black, perfectly tailored. On his finger he wore a ring with a white stone, and he casually twisted it, as if from old habit. He stood and surveyed the field as they all watched him.

Sam propped himself up on one elbow and cried, breathless with joy, “Dean, you’re alive!”

Dean turned and caught his brother’s eye. He gave a wry smile. “Not exactly.” He held out his hand, and in it, there materialized a tall, rugged scythe.

“Circumstances have changed.”

“What is that supposed to mean? Why can’t you send me back?”

“Sit down, Dean there’s a lot to go over.” Sulkily, Dean lowered himself back into the same chair he’d woken in moments before. Billie hesitated just a moment. “You’re right Dean. You are important. But not in the way you thought. Your role is no longer as a hunter.”

“As what then?”

“As Death.”

The anger that had been churning in Dean’s mind was snuffed out by the wave of shock and confusion. His mouth opened but he couldn’t make any words come out. Billie watched him gape, the gears of his mind practically visible. When it seemed that his eyes were focusing on her again, she continued.

“There are rules to everything Dean. Consequences and reactions that run deeper than any power you’ve seen. And one of those rules is this: if you kill Death, you become the next Death when you die.”

Dean floundered and found one idea to grasp on to. “But you’re Death. You said, when Death dies, the next reaper to die gets the job.”

Billie shrugged. “That was all you needed to know at the time. Think of me as an interim position. Five years is a long time to wait for a new cosmic power, and it could have been much longer.”

“This is crazy. I’m not Death! I can’t be. I’m not—I’m not-“

“The signs have been there for a long time. Much longer than five years.”

“So what you’re saying it was my- my destiny?” Dean scoffed, repelled by the thought.

“You might call it that. You’ve always had, shall we say, an interesting relationship with death.”

Dean started to protest but Billie cut him off with a wave of her hand. “From the time you were a child, you were surrounded by death. Your mother. The cases your father worked, the monsters you hunted. All the people you’ve lost since then.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. That’s the gig. The life. Ask any Hunter.”

“That’s because it’s only one piece in the puzzle, Dean. You’ve known death like no one else has. You know you should’ve died when you were 26? You were electrocuted, your heart damaged-“

“I remember. But I was healed. So?”

“You were healed, by a reaper. How many people do you think can say the same? That they were given life by an agent of death.”

“That preacher used the reaper to heal a lot of people.”

“Like I said, pieces of the puzzle. How many of those same people were supposed to die again later that year, killed by a powerful demon, but came back?” She went on before Dean could respond. “And then how many of them, would come back and work to save Reapers a few years later?”

Frustration bubbled in Dean’s chest as a hundred half-spun arguments about why none of that meant anything froze on the tip of his tongue.

But Billie pressed on without regard for him. “But that’s all small compared to the fact that you have died more times than anyone else. Everyone in your orbit picks that up a little bit. Sam, Cas, Jack, your mom… But no one matches your record. Gabriel saw to that with his little Mystery Spot game.”

“Yeah but those weren’t real-“

“Between Gabriel and the other angels and all their meddling, you’ve died a lot of times that you can’t remember, but that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. And it means that you have the very rare distinction of having been sent to Heaven, Hell and Purgatory.”

Billie sat down on the edge of the table in front of Dean. Making him understand the full extent of his role in all this was so very, very important. “But all those are just precursors, Dean. Little warning signs. The old Death knew what they meant. That’s why he found it all so amusing. That’s why he let you summon him so many times. That’s why he trusted you with his ring when you first fought Lucifer.”

“If he knew, why wouldn’t he do something to stop it? Why would he hand me his scythe?”

“That larger picture I’ve talked about. It was always your destiny.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I am so tired of people telling me all these things that I’m supposed to do.”

“There have been a lot of prophecies about you, Dean. Most have come true. But there’s a difference between prophecies that someone tries to make happen by taking away your choices, and a fate that you are destined for, that can be predicted, just because of the very nature of who you are. No one forced you to do these things. The choices you made brought you here.”

“Well what if I don’t want it? What if I choose not to be Death?”

“You already are. The moment you died, you became Death. And there’s no going back, no being human again. If you want, you can choose not to do the job. But you’ve seen what happens when Death doesn’t do what he’s supposed to. That’s why the old Death gave you his ring for the day all those years ago. It was your apprenticeship. To make sure that when the time came, you’d do the job right.”

Billie’s voice had become uncharacteristically gentle, but now she straightened up, severe once more. “But there’s more to it than that. More you have to understand.”

Dean sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Well let’s get through it.”

“You set everything in motion 5 years ago when you killed Death. That’s when everything changed and all this went from being destiny to a reality. And you don’t understand the extent of the change that happened when it did. Before you were dealing with ancient and powerful things—Lilith, the archangels, the Mark of Cain—but that action brought the cosmic into play.”

“I killed Death, and that’s when Chuck and Amara showed up.”

“Exactly. And that’s why you and Amara shared a connection.”

“Amara’s connection to me was because I had had the Mark.”

“Lucifer also once had the Mark, and it didn’t stop Amara from torturing him, now did it? No, she didn’t realize it, but she was drawn to you because Darkness and Death are connected. But right now it’s Chuck’s role in this that matters. Amara didn’t realize the significance of what you’d done. But Chuck did. And since then you’ve had a target on your back. I only learned that recently, or I would have warned you.”

“A target? If Chuck wanted me dead he could kill me whenever he wanted.”

“That’s just it. He didn’t want you dead. Because he wanted to prevent you from becoming Death, and there are only a few ways to make that happen. When you trapped Michael, I brought you a book saying that the only way to stop Michael from destroying this world was to go into the Malak box.”

Dean nodded. “But I didn’t and the world is still standing. The book was wrong.”

“Because Chuck put it there, to manipulate you.”

“Because if I had gotten into the box, I would have spent an eternity trapped and possessed by Michael.”

“You would never die, and never become Death. And that wasn’t his only attempt to stop you. The Equalizer gun. A weapon powerful enough to kill a being like Chuck, or Amara, or even Jack, is so strong that if used on a human, it would obliterate their soul. If you had used the gun on Jack, you wouldn’t just have died. You would have been so completely destroyed that you could not become Death. The soul bomb you planned to use against Amara would have done the same thing.”

“But Chuck’s the one who took that out, if he wanted me destroyed why would he do that?”

Billie shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe that one wasn’t planned, and he hadn’t figured out what you were yet. Maybe he was feeling confident and was afraid of turning Amara against him again.”

Dean scowled. “But when I died, just now, it was the soul bomb. If that’s true I shouldn’t be here.”

Billie looked smug. “The soul bomb didn’t kill you. Lucky for us, Alistair was a little overzealous with that knife of yours. It probably wouldn’t have killed you first, except that I exploited a loophole and reaped you, just a little bit early. Tricky timing, pulling that off. You’re welcome.”

“Why does all this matter so much to him? What difference does it make?”

“Because, that first time you talked to him, Death told you something else. Something very important.”

The realization rolled over Dean like a thunderstorm. “He told me one day he’d reap God.”

“Which wasn’t exactly true. Death will do it, but not him. You Dean. You will reap God.”

The music shut off, leaving only the creak of the car door swinging shut. The demons fell back a few steps, unconsciously withdrawing from the aura of death which hung on Dean like the scent of a familiar place—from Dean it wasn’t ominous or evil, just potent, and quiet, and still. Chuck fidgeted, seeming as unsure of himself as his persona when they’d first met, when he’d been just a writer. And Dean… Dean fixed a cufflink, and then met the stares with a self-assured smile and lifted eyebrows.

The world bent around him like the tense crackle of dry air before an impending storm. Even as they recognized him, his friends realized that Dean was changed.

When he was younger Dean had worn authority the way he’d worn his father’s old leather jacket. As he’d grown into it, that same authority had been announced and demanded with every set jaw, every dark eye, every sharp word, as over and over again the world tried to deny him his due. But there could be no denying now. No question of Dean proving and reproving himself endlessly. Now authority sat naturally in the curve of his smile and the fire of his eyes. Now it draped his shoulders like a cloak and adorned his head like a crown. Now he held his head high like a king. Sam almost could have mistaken him for Michael, but the light in his smile, paired with the anger in his eyes—that was unmistakably Dean. For the first time, Sam truly understood the reason why his brother was the true vessel to the Prince of the Host.

Still, Sam knew Dean like his own breath and felt his presence like the beat of his own heart. So he felt deep in his soul the rightness of having his brother back and by his side. And though the man before him was indisputably different than anything he’d ever known his brother to be, in an odd way it was as if Dean was more himself than ever before.

“No. No no no no.” Chuck shook his head, a smile beginning to form. “This can’t be real. This is some sort of trick. You can’t be here. Dean can’t be here. I made sure of it. He’s gone.”

Dean shrugged and gave his scythe a twirl. “Well, I don’t want to point any fingers but…” he pulled a face and jerked his head in the direction of the demon trio. “You know what they say about good help.”

Rage and a trace of fear crossed Abaddon’s face. “That bomb-“

“Didn’t kill me. I died of a knife wound.”

The demons shifted uneasily, fully aware of the repercussions of that statement. Chuck’s eyes turned to steel, but he made no move. He only watched and waited for his enemy to make a move.

Sam scrambled to his feet as Dean strolled closer. Dean came alongside him. His eyes never left Chuck, but his voice dropped low and soft, no longer a king, but a boy checking on his kid brother. “You alright, Sammy?”

Sam nodded, a little breathless, a little overwhelmed by the sight of the brother he thought was gone. Dean nodded, at the same time checking in with both Cas and Jack via quick glances in each of their directions. “You’re gonna need something that can actually kill a Prince of Hell. Give me your blade.”

Sam held up the blade and Dean laid a hand on the silver metal. Instantly the blade turned stark black. “One kill,” Dean warned under his breath, already starting to move away from Sam. He circled around the edge of the field to where Cas was. Abaddon and Alistair had backed a few paces away, unwilling to move against the unexpected new enemy until a signal was given. Dean silently tapped Castiel’s weapon, turning it black as well. Unlike Sam, Cas could feel the grim import of the newly empowered weapon and suppressed a shudder. A weapon blessed by Death himself.

Dean had stopped his circling a few steps away from Cas, between his friend and the demons, directly across from Chuck. Tension crackled in the air, wrapping fingers around throats, and holding limbs locked in place. Like feral dogs they waited, hackles raised, teeth bared, legs stiff, but frozen in the moment before attack, each waiting for their respective alpha to make a move.

Chuck laughed bitterly. As Dean had set the stage, he’d been furiously trying to work out where his precautionary measures had gone astray. His hands went to his pockets and he bobbed his head. “This is Billie, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Just like the kid being back was Billie.”

“Turns out, Billie knows how to play the game pretty well.”

Chuck was growing huffy and agitated. “Let me guess, she told you some story about how this is your destiny. Become Death, reap me, yada yada yada.”

“That’s about the shape of it.”

“But you know that’s not how it works, Dean. I’m the author. Fate, destiny… they’re what I say they are. Every step you’ve taken, your entire life, has been because it’s the story I want for you. You really think Billie knows more than I do?”

“I think a soul bomb is a bit of an extreme way to try to kill one high school dropout armed with just a couple guns and a magic knife. I think that the old Death did a lot of things which didn’t make sense, but are starting to look like he knew a lot more than he let on. I think you looked real surprised, and real unhappy to see me get out of that car. I mean, it looks a whole lot like, you didn’t want me to be Death, but here I am. I’m Death. So yeah, I think maybe, you don’t get all the say in how this plays out.”

“You’ve always been good at talking big, Dean. And you’ve got the look down—the suit, the ring, the scythe. But we both know that deep down, nothing’s changed. You’re still just that same kid, too scared of losing his family to realize that he’s fighting a battle he can never win.”

Dean looked thoughtful, and for a moment his eyes strayed toward Sam. “Yeah. I am the same. Now let’s end this thing.”

They struck as branches of forked lightning. An explosion of violence and long-brewing hatred. Jack threw himself at Chuck before he could make any sort of move toward Dean, and Chuck’s attention and power were forced back onto his grandson. Azazel and Sam were at each other’s throats once more, each feeling a compulsive urge towards the resolution of that decades-long conflict between them. Abaddon’s move toward Cas was shadowed a moment later by Alistair, who no doubt hoped to see the enchanted blade’s single kill spent on the Knight before he made his play. But he had gone no more than a step when Dean appeared between him and the duel.

Dean closed the space between them and took pleasure in the demon’s reluctant retreat. Even something as old and as powerful as Alistair feared Death. Dean leaned in close, decades of anger broiling storm clouds in his eyes. Alistair sneered in the face of his former apprentice, but it was the bared teeth of a trapped animal. Dean’s voice was barely more than a whisper. “You were right. I do owe you. Let me pay you back.”

It was quick. Not the long, artfully orchestrated revenge he’d once dreamed of, but a contemptuous swatting of a fly. His ringed hand grabbed Alistair’s bare wrist, there was short sputter of light, and the demon was dead.

Cas’s attacks were revitalized. He matched Abaddon’s fury blow for blow. In every movement his long history as a soldier and a warrior were evident. More terrifying by far was the zealous conviction which had led him, for good or evil, so often before, all of it now bearing down on Abaddon. A knight of Hell, a soldier of Heaven, and a fearsome battle. But at last Cas’s blade found its mark and Abaddon died, frozen in the twisted fury which had defined her.

Sam’s struggle with Azazel was shorter. Sam was thrown but regained his feet in an instant, charging Azazel. No fatigue touched him. The hunt for that demon had defined his childhood and cast a pall over his adulthood. And now at the end Sam had no space left in him for any more words or mercy in that story. He simply ended it. When the knife drove home, Sam watched the yellow fade from the eyes with mute satisfaction.

But Dean saw little of either fight. The full weight of his attention lay on the fight in front of him.

Winds whipped up, creating a swirling vortex of clouds far above the heads of Chuck and Jack. Cas and Sam staggered in the maelstrom but it did little to touch Dean. He passed through it as through a mist. Bolts of lightning shot down from the sky, striking Jack, but with a ragged war cry and a flick of his hand, they vanished. His eyes glowed a brilliant gold and Chuck staggered as Jack thrust his hand forward. In that same moment, Dean pointed and at his insistence a chain appeared, invisible save for a colorless distortion where the light struck it, binding Chuck’s arm to the ground. Jack launched another attack and with a gesture Dean manifested another chain, binding Chuck’s other arm.

Slowly the chains pulled tighter, forcing Chuck to his knees. Still the torrent raged around them and both Dean and Jack bore the signs of strain. Sweat streaked Jack’s brow, and Dean’s hand trembled slightly as he held it, both of them breathed heavily. There was a blink and everything went quiet for the three of them. The storm formed around them like a wall, grey and swirling, pulsing with bursts of lightning, impossible to see through, yet silent, as if they had been sealed away from the rest of the world. When he spoke, Chuck’s voice was deceptively calm.

“You can’t do this, Dean. You know you can’t.”

“People have been telling me what I can’t do my whole life, and I always seem to be proving them wrong.”

“Even if you win, even if you do kill me, what then?”

“Sam and Cas go back to their lives, Jack takes over running things up above, and we finally start to fix this world you broke.”

“You really think that’s how this is gonna go?”

Before Dean or Jack could reply the wall of storm behind Chuck cleared, like a window or a projection, revealing a view of Sam and Cas, both crying out in agony though the sound did not reach inside the vortex. Blood ran from their mouths and they dropped to the ground, the grass beneath them staining red. Dean pried his eyes away from the grisly scene, unsure whether it was real or not.

“I end you and that ends.”

“It won’t be any better Dean. The world will still be broken. There will still be monsters, and evil and people making all the worst choices. Except, without me wanting a good story, who’s to say that the good guy wins sometimes? And what keeps you from your destiny? Sooner or later, your fate will catch up with you.”

All around Dean the storm lit up with images from his past. Sam’s body dropping into his arms in the ghost town at Cold Oak. Sam shot in the chest by Walt. Sam dragged away by a nest of vamps in the other universe. Sam half dead from enduring the Trials. Sam falling into the Cage. Sam shot. Sam stabbed. Sam clawed, and bitten, and bludgeoned. And flashing by among all of these were dozens of what he could only assume were alternate visions of the future-- each one of Sam dying. Some bloody, some desperate, some drenched in fear. In each one, Dean standing over the twisted, broken body of his brother, his own eyes empty of humanity. Echoing over it all were a dozen different voices from Dean’s past, each repeating some variant of the same prophecy: you’ll have to kill Sam.

Chuck spoke again, softly. “You’ll kill Sam. Jack will kill Cas. And your humanity will die with them and then the two of you will be alone. For eternity. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can prevent that. I can change your fates. Let you two live the life you want with your family. I’m the only one who can change that.”

A note in his plea startled Dean from his stupor. He looked down at Chuck and thought how small he looked. Dean readjusted his hold on Chuck’s chains and took a half step closer, leaning in almost imperceptibly. He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes.

“You know, Chuck… I’ve been a hunter long enough to recognize a demon deal when I hear it.”

The feigned sympathy and mercy vanished from Chuck’s eyes, replaced by hate and fear.

Dean straightened up. His hold on Chuck’s chains was stronger now. His voice was bolder. “Maybe I do have a destiny. But if it it’s there, it is what it is because of who I am, and the choices I make. And I believe in who I am.”

With a sweeping motion of the arm, Dean summoned his scythe. For one moment more he hesitated. “Fate’s a funny thing. Maybe it will come true. I’ll be with Sam until the end. Maybe my fate is that one day I’ll reap him. Seems likely. After all, I am Death. Sooner or later, everyone dies at my hands. Even you.”

At Dean’s nod, Jack let loose a primal scream. A wave of golden energy burst from the boy’s outstretched arms. The wave collided with Chuck in the precise instant that Dean’s scythe pierced his chest. Light exploded throughout the ragged little Kansas cemetery, bringing down the wall of storm, spinning a blinding tapestry explosion of stark white and brilliant gold, with a black core. And then there was quiet.

They filled the bunker with people. Eileen and Jody and Donna and the girls and Bobby and Charlie and Garth and a dozen others, young and old. And they celebrated. Food, drinks, music, laughter, and a sense of victory more complete than anything they had known before.

Amid the old friends, Jack mingled as easily as he ever had. There was something sweet and simple and kind about the boy’s companionship that no amount of power could change. He was friend and son and younger brother to all of them despite his recent deification. All their eyes shone with pride as he recounted his ultimate battle. All of them knew, but none of them truly grasped what it meant for Jack. How could they comprehend trading jokes with the new ruler of the universe?

It was not the same case for Dean. They had all heard of his death months earlier, had all mourned, so they were overjoyed at his return. But like Sam, they all instantly sensed that he was changed. Far more changed than Jack was. Their ease grew with each passing moment, realizing that he was still Dean. His jokes were the same, his laugh as ready as ever, his smile just as warm. So before long, their time with him felt almost as natural as it had before. Almost.

There was still a barrier that they couldn’t surmount. A distance. Dean was no longer alive as he had been, and he belonged to another world now. He had become more, and in that there was a loss of that rough equality between them. The power, the understanding, the authority—they call suited Dean. But he had grown beyond an easy fit with his old life. So as the party wore on, Dean slipped into the kitchen on his own.

Sam found him there sometime later, a beer in his hand and an empty pie plate beside him. Dean looked up to greet him and smiled quietly. The muffled sounds of the party provided a soft backdrop. Sam sat down across from Dean. For a while neither spoke.

It was Sam who broke the quiet first. “It’s never gonna be the same is it?”

Dean shook his head. “No. But it’s good. Jack is the new God. He made Cas an archangel. Heaven’s in good hands. Rowena’s got Hell under her thumb. Things are maybe better than they’ve ever been for us. “

“But you’re not really back are you? You’re Death now. And you have to do that job. I feel like I’m losing you all over you again.”

“Come on, man. I’m not gone. Sure I won’t be here as much. You won’t see me every day. But you ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. I’ll be around. As often as I can.”

“How often will that be?”

“Well, I’m not alone in it. I’ve got Billie helping me. With a partner, I figure it doesn’t have to be a 24/7 gig.”

“You still won’t be here. Not like before.”

“No.”

“It’s just that Jack and Cas are going to be in Heaven. You’ll be off… wherever Death goes.”

“I have a library.”

“Right. And I’m just wondering… what do I do all alone in this big empty bunker?”

“Well first of all, it’s not empty. You’ve got Eileen. And it only stays empty if you want it to. Come on, Sam, you know what you’re supposed to do.”

Sam scowled. “Ar-are you saying I should have kids?”

“No! I mean if you want to, but that’s not what I’m talking about.” He leaned in, confidentially, comfortably. “The Men of Letters, both British and American, the hunters from Apocalypse World, you’ve been dancing around this for years.”

“You think I should try it again.”

“An organization of hunters. Based out of here. Led by you.”

“I don’t know. It didn’t exactly turn out well before.”

“Yeah because ancient demons and rogue archangels were out to get us. But now. Now you have the world’s largest collection of lore. You have more experience than anyone. And your family is, hands down the most powerful family in the universe. It’s the perfect time, and you’re the perfect person to do it.”

The absolute faith conveyed in Dean’s voice was hard to stand against. Sam nodded slowly, his thoughts spinning with new possibilities. It was true; the thought had been with him for years. With the small push from Dean he could see it all falling into line. A nationwide network of hunters. Unified, organized, supported. Protecting each other, saving people. A brotherhood. “All the best of both hunters and the Men of Letters.”

“And with all of those salty hunters in there to help you? Trust me, half of the hunters in this country would sign on with you today if you asked. And hey, if anyone gives you any trouble, you just tell them that you raised God, and your big brother is Death.”

Sam laughed. “Sure. I’ll do that.”

“Ah. Speaking of that.” Dean reached into his pocket and pulled something out. Opening his hand he revealed three silver rings. The engraving on each one matched the markings on Dean’s ring, but they were simple bands, each without a stone. Dean plucked one out and set it on the table between him and Sam. “That one’s yours.”

“What is this?”

Dean returned the other two rings to his pocket and sat studying his own ring. “Think of this like a signet ring. Or whatever they were called. You’d have a king and if he gave his ring to someone it meant that that person was under his protection or it showed that the king trusted him with authority or both.”

Under Death’s protection. Sam lifted the ring off the table tentatively. “What does it do?”

“As long as you’re wearing it, you’re very hard to kill. Not immortal. It won’t hold up to something like the Colt or an archangel. But short of that…” Dean shrugged. “Ground rules: only you can take it off once you put it on. You’ll still age. You’ll still die one day. And it was made for you, so you’re the only one it works for. Giving it away won’t do anyone any good. So don’t even think about handing it off to the first person who makes puppy dog eyes at you.”

“How did you-“ Sam stammered. The ring felt cold and heavy in his hand.

“Billie helped me make them. But it uh- involves a lot of pulled strings and loopholes and making exceptions. So in light of the bigger picture of all things, it’s really something I can only pull off for these three rings.”

Sam glanced at the pocket the other two rings had gone into. “And those-“

“Require another trip to deliver them.”

Sam didn’t press. His eyes were locked back onto the ring in his hand. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Sammy, listen to me. The only way I can do this, the only way I can go off and do what I have to do, is if I know that I can still have your back. If I know that you’re safe. The rest of the universe comes second to making sure that my little brother is taken care of.”

Of course he meant it. Dean’s life had been a one long series of acts proving how much he would throw away to keep his brother safe. Sam slid the ring onto his finger, and Dean gave a relieved smile. He leaned back again, his task accomplished. “And I mean it Sam, you need me, you call. I’ll be there.”

They sat there for several hours more. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes trading stories. Sometimes dreaming of the future—Dean’s new role, Sam’s hunters, all the changes Jack and Cas would make to Heaven. The boundary Dean had felt between him and the friends in the other room was not there with Sam. Sam was no stranger to Death. They were just brothers.

So they sat with each other until some sixth sense told them the sun was beginning to rise, and Dean stood up to leave.

Sam trailed his brother outside. Baby sat waiting on the side of the road. Sam’s eyes traveled over the car fondly, before he scoffed slightly and smiled at Dean. “You know, Death’s supposed to have a pale horse.”

Dean grinned as he swung the door open and leaned on the roof. “Nobody’s touching my car.”

They lingered.

Sam shook himself. “Well. We’ve got work to do.”

Dean nodded. “See you soon, Sammy.”

He got into the car and started the engine, reveling in its familiar growl. The rocks crunched beneath the wheels as the car turned onto the open highway.

In a moment, Sam knew he would go back down into the bunker, back to Eileen and his friends, and he would begin the next chapter of his life. But for a while longer he stood and watched the Impala drive away, listening to the fading purr of the engine. And Dean watched Sam in the rearview mirror for as long as he could, even as he cranked the volume up and sang along as loud as he could to the music spilling out of the car and onto the never-ending road.

#supernatural #spn #spn fic #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #my writing

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thewhiterabbit42 · 6 years ago

Text

Impala Sex

Pairing: Mick x reader

Summary: A hunt almost goes sideways and you and Mick find yourselves giving in to temptation in less than ideal places.

Written for: @spnkinkbingo and @yeahbecauseimbatman

Kink Bingo Square Filled: Impala Sex

Word Count: 1492

Tags/Warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Beta’d by the lovely lady formerly known as @sumara62

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Mick’s whisper becomes swallowed. By the heady thrill of danger dancing along the air. By your mouth as your lips lay claim to his once more, unable to keep yourself from stealing taste after taste. Your fingers rake through his hair, and despite his protest, his hands are at your hips, tugging you flush against his body.

He’s right. It’s neither the time nor place. You’re both splattered in vamp blood that has yet to fully dry, and the Winchesters should be back any minute. But ideal is as foreign a concept as the luxury that comes from working with the British Men of Letters, and you’re well beyond the point of caring who might catch you with your pants around your ankles, or that you actually have a decent hotel room you can drop them in.

“Wait.”

He grabs your hands, a war raging inside of him, one one that adds an urgency to his tone. It implores you to listen, but also doesn’t stop you when you reach forward to palm him through his pants. His resolve fractures, frenetic fingertips tugging your undershirt free from your jeans so that he can drink in the smooth expanse of flesh beneath it.

You’re tired of waiting, and you know he is too. You can still see the look of horror on his face that went beyond almost witnessing a colleague being ripped apart. You can still feel weighted certainty that this is it clinging to your being. You need this. Him. Something to keep you from facing the fact that you almost didn’t come back this time.

You know you’ve won the battle the moment he allows you to push him into the backseat of the Impala.

He bounces across the leather, dragging his legs hastily in to make space for you. You’re thankful for the way your boots simply zip up the side, making it easy to lose them. Your jeans are a little less cooperative, but, ever eager to lend a helping hand, Mick reaches forward, wrenching them down to your knees.

Any other time you might have cracked a joke. He’s been nothing but cordial business and gentlemanly manners around you, and his eagerness is a nice development. But, there’s no time for humor, no desire other than to quench the the need roiling low in your stomach.

You only bother with one pant leg, dragging the rest into the car before shutting the door behind you. Strong hands land at your hips and he hoists you into his lap where your fingers immediately fly to his belt. You have the front of his pants open and your own underwear pushed aside in mere moments, though it feels like an eternity passes before you can finally free him.

Again, not ideal. There's not enough space to fully appreciate him or for him to appreciate you, and you’re certain you’d earn a one-way ticket off Winchester Island if Dean even had an inkling of what was happening inside his car.

That does little to stop you from enjoying the man beneath you.

You line him up with your entrance, sinking yourself down upon him. You groan in satisfaction as your walls give a burning stretch, whereas Mick sucks in air between his teeth as if he might come apart at that moment.

“Oh god,” he moans when he's fully hilted, fingers digging so tightly into you there's bound to be a few prints left behind.

He tugs, urging you to move, and you raise up until you're almost completely off him before he's buried in your wet heat again. You find a comfortable pace to start, one that quickly gains in tempo, until there's nothing but the sounds of your ragged breaths and groans within the vehicle.

You can tell it’s frustrating that he can’t get to you. Not fully. Not in ways he so clearly wants. He’s everywhere, frantically trying to touch every part of you, as if he may never get another opportunity to again. Despite his desperation, he’s controlled, grip firm but no longer bruising, drinking you in until you nearly suffocate, but never forgetting to let you come up for air.

You’ve thought about this many times, but no amount of fantasizing could have prepared you for the way you perfectly fit in his lap, how he knows how to handle you, how you need him fast, hard, without reservation.

It’s the best post-hunt high you’ve ever chased. It’s intense, all-encompassing, and as much as you’d love to make the most of the experience, you do everything you can to push him over the edge first. He doesn’t just trip over it, but goes careening over the finish line, a series of fucks echoing with his erratic, then slowing thrusts.

He slumps, head dropping back onto the seat. Both your chests are heaving and it takes a moment for you to catch your breath. As much as you want to revel in how thoroughly sated he looks, you know you can’t.

Carefully, you slide off him, your body protesting at the sudden emptiness. Without a word you get back into your pants, hastily climbing back out of the car to find your boots and escape the stifling silence.

By the time he emerges, you’ve not only put yourself back to rights, but you’ve taken a seat on top of the hood. Other than the residual glow in your cheeks and the obvious sex hair he’s sporting, there’s no other evidence of what just happened. None that’s visible, anyway.

“Hey.” You acknowledge him, unsure of what else to do. This all feels a little out of your league. You’ve slept with other hunters before, but never anyone as important as him, and never anyone you’ve had feelings for.

“I hope you’ll accept my apology,” he begins, and your slowing heart begins racing anew at his stiff, distant tone.

You swallow. “For?”

You don't mean to sound so challenging, but the slick on your thighs hasn't even dried and he's already making excuses, which is fast, even for a bureaucrat.

He releases a breath, hand raking through his hair. His eyes drop, wandering over the ground as he looks at nothing in particular. You hope the measured pause he gives is him choosing his next words carefully.

“Not adhering to proper etiquette.”

Whatever etiquette he’s referring to must be British, because you have no idea what he's talking about.

Your brow arches, but you refrain from saying anything until he explains himself.

“You know…” He jams his hands into his pockets and clears his throat. “Ladies first?”

You turn to look at him, really look at him, and you realize what you’ve been picking up on isn’t him being detached so much as embarrassed.

“Oh.” That. “I mean…” You’ve never had anyone care enough to apologize. What does one say in this situation?

Sorry I couldn’t wait another half hour to jump your bones?

No. You didn’t need him thinking you’re even more desperate than you already seemed.

No big deal. It happens all the time?

Yeah, maybe if you want him to think dragging men into the backseat after a hunt is par for the course.

The pressure to say something overwhelms you, and you decide to throw caution to the wind.

“...the night’s still young?”

His eyes snap up and you freeze. He goes as still as stone, and your heart follows suit, unsure of what it means.

A roguish smile breaks through the surface, lighting up his eyes. “I guess it is.”

He steps in front of you, hand brushing the hair back from your face before taking you by the chin. “May I?”

You smile, relief flooding your system as you grab the front of his suit. You get lost in each other again, but this time it’s different. It’s slow and sweet, filled with electricity and a tenderness that’s sorely been missing from your life. He takes the time to explore your mouth, your tongue, all the places along your neck that make you sigh. For a few minutes, there’s nothing but you and him, and the world without monsters he’d pitched to you months back is suddenly a reality.

Until the Winchesters return and promptly burn it to the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean yells, emerging from the treeline. “What are you, fifteen? Quit necking on my car!”

Sam trails behind him with a snort. “Necking, Dean? Really?”

“I mean it,” his brother warns. “Off!”

You draw back, putting your hands up in surrender and Mick mutters something that suspiciously sounds like bloody wankers though it could have just been Winchesters. He steps back giving you room to hop down and while he looks less than thrilled, you can’t keep yourself from smirking at the vein starting to pop on Dean’s forehead.

If only he knew what you’d really been up to in his precious Baby.

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elizabethrobertajones · 7 years ago

Note

I think Destiel is the show's end game but they want it to be the very last thing. So they set up the story around season 8/9 because they didn't really know if they were gonna get picked up and they had to dial it back up when it continued. Now it started again during season 12 knowing the show is gonna end in the next couple of years for sure without it being cancelled. Maybe? Thoughts? Love your meta!

Hi! Love you too!

I weirdly had a conversation about this yesterday in private so I’ve managed to actually coalesce some thoughts about this… Lots of thoughts.

Seeing as I joined fandom in the end of season 9, I basically joined a fandom that had been pretty hurt by the spec that season 8 might have been endgame if the show was cancelled… Obviously we’re never going to get any sort of statement on it until after we know the definitive line on whatever else they were doing with Destiel after the point it matters, so it’s going to be small potatoes if it was or not.

But I don’t particularly think that it actually WAS - and the different way Cas, and his and Dean’s relationship, was portrayed in season 8 immediately threw a whole bunch of fuel on the fire but it was shocking in a way that it was being given attention rather than specifically being romantic, and it’s hard to tell the two apart, especially when you’re looking in the subtext and seeing romantic stuff, which when you’re a starving shipper suddenly seems like a feast of both charged interaction AND the old subtext, which is suddenly slathered all over everything when Cas is a major part of Dean’s emotional arc for the first time (in a good way).

(LOTS more under the cut)

Whether there was an intent or not, season 8 changed the game and without knowing what they were doing or where it would lead (aka hello I am Hindsight from the future) it would look pretty shocking and suggestive that something might come of it. Because I know I’d flip out in the same scenario just from wondering, and kind of feel like I’m in the same place after season 12, because again it feels like the game changed.

I’m trying hard not to leap to conclusions to be honest, and I do *not* want to be in the middle of it which is partially why I’ve reacted so strongly to twice in the last month people using me as some sort of fandom leader whose words mean more than others’, because I really really hope not and I wish I didn’t have to disclaimer it because it makes my ego look enormous but on the other hand twice in a month is a pretty frightening wake up call about how people see me?

So.

Even if it was written with intent in season 8, we’re so far past the point that if that was their plan they could have delayed it over and over without doing something substantial *in Carver era* about it, that it twists the fandom narrative about this into the show being very cruel. This narrative is a great one for people who feel wanky, to feel like they’ve got justified reasons to be upset that it didn’t happen and that they’re getting strung along. I’m not saying everyone who thinks that Destiel was slated to go canon in season 8 does, but it is a great narrative for those who do to feel somewhat certain the show is deliberately dangling and then holding back on Destiel, because nothing bonds a community like feeling as if some more important group of people is mistreating them. Justified rage and all that. If you don’t like the show because you feel it got kinda shitty over the last few years but instead need to take it as a personal betrayal in order to break up with the show, it’s a great thing to get riled up about. The bait and switch seems clear to them, and there’s been many discussions of the way they seem to build up only to yank away, in every season since 8. And part of the build up is meta writers freaking out about how canon it all looks and being naturally excited to see what happens with the story they’ve been reading positively (and this isn’t our fault, though some people think we’re complicit in queerbaiting just by wanting to analyse the show and give any credit to teasing the ship by pointing out its structural integrity).

Some people who see the idea it was going to be canon in season 8 positively also tell this as a way of making themselves feel good that it has been on the books and therefore has a chance of going canon in the future.

You can get the same story of the show’s intent in two different places, but the ONLY way we can ever construct this narrative is by reading into the show and trying to guess at what they’re doing because they’ve never admitted to writing a Destiel narrative.

A side effect of the 9x03 wank was a bemused message from someone waaaay up the chain and out of the writers’ room, who said they’d never been pitched the story. I’m inclined to believe that, because I don’t believe in any conspiracy except for the NHI (shh don’t ask if you don’t remember :P), meaning that at no point in season 8 was it EVER anything more than subtextual fun from the writers among themselves. And nothing that was on the books at least in the first half of season 9. Like, at the most generous thought that it might be later if you REALLY want to go hard on theorising about what they’re up to, it wasn’t at that point.

(The NHI sprang from 10x10 so I’m covered there.)

(Also if you see people handwave 9x03′s wank as a conspiracy to cover it up and that it HAD been real but NDAs mean they’d say it wasn’t, don’t use a pinch of salt, put a whole salt circle around that thought and run away.)

Another thing about this sort of expectation or narrative is that I feel the recent meta writers wank has made it really obvious there’s still people in fandom hanging on for fanon content and character stanning who really don’t need more canon to unfurl, ever, and are only going to get more angry about it, and were hurt at some point in one of these mass-wanks about the show, probably one of these early positivity bubble bursts, but who nevertheless feel like meta still has some sort of mystical power or social influence or… something or other… that from how it sounds, seems like they were once all in on the “it should be canon at the end of season 8″ hype or equivalent for their season, and of course were shattered when it didn’t happen.

And if season 8 didn’t finish them off, later things did - season 9 was a horrific obstacle course even just with 9x03′s wank and then JIB at the end of the year and the “we don’t play it that way” comment. Which I am contractually obliged to repeat every time I quote Jensen to give context of “as in a secret relationship where they’ve been fucking off screen as per whatever dirty fanart he was shown to get the concept of what he thought Destiel was”

I am fairly certain that season 8 hype was partially manufactured (a Known Fandom Cultist was in the mix and the heady combination of a new big fandom flooding tumblr from Netflix and all the season 8 subtext AND the chance for attention and followers is a wonderful mix for exploitation when the fandom hasn’t been hurt before from this particular direction), and definitely this hype was used to whip the fandom up into a frenzy of expectation that a lot of people either innocently repeated or expanded on in their own meta because the idea sounded interesting or halfway plausible based on their theories (as it was a positive growth of Destiel subtext and narrative ANYWAY) or they thought we deserved the best world of the show, or else they weren’t meta writers and just read it and bought into it and allowed this narrative to have *incredible* power over them by putting all their thoughts into someone else’s basket, and sharing the ideas and being excited in gifsets and fic and other fandom contributions for how the show had become a romance overnight.

(Spoilers: it hadn’t.)

I don’t like theories which use abstract examples to hold up to the show like basic plot structures, character arc templates, etc, pretty much exactly for this reason, because you can ONLY apply those as analysis backwards on finished arcs without immediately being wrong about something, and that’s a generous thought for if you’re not trying to whip up a frenzy of enthusiasm for fake emotional currency of Tumblr followers :P Essentially I have no problem with meta written about this sort of thing so long as it isn’t “they ARE using this trope so this HAS TO MEAN that this WILL happen,” or “they ARE employing such and such narrative structure and that means they WILL do this next step exactly as it says here”

… I could crack open my copy of The Seven Basic Plots right, now, pick one at random, apply it to the season 13 spoilers with dead certainty that it all adds up to Destiel and cash in my entire reputation on a 1/7 chance of being utterly right that the structure will look like it’s going that way to the letter, and hope I’d only lose a third of my new followers in the resulting storm when I’m not right about the pay off :P

If you just think it’s interesting and might be USEFUL to try and UNDERSTAND what will happen next, then by all means as long as you’re not using it and hoping that it sounds academic will mean people without a good grounding in rationalising these things for themselves will just assume you’re smart and know what you’re talking about. And then you use it to push home ideas which you can’t possibly know like that Destiel is being built up to go canon at the end of the season/endgame or whatever, some people will go right along with it because it’s tantalising.

Whatever happened, though, I have heard more than enough since joining fandom about the end of season 8 wank and people quitting the fandom and basically the first positivity bubble shattering (over an episode I feel does no harm and considerable good to the ship without making it canon), so that even before season 9 the wank and bitterness about many things such as the disproportionate freak out about Tracey Bell being a love interest or rumours spread that April or Nora would be multi-episode love interests for Cas, had everyone behaving like the way fandom does before every season or character announcement now. Which is to get disproportionately upset about things which have not yet happened, because they’re already feeling *so hurt* by the things which have, for not living up to the expectations, that surely everything is IT, the END, the thing that will kill Destiel out of the show forever. Every female character is a threat and everyone’s always certain the show is out to damage the thing they love just out of spite.

(I know some people will pop up like, it’s not about the ship, it’s about Cas! but I really can not help feeling that it’s just a sliding of feelings from the ship, because of feeling Dean was horrible to Cas over season 9 and 10 for example, to being over-protective of Cas in particular, and, like, I get it. I do. I don’t feel it that way because I never got invested in any particular pay off that I then didn’t feel happened, and that by whatever point, Cas should be living with them or getting his own episodes on the regular or that Dean should have apologised for whatever, or that they should now be dating. I have a personal investment in this tailored to look for positive things and see good changes like Cas getting more episodes ABOUT him, a strong place in the narrative, a in-depth personal arc, and love from the cast and show. For others, almost nothing will go far enough towards what they want, so even these huge positive changes from what I experienced in season 10 as a Cas fan will get over the hurdle.)

I also think there’s a serious secondary problem that for some people the promise of “it’s going canon at the end of season 8″ turned into “well of course it got renewed so it’ll be whenever the show ends INSTEAD” but carried on essentially giving the same super positive message that Destiel was absolutely 100% on the mind of all the writers all the time as the overall conclusion of the character arc. Which is something you can almost never tell when people write about it and I think again is more like an idea that moved into general conversation so I don’t think there’s really anyone out there I encounter who is angling for anything. But it can be misleading about the concept that just because meta writers find a consistent narrative and are optimistic it will continue and be honoured through the show, that we’re saying that there’s a guaranteed endgame and everyone ought to hang onto it.

Honestly if you can’t hack the wait, I’d much rather people went full-fanon, didn’t cast opinions on the show at all, put away the negativity in favour of enjoying the stuff they like - fics, art, canon-free headcanons, etc, and when the end of the show came, if they even halfway liked the sound of what people were saying about it, went and re-watched from the start to re-immerse themselves and try a positive take on it knowing what they were in for, canon or not. I’ve stopped watching several times out of DGAF feelings towards the show (weird dog episodes :|) and come back and again I can’t really claim to have the most healthy attitude, everyone follow my lead, but I do think I can be objective and careful about how I engage with it and try and not get sucked into negativity OR positivity rollercoasters that only go to hurt town. >.>

I mean, I honestly feel in season 12, it’s the first time we’ve had an entire writers’ room of writers I even think *know* about it as a solid narrative construct (and yes I am including Buckleming because they DO write Destiel into the show, they just also write all the racism and rape and whatever else in along with it :P) Between the scattered application of serious subtext through Carver era and the approach to canon they occasionally winked at, they never seemed particularly competent at the work needed to actually make Destiel canon if it was EVER supposed to be building up towards it. I think the bait and switch yank away is too clever for them and their handling of the narrative :P I don’t think they’re stupid but, NHI aside, they are not up for complicated conspiracies.

To be serious, though… I know people say they saw it all the time from space, and their casual viewer mom did etc, but the fact remains they never wrote a CLEAR romance narrative except for the splitting Dean and Cas at the start of season 10 and *paralleling* their narratives with Crowley and Hannah, while everything else has been situational tropes or strong emotional narratives which could work either way. A slow burn romance in a show that will admit it’s one will use many similar tropes but also ones which expressly make it a romance that everyone’s supposed to read as happening, usually quite corny, on the nose ones, and Destiel has more of the subtextual or emotionally bonding romantic tropes than like… anything else ever… but very few of the “oops walked in on him changing, let me just accidentally turn around again on the way out the door” type nonsense that broadcasts to people on Mars that they’re going to bang, and probably soon. I say very few because there’s little outliers like the boner scene or “i can’t let you do this” which are copy pasted from corny romance, but of ALL the Destiel that happened in season 12, ONLY the mixtape crosses boundaries like that and even so people CAN argue it’s platonic love, and the only thing we can really say is nonsense is that it’s not conveying any love at all.

Something like Crowley mourning his romance with demon!Dean and looking at photos to some sort of “all by myself” level song was very clearly a rom com trope and the one that for me sealed the deal that Drowley was intentionally meant to be seen in canon. Something like Dean and Aaron is disproportionately powerful because their main interpersonal interaction was literally described as being something from a rom com BY the director’s commentary :P Destiel is a 10 year old behemoth, largely NOT defined by rom com tropes, but with a few peppered here and there in a low enough concentration that it’s not the absolute norm to assume it’s going to happen.

But in season 12, like in season 8, Cas got a LOT of attention in the story, a good chunk of that was through Dean because Dean’s got the old profound bond, and Cas and Dean are intrinsically and inseparably connected in some ways that no amount of bro-ing up with Sam or forging a tentative friendship with Mary will do to NOT make it seem like Cas is talking to Dean first and foremost, especially when all 3 Winchesters pile through the door and Cas just says “Dean” :P

This season has a STRONG narrative about Cas’s relationship to the Winchesters and through Dean in particular, and there’s one of the stand out romantic tropes in basically ever in this season, along with several other hallmarks of the things that made season 8 such fertile ground.

12x10 had the crypt scene rehash to hopefully end these loops around Dean and Cas with the positive conclusion it needed, and a lot of the meta about season 8 flipped out about the human/supernatural relationships (with Charlie and Gilda foreshadowing the crypt scene perfectly, because Robbie) so 12x10 filled in a missing link from season 8, of a story about how angels might be into humans too.

And it was the season with Aaron which was Dean’s personal stand out bi moment which made a lot of people feel the show was going to start taking it seriously on his behalf, and season 12 had Aaron back, even if it was only one scene, it was a reminder he existed and the main interesting context for most people was him and Dean.

And season 8 had the angel fall spell, including the cupid nonsense in 8x23, and the nephilim which was the early forerunner of the suggestion of 12x10, that angels and humans can couple up, while in season 12 the angel fall spell was directly mentioned, 12x15 mirrored the first Hell trial, nephilim were back, and Crowley offered to close the gates of Hell. So season 8′s mytharc was slathered all over the season.

And in the crypt scene Dean was supposed to say “I love you” and in 12x12 they found a way to make Cas say it instead, which I agree was the more logical progression, that Cas would crack first :P

Anyway, season 8 was all over this season but season 12 felt amped up and going places season 8 didn’t, going several steps further and as I’ve said before to go straight from season 8 meta mindset to season 12, would utterly blow your mind.

BUT to go right back to the start, I don’t think season 8 was building to canon Destiel ever, not even as a failsafe for cancelleation. I don’t think that the planned “I love you” was going to do more than make the fight about canon that much more bloody if it aired and doesn’t help even without it airing, knowing it was going to happen. Jensen was the one who argued it away, and they agreed for character reasons supposedly, so there was no meddling from above to say, wait, hit the brakes, we can’t barrel right into the canon build up.

I think season 8 was supposed to be used to bring Cas back in from the cold - kind of literally with using Purgatory to stagger his return - because after season 6 & 7 showing Dean cared about him in ANY way was important, and to establish that whatever Cas had done, Dean would forgive and want to rescue him and have him back in the family. I don’t think season 8 is a clean slate for Cas despite his attempt to put on the old uniform and carve a new path for himself in like… 2 episodes after he got back while he was still being fucked around with by Heaven unknowingly to him. He’s still burdened with guilt, and if anything, the season renewal is probably more to blame for stretching out Dean forgiving him than smooching him, with a lil more manufactured drama and Dean lashing out at him for season 6 & 7 in 8x22. He lashes out again in 9x22, but by season 10 he’s pretty much moved on, to be angry about like… everything else to push Cas away at the end of the season. I guess they’re living in the moment rather than the past by 10x22 :P Pfft. Sorry, got to be facetious about some things here.

I think the focus on Cas in season 8 was much more about his repentance and forgiveness from others - Metatron snags him by seeing he still wants to repent for Heaven, WHILE he’s in the gas station trying to buy stuff to repent to Dean for OTHER stuff. I think it makes perfect sense to read the season 8 narrative as a strong emotional narrative between Dean and Cas specifically engineered to delve into their relationship issues, let Cas back in to TFW, let him back into Dean’s heart, and try and establish for US what Cas is truly like as we’ve never been so deep in his head as in season 8 as a whole, except for in 6x20 where we learned A: he loved them and Dean in particular, and B: he was busy lying and betraying them and justifying it all on the slimmest reasons to keep himself going. If you love Cas, 6x20 is a goldmine. If you’re indifferent or don’t like him, as a one episode event, it might not warm your heart especially with the end of season 6 and his resulting failures, especially perceived moral ones against his friends.

Season 8 let us right into Cas and showed us his inner processes, desires, and a narrative about how he wanted to do penance for season 6 and 7, and a feeling that Sam and Dean love him back, of course, but to them Cas is still a shaky person to depend on and Dean is going a great deal on faith that Cas is good even while thinking he’s sketchy and lying the entire time between 8x07 and 8x17, showing a conflict between Dean’s baseline faith in Cas and Cas’s behaviour towards them. Being in his head and seeing Naomi all season makes US insiders to Cas’s issues and puts us on his side firmly by knowing WHY he’s acting this way, so it’s a good storyline to nurture us through Dean’s issues with Cas while being given an inside line to being sympathetic to Cas since we know what Dean doesn’t about how he’s being controlled the entire time.

Taken in that spirit, I can see the show just wanting to reconcile TFW and Dean and Cas in particular as a goal to shoot towards and the conclusion might just have been that they all make it good before whatever ending they had in mind for the main plot stuff. Along with a healthy dose of subtext to keep you guessing about how that relationship was.

Anyway, as I said, I don’t like subscribing to theories which are too speculative and treating them like they’re too real and like… definitely what the show is doing… makes me really itchy for the above reasons in the fan wank section of this reply… so the one that Destiel is now being woven into season 12 to the same way it was in season 8 to the eventual aim of canon puts me off for the reasons I hope you can guess from all that rambling :P

Even if I have hope that it MIGHT be on the books doesn’t mean I’ll really commit to saying it’s narratively going anywhere for sure, because that seems like a great way to start a cult and end up in the shame bin and reviled by people one day. I want to see fandom through to the end of the show and see what happens with you all, so short-sighted plans about building a rocket to Mars in my back yard seems like a great way to end up sitting in a fizzled out rocket still on the ground in my yard with a bunch of people who want their money back :D

I do think the endgame the show is working towards is going to be positive for Destiel fans and probably at the very least a good final touching moment, although I think the show will pretty much certainly end on Sam and Dean together as the sign off moment, even if the moment before that is Dean smooching Cas in the kitchen before grabbing a couple of beers to go hang with his brother just the 2 of them out on the front porch of their weirdo hunter commune house. Or whatever happens. But you know, even in the Destiel is totally canon and it all ends happily world, it’s not ABOUT them, it’s about Sam and Dean and as much as it’s about everyone else they love too, they’d be there to show there’s a world for them to save/that they have saved and can retire to, if Mary and Cas survive to the end.

But there are many subtextual ways between that hazy dream ending and, like, total character death save the world through mass sacrifice kinda ending, and all of which can make Destiel look like it was where things were/would have gone. At the current point in canon you can say the exact same thing, which is the point I was making that went right over some heads where they got fixated on me dancing gleefully around Cas’s dead body fulfilling my prophecy or whatever. If the show ended there, with the way Dean and Cas were connected over the season, you could argue their hearts belonged to each other, but they never got a chance to really do anything about it.

It’s the shitty subtextual Cas is dead ending I’d always dreaded if the show really wanted to fuck with us, but it’s one they could have done, and it would have left things open ended enough for academics and fans and whoever else to yell forever about if it had all meant what we thought it did, to a collection of contradictory comments from cast and crew.

The only way is up from here for Cas’s personal development, seeing as he’s finally doing the truly transformative death experience, and Cas’s personal development is where Destiel subtext is most closely tied, while Dean’s personal development has been a mess of performing Dean and bi Dean and issues with his parents and the codependency, and he’s opening up like a beautiful flower, but it’s still largely a sort of concept that Destiel can just sort of happen when Dean’s got far enough down the line on dealing with all these issues as a kind of lump problem, and Cas’s arc is much more mythological, tied into identity and belonging, but the target has been clear since like… 4x22… (and I mean “clear” rather than “oh shit it’s going to haaaappen” like it is from the start of the season :P) that it’s going to all land on Dean. And clear since like… idk, 6x20? that the feeling is pretty romantic from his end so in an ideal world he lands on Dean romantically.

And all subsequent positive development on the ship’s possibility has been clearing hurdles and tidying up character development that’s all pretty much check lists made back in season 8 or after the wank when with clearer heads people began to wonder just what was standing in the way of them if they were going to go canon, but not right then. Stuff like Claire and the vessel occupancy issue. Or the slow progress of Cas putting words to his family to call them that and the Bunker home and so on. Steps that all the stretching of the story has let them explore in minute detail.

So I can see that it’s possible that this all develops into something that works incredibly well for the chances of Destiel and since season 10 I’ve had the suspicion, thanks to Claire and the Dean-focused character development episodes, that they were working on the same tick list as us. But I’m not sure if it will pay off exactly as we want to see, while at the same time being over the moon delighted when another step forward happens. And season 12 moved a lot of ground, some of it unexpectedly quickly, and other things like, unburying them from ruts they’d been stuck in forever.

I don’t think going on from here season 13 will be immediately disappointing if Cas and Dean aren’t desperately romantically linked all the time because the show still acts like they have their own personal dramas when it’s not letting them see each other as the only people in a room. I don’t think it would be very productive to tally up events as if they’re constructing a narrative where we have to wait for pay off at a very set date, because even though I think that pay off will come at a very set date if we’re lucky and they honour their subtext. The show doesn’t seem to have an end, I honestly don’t trust Dabb as far as I can throw him not to just randomly make Destiel canon because he thinks it’ll be funny and make us happy because I have no grasp on his showrunning except he’s a massive troll with his finger on the fandom pulse. And honestly I don’t get much pleasure from constructing the elaborate forward narratives when I can be much more excited about the immediate stuff, living in the moment, and taking the Destiel subtext as it comes.

After the mixtape moment there was a lot of spec about if we’d see it again or what it meant building forwards, and I felt it wasn’t going to be mentioned again, and that it was much more valuable for that moment and what it told us about Dean and Cas, than using it for a forwards sign, which to me often just means taking quick stock of a thing happening in present canon then barrelling ahead into the future. While to me the richness in the story is wallowing in what has been opened up about the past, about Dean making the mixtape, when he gave it to Cas, and all the backstory implied by the 5 second moment of that exchange, because it implies so much more going backwards than it ever meant going forwards, as it wasn’t mentioned again all season. We could go forwards knowing Dean and Cas were at the sort of stage of the relationship where mixtapes happen in such a way, but we can’t use it to divine an entire forward plot about it, because that way lies the sort of “make everything Cas ever does about guinea pigs and bees” nonsense because fixating on passing moments as information about character stuff we need to know for later, that there’ll be a bigger pay off later, to me does sort of ruin the fun of the present.

There’s manageable foreshadowing and speculation like guessing what the turducken sign is all about, because its original context was very Destiel, and there’s stuff like guessing about the PB&J where it has so many contexts that even when it connects to Cas I saw that as somewhat connecting him with *Kevin* and lil baby Sam in 9x07 when Cas was eating it in 9x11, and the Destiel connection was the link to humanity, and Dean as being somewhat connected as the PB&J provider to their weirdo family. But he also brought Kevin prune juice as a far more loving gesture, you know? :P Until we have context on these things I hate to get invested in many forward spec things as Destiel related or feeding a larger narrative.

I also think there’s a big difference between meta and spec and I am much more comfortable offering analysis of what has already happened and maybe venturing an idea of how things will play out but not wedding myself to it, especially as that’s how I’ve seen people get fandom burn out, and also I hate looking wrong :P So for my own ego, again, it’s nice to sit and enjoy spec as entertainment but not get so involved I’m writing convoluted theories about it.

Tl;dr, I’m hopefully understandably wary about what canon positivity can do to a fandom, even just from second-hand tales and snooping old blogs back in season 9 when it was all a bit closer to the surface. I have a very comfortable place I’m sitting, which has been rocked about a bit by how on the nose season 12 was, but until I can be sure I really do not want to ever commit to a speculation about anything being set up for canon that we can see in the narrative. I think we’re at an AMAZING place with where we’ve progressed in canon but I’m trying so so hard to keep it contained as if season 12 is where it all ends for now, and I will try and take each episode as it comes when it’s what people might read about what happens next with Destiel, because none of us are qualified to answer it. And the meta community seems to be in a really weird place again with an up surge in positivity that’s making the gold standard of speculation rise, and I’d rather learn from the past and be OVER CAREFUL than get involved in a huge fandom fuck up about all this :P And I hope if I really am supposedly that influential, I can try and be an example of not counting chickens, even when I think I’m holding a very full basket.

#Asks #riverboat gambling #you could probably scroll that tag to see me wizening up like a walnut #season 13 speculation #destiel

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demondean-for-kingofhell · 8 years ago

Text

If You Only Knew

CHAPTER 7: INCARCERATION

INFILTRATION || WITNESS || INHIBITIONS || MANIPULATION ||

EXPANSION || SUSPICION

“What the fuck do you mean ‘You don’t know’, Cas?!” Sam roared, one huge hand sweeping across his desk to send nearly everything on it flying.

Cas and Sofia both cringed away from his wrath.

“Somebody fucking answer me!” he screamed, his face turning red with his anger. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he turned a hateful stare to Sofia when she cleared her throat.

“Sam, we had no choice. We had to get the shipment out of there! I thought she was right behind us I swe-”

“THAT’S NO FUCKING EXCUSE!” The house was bound to come down around them with the force of his fury. He sat back, running agitated hands through his hair, a sure sign that his anger was still raging just under the surface. “Okay...let’s just use our heads here. She doesn’t have a record. The DEA seemed more intent on getting to the Russians. “She was injured because you two left her unprotected!” He sat heavily in the chair, his weight pushing it back several inches as he felt the reality of the situation close in around him. “She’s in the hospital, no doubt. They’d want her alive for questioning.”

“Boss…” Cas started. “You can’t be thinking what I know you’re thinking.”

“Novak,” Samuel’s eyes burned like embers as his gaze bore deep into the mind of his friend, “if I were you...you’d shut the fuck up.” Sam growled in response, fingers tapping across the wood desk, where just last week you’d let him-no. He couldn’t think about that now.

Sam stood, towering above his desk. “I am going to see her.”

“Sam.” Sofia stood, panic laced her voice. “You can’t! There will be agents everywhere!”

“Good! It’ll only serve to frustrate them when they realize they’ve got nothing on me!” He spat, pointing an accusatory finger in her direction.

“Suspicion alone will let them hold you for twenty four hours.” Cas interrupted him as he paused to take another breath.

“So let them hold me...I don’t care! I won’t leave her there to suffer alone!” Sam was already on his feet, headed for the office door.

Sofia started to follow but Cas rested a hand on her forearm. “Sam, I didn’t want to tell you this…” she sighed and jerked out of Cas’ grip.

“Sofia! Please, for fuck’s sake, just fucking stop with the conspiracy theories! She’s not a narc!” He spared one glance back at her, his lip curled up into a snarl. “As it is, it would be hard for her to steal me away from you. I’m not yours to hold onto. Never have been. Never will be.” Sam tore his jacket out of Sofia’s desperate grasp.

She blurted the words out anyway, ignoring Cas’ desperate whispered plea, “She saved that agent, you know. Smith! From the DEA!” Her chest rose and fell rapidly, a smile twisting dark red lips with the certainty of her accusation. “She pulled him to the floor when the Russians opened fire!”

Sam only let out a breath, could’ve been a laugh. It wasn’t. “Castiel...out of consideration of our friendship, I advise you to keep your bitch in line. I don’t enjoy putting pups down.”

Cas grabbed her bicep when she pushed past him, advancing on Sam. “Dammit, you’re gonna fucking listen to me! Something is wrong with her!”

“Sam, it’s true. I saw her drag him to the ground, a stray bullet caught her on the way.” Cas spoke slowly, deliberately.

He stopped one last time, hand on the doorknob. “Novak, last chance.” The weight in his voice was lost on them both.

“What the fuck?! You’re choosing her over us?!” Sofia nearly screamed. Sam didn’t even blink, didn’t make any other move except to draw his gun, firing a single round that buried itself in her chest.

The long moment between the concussion of air and her shocked expression did nothing to change the expression of the man holding the trigger. The rest of the scene fell to pieces around them.

“Fuck, fuck!” Cas caught her as she fell, trying to stem the flow of blood. “Sam what the fuck, man?! Oh, God, Sof…”

Sam watched her draw in a wet sounding breath, and dialed 911 from his cell, tossing it to Cas.

The harsh growl bit out between Sam’s teeth as his fingers clutched the door, “Save her then. But next time...if she makes it, do as you’re fucking told.”

Getting shot was a bitch. You were cuffed to the bed, in order to protect your cover in case any of Sam’s thugs came sniffing around. The pain meds had you groggy, in a near constant state of half consciousness.

Yet Dean insisted on briefing you and making sure you were okay. Apparently, the Russians had been taken into custody and it seemed they would flip on Sergio any time just to get a softer sentencing.

He finally left you alone and you were hovering on the edge of sleep when there was a light knock on the door, and Sam stepped through with a soft smile. You spied an obscenely huge bouquet of roses and lilies in one hand. “Hey, how you feelin’ baby girl?”

You groaned, “Got myself shot,” to tired to even smile back at him, “...hurts,”

“Yeah, I bet.” He seemed relieved that you were cracking jokes. He sat in the recliner next to your bed, the flowers ending up on your bedside table.

“Those are pretty; for me?” God, every word hurt to force out.

“Well, I had other stuff in mind just yesterday, but you went and got yourself shot, baby.” A sly wink was tossed your way and he grinned, taking your hand gently. “No, I just had to see you were okay with my own eyes, and the bouquet was a good disguise for getting in here to you.”

“You’re so sweet.” You croaked, cracking a small smile. “I’m okay.” Three inches to the right and you would have died instantly.

“Good, good.” His expression turned more serious, hazel eyes looking into your own. “Kate, I came so close to losing you yesterday…” he pressed the back of your hand to his lips, you felt them tremble as he bent his forehead to rest on your bedside. You felt yourself softening as his fingers masked your hands and stroked your fingers, his large hand coming to rest gently in yours.

“Kate....” You heard his voice waver, timid for the first time, “I can’t….”

Unconsciously, you felt your fingers wrap his.

“I can’t ever feel like that again.” His eyes tilted up over the edge of the bed and he was human. His hazel eyes weren’t those of the man who ordered hits and kilos of cartel trades. He was just...Sam.

“Promise me?” The pleading was unbearable.

“Sam, I’m gonna be okay. I’m not going anywhere. Promise.” You slipped a weak laugh into your words.

“Kate, I’m serious!” He sighed, almost as if he were talking to a wayward child. “I never should have sent you out on that deal. I can’t believe I even considered it.”

“Please, can we not do this here?” Your free hand went to your chest when you tried to sit up. “We can fight about it later at the house.”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He let out a small relieved laugh. “That sounds amazing.” You were surprised to see him hiding tears. “That reminds me,” he kissed your knuckles again. “Sofia said something…”

You were instantly more alert, heart threatening to burst right out of your chest. You tried to control your breathing, in vain. Maybe he would take it as a side effect of the meds you were on. “Said what?” Was all you managed to get out.

“She said you pulled Agent Smith out of the line of fire once the shooting started.” He held your gaze. Suddenly, all the severity of the cartel came back to his gaze in full force. Whether he loved you, or not - he didn’t trust you, not fully. Before, you caught yourself considering the consequences of your actions, you found yourself pitying his lack of confidence in humanity.

You waited him out. Gave him a hopelessly confused look, as if trying to recall the situation. You’d hoped that would never come to light.

He plowed on. “Now...normally I wouldn’t put much stock in anything she says, but Novak says he saw the same.” His thumb rubbed small circles on the back of your hand. “I need the truth, Katie.” There it was again, the hope.

“Sam...it all happened so fast. I turned to run, but he was there blocking my way. Cas and Sofia ran up into the stairwell, shots were fired. I didn’t think, I just...instinct I guess.” You were suddenly desperate to make everything right. You realized you didn’t just need Sam to trust you. You wanted him to. Tears sprang to your eyes unbidden and unwelcome, but you could use them to your advantage. “Sam, I’m so sorry! I-I was just-”

“Hey, hey...sweetheart it’s okay. You most likely saved his life, and even though that’s less than desireable for me...” he smiled, a genuine, full on dimpled smile. “You’re a good person, Kate. You’re the kind of person I want around me. Next to me.”

You jumped when the door swung open, bouncing against the rubber stopper on the wall behind it. Two men with guns drawn were standing in the doorway, eyes trained on Sam. “DEA! GET ON THE GROUND!”

Sam only smiled at you, letting go of your hand and getting to his knees, hands locked behind his head. You forced yourself to sit up, though your chest burned with the effort. “Sam!”

“They can only hold me for twenty four hours. I’ll be back.” He was cuffed and hauled to his feet, one of the agents reading him his rights. “I promise.”

“I love you, Kate.” Sam spoke over the agent, winking at you. Your answering smile returned immediately, heart hammering against your ribs for an entirely different reason.

The one thing that nagged at you was how in the hell either Cas or Sofia had seen you jerk Dean to the ground. You’d clearly seen them both disappear into the stairwell.

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demondeanismybaby · 7 years ago

Text

Why Does It Have To Be Me?

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam, Mary, Jess, sort of past Sam x Reader

Word Count: 3267

Warnings: Angst, fluff, alternate reality, more angst, technically major character death, jinn universe

Summary: Dean is living his all time fantasy, the thing is what would he sacrifice to keep it?

A/N: So I was watching What is and What Should Never be and it inspired me to write something sort of heartbreaking because I honestly feel like Dean would have given up everything if there had been a few minor adjustments in his fantasy.

He was feeling that itch deep in his bones again, the type of feeling that made sitting trapped in a dingy hotel with his brother seem impossible, so even though he knew that walking into the rundown warehouse alone was risky, he had to do it anyway. It was the typical kind of place, dripping water, broken and rusted pipes protruding from the ceiling, almost certainly the kind of dwelling a monster would hole up in.

A bang from the hallway nearest to him had him walking carefully, flashlight held in front of him, and scanning the area for the jinn they were hunting. It seemed clear this was its lair, that was the ominous part because he knew he had heard something. When he heard a noise in his line of work, it always meant some monster was lurking nearby.

“What the,” he didn’t even have time to finish his sentence as some Mike Tyson looking thing with a faceful of tattoos was grabbing him around the throat and thrusting him against the nearest wall.

The thing didn’t talk, not that they often did, instead he reached a hand up towards Dean’s face. He had nowhere to go, the creature was so much stronger than him that it could have done almost anything and Dean would have to just take it.

He felt his eyes roll up into his head as the monster that grabbed him started to fade out to black. Then there was nothing.

A crack of thunder had him flinging himself upright in bed, the storm had been manufactured by the television that was playing in the background, it was like he was being overcome with vertigo. The landscape around him was so dramatically altered he wasn’t sure what was happening. His mind raced and he fought to catch his breath.

When he turned his head, realizing fully he was suddenly lying in an unfamiliar bedroom, he saw the form of a scantily clad figure beside him. Then he saw the outline of her face. It was none other than Y/N, and why she was wearing nothing besides panties and a tank top while in bed with him was so mind boggling he did the only thing he could think of.

Jumping out of bed he rummaged through the nightstand until his hands closed around a familiar object, his trusty cell, he dialed the only number that he could think of as he tried desperately to figure out how he and his brothers girlfriend had managed to show up in the same place, a place that he had never even seen before.

“Sam,” Dean did his best to control the urge to scream into the phone, “I don’t know why but I just woke up next to your freaking girlfriend,” he was almost panting with fear as he spoke partly concerned with how he got here and partly worried about what his brother was going to say when he found out his girlfriend had run off and was sleeping half-naked with Dean.

“Dean? What are you talking about, Jess is here, asleep just like every night,” Sam’s tone was light and almost filled with laughter.

“Jess, what are you talking about?” Dean’s mind was racing he couldn’t understand why Sam would ever make a joke like that about the only person he had ever really loved besides Y/N, “dude, the point is I was hunting the jinn and it grabbed me and suddenly I wake up in some weird place with your girlfriend in bed with me half-naked.”

“Ok, Dean, I think you should go back to bed, clearly you had a little too much to drink,” and after a slight sigh, “I’ll see you tomorrow alright?”

Dean didn’t even have time to continue pleading his case as the phone died with a click. He did the only thing he could think of next, he got out of bed and started roaming through the strange house looking for any clues of what exactly had happened after meeting the monster. As he scanned the hallway he noticed there were pictures hung all around, mainly it was of him and Y/N, both of them crammed together in the shot with arms tangled together and giant grins. His heart sank a little further. He could say with absolute certainty something was wrong because in all the time he had known Y/N she had never looked so happy.

Making his way out to the living room he was glad for the slight illumination coming from a light in the kitchen, he navigated through the unfamiliar terrain and started to flip through the pile of mail on the counter, the first letter was postmarked to Lawerence, Kansas, which was totally impossible, the second was even more concerning, it was addressed to Mrs. Y/F/N Winchester. If she was here with Dean could that really mean that the two of them were married?

“Sweetheart,” a voice called out from behind him.

A part of him didn’t want to turn around but there was something in the soft dulcet tone that had him spinning to face her, “Hey,” he hesitated before testing out his theory, “honey.”

She padded across the room and wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, leaning her head against his chest she tilted her head back and looked up at him, the look in her eyes was nothing more or less than love.

“What’s wrong, couldn’t sleep?” She asked and he couldn’t help but notice at this distance the way that her eyes were sleepy and her lashes fell heavily against her cheeks every time she blinked. It was like being in a dream.

“Yeah, sorry I woke you, promise I am coming back to bed,” even though he didn’t know how long he had slept for before waking up in this new reality he wanted nothing more than to lay in bed beside her.

“Good,” she kissed the edge of his jaw and padded back down towards the room he had just wandered out of.

Taking another quick look around as he followed her footsteps he saw what proved in his mind that this had to all be some sort of dream. Hanging right beside the bedroom door was a photo, it was something that he had only seen in his most private fantasies. Him and Y/N, her in a wedding dress him in a tux, Sam and Jessica standing beside him and none other than Mary Winchester leaning her head on his shoulder.

He knew that when he woke up this would all disappear but he was desperate to have one night in bed beside his temporary wife. Crawling under the sheets beside her he couldn’t help but pull her as close to his chest as possible. He wanted to feel the warmth of her skin against his and listen to her slow breathing until he fell asleep and lost this forever.

The next morning as he cracked open his eyes he fully expected to be transported back to the rundown putrid warehouse but instead, the girl of his dreams, literally, was sleeping softly next to him her hair fanned out around her head and the T.V. still playing low in the background. A thought gripped him as he stared at her feeling the happiness bloom inside of him, and he had to know, he shook her as carefully as possible worried that too much pressure against her skin could somehow shatter this whole reality.

“Baby,” he said quietly, already accepting that this was his new life and loving it, “baby wake up I have to ask you something.”

“What’s wrong,” she said as she slowly rolled over and opened her eyes a look of concern creeping over her face.

“Nothing, nothing's wrong, it’s about Mary,” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“You mean your mom?” She asked.

“Yeah, um...how is she these days?” He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer and be faced with losing her all over again.

“Fine,” she said, “we’re going to see her today it’s her birthday remember?” Are you sure everything is alright?”

He let himself take a deep breath and let out all the stress he was carrying, apparently, this monster was the kind that granted wishes and that was more than alright by him.

Allowing himself to go with the flow was easier than he expected. He got out of bed and explored his new home, taking in the various aspects that help solidify just how amazing it was that he had ended up here. The big flat screen television in the entertainment center in the living room, the ground beef and cheese in the fridge to make burgers for dinner, and the lawnmower out in the garage attached to the modest sized home.

He fiddled around with the coffee maker until he was able to pour out two piping hot cups of java and made sure to make it up exactly how she usually took it back in the other version of reality, and he brought it to Y/N carefully where she was still lounging around in bed. Her hands stretch out to grab him and pull him back into bed, not caring that he was trying to balance cups full of burning hot liquid, and he did his bed to make sure they didn’t spill. At the gesture, he couldn’t help the way his heart soared as she giggled as her hands wrapped around the mug taking mercy on him.

“What’s gotten into you?” She asked as she took a sip of her drink.

“Nothing, just in a good mood is all,” he said as he sat down in bed beside her and took a sip of his own drink.

Later in the day, they started to get ready, mostly though they had spent the time lounging around together. The first time she had leaned in to kiss him he had almost passed out from feeling so overwhelmed with joy. When his lips had brushed against hers, it was like all the years of Dean having watched her doing the same thing with his brother, wishing so much it could have been him, was being washed clean. His mom was alive here. Sam wasn’t miserable at being dragged into a life filled with monsters, he was a lawyer and Jess was still alive. It was like everything was too good to be true but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

As Y/N walked into the living room later that evening, she did a little turn in the knee length black dress she was wearing, the top was low enough it perfectly displayed her cleavage but still left plenty to the imagination, her slight smile though playing at the edges of her face was what made her totally stunning.

“You ready to go?” She asked as she leaned in for a quick kiss.

“You look beautiful,” he said, as he just stared into her eyes, he could have stayed right in this moment forever.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she giggled as she led him out the door.

The restaurant they headed into was way nicer than any he had ever been to, cloth tablecloths lined every table and it was the kind of place that you were supposed to put the fabric napkin in your lap before eating anything. When his mom walked in he thought that maybe he had forgotten how to breathe, she was just as beautiful as he had remembered her being. He scooped her up in a tight hug and completely ignored her confusion at the gesture. When Sam and Jess showed up he did the same still at a total loss of how the jinn could even be considered a monster when it was able to create something so amazing.

“So we have a little surprise for your birthday,” Jess said as she held out her hand to the table, Dean saw the tiny twinkle of the diamond on her finger and clapped his brother on the back.

“Congratulations, you two, this is just great,” he couldn’t help but feel ecstatic that here everyone was living the life that they should have had.

Dinner was smooth except for the brief discourse when his dad was brought up. Learning that he had died of a stroke and not traded his soul for Dean’s was still enough not to sour his mood. Even just having a normal death seemed like some sort of miracle that he couldn’t fully believe. When Sam and Jess suggested they all go back to their mom’s to celebrate Dean couldn’t believe his luck.

There was only one slight problem, a girl was standing in his way, she was wearing a white dress and had long brown hair, but it was her lack of shoes that had her seeming out of place in the hoity-toity joint. It was almost as if the only person that could see her was Dean, and a part of him knew right then that something was horribly wrong, he rushed over to her but by the time he had made it to the place she had been standing his fingers close around nothing more than air.

“You ready to go?” Y/N asked as she walked up beside him.

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of her head, he knew that something was off.

Driving back home he did his best to join in with the light conversation between his brother, Jess, Mary, and Y/N but his mind kept slipping back to the girl in the restaurant. It was the first hint of anything supernatural here and it had him worried. He tried to shove it out of his mind as he made his way into the home of his childhood, one never touched by a murderous fire, and joined into the jovial spirit. After a few beers and a brief exchange of wedding plans, everyone drifted off to bed. Dean was left alone sitting on the couch and pondering just what could possibly be wrong with this perfect universe. He knew a lot of things about monsters and he also knew that there was always a catch. The girl had to be a clue. Flipping through the channels on the television he had been half-ignoring it came to him.

“Today marks the anniversary of United Britannia Flight 424,” the news forecaster spoke as images of a candlelight vigil played on the screen.

His body pushed forward, “No, I stopped that crash.”

It didn’t take him long with Google at his disposal to look up some of the other cases he worked and then he realized it. In this world he and Sam weren’t hunters so all the people he had saved back in his world, here they didn’t make it. Case after case body after body he saw just how much his life impacted those of strangers. A slight flash of white at the edge of his vision had him standing. He followed the blur into the kitchen and was faced with none other than the same girl from the restaurant. This time she no longer looked normal, her hair was ragged and beside her were two burned out looking corpses suspended from the ceiling fan that was slowing turning above him. The next moment though they had vanished. His stomach churned from a combination of the shock of his discovery, cheap beer, and fancy food. It was horrible and he needed a way to clear his head.

He drove without thinking to the only place he knew for certain he would find some solace. As the headstones started to get close enough to come into view he kept driving following the little winding gravel roads one by one until the spot he knew he would recognize. It was the exact same as it had been in his world expect as he walked up to the gray granite slab the name carved there wasn’t Mary Winchester it was John’s.

He spoke to the gravestone, the marker of the man who he knew would have sent him back to the other world kicking and screaming, he started to mimic the way his father would have spoken to him, what his dad would have said about his own happiness, “Your happiness for all those people’s lives no contest.”

He was met with silence.

“Why, why do I have to be some kind of hero, why do we have to sacrifice everything?” He said to no one in particular as a tear fell down the side of his face.

He was crying for more than himself, he was crying for Y/N who was happy here, happy with him. Married and in love, waiting for nothing more than him to come back home and fall asleep next to him. Both of them working real jobs, living in an actual house and his brother happy with Jess. It wasn’t fair and he knew exactly what he had to do.

He drove back to his mom’s house, the place where in this world he grew up with family Christmases and birthday’s where Sam had gotten to walk out of in one piece to go to college and where his mother go to lay her head every night on her pillow and he went to the spare bedroom Y/N had slunk off to earlier to sleep off the two glasses of wine she had at dinner, she was resting peacefully, still in her party dress from earlier. He climbed into bed beside her.

It was three in the morning when he heard a faint rustling that had him opening his eyes. It was the girl he kept seeing only this time it was her suspended by her wrists, beside her was a blood bag that was linked to an IV in her arm, her body was pale and bruised and her eyes were drooping but open. That’s when what her presence there meant finally hit him.

The wheels in his head churned. He wasn’t seeing a ghost of a girl that was haunting him. He was seeing the girl that in the other world he had been sent to the warehouse to save. He was probably there with her right now, in reality, this was just a dream, a vision built to slowly suck the life out of him. He was at a crossroad.

Right at that moment, he turned as he felt the body in bed with him stirring beside him.

“So,” Y/N said, “you figured it out.”

“Yeah,” he said as he turned back to the vision of the girl from the warehouse still hanging there.

“It’s alright Dean, here it will feel like so much longer, and we get to be together, living a normal life,” she leaned her head on his shoulder.

He could feel her weight and warmth and right then it was impossible to believe that this could be anything less than real, and even if it wasn’t, he honestly thought that this life even if it was only temporary it was still better than anything he had back in the other world.

“Your right, it’s ok, the jinn can have me, I’m staying,” he said as he turned away from the dying girl to look at Y/N.

He pressed his lips against hers, the were soft and plump, he could faintly taste cherries as he kissed her from the lip balm she had worn earlier. It didn’t matter if he was in a fantasy. If he only got to do this one more time, losing his life would be worth it.

#dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural angst #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader angst #spn reader inserts #my writing

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long-way-down-rp-archive · 8 years ago

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Sister Bethany Marie Kazmarek OP

TRUE NAME: No FACECLAIM: Rachel Weisz NICKNAMES AND ALIASES: Beth, Bess to Fabian, Sister Beth to her troop, even though that’s not appropriate. Her birth name was Bethany Katerina Kazmarek and her confirmation name was Joan, but once you take the Vows, your name isn’t quite your own anymore. DATE OF BIRTH: September 2nd, 1970 AGE: 47 GENDER: Cisgender woman KIND: Human OCCUPATION: Catholic (Dominican) nun and science teacher at Our Lady of the Woods School

DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Various freckles and worry lines. Bethany’s never been a makeup wearer. She’s grateful for the habit a lot of the time as her Eastern European hair can be a bit wild, and she’s never been much good at taming it.

PERSONALITY:

Tough but doesn’t look it -Let’s just say Bethany and Joan of Arc have some overlapping traits. Joan was way more pretentious but both of them are pretty unshakeable even when facing down fire.

The one caveat to this is how empathetic she is. She has very little regard for her own safety but great care for others’ well-being. Losing a student, whether academically or emotionally, hurts her, and she does her very best to make sure that no one slips through the cracks.

Along the lines of Joan of Arc, faith and guilt – Bethany’s faith is unflinching, it’s just her faith in herself that waivers. She is very conscious of her propensity to sin, both in wanting Fabian and the littlest things - thoughts of vengeance, impure impulses. Unfortunately, the one person she’s comfortable confessing to is little Father Carvalho, and there’s some things that wouldn’t be fair to say. Yet another thing to self-flagellate about.

Optimist - You have to be one to do what she does, she would argue. But there is something unique about Bethany, at least among her peers. She truly believes everyone can be saved as long as they’re willing to be laid bare. She knows she won’t be because she, well she just can’t but she knows that. It’s not enough but if she could… well, she knows it’s true for other people. Everyone. God’s love washes all sins away, no matter their number.

Speaking of, stubbornness - Bethany is the very polite kind of stubborn. A pleasant kind of defiance. She will not be moved, but she is also very sorry for the inconvenience.

Easily Embarrassed - Perhaps because of her sister Jo, Bethany has a very well developed sense of propriety. She doesn’t get offended or judgmental easily but she does blush. A lot.

HISTORY:

At a very young age, Bethany learned how to stay out of the way. Her parents were hard working immigrants, her father from Poland and her mother from Hungary. Raf and Aranka rarely had time for parenting, so Bethany took care of herself and the house. More than a decade later, her sister Joanna came along. Bright, beautiful, and charismatic, Joanna was everything her sister wasn’t – loud, proud, mean when she wanted to be. Bethany couldn’t muster up jealousy. There was no competition. Each sister stayed in her lane, and they loved and protected each other. Plus, she was so little. Little but fierce.

Mr. and Mrs. Kazmarek loved everything about America, from the chintzy plastics to the cultural melting pot. Finally free to practice their religion, they took their daughters to the Cathedral of the Incarnation every Sunday (and sometimes Wednesdays too, if Aranka’s anxiety was too high.)

Jo was over the moon when her big sister was accepted to the University of Pittsburgh for science education, and Bethany couldn’t wait to go. With Joanna finally in school, she was able to throw herself into her studies. Dean’s List, leadership conferences, internships at the Phipps Botanical Gardens and docenting at the Carnegie Museum of Science, she was exactly where she wanted to be. Going into her senior year, she was on track for valedictorian.

(begin cw: hospital, self harm, suicide)

Then her mother was diagnosed. Breast cancer. It was a hard thing to explain to Jo, and it wasn’t in Raf’s nature to try. Bethany did her best to fill the void, both in her family and in her heart. She dropped out and went home, caring for her mother and family as she watched Aranka waste away. She mourned every moment she’d spent away from her mother. Every precious second she could have had before she couldn’t keep food down, before her skin had become translucent and sallow. Aranka passed on December 17th, the feast day of Lazarus. There was a certain cruelty in that.

Jo struggled, and Bethany tried. Tried to wake her father from his stupor, tried to give Jo a normal life. She began working at Nashville’s Adventure Science Center, teaching children about stars and plants and sunlight. She watched her father float through life, dead eyes, sunken. He wasn’t even trying. He wanted to be with Aranka. Nothing else mattered. Bethany tried to forgive him. Tried. But couldn’t.

Raf stopped working. Stopped doing anything. She leaned heavily on her neighbors in the small Eastern-European quarter of Nashville. They downsized to a two-room apartment above a bakery, and Jo always had kolaches for school. The years dragged on and Bethany parented her sister as best she could as her father wasted away.

It’s a tricky thing, raising a sibling. You get the mother-daughter issues and the sibling rivalry all at once, but somehow, Bethany managed, placing all her hopes in Jo. Then, in the blink of an eye, Jo didn’t need her any more. Early Admission to the Ivy of her choice and offers for combined pre-med and medical school. She was so young, and she was already becoming what both of them always hoped she could be. Bethany trundled around their little apartment, tried to avoid the whispers she heard in her head. (They were in her head, yes? She hoped. Oh God, she hoped.) Her father was no help. He was lost most of the time and angry all the others.

She was walking by the Cumberland when she felt it. A gentle tug towards the dark water. Towards darkness eternal. How easy it would be, she thought, to jump. To disappear and not bother anyone again, to not be the albatross of guilt, weighing down her brilliant sister. Terrified, she checked herself into Donelson Asylum, an isolated mental health facility just beyond the fields of the Hermitage. She got help. She got medicated. The dark voice in her head was quiet. She hid what had happened from everyone she could, even though everything about it had scared her to the core. The white walls, the void in her soul, the whispers she heard in her room at night. She had had a bout with pneumonia, you see. She hadn’t wanted Jo to catch it and was feeling much better now. Her faith (and some modern chemistry) pulled her through.

(end cw)

The day she got out, she drove to Pittsburgh and strolled through Oakland, til she finally stopped at a large wooden door. Without thinking, she’d reached St. Paul Cathedral. She walked in and didn’t look back, becoming a Dominican aspirant, then a postulant. In the Church, she felt safe in a way she couldn’t quite explain. It made her feel the right kind of small, the way she had felt after nuns at Donelson had tucked her in, talked to her for hours. Jo didn’t know quite what to make of her sister’s decision but she was glad to see her so happy. So certain.

But that certainty was short lived. All her life, Bethany had been wrapped up in caring for other people – her sister, her mother, her father. In some ways, the convent was the culmination of that. Then she met Fabian, a young deacon in Pittsburgh, and she’d never felt so cared for in her life.

She’d never had romantic or even sexual feelings before, but for some cruel reason, they all arrived at once. At 26, she was about to become a member of one of the most respected branches of the Dominican Order, and here she was, with the hormones and dreams of a teenager. The teenager she’d never really got to be.

But this was the height of selfishness. She couldn’t tear Fabian from God any more than she could tear her heart from her body. So she transferred home to Nashville, took her vows, finished her degree, and dedicated herself completely to her calling – worshipping and innovating and sharing the incredible power of God by explaining and illuminating the wonders of what he had brought about through science. She dreamed of him at night, yes, but the stars were out at night. And nothing lends perspective like the stars.

(cw: Holocaust mentions)

FAMILY:

Her grandparents and their immediate family were lost to the Holocaust in Eastern Europe, either to the camps or to the ensuing diaspora. Their children found each other in post-war Czechoslovakia.

(end cw)

[Anglicized] Rafal Bazyli Kazmarek (1938 - ) - A former Polish national who was raised in Czechoslovakia by family friends after the disappearance of his parents. Raf’s adoptive father was a clockmaker, and the young man quickly took to the delicate art. But fascists didn’t much like time, and Raf quickly switched to making radios, which provided the perfect opportunity for arranging safe passage to America for him and his new wife…

[Anglicized] Aranka Orsolya Fodor Kazmarek (1938 - 1992) - Aranka taught propaganda in the Soviet Union and history once they moved to the US. No zealot like a convert, so they say. Aranka always struggled with mental health, depression often pulled her away from her children, leaving Bethany to do a lot of the heavy lifting. She would say she didn’t mind, but she also just missed her mom.

Joanna Rachel Kazmarek, M.D. - Jo is… well she’s not Bethany. Their relationship is complicated due to their unorthodox family situation and Bethany’s “sudden” decision to take her vows (according to Jo.) Very much a lapsed Catholic, Jo completed an extended ob/gyn residency over in Atlanta. That’s right. She’s an abortionist, or was, before she decided to go into forensic medicine. [A little note: While Bethany’s official stance on reproductive rights matches the Church, if any of her girls were in trouble, she would help them get access to whatever they needed. Whatever they needed.]

Generally, the Kazmareks are a little fractured now. None of them really understand each other, and it’s not clear if they even want to. Better to stay out of each other’s way. It’s not like much would change anyway.

SEXUALITY AND RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Some of the younger Sisters say that God is their boyfriend, and Bethany’s never found that notion appropriate. God loves everyone equally, and Bethany’s always thought of romantic partnership as a kind of selfishness. Myopia. She’s married to her work, perhaps, and her work happens to be serving the Holy Father as best she can.

Sexuality wise, probably the best word is demisexual, as she’s only ever lusted after one person after achieving an emotional intimacy she could never quite manage with anyone else.

OTHER TIES:

Father Fabian Geier - Per Gerard Manley Hopkins - “for Christ plays in ten thousand places, / Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his / To the Father through the features of men’s faces.” Or at least that what she tells herself. Bethany’s always been a little awkward, a little closed. But with Fabian… it was easy. So easy. Like sunshine through a cathedral window or rain after a humid day. There’s a pain in them now, but sometimes they can forget, and when they can, it’s profoundly worth the rest of the pain and longing and guilt for loving him.

Father Theodore Carvalho - Bethany immediately liked Father Fabian’s subordinate, as he’s a blusher like her. They have a strange relationship as priests generally outrank nuns and their dynamic is clearly not that, but she generally enjoys running into him and inquires after him if anyone goes to St. Dunstan’s.

Mother Peter Francis - The head of St. Catherine’s has been a mentor to Sister Bethany, and was kind enough to invite her into the convent when her family needed her back in Nashville. The Mother is kind but distant with the Sisters, and she does not take kindly to secrets or games.

Her Girl Scout Troop - Bethany feels like she’s grown up with these girls, far more than she’s grown herself. What began as a filler position while the organization tried to find a Troop Leader for a ragtag Brownie group made up of girls from Downtown that nobody wanted to pay attention to became a decade long labor of love. All 8 girls are now sophomores in high school, and Sister Bethany couldn’t be prouder. (They also help her manage her frustration and regret when it comes to Jo.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

I’d love to have a Jo. Necromancer M.E. and all :)

Any other Guardians because YES TEAM! Also Tainted and other “baddies” because that’s just fun.

LIKES: The Bible, the Koran, Jesuit texts, and the writings of nuns during the Medieval Era. (She admires the subversion and humor, and loves to study the history of science. She gets very upset when people say that religion and science can’t coexist. Some of the greatest STEM innovations came from the most devout, and she will always argue that the pursuit of knowledge is one of the most profound forms of worship.) Tea - red’s her favorite but anything will do in a pinch. She got through college on Lipton so she has no airs to put on, hot beverage wise. Children; Bethany’s the kind of person who will always engage with a child, no matter how late it makes her or how out of place it might make her look. She believes in giving aid to anyone who asks for it, and kids tend to ask for aid a lot. Then there’s the night sky. There’s nothing that makes her feel closer to God than looking up into the infinite. DISLIKES: Self righteousness, inflexibility, herself HOBBIES: Astronomy, book club with Fabian, horticulture (She’s a member of the Tennessee State Horticultural Society and surveys invasive species for them), Troop Leader for a group of District 19 Girl Scouts. She’s been with them since they were Brownies and is very proud of her now Cadettes. SKILLS: Exhaustive knowledge of Abrahamiac and ancient religions along with extensive study of the history of science, scientific mind (inquiry, investigation, analysis), parenting - or rather just nurturing. She’s a good teacher and a good guardian, but obviously she’s never had any children of her own. (Joanna had her, she would say.) MEDICAL CONDITIONS: Bouts with clinical depression have plagued her since she was a teenager, including a brief institutionalization that only Jo knows about in full detail) but she’s well medicated and receives treatment through a Catholic hospital. She generally doesn’t tell anyone as she doesn’t like people looking at her funnily. Some part of her thinks that people might think it reflects badly on God somehow, as if He failed her. She knows He didn’t, that her body did, but it’s a hard thing to explain. CURRENT FINANCIAL STATUS: Sister Bethany has what she needs, but vow of poverty and all that, you know? Her teacher salary goes to directly to the Church and Convent but she can usually get a stipend from Mother Peter Frances if she needs something for the girls. Bethany’s reading tastes conveniently line up with the School’s librarian, Mrs. Cantù, so she has no trouble coming up with books for her and Fabian to talk about. PLACES: Our Lady of the Woods Academy (Private Catholic School, K-12) - her job, the Convent of St. Catherine of Senia - her home, Donelson Asylum - her former home and current nightmare KNOWN MAGIC: None MAGICAL ITEMS: None

RUMORS: She works with teenagers so needless to say there are rumors. Plenty of the boys at the school wish there was more to go on. Her troop gets the whole “nun” thing vaguely but that doesn’t stop them from trying to set her up constantly.

SAMPLE:

(cw: suicide, cw: hospital, cw: gaslighting)

Sister Bethany remembered him most at night. When the stars were above and the world was quiet. When the moon orbited the Earth at just the right angle to glow like new fallen snow.

She used to hate the darkness. When she was young, it swallowed her up, the night. The black abyss closing over her head. The end, it whispered, thundering in the silence. That’s how you find the light: the end. “Be present, O Lord, and protect us through the silent hours of this night,” Bethany had whispered. “��that we who are wearied with the work and changes of this fleeting world, may rest upon Thy eternal changelessness.” But He does change, it smiled back.

Bethany froze. It had been outside her for a moment. She had felt its breath. Hot but sweet. Like flowers at a funeral.

Every time she thought of this moment - her alone in a moldering white room as people screamed far way - she remembered Fabian. The way he smiled when he was confused. The way he bit his lip when he was too happy to speak. The way he looked at her when he forgot who they were. Where they were going. He is very handsome, the darkness hummed. Do you think you’ll be allowed to fuck in Hell? She recoiled, if one can recoil in the cold void of the mind. A nightmare. Only a nightmare. An echo of a painful past, a monster of her own guilt. Nothing more. What was it the Sister had said at Donelson? The difference between a demon and a nightmare is that a nightmare doesn’t fear God.

Unflinching, she spoke aloud. “Be present, O Lord, and protect us through the silent hours of this night –” A quiet hiss in her ears, high pitched, almost dog whistle. “…that we who are wearied with the work…” A laugh - dark, ancient, maybe weary. “…and changes of this fleeting world” Fleeting, yes. FLEETING. The noise seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The walls of her skull vibrating along with the wooden walls of the convent. “…may rest upon Thy eternal changelessness.” It laughed again, and sighed. A long, heavy sigh. She was frightened, she’d admit it. She’d taken her medicine. This wasn’t normal. She felt awake. She was awake. Right?

What else had the Sister said? Turn on the light, in the dream. It’ll feel wrong. Off. Different. Then you’ll know. Bethany reached for the nightstand. It felt miles away. Her fingers were numb. I’ve told him you love him. Do you want to know what he said?

She wanted to think it meant God, but she knew it didn’t. Nightmares were smarter than that. They knew what you wanted to be punished with. “No. I don’t.” she said, as if she was speaking to one of her seventh graders. He’d care if you ended. Is that why you stay?

Without thinking, she spoke: “The Word, when time began, was face to face with God. All things came into being through Him, and without Him there came to be not one thing that has come to be. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not lay hold of it.” And then she felt it – a shudder, a screech, and the dark voice melted away, like wind in a graveyard.

It was a coincidence, its sudden retreat. Nothing more. There was evil in the world, yes, and the Church dealt with demons, but she had her own reservations, founded by the Jesuit priests she had studied with. Faith had to be tempered with what could be helped and what could be proven. The great Mysteries were not interested in someone as small as her, no matter how great her Secret Sin, her thoughts of Fabian’s eyes and tongue. The prayers had calmed her, as they always do. Only a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

“Don’t scare me like that.” she said to the sky. One of the many benefits of living in a convent was that you were always in God’s house. The Holy Spirit was everywhere, yes, but here, when she could hear the Vespers through the walls, there was a new kind of closeness. Like sitting across the dinner table with the Divine. She didn’t expect an answer back but it was comforting to speak anyway.

She turned over, away from the moon, and closed her eyes. Savoring memories of a student union basement. Terrible pizza. Glitchy arcade games and airplane novels. Crying in the theater as the credits rolled on Sense & Sensibility, wanting to hold his hand. Why do you stay? “Because He loves me.” she murmured and promptly went to sleep.

#cw: hospital #cw: Holocaust mention #cw: self harm #cw: suicide #cw: drowning #cw: gaslighting #lwdbio

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today-only-happens-once · 8 years ago

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Aeonian Struggle

Title: Aeonian Struggle

Word count: 1653

A/N: So this little angst fest came out of watching Merlin, believe it or not. Season 4 Episode 10. I won’t spoil anything in case some of you might watch it (DO IT! WATCH MERLIN IT’S AMAZING AND I’M SO IN LOVE) so yeah. This snippet is heavily inspired by something that transpires during that episode. (also, gif not mine).

I’m feeling pretty iffy about this fic, tbh, so I would love any and all feedback, guys. ^u^ Shoutout to @masterpick for being my beta.

Characters/pairings: Dean x Reader, OC demon, Sam (extremely briefly)

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of hell. Mentions and (brief) descriptions of torture. Dean’s self-hatred.

Tags: @illshakeyouallnightlong-dean, @winchestersnco, @mamaimpala, @squirels-angels-and-moose, @summer-binging-spn ((for the last two people I tagged, I know one of you had specifically requested to be tagged in the Hamilinspired series, but I cannot remember which one. If either of you would like to be removed from non-Hamilinspired fics, just let me know. No hard feelings. Promise. ^u^))

It’s the heaviness in Dean Winchester’s kaleidoscopic eyes that fills you with the kind of certainty that tugs your stomach into knots. Certainty that he is real. His usually soft hair is matted with blood and the sweat that clings to his forehead. His shoes scrape wetly against the damp cement floor as he slides around the corner with his hands up by his head in surrender. He has the demon knife balanced between his thumb and forefinger, his hands caked with dirt.

His gaze flicker to yours. Even from across the room, you mentally cling to his colors. The green in his eyes. The blue and white plaid shirt he has unbuttoned. The dark scruff along his jaw that makes every angle that is Dean Winchester’s face somehow look sharper.

“Dean?” The vibrations of your voice rubs your raw throat in a way that makes you wince. It had been weeks since you’d last seen him. Or… maybe years. You had no sense of time anymore. Every part of you aches to feel his heat, to lean into the solidity of his broad chest. But you can’t move. Your entire body is heavy and weak and throbbing, and you are entirely certain you don’t have the physical strength to stand. Even if you did, the chains around your wrists anchors you to the ground.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean says, swallowing thickly as his eyes flit over your slumped form. “You okay?”

You do your best to nod. “M’okay…”

There’s a laugh. All too familiar, and you feel bile surge up your throat as if on instinct. You swallow it down as the voice—a hard, feminine alto—says, “She’s lying to you, Winchester.”

Dean tears his gaze from you as the woman steps from around the far corner through the second doorway on the opposite side of the room. “Victoria,” he says in a low voice. Distantly, somewhere beyond the sharp ache in your ribs and constant thrum of an intense headache, you’re surprised at the recognition in Dean’s voice. “You got what you wanted. I’m here. Let her go.”

Victoria’s meat-suit has long dark hair pulled back in a braid and pale skin that somehow looks almost sallow in the dim lighting of the basement of the abandoned factory. She scoffs. “I got what I wanted? Please, Dean.” Her eyes flash black. “It’s far too late for what I want.”

The room is spinning around you, but you focus as much as you can on Dean. The rise and fall of his chest that, once upon a time, you had laid your head on and fall asleep to the lullaby of his heartbeat. The eldest Winchester takes a step forward, and the light above him suddenly makes you startlingly aware of the dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been sleeping.

“Enlighten me,” Dean growls.

“Drop the knife first.” The demon enunciates each word carefully, and a moment later, you hear the knife clatter to the floor. Dean’s ready compliance confuses you, but the room is still spinning and it’s hard for you to focus on anything other than the very slight curve of his shoulders and how the line of them flows seamlessly into his biceps beneath the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

You hear the sound of heels clacking against the floor. Moving closer to you. “Do you know when I died, Dean Winchester?” Dean doesn’t respond, but you see the way his gaze narrows briefly in confusion. Victoria continues. “June 23, 2008.”

Dean looks at her blankly. His gaze, briefly, flickers to yours, but you can’t quite make out his expression. “What does that have to do with Y/N?”

“Nothing. It has everything to do with you.” There’s something harsh and grating—almost shrill—in Victoria’s voice. “When I died, I went to hell, Dean Winchester. And you know what happened?” The demon doesn’t wait for a response. “I was strung up and tortured over and over and over by the one they call the Righteous Man.”

You see the color drain from Dean’s face, and he opens his mouth to reply before Victoria continues, her voice low and raw. “Do you know how demons are made?”

Suddenly, you feel a swift and hard kick to your ribs. You gasp, unable to help the cry of pain that tears its way through your throat. You think you feel one of your ribs give way and you curl in on yourself as she continues. “Demons are humans who have been so warped from their time in hell that they no longer are human souls. I spent 1,041 years in Hell. The worst of it was by your hand.”

“Victoria,” Dean tries, his skin pale and his voice sounding strangely raw in your ears.

“YOU DID THIS TO ME, DEAN WINCHESTER!” Even in your dizzy, half-aware state, and even despite your hyper-focus on Dean as if he is the only thing keeping you from spiraling right now, you can hear Victoria’s guttural, anguished cry. “You made me what I am!”

You see Dean go flying across the room, his back slamming hard into the cinderblock wall behind him. There’s a loud crack that echoes in your ears as you see Dean’s head slam back against it before he slumps to the ground with a groan. He blinks a few times, probably trying to clear his own dizziness.

“You didn’t… you didn’t deserve that,” Dean says, grimacing as he shifts onto his hands and knees.

You hear soft fabric rustling, the clicking of heels again, and suddenly Victoria is stepping over you and crossing the room to Dean.

“Dean,” you try, attempting to yell his name but only having it come out in a harsh, raspy whisper.

Victoria rakes long, sharp nails through Dean’s hair before grabbing a handful of it and yanking his head back. “You want to know why I was in Hell?” she hisses. “Because when I was thirteen years old, in 1998, my baby sister was dying from cancer and we had just been told there was nothing more they could do. So I made a deal with a crossroads demon. Ten years later, the Hellhounds came for me.” Victoria throws Dean to the ground again. “I was thirteen when I made that deal.”

You watch Dean as he winces, and you have an odd feeling it’s not from the pain. When he opens his eyes again, they’re haunted with something you can’t quite see. Memories dance just below the cracked glass of his irises, and Dean squeezes his eyes shut again.

“So you can imagine how it felt,” Victoria continues relentlessly, hauling Dean up again, “to endure decades of torture—being skinned alive slowly and meticulously—and watching that man enjoy the pain he inflicted based on a deal I made when I was barely a teenager trying to save my baby sister.” You see the knife Dean had dropped—forgotten in the middle of the room fly up and into Victoria’s waiting grasp.

Her hand closes over it, her other still in Dean’s hair. You’re aware that you’re a little out of it, but you can’t help but know that Dean could break out of that grip easily. Knock the knife out of her hands. Throw her off balance and get the upper hand. Anything. But he doesn’t.

“And then,” Victoria growls in a low, wrenching voice, “To top it all off, in comes charging an angel. And who does this angel save? None other than the very man who so thoroughly tortured my soul every day for decades that I was no longer human. I was told later that he was saved because he was… righteous. Well, where was the righteousness for me?”

Victoria pulls back the knife and you can see the fire in her eyes, and the emptiness in Dean’s. In that split second, as his name tears it’s way in a desperate scream throughout your entire body, Dean’s usually bright green eyes—the same ones who had looked at you over the top of a newspaper or laptop every morning during breakfast, the same ones who had bore into yours when you first told him you loved him, the same forest green that you’d gazed into before falling asleep in his arms every night—were dulled with the weight of bottled-up self-hatred and memories.

“DEAN!” You scream, and Dean throws up his hands at the same time and yells out, “I’m sorry!”

Victoria stops cold and you’re surprised you can hear her whisper over the sound of your own pounding heart. “What?”

“I shouldn’t have been the one who was saved,” Dean says in a low, soft voice. His gaze travels reluctantly to you before they quickly flicker away again. “It should have been you. Or any one of the countless souls I tortured just to make the pain…stop….” The eldest Winchester’s voice trails off like there’s some sort of anchor at the end of the sentence that makes it too painful to continue. “I can’t…” Something catches briefly in Dean’s throat but he forces the next words out like they physically pain him. “I can’t undo what I’ve done.”

Dean glances at you again. There’s something shattered in his eyes. “But please,” Dean says, his gaze not leaving yours even as you can feel your head starting to cloud up and heaviness weighing your eyelids down. “Don’t take it out on Y/N. She’s innocent in this.”

“So was I,” Victoria growls, raising the knife again.

You’re fighting with every ounce of willpower you have to move. You have to stop this. To stop her. But you’re fighting a losing battle and you know it. Your body won’t listen to you and just continues to feel heavier and heavier. You see a figure—tall, a plaid flannel, chestnut brown hair—appear in the doorway and the sound of a gunshot.

Then darkness.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #angst #dean x reader fanfiction #supernatural one shot #dean winchester x reader one shot #supernatural oneshot #hell #torture #supernatural angst fanfiction

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maximumkillshotstillwritess-blog · 6 years ago

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When You Call Part 5

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, hint of Angst, Alpha!Dean, Omega!Reader, FLUFFY!!!! (Not much for this one, I know!)

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Characters: Alpha!Sam, Alpha!Dean, Omega!Reader

A/N: Part 5 is here! I am so happy that everyone is loving this series!!!! Once again, many many many thanks to @emoryhemsworth! This one is still slightly angsty, but it is also Fluffy AF!

(Italics in this one signify internal dialogue)

Overall Masterlist- Click Here

“When You Call” Masterlist- Click Here Wanna Chat? Click Here

Originally posted by thejabberwock

Previously…..

Her lips were so soft and still slightly chapped as I molded mine to hers. Their inherent warmth entranced every single fiber of my being and for once, I was complete. I could feel her begin to moan into the kiss as she brought her hands to my cheeks. Then her scent hit me, fields of wildflowers, fresh rain, pie, her slightly fruity notes that were all her own. My God, it felt like the gates of heaven opened to finally give me some relief. Relief of all of my stress, my worries, all that mattered was her.

When I broke the kiss and touched out foreheads together I breathed, “I’m looking at you like this because I love you.”

Y/N POV:

“I’m looking at you like this because I love you.”

What?! He loves me? No, he can’t.

But that kiss… that mind blowing, life-altering kiss. It didn’t feel like a regular kiss. It felt like… no, it can’t be.

It’s your hormones, ok? I bet you he’s said that line to at least 10 other women. He’s just in rut, Y/N. That’s all.

“Dean, this is just your rut talking, okay? It has to be…” I stuttered as I looked into his green eyes, trying to find one inkling that this is only his rut talking.

“And why does it have to be that way?” Dean asked confused. He didn’t give one inch of room, still a breath away from me.

“Because you can’t like me like that… Like this,” I replied as I motioned to him and then back to me.

It’s true, this can’t, we can’t actually have a thing together. I got up from the bed and began to hobble to the fridge, where I knew liquor would be.

“Wanna give a definition to this, sweetheart?” asked Dean. “‘Cause I don’t have a clue what we are, but I damn sure can’t ignore it anymore.

“I don’t know what this is,” I said as I grabbed a beer and cracked it open. “All I know is that I feel a pull to you…. I always have. I’ve always needed to take care of you and Sam ever since I was a kid and I can’t explain it.” That is all I was willing to give him. He didn’t need to know what I went through when he died, how he got back, what I thought I did to get him back, and how that ended in my death.

Image found via Google Search

Dean looked to me with curiosity.

He can see through you. He always could… He knows your hiding something, Y/N.

“What else…. C’mon Y/N, I know that there’s more to that story, there has to be.” Dean coaxed me to answer by lightly running his hand up and down the length of my arm as I contemplated my next move.

Only way out of this was through it, so I said the truth. “When Bobby and John separated us during our presentations, you were the only person going through my mind. You were the only one that I ever wanted. Being with you always made my pain go away… always.”

Image found via Google Search

Dean cupped one of my cheeks and smiled. He already knew that.

I continued, “Then, after Eileen, Jo, Bobby, Rufus…. You died and Sam asked for my help to get you back, after me going to hell, after you became a knight of hell… I’m done being hurt and I’m done being thrown around like a bargaining chip in between heaven and hell.”

Well at least it’s out there now. No going back. It’s not like he didn’t know the story. Sam never lies to Dean, even by omission. He was probably just waiting to hear it from you.

“What?”

“Sam never told you how I died?” I replied with wide eyes.

“No, said it’d be too painful,” said Dean as he helped me back to the bed. He sat on Sam’s bed to give me some room.

“Remember when you were stabbed in the heart by Metatron?” I asked.

Dean chuckled, “How can I forget? That hurt like hell.”

“After Sam brought you home, I was destroyed. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. It was like we were mates, but we weren’t. I couldn’t imagine a day without you. It was too much. Sam and I were trying to make arrangements when Crowley came into the room.” From Dean’s reaction I could tell that he was getting pissed.

He probably knows where you’re going with this.

Originally posted by demondetoxmanual

“What did that asshole do?” asked Dean.

“Crowley tricked me, said that I could replace your soul. That you would come back to life, unharmed and with no memory of what you went through in hell. The minute I heard your name and ‘back to life’ in the same sentence, I screamed ‘where do I sign.’” I admitted with pain in my voice. I was so blind with grief that I didn’t check to see if Dean’s body was still in his room.

“But the mark brought me back, Y/N,” uttered Dean as he reached over to grab my hand.

“I know that now, but as far as Sam and I knew, you were gone with no way of coming back. But what did King of the Dicks offer? He offered you back on Earth with Sam. One soul for another, seemed easy enough… You two are the most important people in my life. Ain’t no way in hell I’m ever letting one go without the other.”

Originally posted by spn-spam

Dean looked with solemn eyes, mouth slightly agape as it clicked. “Y/N, no…”

I nodded at him to let him know that what he was thinking was indeed correct. “Tell me Sam tried to stop you,” he whispered dangerously.

“Sammy tried to stop me. Hell, he even begged Crowley to take my deal away from me in exchange for his life and yours. Crowley knew better though…” I babbled.

Dean’s jaw clenched and his hands balled up into fists as I continued. “He said that my soul was pure, untainted by anything. Apparently I was worth a lot more than both of you combined… He shook my hand and next thing I knew, hellhounds were ripping me apart… I didn’t scream, didn’t fight, it was the dullest pain I could’ve experienced compared to living without you.”

Originally posted by whoeveryoulovethemost

Dean’s face contorted with pain as I told him the last bit. It was like he was physically being torn apart by my words, “Sweetheart, why did you? We weren’t even mated.”

I answered with absolute certainty, “Because Dean, we are family. And you’re right, that happened when we weren’t mated. If we were and something happened to you, deal or not, I would die. I’d end it for just the possibility of being with you.”

“So what you’re saying, it can’t be real… It has to be the rut. Because if it isn’t then that means that-” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Say it,” Dean whispered as he moved to kneel in between my legs that hung off of the side of the bed. He cradled my face as I teared up.

“It means that we’re not just friends, Dean. It would mean that we aren’t just true mates, either. That would mean that we are soulmates and every fucked up thing that happened in our lives to lead us to this moment. I lost so much Dean, if God takes you too… I won’t be able to go on.” I began to tear as he gently wiped them away as soon as they trickled down my cheeks. Just the thought of losing him was enough to break me down.

“You know something, Y/N?”

“What?”

“After my mom died, you remember how broken I was?” he asked softly.

I nodded in agreement.

“I thought that because I lost her. I’d kept losing the most important people in my life. That was until I went to Uncle Bobby’s. I never thought that there would ever be a woman that could ever call to my soul by just saying my name… Then you happened. You obliterated all preconceived notions of what love is. I haven’t been in love with you for a few months. I’ve been in love with you for my whole life, and it took me almost losing you to see that,” he confessed. The more that he spoke the more sense that it made. It explained everything and I couldn’t help but feel my heart swell.

“It all makes sense,” I mumbled.

“Exactly, and for some reason, it only makes sense when I’m with you,” Dean chuckled, caressing my cheek.

“Some reason?” I asked.

“Well it used to be ‘some reason.’ Now I know it,” Dean said as he grabbed the bottle out of my hand and set it on the nightstand. “It all makes sense because we were made for each other. No matter what’s happened in our lives, we always found our way back to each other again. No matter what came our way, we overcame it, together. We are stronger together, Y/N, and I can’t take being only your friend anymore when I know that we could be happy together.”

I was shocked at his words. He rarely let Sam in on his thoughts, and here he is pouring everything out to me. “You’re right, Dean. I can’t take it anymore either, but I’m terrified.”

Dean looked with sympathetic eyes as he replied, “I know sweetheart. I’m scared too. Neither of us have ever experienced something like this and it’s natural to be scared about losing each other. Given our occupation.” I chuckled as he continued, “I can’t promise that I’ll be around forever. I can’t promise you that you’ll get the apple pie life. Hell, I can’t even promise that I’ll be alive a month from now. What I can promise is that I’ll spend every single moment of my life loving you. I’ll protect you with all of my being. I will be with you until the day that I die. I can’t give you the world, but I can give you my world. I’d do all of these things because you are the only person on this planet that I could see any of those things with. I just need you to give me, us, a shot.”

I looked into his forest-green eyes, looking for any sign of a lie, any sign of insanity, and I found neither.

“Ok,” I breathed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!” I exclaimed right before Dean kissed me again. All of a sudden I heard the door open.

“FINALLYYY JEEZUSSS IT TOOK YOU TWO LONG ENOUGH!” Sam exclaimed as I immediately pushed Dean away.

When I looked to the door Sam had two bags of food and the keys in his hands with a Cheshire grin across his face.

“Sammy cut it out. You’re gonna make her blush,” Dean said. He pecked me on the cheek and walked to him to grab the food.

As if on cue, I felt my cheeks heat up and I tried to cover it up.

Originally posted by thejabberwock

“Awe Y/N… Look at her Dean, so you finally said it huh?” Sam asked as Dean gave him a bitch face. “You just told me everything I needed to know,” said Sam as he stuck his tongue out at Dean and then winked at me.

I chuckled as Dean got my food ready and handed it off to me.

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@mamaredd123 , @impala-dreamer , @impalaimagining , @jotink78 , @nichelle-my-belle , @saxxxology , @scorpiongirl1 , @ilostmyshoe-79 , @teamfreewillimagines , @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid , @chelsea072498 , @brickwall035 , @maui137 , @mogaruke , @jayankles , @butiaintgonnaloveem , @kawaiilivkitty , @naviwhite , @emoryhemsworth ,

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“WHEN YOU CALL” TAGS:

Stone2576,tailsoflightning , cececolbert, anathewierdo

SPN

SPN FANDOM

spn fanfic

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abo dynamics

slight angst

fluff

heed the warnings

alpha dean

Alpha Dean x Omega reader

dean winchester

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When You Call

101 notes

Jun 13th, 2018

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