#dean has literally fisted sam twice

[supernaturalkickparty]

When has Dean been inside of Sam?! Wincest Shippers are always reaching and making up LIES!!!!

In response to this post

I give you

And

I may ship wincest but these are canon events.

Don't get it twisted ok?

[quillquiver]

The Wind Beneath My Wings

DeanCas Coda to 15x10: The Heroes’ Journey

“…And did I mention that I had seventeen cavities, man. Seventeen! What the fuck, right?”

Castiel gives a sympathetic hum, folding his hands in his lap as he watches Dean literally throw articles of clothing at the duffle on the floor. Things he’s never seen before, like knitted sweaters and hats find themselves lumped in with wash-soft jeans and well-worn plaid shirts.

“It sucked ass, Cas,” Dean continues. He frowns at a pair of wool socks before shrugging and tossing them on the steadily growing pile. “And dairy? I can’t eat it! I had like seven grilled cheeses and I puked my fuckin’ guts out—”

Cas squints.

“—And then,” Dean says, hands moving explosively. “Then some sleezy shifter gets the fuckin’ drop on me, and Sam is useless ‘cause he’s a fuckin’ giraffe, so we get captured so we can—and I shit you not—wrestle some The Rock, tank-looking motherfucker! How fucked is that?!”

“Very fucked,” Cas murmurs placidly. In the interest of not ruining whatever tentative truce they’ve come to, he does not gently mention that eating seven grilled cheeses is insane for literally any human being, nor does he mention that Dean should consider changing his eating habits in the interest of his teeth.

“…So now we have to go to Alaska to get our luck back. Sam obviously wants to fly because he’s insane, but we’re driving because I A) don’t have a death wish, and B) don’t think our flimsy freaking IDs are gonna hold up at an airport. We have to drive through Canada, Cas. Canada! I don’t wanna have to listen to Sam’s rant about Canadian healthcare again—”

“It is a thorough rant.”

“Exactly! See? You get it.” Dean seems to realize that he’s staring a moment too long after the fact, and he clears his throat and purses his lips. “So, uh. How was your day, huh? How—shit!”

He steps backwards and trips over his own feet.

It’s as endearing as it is completely hilarious. Cas snorts, covering his amusement with a cough and an arched brow when Dean grumbles at him, the tips of his ears pink. “Yeah yeah laugh it up,” he mumbles. “You got any fun stories like this, huh? How’d this shit manifest in Heaven?”

Cas considers this. “…It didn’t.”

“What?”

“It didn’t,” he repeats. “Nothing changed.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean frowns.

Cas tilts his head to the side, getting comfortable as he leans back on his hands. “I’m not the hero of this story, Dean.”

“What the hell’re you talking about, yeah you are—”

“I’m not,” Cas says. “Everything went exactly as expected. I still have awful luck, but that’s… not new.”

Dean shakes his head. “Yeah but was it worse than normal? There’s no way you were spared, dude.”

“Dean, I’m telling you—”

“Cas, look, it’s just not possible, okay? If me and Sammy are the heroes—if I’m the hero, and you’re—I mean—” Dean’s holding a t-shirt in his hands that is currently being twisted within an inch of its life, though this seems to be something he isn’t aware of. There’s a blush high in his cheeks and he swallows thickly, frowning as he bites his lip. “You’re a hero.”

Cas’s heart almost leaps out of his chest. He feels his palms begin to sweat and he wipes them on his slacks. “I don’t think love interests are considered heroes,” he says quietly, feeling vaguely ill at the admission. Every cell in his body holds its breath.

“Uh—” Dean swallows. “What?”

“Love interests,” Cas forces himself to say again. He can’t pigeonhole himself, if he does that he ruins all hope of regaining the shred of normalcy they’ve worked so hard for. “Ah. They’re not main characters. Eileen is—”

Dean scoffs. “You’re not Eileen.”

It’s the speed with which he says it; the casual surety of it, like those words don’t pin Cas to his seat and cause his heart to ache. It shocks them both, judging from the way green eyes skitter to the floor and then back. Nervous but… deliberate. Heavy. When Dean speaks again, his words are sturdy.

“I mean, no disrespect to Eileen,” he says carefully. Measured. “I think she’s great. But she’s not you.”

Cas is half-convinced he died in heaven. There’s no other explanation for the way Dean is looking at him, right now.

“Look, um. We’re a team, alright?” Dean continues. “We fit. And I—come on, man, you know what I mean, I just—I wanna… dance,” he finishes lamely. “With you.”

“You want to dance with me,” Cas repeats quietly. He feels all at once elated and like he’s going to faint. “I—” A pause. A frown. Cas looks away and feels the weight of everything they’ve ever been through weigh on him. “I don’t think I know how.”

“You do,” Dean says. He speaks low and urgent. “Cas, you definitely do.”

“Dean—”

“It’s real easy, look.”

Cas gets pulled to his feet, Dean arms circling his waist to bring them chest-to-chest. Their foreheads press together and Dean gives a shaky exhale. Cas doesn’t know if he’s breathing; he doesn’t think he is.

They sway and Dean says something sweet that Cas can’t hear for the blood rushing in his ears. Though he’s been wanting this for so long—eons, it feels like—he never ever gave a thought to what it would be like if he was lucky enough to have it.

A kiss is probably a good place to start.

Carefully, Cas tilts his chin until their mouths brush, and Dean falls into him like he’s waiting for the opportunity. It’s soft and almost painfully sweet; fingers flex against his waist while Cas fists the material of Dean’s tee. This is—the fact that this is happening, that they’re doing this, it’s—

Dean pulls away with a pleased little grin, and Cas finds that he chases him in the half-moments after. But where social protocol might have called for embarrassment, Cas can’t bring himself to be, not when it makes Dean smile more widely. He wants that expression on his face, always. He wants the way Dean moves to nose behind his ear, the way he squeezes his waist, the way he buries his face in Cas’s neck and breathes: “See? You’re a natural dancer.”

It’s overwhelming; what he says and how he says it, and Cas doesn’t have time to gather himself and even attempt to respond before Dean is pulling back with a cocksure grin and a smirk. “And y’know what, fuck Chuck,” he says. “You’re my hero.”

Cas raises a brow. “Mm,” he murmurs. “But am I the wind beneath your wings?”

It’s the right answer; Dean lights up before making like Cas has wounded him, yelling obscenities about puns and pushing at him until they’re horizontal on the bed and kissing happily. Even with the God mess, and Dean’s clothes holding too much static, and knocking their foreheads and teeth twice, it’s the best night of Cas’s very long life.

“Did you ever know that you're my heroooo….”

“Dean, focus—”

“And everything I would like to beeeee…”

“Dean—”

“I can fly higher than an—mmph! Hey, I gotta finish the chorus! Cas, you’re so—oh.”

It will take more than this to fix what’s between them, Cas knows. But that’s fine; if there’s anything on Earth worth fighting for, it’s this.

It’s him.

[deans-baby-momma]

Wounded Hearts 19

Spring 2004  Dean's POV 

I follow Melonie into her place, turning to shut the door. I’m nervous and excited at the same time, because I haven’t been with a lot of women yet, and I hope to god that it doesn’t show. 

“Come on Winchester, you can do this,” I mutter under my breath.

When I shift back around, she has already removed her uniform and is standing there in a plain white bra and pink panties with a little green bow at the hem, right below her navel.

I let my eyes roam down her body, over her tits and down to the apex of her thighs. Fuck, she is sexy! I smile as I slip my jacket off my shoulders and lay it across the chair beside me.

Melonie steps toward me, and I advance as well, meeting her halfway, pulling her naked body flush against mine, my hands sliding down her back, cupping her ass.  I am taken by surprise when my palms meet with soft, supple skin , and not fabric like I expected. 

Goddammit, she’s wearing a thong.

I lean down and claim her mouth, immediately licking into her parted lips. Her tongue meets mine and the kiss deepens. 

Melonie's hands make their way under my Henley and as soon as the soft skin of her hands touches my stomach, I feel that familiar twitch as my dick grows hard.

Holy shit, I hope she touches it. 

I long to feel her hand around my length, jacking me off, squeezing as she comes up to the head, rubbing my precum all over the tip of my dick... Yea, I'm going to fucking embarrass myself again. 

I grip her asscheeks in my palms and press her hips to mine, knowing she is going to feel my arousal. Melonie moans into my mouth and I swallow it down.

When we part, I take my time opening my eyes and look down at her. She smiles up at me mischievously before she steps back and pulls her bra off and pushes her thong down her legs.

She steps out of the garment on the floor,  standing before me as naked as the day she was born. I take my eyes down her body once again, stopping at her clean shaven cunt. I groan and palm my erection as Melonie cups her hands over her boobs and squeezes. 

"I thought about you my whole shift Dean," she tells me as she watches me watch her. "Thought about all the things I want you to do to me. About how good you could hold me down and have your way with me. I had to go to the bathroom twice to clean the slick from my pussy and thighs.”

“Hmmm... naughty girl. Tell me what you want me to do to you.” I say as confidently as possible, hoping she’ll give me something I can use.

Please give me something I can use, so I don’t look like a complete jackass.

"I want you so bad, Mr. FBI agent. I want you to fuck me, to completely ruin me. Make me yours, take what you want," she says as she drops her hands to her sides.

She doesn’t have to tell me that twice because in no time at all, I am undressed with my cock in my hand, pumping it slowly, making it nice and hard for her, and she is on her knees in front of me.

"Suck my dick good and I'll destroy that little pussy of yours sweetheart," I say, feeling like a goddamn pornstar as the words leave my lips. Even though I feel nervous as fuck, I just hope that it turns her on and that I have better control of myself this time.

Still, this is embarrassing!

Melonie whimpers before she leans in, licking from my fingers near the base to the tip, then flicking her tongue over the tip of my cock, licking the precum off my slit. She takes me into her mouth, just the tip at first, and I can see her hollowing out her cheeks, gently taking more of me into her.

Oh god. Just breathe, Winchester. Just. Fucking. Breathe. Don’t blow your load just yet. You got this. 

Her head and hand are now working together in perfect harmony, slowly getting me closer to my climax.

I don’t got this. Fucking hell!

“Fuck. I’m going to come baby,” I groan, noticing that she isn’t stopping what she’s doing and is now only using her mouth to pleasure me.

I act on pure instinct, fisting her hair, and start thrusting into her, basically facefucking her. 

“Yeah, that’s it baby, take all of my cock, like the good little girl that you are.”

I can hear her moaning around me, so she must like what I am doing. I know I’m close to climax because my balls are tightening. I screw my eyes shut, and my mouth falls open, gasping and groaning, my hips stuttering as I come deep inside of her throat. I pull out and she grins up at me.

“Did you like that Mr. FBI agent?”

“Yeah. Now get on the bed, so I can take care of you, spread those legs nice and wide for me so I can take a good look at how wet your pussy is for me.” 

God it sounds so cheesy, but it seems to be working.

“Yes sir.” 

I watch as she climbs on the bed, laying down on her back, spreading her legs wide for me, and I can see the slick literally dripping out of her, and onto the sheets.

“Holy shit baby, your cunt really is hungry for my cock.” I say, as I get onto the bed with her. “Touch yourself for me, show me how you like it.”

She giggles as she moves her digits between her folds, sliding her fingers inside of her, and then out again, moving up to rub her clit, mewling as she does. I reach out and grab her hand, stopping her from pleasuring herself. I want to be the one to make her come and I hope that watching her touch herself is going to help me do just that.

“That’s quite enough,” I growl. ”My turn now.”

I position myself between her legs, moving up, capturing her lips with mine, my tongue dancing with hers, passion igniting as our kiss deepens. I nibble on her lower lip and then slowly pepper kisses down her jaw, neck and collarbone, making my way down to her tits. I flick my tongue over her left nipple, taking it into my mouth, nibbling on it, letting it go and gently blowing on it when I release it. 

She arches her back, and I take the opportunity to slide my hand between her legs, running my index and middle finger through her folds to slicken them up, as I sink them into her. I move them slowly in a come hither motion, rubbing them up against her vaginal wall, watching her face carefully as I try to find the right spot inside of her. I can see her biting her lip, a soft whimper escaping from between them, so I keep doing what I’m doing with my fingers as I tease her right nipple, and then make my way down slowly, placing sloppy wet kisses along her stomach, lower abdomen and finally on her mound. I don’t give her what she wants yet, but I do flick my tongue over her clit lightly,  and she shudders at the feeling.

“Fuck, feels..so… good.”

I lick along her thighs, and the apex of them, right where they meet her cunt, licking her outer labia, and then moving back to her clit again, lingering there a bit longer, applying a bit more pressure with my tongue, making sure I make the movements she did with her fingers. 

“Hmmm.. yeah...fuck...just like that baby…”

I stop, earning me a disappointed “awww”, as I tease her some more, kissing and licking her everywhere except there. 

“Please… please Dean… can I come please?" she begs breathlessly. "I need to feel your tongue on my clit again.” 

I move back up to her clit, and resume teasing her, and I can feel her grinding on my tongue, and fucking up against my fingers.

“Oh god, yes… right there, please don’t stop, please… don’t… ever… stop… I’m gonna… oh fuck… I’m coming…”

I can feel her clit twitching under my tongue and her cunt fluttering around my fingers, but I don’t stop my motions until she rides it out and pulls me up to her face, kissing me deeply. Her hand moves to my cock, guiding it to her entrance, but I stop her. 

“Wait," I tell her, closing my eyes at my own words. How the hell I have so much restraint is beyond me. "I gotta wrap before I tap baby.”

I grab the condom from my wallet, tear it open and once it’s on, I pin her hands above her head with one hand, and with my free hand, I line myself up with her entrance, slowly pushing into her, taking my time to let her adjust to my girth, but also for me to keep my cool. It's a snug fit, and if I move too fast, I might just lose it and come before I actually do anything. I bottom out inside of her, and start thrusting into her slowly, making sure I hit the sweet spot deep inside of her.

She’s moaning and panting underneath me, her eyes begging me to please fuck her harder. 

“Tell me what you want from me,” I whisper.

“Please… fuck me hard, make me scream your name…”

“What’s my name?” 

“Dean.” 

“Good girl.” 

I let go of her hands, wrapping my hand around her throat instead, keeping her in her place, and I pound into her, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the room. She wraps her hands around the back of her knees adjusting her legs, allowing me to fuck her deeper.

I grab her right leg and throw it over my shoulder, freeing up her hand as I say, “Be a good girl for me and rub that little nub of yours, baby.”

"Hmmm… fuck yes sir…”

She reaches down between our bodies, doing exactly what I ask of her, moaning loudly, as I fuck her into the mattress. It’s all so fucking hot that it doesn’t take very long for her to cream all over my dick, screaming my name as she does, pulling me over the edge with her, milking my cock dry of every drop of cum it has.

I pull out of her, and roll on my back, as we both lay there panting. 

“Wow, that was incredible.” 

“Holy shit, it definitely was.”

Looks like I’m getting the hang of this sex stuff. They don’t say fake it ‘til you make it for nothing.

Spring 2004 Rebecca's POV

As soon as the door shuts behind Sam, I realize that Dean and I are alone, in a motel room, two beds nearby. Did he think I sent Sam away so we could have sex?

Shit, I've never had sex before. Did I even want to? I've heard the first time hurts like hell so I was always leery about it.

Not that I've had any chances at finding out, most guys didn't want the nerdy, quiet as a mouse, fly on the wall kind of girl.  I doubt any of the boys at school had even given me a second thought. 

I look at Dean and he is staring at me. Is he going to make a move or is he waiting on me to do it? 

Eventually he takes a step closer so I take a step. We keep it up until we are within arm's reach and Dean wraps his arms around me, licking his lips. 

Holy hell, he is going to kiss me again! I think to myself. And I'm not even gonna lie, I was hoping he would.

As soon as our lips touch, I fucking melt! I drape my arms on his shoulders, bending my elbows to wrap around his neck. When his tongue caresses across my lips, I part them so he can lick into my mouth, our tongue grazing one another's. 

The whimper that rolls up my throat is involuntary and unintentional but hearing it causes Dean to pull my body tighter to his.

The next thing I know is we are laying on the bed and I am about to lose my virginity. We are both as naked as the day we were born. I am scared, nervous, excited. This is happening. I am about to become a woman!

"Do you have a condom?" I ask, trying to quell the shakiness in my voice. I can tell as Dean halts all movement, my question caught him off guard.

He presses his forehead against my clavicle before he lifts it and looks around. Maybe he is trying to remember where they are?

He jumps up and I watch as he grabs some crumpled plastic wrap and shakes it, cursing under his breath as it gets stuck to itself. He peels it apart and covers the tip of his dick,  but not much more seeing as he is longer than whatever the wrap contained. 

As soon as he is sure it's secure,  he climbs back in the bed, between my legs and grabs himself at the bottom. He looks down as he lines up with my opening and then looks me in the eye.

"Ready baby?" he inquired in a whisper and I nod. 

I jerk awake, taking a moment to acclimate to my surroundings. I am in my room, in my bed in the home I share with my 7-almost 8- year old daughter.  

Ever since opening up to Sam about my residual feelings for my daughter’s father, I have had dreams of the night of her conception; about how loving and attentive Dean had been, the complete opposite of what I had remembered. My anger and annoyance clouding my judgement. 

Had it been more to him and then his parents had returned and made him leave? Would he have been there for me and with me during my pregnancy and the birth of our daughter? Would he have wanted to be part of our lives or would he have shrugged us off for his next conquest?

All these questions I had no answers for and knew I'd never get any so I shook them off and got up to go get a glass of water.  

Damn Sam for making me relive it all and begin to challenge my own memories. And then he gets a new job and moves away, leaving me alone to pick up the pieces once again.

The entire walk to the kitchen I keep recollecting that evening at The Pines motel in room 14. The way Dean's jade eyes had bore into mine, like he was seeing into my soul; the way he kept making sure I was comfortable; the way he fucked me slow and easy. 

I realize I'm crying when a tear drops in the back of my hand. God, why now? Why bring this all up when I have no idea where Dean Winchester is or if he even remembers me! 

I put the glass in the sink and head back to bed. There are only a couple hours until my alarm will go off, signaling time to get ready for another day. 

Once I'm settled in bed again, I close my eyes and pray, "Please don't let me dream about him anymore. My heart and mind can't take it."

When the alarm sounds 3 hours later, I've had a good rest sans any more dreams about Dean but I know as soon as the same emerald eyes of his daughter look up at me, I will be thrown right back into my memories. 

And all because I finally admitted my true feelings for the boy who got away. 

@tftumblin​ @spnbaby-67​ @markofdean79​ @lostinaseaoffictionalbliss​ @travelingriversideblues-x​ @akshi8278​ @keymology​ @hoboal87​ @squirrelnotsam​ @natura1phenomenon​ @drakelover78​ @larajadeschmidt13​ @blacktithe7​ @atc74​ @sea040561​ @delightfullykrispypeach​ @vicariouslythruspn​ @sandlee44​ @mogaruke​ @deanwanddamons​ @supraveng​ @deandreamernp​ @lyarr24​

[adhdeancas]

Sunset Sound: God is Dead?

I might start updating twice a week because I am writing this story at BREAKNECK speed. this is my favorite chapter so far. enjoy! (special thanks to @friedchickenangelwings once again for sticking with me and my incessant rambling about this story at all hours during holidays)

Fic Summary:  Everything is the same up to the end of 15x20. Chuck has been “defeated,” but it was all a farce. When Jack absorbed Chuck, Chuck easily took over the 3 year old’s body and acted as if he were defeated. Chuck!Jack then had the Rusty Nail placed in the barn where Dean died, and with Cas gone, Dean didn’t fight it. Chuck did reimagine Heaven, but he’s fed the same lie to them all: that everything is perfect, they are free, they are in real paradise. Except it’s all an illusion insulated by blue skies and endless horizons. Because, just like the Good Place, people make Heaven into Hell for each other. And there’s nothing Chuck loves more than the natural order of tragedy. He “let it slip” to Bobby that he brought Cas back, when he really left him to rot in the Empty. Dean has to find his best friend before it’s too late, and he has to keep a happy face for everyone else, because Chuck is watching. Always watching. 

“You know?” Dean shakes his head. “What’s going on?” 

Charlie leans back against the bar. “Well, after Ash and I found each other-” they give a cute little nod of the head in sync, dorks, “through the frankly shitty wifi they’ve got up here, we got to talking.” 

“Yeah, we realized some shit just didn’t add up. Like angel radio.” Ash spins around and ducks into his backroom, coming back with a laptop that’s way more advanced than it was last time. Dean raises his eyebrows at it. “Yeah, man, it’s sick, right? Charlie upgraded my systems, it’s bitchin’.” he reaches past Dean’s shoulder to give Charlie a fist bump (enthusiastically returned) and Dean backs off. 

“Yeah, bitchin’,” Dean repeats with a grin. He’s too dumb for these people. But he sure is glad they’re on his side.  “Well, hey, show me whatcha got.” 

Ash nods and taps his temple. He mutters to himself and pulls the system toward him while Dean watches anxiously. Ash pauses and looks at him. “Dude. Gimme a second? This setup is a lil’ more complicated than your blackberry.”

Dean snorts and gives him space, followed by Charlie. “Dude. you’ve been dead too long. Blackberrys haven’t existed for like… ten years.”

Ash gives him a genial middle finger and Dean grins. Charlie sits up on the pool table and Dean leans against it next to her. “Listen, Charlie, I gotta. I gotta say sorry, again, for…” He clears his throat. 

“Dying?” Charlie asks lightly.

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Not your fault, Dean.” She shrugs, and she actually manages to look cheerful. Damn, Dean loves this chick. She puts her hand on his shoulder and shakes her head. “Seriously, Dean. Let it go! I have! Seriously, I got to spend a few years with my high school girlfriend watching Lord of the Rings - she was a cheerleader - and sneaking out to design some fucking world-altering programs with Ash! Being dead, for me, it’s kinda amazing.” She smiles at him. “Guessing you don’t feel the same though, huh?” 

Dean swallows. He doesn’t know how much he wants to say about that, but being dead… it definitely sucks. And not in the good way. “Guess it just feels like I got more to do. Now, at least.” Now that Cas is… and heaven is…

Charlie looks like she doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, they’re interrupted before she has to think of something.

“Eyo! Sorry, amigos,” he leans over backwards to look at them. “Found it.” 

Charlie jumps off the table and grabs Dean’s hand. After a few steps she shoves him with her shoulder until he bumps into Ash’s back. Dean bounces off his soft form and clears his throat. “Sorry,” he mutters, throwing a death glare back at his surrogate sister. She flashes him a smug grin before focusing back on the computer screen. 

Ash recovers from getting jostled in time to point. “Yeah, so, we got word on Angel FM that this Jack kid is goin’ real Jim Jones over here.” He holds a finger up at several paragraphs as he’s flipping through them. “Preachin’ all kinda love and peace and hippy commune shit, but if somebody even questions it, he snaps. Naomi no-likey,” He smirks up at Dean and points to a group of cuss-words even Dean barely uses. “Rough translation.” 

Dean shakes his head. “That doesn’t sound like Jack.” Jack, especially Jack-with-a-soul, almost never got mad. I mean, he’d spent quality time with Lucifer without blowing up. The kid is level-headed to a fault. “Anything else?”

Ash frowns at him. “Y’know, going through angels’ personal phone calls is a lotta work.” 

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. Got anything else?” 

“Ash, what about the human rumors?” 

Ash looks at Charlie and they have a silent battle of wills, but Dean’s too impatient to see who wins. “What human rumors?” 

They pause and come to an agreement. “Fighting. People fighting. Couples. Families. Friends. All over, since the reboot. People are happy, but… it’s like earth. People can talk - people can fight.” 

“And?” Dean raises his eyebrows. There’s something they’re not telling him, and he thinks he knows what.

Ash raises them right back. He’s not about to divulge. “Hombre, this ain’t earth. People are supposed to be happy. If they ain’t… like a glitch in the matrix, y’know?

Dean grunts. “Anything else weird on the radio? Anything at all.” 

Ash’s sigh sounds labored. He leans back in his chair and wobbles, obviously sorting through all the enochian bullshit he’s read over the past… whenever. “Meh… I got… I don’t know, God was singing?” 

“Singing? Singing what?” Dean leans in, intent. If it was Taylor Swift, Beyonce, maybe Lizzo… 

Ash cocks an eyebrow. “Folk shit. Indie music.” 

That’s what Dean was afraid of. “Shit.”

“Why? What does that mean?” Charlie grabs onto his arm. 

Dean’s worst fears, that’s what. “It means that ain’t my kid. It’s Chuck.” 

“Who the hell is that?” Ash stands up as Dean walks away, cursing every stupid atom that had decided to make this dumb universe. Although, he guesses, that was Chuck’s purview too. 

“He’s god! God before the reboot I mean, the dick who up and left and only came back to screw me and Sam over. Fuck, I thought we’d finally gotten out from under his thumb! Now, apparently, he’s just using my kid for his meat-suit.” Dean takes a deep breath. This is bad. Worse than bad-bad. 

“So… what do we do? How do we nuke God?” Charlie asks the question like it’s normal, just another Saturday afternoon. 

Dean thumps his forehead onto the nearest table. Sure, sure, good, great. They were back to square fucking one. “I don’t fucking know,” 

“Alright, break it down. We need more mojo, right? How do we get more mojo?” 

“Well, angels are the next best thing, right? Maybe if we get them all together, they’re obviously not psyched about folk-God, or whatever,”

Ash points at her like she’s a genius. “Alright, yeah!” 

“Guys, there aren’t enough angels left to even try.” Dean feels hopeless. There’s nothing to do. They are literally out of options. There’s no hope. 

“Well, where can we get some more angels, then?” 

Dean stands up. “I know a place.” His heart feels like it’s being squeezed like a lemon. It’s a crazy idea. It’s practically impossible. And probably suicide. And he’s gotta find a way. “We gotta break open the Empty.” 

“The Empty?” Ash looks skeptical. Dean smirks. 

“Yeah, angel/demon afterlife. We punch our way in there and we’ve got juice for days, man.” He spreads his arms out, asks the question. 

Ash glances at Charlie then back at Dean. He sniffs and nods. “I’m in.” 

Dean looks to Charlie, who scoffs. “Duh. Of course. So what, we get in and say pretty please help us kill your dad?” 

A warm feeling spreads through Dean’s chest. “Well, we’ll have a little help on the inside. Cas.”

“Castiel? The angel dude?” 

“He’s dead?” Charlie’s voice has much more concern than Ash’s. Dean nods in response to both questions. It still makes him feel like he’s swallowing glass to think about it. “What happened?” 

Dean looks down at his boots. It’s only the scene that keeps playing on repeat behind his eyelids. Cas crying, holding onto his shoulder, telling him… telling him goodbye. Telling him that. “He saved me.” he starts, expression guarded. “He made a deal.” 

Ash grunts and nods, ready to drop it. Charlie stays quiet too, but she clearly wants to say something. Dean’s thankful for the drop. He doesn’t know what he’d say if they asked more. All he knows is that he needs Cas back. And he needs to talk to him. He needs to tell him that - that he wants him to just stay fucking put, damn it. That he needs to stop dying on him. And that he can’t just go and say something like that and then leave. It’s a bitch-ass move. 

“Yo, Deano?” 

Dean jerks his head back up. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“How do we jail-break ‘em?” 

“Guessing we’re gonna need some serious magic shit. And since we can’t get to Rowena…” 

Ash breaks into a wide grin. “Pamela? I’ll give her a call.” 

Pamela is “busy,” so they have to wait for her to finish up with Jesse before she can come by. Dean has to hand it to her, it’s just about the most Pamela thing in the world to put off their realms-saving work for a heavenly hookup. Dean hangs around talking for a bit, filling his friends in on the latest on Earth, but he can’t concentrate. Ever since they’d decided the next thing is to get into the Empty, he can’t relax. He takes his beer and goes outside to wait, settling down on the Roadhouse’s front step to watch for Pamela.

After a bit, Charlie plops down next to him, a soft grin on her lips. He returns it half-heartedly before looking out across the clearing. She leans her head against his shoulder. A few minutes pass in comfortable silence before she turns into him. “So we gotta get into the Empty.” she sighs. Dean nods glumly. Just his fucking luck. Even heaven is ruined. But at least… at least they’ve got a shot. “And get Castiel.” 

Dean frowns and pulls away to look at her. Maybe it’s just his paranoia, but he hears some deeper meaning in her voice. “The guy died for me. I gotta,” he presses his lips together, hating himself for the half-lie he’s telling. Cas deserves better. Charlie just nods and watches, like she’s waiting for him to keep going. When he manages to talk again, his voice cracks. “We gotta get him, Charlie.” 

Charlie pulls him into a side hug. “I always said he was dreamy, that angel.” She points out. Dean snorts. He remembers. He’d blushed like an idiot after she said that the first time. 

“Yeah.” He mutters. Okay, so she knows. That he and Cas are… that Dean’s… good. Cas deserves recognition. He deserves someone to talk about him. For Dean to talk about him. But then Charlie just hasn’t spoken, and he feels like he needs some explanation. “I… there were other guys, before him.” He continues, clearing his throat. His mind wanders to Benny and Lee, Crowley. “But he’s… he’s it.” 

He risks a look at Charlie and she is just staring at him with a fond smile. She surges forward and kisses his cheek, squealing. “Yes, I fucking knew it, you bisexual dumbass! Bi, right?” 

Dean laughs. “Yeah, I guess- wait, you knew?” 

Charlie looks around, like Dean’s a dumbass it was so obvious. “Well, yeah, dude. Game recognize game.” She motions between the two of them and he scoffs. That’s right. Gaydar. That would’ve been nice to have for the last, oh, 12 years? “We’ll get him back.” 

Dean pulls Charlie in for another hug and leaves her tucked under his arm until a motorcycle pulls up and Pamela gets off, shaking her hair loose like a blind slow-motion model in a porno. She grins at the pair on the steps like she can see them. “Take a picture, you two. It’ll last longer.”

“How did you-”

She throws a hand out in dismissal. “Please, I can feel ogling from a mile away.” She pauses, laughing at the embarrassed silence Charlie and Dean are sporting. “Nah, I’m just joking. I do the hair-shake for a reason. I deserve a good stare. Hell, it’s half the reason I own this motorcycle.” She throws her helmet in the general direction of the motorcycle and greets her friends. Dean can’t decide whose hug is more flirty, his or Charlie’s. 

“Alright, bitches. Let’s séance some shit.” 

tag list: (ask or dm to be removed or added)

@dochunterwitch  @justonecitizenoftheearth @gnbrules @purpe @castiel-is-a-cat @alienapparatus

[wafflewarriors]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 10—Bugs (Part 1)

The Winchesters shoved you in the back seat, handcuffed and tied. You were mostly just thankful they spared you the indignity of a gag. Anyway, you kept your mouth shut. Not like there was any point convincing them of your innocence; they'd see enough proof for a lifetime.

The silence in the car was awkward, like you had impeded on what was usually their time alone. It obviously wasn't your choice, but it still felt like they were blaming you.

Dean had his music playing softly in the background, but that was about it. 

So this is how it's gonna be. Fun times.

They were silent the whole way, only finally talking when saw a town up ahead. Night was soon falling.

Dean sighed as he pulled into a bar parking lot. He asked Sam, "You wanna come with?"

Sam shook his head. "Nah. You go. I'll watch her." He proceeded to take out a newspaper and began perusing.

Dean shrugged and went on his way.

You couldn't help but peek over Sam's shoulder. 'Local Death & Medical Mystery' the title read. Looks like the public suspected it was 'Accelerated' Mad Cow disease. You both knew that that was not the case.

Sam got annoyed with you peering over him so he decided to get out of the car and sit on the hood in peace.

"Bugs," you murmured. Literally the worst episode, in your opinion. Then, you realized that the window was open and you fell silent. If Sam had heard it, he didn't react, though.

Nothing was ever resolved in Bugs. They just told them to never come back. And anyone with a brain knew that would never last. Eventually, after a few generations, people would be back at it.

You just prayed they wouldn't leave the car door open or something when the swarm came. Could bugs get into the car? You weren’t sure.

Wait. Hold on—were they just going to drag you around the country with them until they figured out how to kill you? Is that what this was?

Wasn't that just comical.

You'd save the 'I'm human' speech, then. The longer they thought you had something they needed, the longer you could see yourself surviving this. The longer you had to form a plan.

Not that you had much to work with.

///

A little while later, Dean came out of the bar laughing at the wad of money in his hand, waving it at his brother like a little kid.

Sam sighed. "You know, we could get day jobs once in a while."

"Hunting's our day job. And the pay is crap."

True.

"Yeah, but… hustling pool? Credit card scams? Not the most honest thing in the world, Dean," he scolded.

"Well, let's see. Honest…" he lifted his hands like he was weighing the words on a scale. "...fun and easy. It's no contest. Besides, we're good at it. It's what we were raised to do."

Sam was smiling, but he shook his head. "Yeah, well how we were raised was jacked."

"Yeah, says you." Dean started counting his cash. "We got a new gig or what?"

"Maybe." Sam stands. "Oasis Plains, Oklahoma. Not far from here. A gas-company employee. Dustin Burwash supposedly died from Creutzfeldt-Jakob."

Dean paused. "Huh?"

"Mad cow disease," Sam said. You muttered it under your breath along with him, shaking your head.

"Mad cow… wasn't that on Oprah?"

"You watch Oprah?"

You muffled your laugh—quiet enough so they wouldn't hear it through the window. This was the part of them you missed seeing. A side you'd likely never see directed at you, unfortunately.

Dean straightened, like his masculinity was hurt by admitting he's seen Oprah once or twice. "So this guy eats a bad burger. Why is it our kind of thing?"

Sam began explaining. "Mad cow disease causes massive brain degeneration. It takes months, even years, for the damage to appear. But this guy, Dustin? Sounds like his brain disintegrated in about an hour. Maybe less."

"Okay, that's weird," Dean admitted.

"Yeah. Now, it could be a disease. Or it could be something much nastier," Sam said.

"Alright." Dean clapped his hands. "Oklahoma."

You had to get out of here.

///

You refused to sleep on the drive there. It wasn’t far anyway: about three hours. You could tough through it. If you fell asleep they'd see that you were vulnerable—you were human, and you weren't comfortable with them figuring that out yet. Even if you had insisted so many times before.

So you kept your eyes peeled. Regardless of how tired you really were.

Sam seemed perfectly comfortable sleeping. Probably because his brother was right beside him.

You brooded, wondering if they were going to torture you for information on their dad. Information you didn't have.

"Do you even sleep?" Dean asked, breaking your train of thought. You were probably creeping him out.

You let the question settle into silence. It was one in the morning, and you were struggling to stay awake.

"No," you said softly, careful not to wake Sam. This was a conversation for you and Dean alone. If you could convince Dean you weren’t human, then he'd eventually convince Sam. Convincing Dean of your guilt would be a lot easier than convincing Sam, in your opinion. 

Despite Sam hating you, he was one smart cookie. Dean was too, but he also often blinded himself with his own stubbornness, and you could use that to your advantage.

Funny, how something you were trying to prevent a few days ago was now the only thing keeping you alive. 

As unfortunate as it was, you needed them to believe you were something more than human so they'd figure you had something to offer.

At this point, you honestly weren’t sure what side you were on anymore. 

It was probably more 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' kind of thing. The Winchesters just didn't know it yet.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "So what can you do?"

You took your shot. "I can tell you that Dustin definitely didn't have Mad Cow Disease," you said, twiddling your thumbs, which just barely jingled your handcuffs.

He gave you a dubious look through the rearview mirror. Does he ever watch the road? "What killed him, then?"

"Bugs," you said easily.

Dean scoffed, but you can feel yourself smiling. This was going to work—it would just take a little time.

///

The Winchesters still visited the gas company to confirm that Dustin never had Mad Cow Disease. You bit back your I-told-you-so when Dean came back grumbling.

They left you alone, again, when they arrived at the construction site. At this point, your legs were cramped, your arms sore, and your wrists rubbed raw; maybe later you'd ask them to loosen the handcuffs.

Maybe.

Though you had a feeling Dean would just tighten them.

When Sam came back with a dead beetle in hand, you felt a smugness play on your lips. You couldn't help the little grin. "What's up?" you said smoothly. You were getting a lot more comfortable with them, maybe because they weren't set on killing you just yet. 

There was tension as Dean drove, like they were deciding whether to even consider your opinion or not. Then, Dean swiveled around in his seat, and stared you dead in the eye. "How did you know?” he demanded.

You dared to raise a cocky eyebrow at him. “Lucky guess."

Dean looked ready to punch you in the face, but Sam redirected his attention by grabbing his shoulder to point out the sign saying 'Open House: BBQ'.

Dean was silently fuming.

Amused, you couldn’t help but add, "Oh, just so you're aware, they accept homeowners of any race, religion, color, or…" You smirked. "Sexual orientation."

Dean slugged you in the jaw, and your vision greyed. Frick—

///

When you came to, the Winchesters were gone and you were drooling against the upholstery. So much for convincing him you didn’t sleep.

Once again, they had left you helpless—waiting in the Impala as they worked the case. As a current hostage of the Winchesters, you were surprised by the lack of torture, and endless waiting that you had to endure.

You lazily watched as a red minivan pulled up in front of the Impala, probably to join the barbecue. "Don't mind me," you sighed, "just a hostage waiting in the car while you go to a party. No biggie." The guy looked stiff and awkward. Almost robotic. Weird.

You shrugged it off. 

Anyway, in your book, that was sometimes worse than torture.

You probably shouldn't be as shocked as you were that you weren’t getting tortured. Neither of these boys had even endured death yet. Dean hadn't gone to Hell… 

If Crowley had been here, he would have agreed with you. Nobody likes waiting. Though, he was probably off scamming some poor, naive people of their souls right about now.

Demons confused you.

Speaking of… did the Minivan Guy's eyes just turn black?

You stiffened. You pulled at your cuffs. "See," you hissed to yourself, "this is why you shouldn't leave me sitting in the car, Winchesters. This is exactly why—"

The man—the demon—approached the car, and you cowered as far back into the seat as you could. But no matter how you positioned yourself, there was no hiding.

Damn—he was a big guy, too. You probably couldn't stand a chance against this guy if he was a human, let alone a demon. He was almost bigger than Sam Winchester. Not taller, just... burlier. Meaner looking.

And as much as you hated to be a hostage of the Winchesters, the demons were not a better option. Whatever they had planned, you confident you wouldn't like it.

You cursed to yourself. "If anyone's listening, I lied earlier; torture is so much worse than waiting in the car all the time. I was freaking joking!" You desperately tried to open the door, but it was locked. "I swear this universe has it out for me!"

The demon was coming straight for you. Your car was gone, as was your angel blade. And… he had a brand on his arm that looked like a cancel sign. It was a binding tattoo. So exorcisms were out of the picture—so they knew your go-to, now. And they knew you were defenseless otherwise.

Your only hope was the angels, but they definitely weren't interested. 

When the demon brought up his fist, you covered your face, bracing for the inevitable. 

The window spat glass when he punched it. A hand reached through and grabbed for the chains of your handcuffs. When you pulled away, he socked you in your bruised face. 

The demon snatched your handcuffs. You leaned away, but it was useless. If a demon could casually open an airplane's emergency exit, it wasn't going to have any trouble uprooting you from your seat. 

And with that, he wrenched you through the broken window like a whip, resulting in your head slamming into hard concrete, and glass cutting into your exposed skin.

Ow.

How was nobody seeing this?! Sure, mostly empty neighborhood, but sheesh. They were having barbecue while you got your brains knocked out on their driveway.

You wheezed on the pavement, blinking up at the Impala's broken window. The Winchesters going to think I did that, aren't they? Always my fault…

Unless you left signs of struggle.

There was already some blood on the sidewalk, but that could be dismissed. No, you needed to leave an alarming amount. And the demon could give that to you.

With what small amount of strength you had left, you pulled your arms toward your chest, and bit down on the demon's arm. You spat the blood on the ground, and his arm left puddles behind him.

The demon laughed in his deep, demonic voice, but you struggled to hear him over the ringing in your eardrums. "You think that will harm me? And you call yourself a hunter."

Who ever said I was a hunter? Survivor, maybe, but never a hunter. Hunters are supposed to be brave.

And I am not brave.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

A Little Off

Things are a little off with Sammy. He’s been secretive, and at first Dean thinks it’s normal kid stuff. Puberty or something - Sam’s twelve, and they just had an awkward talk about wet dreams and “just wake me up so we can change the sheets, all right? I don’t wanna sleep in it.” 

(sam blushing furiously as he nodded, red on his cheeks like the girls dean sweet talks into the backseat and out of their panties, makes dean’s belly hot with anger at his baby brother for making him think these things)

Maybe Dean could believe that Sammy’s just exploring himself a bit, looking for privacy they can’t find in motels and shared beds. But there’s more to it than Sammy disappearing after school, coming back just before dinner in a rush to finish his homework. There’s clothing, vanishing from Dean’s duffle and showing up the next day freshly washed. There’s Sam, watching him with dark eyes when he flirts with pretty girls.

(“please, dean, can’t you stay in and watch a movie with me? please?” sam’s voice high, begging the way a girl does when dean’s got his tongue on her clit and two fingers in her pussy and she’s begging for his dick and dean can’t stay in even though he wants to, wants to paint his baby brother with bruises for making him feel these things)

Dean usually sleeps late after a night out with a girl, likes to stay in bed long after he wakes up, thinks about soft breasts and intoxicating kisses when he pushes his hand down his pants and jerks himself lazily until he’s about to come, then finishes himself off in the shower thinking about falling asleep with his arms around Sam. But Sammy’s been acting off lately, and getting up early on weekends to sneak out of the motel without Dean. 

(little brother sneaking out like the girls dean talks into breaking their curfews - “my dad doesn’t let me date yet,” whispered between kisses under the school bleachers when dean’s already got his hand up under her bra - and how is dean supposed to keep sammy safe from the monsters of the world when he doesn’t know where he is)

It’s past noon when he finds Sam in a cornfield, stalks tall overhead rustling in the breeze. Sam’s got a bucket of water and a pile of Dean’s clothes, so focused on scrubbing at his shirt from last night he doesn’t notice Dean getting closer. And Dean’s so intent on Sammy that he doesn’t notice the hole dug in the soft ground, almost falls in. Sam’s got more than just Dean’s clothes from last night - got his date dead in the dirt, too. 

(oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck)

Sam hears him stumble, looks up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, like he used to when he was five and Dean caught him stealing Twinkies meant for Dean’s school snacks. The water in the bucket is stained pink and his hands are stained red and his mouth is opening and shutting like he’s trying to talk but no sound is coming out.

(girls gone missing just before they leave town and dean’s never thought twice about it but here’s one of them and her family’s gonna be looking for her - thank fuck they won’t be looking for him thank fuck he was her dirty secret - good girl didn’t want people knowing she was getting fucked by the bad boy who just blew into town - how many sammy?)

“Whatcha doing, Sammy?”

Sam’s shaking harder than the corn stalks over their heads, still won’t - can’t? - speak.

“Know you don’t like me going out with them, but isn’t this a bit… extreme?”

Sam’s eyes get wider, whites all around. “I-I’m just cleaning - I didn’t do this...”

Dean shakes his head. “Sammy. I caught you, literally red-handed. Wanna try again?”

(sammy shaking shaking shaking like a leaf and breathing fast, fast as the dead girl did last night when he was behind her with his hand on her neck and his dick in her pussy and her cheek pressed hard into the soft dirt of the cornfield and her hair, soft and long and brown and falling across everything, and her slender back, and the little gasps and grunts he fucks out of her are just like the sounds he wrings out of sammy when they wrestle.)

“How long have you been doing it, huh, Sammy? Killing the chicks I get off with? Why do you do it, Sammy?”

And Dean could keep going but Sam’s scrambled to his feet and he throws a shoe at Dean’s head. Kid’s got good aim, would have hit him if Dean hadn’t dodged. “I don’t, Dean! You do it! I just… just clean up after you.”

(tears in his eyes, like the tears in hers last night when he had her on her back in the dirt after she pushed him off and slapped him for saying the wrong name. “isn’t sammy your brother? you’re sick–” and she couldn’t say anything else because dean’s got his hands around her throat, squeezing tight while she claws at his arms but he never bothered to take his shirt off so she only gets flannel. “you don’t say his name,” he says, gets one hand free and slaps her hard.)

Dean reels, takes a step backwards, and Sam steps towards him. “I’ve been covering up for you for months! Months, Dean! Covering with Dad when he calls while you’re out screwing any girl who’ll have you, covering up all the… the blood, and mess, and god you don’t even try to hide the bodies and now you’re saying I did this? Screw you, Dean.”

Sam glares at him through his tears, stands with clenched fists and panting from his outburst.

(she panted just like that, when dean took his other hand off her throat after she stops struggling and her eyes started to roll up because she doesn’t get to die that easily, not when she saw the secret dark corners of his soul and was stupid enough to notice, panted beneath him and he’d fuck her again if he thought she was willing but it’s a point of pride that he doesn’t take anyone who isn’t begging for it. when she catches her breath, starts to try to wriggle away, he pulls his knife and slashes out, a deep cut across the throat spraying him with brilliant red blood. she’s already forgotten by the time he gets back in the car, leaves her body in the cornstalks and drives back to his bed and sammy.)

Memories of this girl and others are rushing in, filling his head with blood and weapons (once laughing, when he let her think she got away before taking aim and dropping her with a headshot at fifty feet, just like the zombies in the arcade that Sam begged him to go to) and through it all Sam withdrawing and clinging close all at once and fuck.

“Fuck!” Dean falls to his knees, hands tugging at his hair, and Sam squats down next to him, puts a hand whisper-soft on his back, somehow takes the weight when Dean falls into him and comes apart.

-

Things are a little off with Sammy, and the off part is Dean. It started months ago, Dean going off on another “date” and ignoring Sam flipping him off as he left, then coming home with his clothing covered in dirt and falling into bed, unaware. They left town in the morning, Dad calling just after sunrise, and Sam didn’t think about it until he saw the news a few days later - a girl found dead, strangled, and no one knew who did it except Sam remembered Dean pointing her out to him three days ago.

The next time Dean has a date, Sam sneaks out after him, steals a bike and pedals furiously through town to find his brother with a girl spread out beneath him in the backseat. Sam’s too far away to hear them, but he sees her writhing under his brother and he hates her, and when Dean suddenly sits upright and slams his fist into her face all Sam can feel is satisfaction and that sends him running, racing back to the motel to hide trembling under the blankets. Dean joins him not much later, falls into the bed and slings an arm across Sam’s waist before falling into a heavy sleep, and Sam lays awake until light peeks in around the curtains.

He can’t stay, has to know for sure, so he wriggles out from under Dean’s arm. Grabs Dean’s clothes from last night off the floor, and the rest of the laundry too, and shoves it all into a duffle before heading out. He finds the body left unhidden at the side of the road, and “fuck” it’s a long, hot trip, dragging her back into field far enough that no one will see him digging.  When he’s done, the sun is setting and there’s a bruised and battered body in a shallow grave, just deep enough that he was able to bury a roadkill rabbit above it in case the cops bring out dogs to search.

Dean shakes him and shakes him when he gets back, full dark outside and duffle full of clean clothes and all he can say when Dean asks where he’s been is “out.”

It becomes routine before long. Try to keep Dean in with him - that’s unchanged, but there’s new meaning in it now - and when that fails go out and cover up the inevitable. Pick a fight when Dad comments that he’s gotten better at digging up graves the next time they have a ghost to salt and burn. Try not to cry when Dean doesn’t kill the girl and she shows up at school the next day, looking smug and satisfied and then Dean takes her out the next night too, even though Sam begs him to stay in, watch a movie with him, anything. Does cry later, in the shower, trying to wash away the satisfaction he felt with every shovelful of dirt he dumped on her body when Dean slit her throat on the second date.

He’s in the middle of yet another clean-up, burying Dean’s last date where she died in a cornfield and scrubbing as much blood out of Dean’s clothes as he can before hitting the laundromat, when Dean finds him.

-

Things are very off with Dean. He can feel his mind unravelling, feel the earth crumbling away and the only real thing left is Sammy and Dean clings to him. Baby brother arms around him and Dean should pull away, that’s only allowed at night with the plausible deniability of sleep but he can’t move, can barely breathe, needs Sam to hold him, needs to know Sammy’s with him and won’t leave.

Whispers of “don’t leave” and “sorry” and “stay” fall between giant gulping breaths and Dean’s only half aware of saying anything.

“Never” and “I don’t care” and “always” are the replies, until Sam pulls back slightly, forces Dean’s head up out of his shoulder and presses their foreheads together and Dean falls silent, pulled out of his own head and all he can see is Sammy eyes.

“I’m glad they’re dead,” Sammy says and Dean starts to shake his head, but Sam grips him hard, fingers digging into his shoulders and the pain is grounding. “I hate them. Every girl you ever look at, every girl you think about, I hate them all and I’m glad you killed them. I just…” 

Sam slumps and his hands fall away from Dean. Dean whimpers at the loss.

“I just wish you’d, like, try to hide the bodies? Or wash up, or something. Do you know how exhausting it is?”

“... no?” 

“Well, it is. ‘Cause you can’t just dig the hole, you have to fill it up again and I swear most of the girls weigh more than I do so getting them in isn’t exactly a picnic and then I have to make sure there’s no evidence and wash your clothes and clean your knives and once I had to dig a bullet out of a girl’s brain, Dean, I had to go digging in her head for it–”

“Why d’you do it, Sammy?” 

“Why do you?”

Dean searches for something, anything other than the truth because Sammy might be okay with the murder but he won’t, he can’t be okay with the reason, and he opens his mouth to lie but it comes out true. “They aren’t you.”

Sam’s arms around his neck, soft lips pressed to his in a kiss that is technically terrible but perfect because it’s Sammy, mean that the truth is maybe not as terrible as he thought. Dean’s arms close around Sam, a hand stroking up to cup the back of his head and hold him in place.

Then Dean leans forward, tips them over so Sam’s beneath him, head pillowed by the mound of dirt that still needs to be shovelled over a dead girl, and Dean grins as he sets about teaching Sam the proper way to kiss.

(sammy under him, arching up as dean strokes over the roof of his mouth with his tongue, tastes like sweat and spit and heaven and better than any girl dean’s ever had and dean chases the sammy taste down the side of his neck. sammy’s hands tugging at his hair and a high whine coming from the throat dean nips at, and dean’s never burying his want in anyone but sammy ever again.)

-

Things are a little off with his sons, and John doesn’t know what and he’s scared to find out.

[crooked-sleep]

Day 9 -- The Sunlight in My Growing

sam whump! because i love writing it and i love when dean gets to look after him :’)

warnings: description of torture and hurt!sam ft. protective!dean, dean looking after sam, and semi-naked cuddling

—

Dean closes his eyes, gritting his teeth together as he hears another muffled scream. Part of him wants to know what they’re doing to Sam, but another part of him is grateful that Sam’s in another room. He doesn’t think he could keep himself together if he could actually see Sam.

The screaming doesn’t leave much to the imagination, though.

He redoubles his efforts to saw through his bindings with the nail file he’d hidden in his boot. His fingers are bleeding from the effort, and his wrists have been chafed raw, but his brain doesn’t even register the pain right now. All he knows is that he has to get to Sam.

Another scream. A tear falls from Dean’s eye before he can stop it. Blood drips down his hands, making his fingers slippery as he tries to saw through the coarse rope. “Please, please, please oh fuck,” he whispers, a desperate plea to no one.

The file almost slips, but Dean grabs on to it at the last moment, the point cutting into the meat of his palm. He bites off a curse and manages to maneuver it upright, and continues sawing.

Sam is past words now. Has been for a while. Whatever they’re doing to him, it has him letting out raw, guttural sounds of pain, and if Dean closes his eyes he’s back in hell, being tortured with Sam’s face on the rack below his eyes.

The file slips from his hands just as he manages to saw through the last of the ropes. He lets it fall, pulling his wrists apart and bringing his arms to the front, rotating his shoulders to get his blood moving again. From there it’s two minutes for him to untie his feet and get off the hard metal chair, and locate his knife. Their kidnappers are not particularly smart, as proven by the fact that they left Dean unattended with his weapons in clear view. They probably thought their stupid rope could hold him.

Dean is going to kill every last one of them.

His hands hurt when he wraps his fingers around the familiar knife handle, but he pays it no mind. In the next room is his little brother, the love of his life, screaming himself raw, and that’s where his focus lies.

Both the kidnappers – human, because they’re literally worse than demons when they want to be – have their backs to Dean. He spares a second to wonder at their limitless stupidity, before burying his knife to the hilt in the nearest one’s back.

“What the fuck–” begins the second one, pausing with his own knife halfway to Sam’s throat, but he doesn’t get to say more than that; Dean rips his knife out of the first guy and shoves it straight into the second one’s throat, moving it sideways in a brutal motion. The man falls to the ground, gargling blood, hands flying to his throat in a futile effort to stem the bleeding.

Dean doesn’t watch. He has eyes only for Sam, slumped in the chair they’ve tied him to, hair falling over his face. What scares him is that Sam is not moving.

“Hey,” he says, falling to his knees next to Sam and putting a hand under his chin to raise his head. “Sammy, hey.”

Sam’s eyes are half-shut, face slack as Dean holds his head up. He doesn’t respond. His skin is terrifyingly pale.

“Sammy, baby, hey.”

Behind him he can hear the man continue gurgling; he doesn’t even turn. The fucker will die eventually. Dean hopes it hurts like hell.

There are twin pools of blood around Sam’s bare feet, and his hands look like mincemeat. Sam’s lip is split and bleeding sluggishly too, and one eye is swollen shut, ringed in bruise-blue. When Dean puts his free hand on Sam’s back, it comes away covered in blood too, and Dean has to swallow bile when he moves behind Sam and sees the mess they’ve made of his back.

“Fuck,” he chokes out, slicing through the ropes around Sam’s wrists. Sam’s skin is chafed too; he’s been struggling, and it shows.

Dean has to move quickly to catch Sam when he falls the moment his wrists are free. He’s completely unconscious now, and Dean lets out another curse as he presses two fingers to the soft, blood-sticky underside of Sam’s jaw. His pulse is elevated, but there, and Dean lets out a bitten-off sob of relief.

“I got you,” he murmurs to Sam, untying Sam’s ankles and lifting him over his shoulder in a careful fireman’s carry. “I got you, Sammy, gonna get you fixed up, you’re gonna be good as new in no time…”

He leaves the two men choking for breath on the ground on his way out.

—

He breaks several laws on the way back to the bunker, going at least twice the speed limit. He doesn’t even whisper apologies to Baby the way he normally would when pushing her like this. He loves her, but he’d gladly burn her a thousand times over if it meant saving Sam.

Sam remains still in the backseat, and Dean keeps checking the rearview mirror to ensure he can still see the slow rise and fall of his chest. Every moment feels hours long, and Dean is beginning to feel like he’s back in hell again. Time seems to be running at that pace, and this scenario seems tailor-made from his worst nightmares.

He parks the Impala haphazardly in front of the bunker’s entrance, getting the door open before he lifts Sam out of the backseat. “Come on, Sammy, come on, baby,” he murmurs as he carries him as carefully as he can down the stairs while still being quick. “I got you, darlin’, you’re safe now…”

Sam is still unresponsive.

Dean’s room is closest, so that’s where he goes, setting Sam gently down on the bed before running to grab the med kit he keeps in his room for exactly this sort of situation. The infirmary is well-stocked too, but it’s so damn impersonal, and he’s got all the equipment he needs right here. It’ll be more comforting for Sam to be in a familiar room when he wakes.

None of Sam’s wounds seem too deep – just designed to be painful. Dean carefully cuts his clothes away before turning him on his front, wincing again at the cuts spanning the width of his back. They’re crooked, the edges ragged, and Dean realizes with a swoop of gut-wrenching nausea that they’d been using a dull knife. Not for the first time he regrets not taking the time to make their deaths more painful.

But of course, Sam takes priority. Always. Dean wets a rag in a bowl of warm water and begins cleaning Sam’s back gently, wiping away the blood and grime. He chokes up a little when he wipes over Sam’s old scar, the one from Jake Talley’s knife. It’s been years and years and he still can’t bear looking at it, and having it surrounded by fresh blood is making it so much worse.

“You’re okay, sweetheart,” he murmurs, just in case Sam can hear him (though Sam hasn’t so much as flinched just yet). “I got you, Sammy.”

He wipes down the wounds with an alcohol wipe and then rummages through the med kit for a 3/0 suture needle. “Definitely a step up from floss, huh?” he tells Sam with a shaky laugh as he unwraps it.

Sam doesn’t answer.

Dean bites his lip, and begins stitching Sam up. It takes him a good half an hour, and throughout that time Sam doesn’t move. It’s beginning to worry Dean, and he keeps checking Sam’s pulse and breathing, reassuring himself that Sam will be all right, he’ll be up and about soon.

When he’s done he covers the freshly-stitched wounds in clean gauze. It’s probably overkill, but he’d rather err on the side of paranoia and caution when it comes to Sam.

Next he moves to Sam’s face. Thankfully none of the cuts on it seem too deep, but Dean cleans them with Betadine anyway before covering what he can in Band-Aids and small squares of gauze.

The next shock comes when he cleans Sam’s hands to find out that he’s got over half of his fingernails missing. The rest have long wooden splinters sticking out from under them, and Dean chokes off a sob before it can leave his throat. “Oh, baby, what did they do to you?” he murmurs, wiping hastily at his eyes before grabbing the tweezers.

Sam stirs feebly when Dean grasps the first splinter with the tweezers. “Dee?” he murmurs, face scrunching up in pain, though his eyes remain closed.

Dean immediately puts his free hand on the back of Sam’s head, running his fingers through his hair gently. “Right here, Sammy,” he soothes. “Right here. You’re safe.”

Sam makes an attempt to move, and then winces, falling back on the bed. “Hey, hey, stay down, baby,” Dean says, brushing Sam’s hair away from his face and behind his ear. “You’re banged up pretty bad. Let me take care of you, okay? Let me fix you up.”

“S'bad?” Sam asks, cracking his uninjured eye open to look hazily up at Dean.

“Nah, not so bad,” Dean says, only a half-truth. “You’re not gonna be having a great few days for a while, but you’ll be fine.”

“Th'hunters?”

“Dead,” Dean replies shortly. Fuckers. Lured Sam and Dean in pretending they needed help on a hunt, and then decided to exact revenge for the goddamn apocalypse. It feels like a lifetime ago to Dean, and they’d fixed it anyway, hadn’t they? Everything Sam had gone through just to keep their ungrateful hides safe, God it makes Dean’s blood boil.

Sam lets out a slow exhale, and closes his eyes for a moment. Then he opens his eyes again, and asks, “What you doing?”

“Your hands,” Dean tells him, taking the tweezers up again. “This is gonna sting a little,” he informs Sam regretfully.

“S'okay,” Sam whispers. “Do it.” He closes his eyes again.

“Just hold on, okay?” Dean says, and pulls the first splinter out in a quick motion.

Sam whimpers, fingers flexing a little as he tries to form a fist, and then relaxing again when it makes the pain worse. Dean takes a deep breath, whispering apologies under his breath as he pulls out the rest of the splinters. Throughout it all Sam keeps a brave face, biting down hard on his lip so he can muffle his sounds of pain. It makes tears rise in Dean’s eyes again, but he wipes them hastily on his sleeve and continues.

Cleaning the rest of Sam’s fingers prove harder. “Do it,” Sam grits out when he notices Dean hesitating, hands hovering over Sam’s.

“Sammy, it’ll hurt,” Dean says, voice hoarse.

“’M okay,” Sam insists, squeezing his eyes shut again.

So Dean steels himself, and cleans Sam’s bare nail beds with the warm water-soaked rag, and disinfects them with Betadine, and pretends he can’t see tears dripping down Sam’s closed eyes and into the pillow underneath his head. “God, Sammy, I’m so sorry,” he says again and again, caressing Sam’s hands with his thumbs whenever he can. “I’m so sorry.” He kisses the back of one of Sam’s hands, and then begins the slow, careful task of bandaging his fingers.

Sam’s breathing heavily by the time Dean is done, and he doesn’t say a word when Dean begins to clean his wrists. He remains quiet as Dean wraps gauze around them, and is totally still while Dean repeats his ministrations on his ankles. It’s only when Dean touches the soles of his feet that Sam lets out a half-choked sob.

Immediately Dean is at his side, med kit forgotten on the nightstand. “Sammy?”

“’M all righ’,” Sam tells him, biting down on his lip once more. He’s split it open again, and Dean carefully thumbs the blood away, wiping it off on his own shirt. “Jus’… my feet.”

Dean looks, and can’t help a harsh “Fuck” when he notices the cuts spanning the width of Sam’s arches. Clearly to prevent him from running. “Fuck,” he whispers again. “I swear if I could kill them all over again–” He stops midway, and wipes angrily at his eyes.

“S'okay,” Sam tells him again. “Jus’ – jus’ do it, Dee. Fast,” he adds.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, picking up the rag again. “Hold on just a little bit longer for me, okay, Sammy? Just a few minutes. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” whispers Sam.

So Dean hardens himself, and gets to work again. Clean. Disinfect. Wipe Sam’s tears away. Wipe his own tears off his face. Suture. Clean and disinfect again. Cover.

“I’ll get you something for the pain, okay?” Dean tells him when he’s done, rubbing at Sam’s ankle.

Sam nods, trying to curl up as much as he can with his injured hands and feet and the fact that he’s lying on his front. “‘Kay,” he whispers.

Dean digs out the heavy-duty stuff from the mid kit, and casts a glance at the expiration date. They’re good, so he puts the bottles down on the nightstand and runs to Sam’s room to fill a glass of water from the sink in it. He returns in under a minute to find Sam in a sitting position, a light sheen of sweat on his face.

“What the hell, Sammy,” he says, exasperated, as he shakes out a couple pills from the bottles for Sam.

“Hadta sit up for th'pills,” Sam manages to say. He still looks far too pale for Dean’s liking, and it looks like just the simple act of sitting up has taken a lot out of him.

“Coulda waited for me to help, man,” Dean chastises as he gives Sam the painkillers and antibiotics, and then helps him take a few gulps of water.

“’M fine,” Sam argues weakly.

Dean just sighs, putting the glass aside. “Sure,” he says, not having the energy to argue anymore. He feels drained suddenly, soul-tired, and his fingers are shaking when he bends over to unlace his boots.

“Dee?” Sam says softly.

“I’m all right, babe,” Dean mutters, managing to untie his laces and kick his boots off. “Just – just tired.”

“Did you get hurt?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head before standing up and turning back around. “Wrists hurt just a little, but I’m good, Sammy,” he tells him, taking his flannel off.

“You gonna take care of it?”

“In a few,” Dean answers, hoarse. He sits back down on the bed when he’s stripped down to his boxers like Sam, and then pulls the med kit towards himself.

Sam leans forward, watching closely as Dean cleans his own wounds and bandages them. It warms Dean up, knowing Sam’s concerned for him even in the state he’s in. Always so worried for Dean.

“You’re gonna be okay, you know,” he says when he’s done.

Sam nods. “Yeah,” he says. “S'not that bad, huh? Had worse.”

That doesn’t make Dean feel much better, but he manages to give Sam a strained smile anyway. Sam returns it, one dimple showing for a second for vanishing again.

Dean reaches over to grab the blanket and pulls it up before lying down. “C'mere,” he says softly, and helps Sam shift closer to him. “Lie down, Sammy.”

He helps Sam lie down slowly on his side, and wraps an arm cautiously around Sam’s shoulders. Sam puts his head on Dean’s chest, right under his chin, and gently intertwines his bandaged fingers with Dean’s free hand.

“You comfortable?” Dean asks.

“Mm,” hums Sam, his eyes falling shut.

“How’s the pain?”

“Better,” Sam answers.

“Good,” says Dean, voice cracking. “Get some sleep, Sammy. Been a long day.”

Sam huffs out a weak laugh. “One way t'put it,” he mutters, before raising his head a little to press a feather-light kiss to Dean’s jaw.

Dean gives him a soft smile, and kisses his temple before Sam lays his head back down again. “I love you,” he tells Sam, suddenly feeling scraped raw on the inside. His heart feels like it’s been rubbed against a cheese grater. “You know that, right, Sammy? Right, baby?”

“I know,” Sam tells him, squeezing his hand as lightly as he can. “I love you too, Dee.” His sentences aren’t as slurred from pain anymore, but he’s still using his childhood nickname for Dean, and for some reason that soothes Dean like a balm. It feels good to know that no matter what, Sam is always going to look up to him for protection and reassurance.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean whispers into Sam’s hair. “I know, babe.” He doesn’t have words to express the way he feels right now, tangled up in Sam and so fucking grateful, and so damn tired.

Sam is quiet for a few minutes, long enough that Dean thinks he’s fallen asleep. That illusion is gone when Sam asks, voice beginning to slur again but from sleep this time, “Dee?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“Can you– can you sing?”

“You want me to sing you something?” Dean asks, surprised. Sam hasn’t asked that of him in literal years.

“Please,” Sam says. He sounds so young suddenly that it makes Dean’s heart ache again.

“Of course, babe,” he says, rubbing circles into Sam’s shoulder with his thumb.

“Thanks,” Sam murmurs, wiggling a little in Dean’s arms before he settles again.

Dean kisses his hair. “Any time, Sammy.” And then he begins singing, the first song that comes to mind.

It is the springtime of my loving The second season I am to know You are the sunlight in my growing So little warmth I’ve felt before

Sam’s breathing evens out slowly, getting deeper the longer that Dean keeps singing. He’s hoarse, and his voice keeps cracking, but it doesn’t seem to matter to Sam, whose entire body is relaxing, melting into Dean, his head growing heavier as he gets closer to sleep. Unable to help a smile, Dean continues singing.

“I know that I love you so,” he whispers, “oh, but I know…”

In the morning, he’s going to get up earlier than normal so he can give Sam his antibiotics and painkillers on time. He’s going to go over Sam’s injuries again, and he’s going to fuss and helicopter and smother Sam until Sam’s making bitchfaces at him and accusing him of mother-henning. And then he’ll crack a joke, and Sam will laugh against his will, and they’ll be all right. 

They’ll be all right.

—

i’m an awful person, i know, but i just can’t help it – sam whump is just so ridiculously fun to write! feel free to scream at me and cast me down into hell, god knows i’m asking for it at this point lmao

hopefully something less hurty for tomorrow!

love, wincestmas anon <3

 ___

WINCESTMAS ANON! This was me reading your warnings:

Because I, too, love a good whumping. The darker the setup, the more cathartic the um.. catharsis, I always say. And that was deliciously dark. Like, I’m ready to go all Dean on those jackass hunters. GRRR.

I looooved “his little brother, the love of his life.” - CORRECT!

Also, Dean’s “the fucker will die eventually” was just so Dean. (As was later wishing he’d made their deaths more painful.) 

And the singing. Oh my god. That was lovely and now I just feel so soft and tender toward the boys. Thank you, thank you, thank you for this lovely, lovely gift!!!!!! 

Love,

Sin

[waywardrose13]

Mind Over Matter (Angsty Ending)

ummary: She sold her soul for her sister, and saying goodbye to her family and the one she loved most was the hardest thing she’d ever done. Five years later, she finds herself topside, and Y/N walks into a whole new nightmare she never thought she’d have to face.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Dean x OFC

Word Count: 14,168

Warnings: ANGST, soul selling, flashbacks, nightmares, torture, graphic violence, character death, depression, implied suicidal thoughts, lack of appetite/anorexia (sort of), unrequited love, language, injury, self loathing, self deprecation, Dean is a dick, hurtful things said to reader, TW: STRONGLY implied past sexual assault/mentions of, Suicide, mentions of self harm

There are a lot of warnings, please let me know if I missed any.

A/N- Here’s the hightly requested angsty ending I wrote for this one-shot. I personally like this one better than the fluffy one but I won’t lie to you, I literally started crying while writing it so...

Would rather have a fluffy ending? Go here!

“This isn’t a good idea,” Jane said, sweeping a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“There are people dying,” I said, grinding my teeth. “We’ve been over this.”

“We don’t know what we’re up against,” she muttered. “We could have at least-”

“No, Jane,” I said, whipping my head around to look her in the eye. She closed her mouth, young eyes looking up at me. “I told you. We can handle this.”

“But Dean said-”

“I don’t give a fuck about what Dean said. He doesn’t get to bench us. He’s not dad,” I said. “There are people dying in this town and this is how we can stop it. If he won’t do it, we will.”

She sighed, biting her lip. “Okay.”

I smiled, putting my hand up to her cheek. “Stay with me. If I say run, you run. Don’t worry about me, okay, little duck?”

She nodded, blinking a few times before letting out a deep breath, following me into the vamp nest.

What we thought was a small nest, turned out to be a nest of about sixteen. We sliced our way through the rooms, our backs to each other as we moved through the barn.

A scream echoed through the room, and I turned to see Jane be picked up by two vamps, my eyes widening. One of them grabbed me from behind, and I let out a frustrated growl as I bucked and squirmed in his hold. I watched with a heavy heart as Jane was held down by one vamp as the other bared its fangs, gripping her chocolate hair in his fist as he sank his teeth into her throat.

“No!” I screamed, thrashing in the arms of the vamp behind me. He laughed, breath hot against my ear as one hand raised to palm at my breast. I growled, writhing with fury.

I reared my head back against his nose, and he loosened his grip enough for me to slip free. I grabbed my blade from the ground and swung it up, taking his head off in one motion.

I honed in on the vamp holding Jane down, kicking the back of his knees. He grunted, dropping to the ground and I swung my blade again, a hot spray of blood coating my face.

“Don’t move,” a voice sounded. I looked up, swallowing as I saw Jane in the other one’s hold. Her back was pressed against his chest as his hands crept to her bleeding throat, her eyes tired and legs weak as she stared at me. My face trembled as anger coursed through my veins, and I raised my blade.

“Let her go,” I hissed, his smirk growing.

“Why? So you can kill me?” He asked, his nose pressed against the side of her head. She flinched.

“I swear to God, you son of a bitch, I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” He asked, looking at me again. “You don’t think I’ve got friends in other places? Please. Maybe I’ll take her with me, turn her. Maybe… she’ll be my mate.”

I drew my gun, clicking the safety off. He snarled, hands tightening. “That won’t do any good.”

“No?” I asked. “It’ll hurt through.”

With him distracted, Jane was able to retrieve a syringe of dead man’s blood from her jacket pocket, and she stabbed his thigh, a cry of pain escaping from his chest. She pressed the plunger, and as he realized just what she had done, I watched in horror as he clenched his jaw and flexed his muscles, the sickening snap of my sister’s neck sounding through the room.

“No!” I screamed, running towards her. She fell as he did, and I dropped to my knees, catching her before she could crash to the ground. Tears blurred my vision as I frantically felt for a pulse, pushing her hair back from her face. “No! No! No!”

I shot upright with a cry. My chest heaved as I took in lungfuls of air, my hands coming to wipe my wet cheeks and push my sweat drenched hair from my face. I fisted my hand at the top of my head as I clutched the sheet to my chest, tears still streaming from my sore eyes.

My door burst open, a startled scream leaving me at the sudden intrusion. Sam stood in the doorway, a worried look on his face as he stared at me.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked. I choked on my words, looking away from him.

“She’s… she’s alive?” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut. “She’s okay?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, knowing exactly what I meant. I turned my head towards him again, opening my eyes to look up at him. “She’s alive. I promise.”

I nodded, biting my lip as I was trying to slow my breathing down. I looked past him, spotting Dean in the hallway with his arms crossed and a hard look on his face. My heart panged, longing to be in his arms again. But I knew what I did hurt him. I watched with a frown as he turned and walked away, Sam still staring at me.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asked. I nodded, and he murmured a quick “okay” before leaving me alone, closing the door softly behind him.

I laid back, my head resting softly against the pillow as I stared up at the ceiling. It was my second night back, the first time I had tried to sleep since hell. The memories from the dreaded night were slowly coming back to me, and even though I knew she was alive, I still felt the pain of when she died.

The bastard that killed Jane got what he deserved. He was an unrecognizable pile of flesh when I was finished with him. I had packed Jane up into the car, laying her carefully on the backseat before looking at a map, knowing exactly where I would go.

The demon had given me a year, my track record of killing them on top of being Dean Winchester’s girlfriend made the time change from the usual ten years. She had said it was almost poetic, receiving the same amount of time for selling my soul for my sibling as Dean did.

I hadn’t regretted it. Jane deserved to live more than I did, and I couldn’t imagine a world without her smile in it. She touched everyone around her, instantly filling someone’s day with light. Whereas I, on the other hand, was full of dark thoughts and anxiety. I wouldn’t be missed as much as her. And I couldn’t let her die. Knowing I would never hear her laugh or see her smile killed me.

So I made a deal. She knew I did something as soon as she woke up. She wasn’t stupid. She was furious with me for a long time, but I didn’t regret it once. Eventually, she understood, and we shed a lot of tears for a while, until I wouldn’t let her cry over me anymore.

Dean didn’t speak to me for weeks after I told him. It nearly killed me then and there. He was the only man I had ever loved. I hadn’t had many chances, anyway. He was my first real relationship, and I had fallen hard and fast. I was only twenty-two, and he was nine years my senior. Our relationship had been viewed as taboo from many people around us, but we couldn’t be bothered with that.

When he finally came back to me, we didn’t leave his bedroom for a good three days. We’d talk and make love, or simply lay with each other, basking in each other’s presence. I’d only seen him cry twice before, but he cried a great deal over those few days.

When the year was up, the bunker was quiet. Dean never left my side, and his hand never left mine. The thought of leaving him behind was absolute torture, and it made it worse when he frantically searched the books for a way out.

“There has to be something, dammit! Those old pricks had to have found a way!” Dean yelled, throwing yet another book across the room. I jumped as it collided with a lamp, both clattering to the ground, the bulb in the lamp shattering.

“Dean, please!” I said, taking his hands in mine. He shook me off, riffling through the bookshelves. “Dean!”

“No! I won’t give up! There has to be away out of this,” he said. “There has to be.”

He frantically flipped through book after book, simply dropping them to the ground when he was finished. “Stop it!”

He froze as my voice pierced his ears, and he turned to look at me.

“You’ll drive yourself insane! There is no way out of this that will end with both me and Jane alive.” He shook his head. “I can hear them, Dean.”

His eyes widened. “What?”

I swallowed thickly. “You know what. You went through it, and it means it’s almost time.”

He shook his head again, lip wobbling as he walked forward, hands cupping my face. “No, no, no. We need more time… I can fix this, I can-”

I silenced him with my lips, eyes fluttering closed as I surrounded myself with him one last time.

“Do me a favour, Dean,” I whispered. “Stop looking. Stop beating yourself up over this. Just know I love you.”

And not ten minutes later, I had walked up the stairs and out the front door of the bunker, sinking to my knees a few hundred feet away, embracing death with open arms, knowing that my sister was sleeping soundly inside.

I woke up buried in a coffin five years later.

I climbed my way out, finding myself in the field a little way behind the bunker. It was my favorite spot, mostly because it was where Dean and I proclaimed our love for each other. It turned into our little space, and I nearly dropped to my knees knowing that’s where he wanted to bury me.

After waking up, the world around me was calming. The field was a brilliant green, the grass taller than I remembered, and more wildflowers had sprouted. Kansas wasn’t known for their many trees, but the big oak that Dean and I would lay under was as great as ever, the leaves rustling in the soft wind. Memories haunted the grounds of the field, replaying the smiles and blushes and gentle caresses that I desperately tried to hang on to in hell.

But they were just that; a memory. A simple thought blown away by the breeze that no longer carried the life and love that once thrived there.

Dean tried to kill me when he saw me. He thought I was a shifter, or a demon. But Sam did the tests after calming him down, he too realized it was me. Sam welcomed me back with wide open arms, arms that I had to talk myself into walking into, and a few tears, but Dean barely said a word, his jaw clenched the whole time and arms crossed over his chest, almost as if he was blocking his heart. When I tried to touch him, he backed away, turning to walk down the hall without a word.

I jumped when I heard his door slam from deep inside the bunker.

So here I was, heart and spirit broken as I lay awake in my old bedroom, obviously not welcomed in Dean’s. Jane was out on a hunt with a friend, apparently. Sam had filled me in on what had happened within the years I was gone.

It killed me that Dean was so sour towards me. It made me realize that he must hate me for leaving, and that he had fallen out of love with me. I wondered if he found someone new. And although I knew he probably would, it still hurt all the same.

It wasn’t my place to feel that way anymore, though.

His reaction was odd, and the insecurities and self doubt that I had when Dean and I first got together began to creep into my mind. I never thought he’d give me the light of day, let alone be with me. And once we were together, it was hard to believe him when he said he wanted to. I couldn’t come up with a reason as to why, but he’d constantly remind me of the multiple reasons why he was, and somehow it would be okay. Eventually, those insecurities faded, but now, I wondered if what he said was really true, or if he simply told me what I wanted to hear.

I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall back to sleep, so I turned onto my side, squeezing my eyes shut to try and will the tears away.

***

The next day, I didn’t see Dean at all.

Sam caught me up on Game of Thrones and watched the latest Marvel movies I had missed. But he could tell I was missing Dean. And he could tell I was lying about being okay.

Whenever he’d come near me, I’d flinch. I could no longer be touched, and I stuttered more, something I hadn’t done since I was a teenager.

But he didn’t prod. He let me be, and didn’t say anything when he caught me pouring a good amount of Dean’s whiskey into my coffee; or when I drank straight from the bottle at lunch. He didn’t prod when he realized I wasn’t going to bed for the night, leaving me at the library table with Dean’s whiskey and a glass of ice.

Everytime I close my eyes, flashes from hell would replay; the pain and fear I felt for so long bottling up inside my head with nowhere to go. It was five years Earth time, but six-hundred for me, and not once within those six-hundred years did the torture let up.

The bunker door opened around two in the morning, and Dean stumbled in. I watched as he ignored my presence, making his way to the liquor cabinet. I swallowed thickly as I realized he was looking for his whiskey.

He looked over his shoulder, grumbling under his breath as he stalked towards me, eyes hard as he looked down at me.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“Sorry,” I murmured. He glanced down at the bottle, lip twitching as he saw it was nearly empty.

“You just assume it’s okay to take something that doesn’t belong to you?” He asked, snatching the bottle from the table. He took a drink from it.

“Well I… I just saw it and…” I furrowed my brows as his stare never relented. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal. You’d share your stash with me all the time.”

“That was when we were together,” he snarled. He slammed the bottle down onto the wood, making me flinch.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, looking away from him. Tears pricked my eyes, and I bit my lip trying to keep them down. I couldn’t cry. Not now. Just knowing that he didn’t want to try to be together again made my heart clench painfully in my chest.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re never sorry. You never were. And you’re not now. You’re back, and you think you just own the place again.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“You and Sam are pals. You’re in my flannel-” I glanced down at the shirt I stole from the laundry room- “And you drink my fucking whiskey.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Shut up!” He yelled. I jumped, an unwelcomed whimper slipping past my lips. “You don’t mean to do anything! Why the fuck are you alive?”

Ouch.

A tear slipped down my cheek and I wiped it away, hoping he didn’t see it. But he did, and his face softened for a moment.

“I’m sorry that me being alive and out of hell has ruined your life so much,” I whispered, getting up to leave.

“Princess…”

I flinched at that, my body tensing up as memories flashed through my head. That nickname from Dean had been turned and used against me in hell. Amel, the demon who had taken me as his own toy, had began to call me that once he realized Dean did.

I vaguely heard him saying my name, and I gasped as his hand landed on my shoulder. I stumbled back, tripping over the leg of the chair and falling onto my ass. I trembled violently, my breaths coming in gasping gulps as I tried to catch it.

Dean lowered slowly down in front of me, shushing me.

“Hey, hey you’re safe,” he said quietly. I shook my head, scooting back away from him. My body shook with panic, and I frantically tried to catch my breath. “Y/N, hey. Look at me.”

“No, I-I can’t,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.

“You can. Give me your hands princ- Y/N,” he said quietly. I didn’t move, and he didn’t push me to. He waited until I reluctantly placed my hands in his. They were rougher than I remembered, but still soft; his touch gentle, his fingers caressing my skin slowly. “Match by breathing. That’s it.”

I took a breath with each one he did, trying to calm down. That nickname registered pain that I tried to push away. I should have known it would be too hard to do.

His face was somber, and I allowed myself a good look at it. He had aged well, looking the same other than a few more lines here and there and a more defined face. The crinkles around his eyes had deepened with the years, but his green orbs were the same. They still held that slight sliver of hope that he rarely believed in, and still held the pain. But there was something else, a look I had missed more than anything.

He placed a hand on my cheek for a moment, not missing when I tensed up. His eyes bored into mine, but he pulled away after only a few seconds, standing without a word and walking out of the room, grabbing the whiskey on the way out.

***

“There is nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you,” his voice whispered in my ear. The sun shone brightly through the clouds, warming the air and the grass around us. My fingers ran through the blades of green, eyes trained on the opposite side of the field as Dean’s fingers gently moved my hair back from my face and tucked it behind my ear. “You know that.”

I sighed, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I looked up at him, glancing down to his lips for a moment. “I don’t.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, his hand cupping my cheek as he gazed lovingly at me. A small smile danced on his lips, and his thumb brushed against my skin. “You do. Do you know why?”

“Because we’re soulmates,” I whispered, looking down at the silly title I came up with months ago. ‘Boyfriend and Girlfriend “ wasn’t strong enough, and I had felt it the day we met that we were meant to be. He hummed.

“And you will always be my love,” he said quietly. “There is nothing, nothing, that could ever change that.”

“You’ll move on,” I said sadly, a tear falling from my eye. “You’ll find someone else. As you should. You deserve to be happy but I-”

“Even if I do, I will never feel for them like I do for you,” he said, shaking his head. “Hey. Look at me.”

I hesitated, obliging and meeting his eyes. He used his thumb to wipe away my tears, and he bent down to press a soft kiss to the tip of my nose.

“Hey. I love you, Y/N Y/L/N,” he said, forehead resting against mine. “Always have.”

“Always will,” I finished, my hand coming to rest against the side of his neck. And for the first time since making the deal, I felt okay.

***

I pushed myself up off the floor, steadying myself against the wall as the memory flashed behind my eyelids. Righting myself, I furrowed my brows and followed after Dean, my shorter legs moving faster to catch up to him.

I turned down the hall, spotting him almost to his door. Swallowing thickly, I raised enough courage to say what I wanted to.

“Hey!” I called, voice shakier than I would have liked. Dean stopped, his head turning slightly at the sound of my voice. I swallowed again. “I love you, Dean Winchester.” I saw him stiffen, and I watched as his jaw clenched. He looked down, a sigh heaving through him. “Always have.”

I waited for him to finish it. I waited for a sliver of something to hold on to that told me he still loved me. I just wanted to hear the words.

Always will.

But he stayed silent. He turned his head back, and walked the rest of the way to his bedroom door, not sparing another glance at me as he slammed it behind him.

A choked sob slipped past my lips, and I found myself stumbling down the hall to my room as I did my best to keep my cries silent.

The pain I felt was worse than anything I had endured in hell. It felt as though my heart had been ripped from my chest and crushed beneath his boot. I felt as though there was nothing left for me to fight for.

Except Jane.

She was coming home tomorrow. I would see her. Alive. And I couldn’t wait.

***

His laughs echoed off the cobblestone walls. The telltale sound of his boots clacking against the floors made me itch, and I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt his fingertips trail along my bare back.

“Look at you,” he hissed, his breath stinking of blood and decaying flesh. He slipped a forked tongue from his mouth, running it along my cheek before his hand came up to cup my breast. I flinched, trying to shrink away, but he simply squeezed harder. “What shall we do today?”

It had been two-hundred hell years. I had been burned, beaten, whipped, abused and assaulted to the point that I had given up fighting. I had been taken off the rack years ago, moved to Amel’s personal quarters.

I heard the crack of a whip, and the crackling of the flames. I tasted the blood with each lash, felt the searing with each burn, and I felt my ribs crack with each blow with a fist.

And finally, after what I thought couldn’t get any worse, I heard his belt jingle, and his hands grip my waist, and it took everything in me not to vomit then and there.

***

Hands were on me.

Strong ones.

Firm ones.

On my arms and the side of my face.

I lashed out blindly, making contact with flesh. The assaulter grunted, and I scampered away, falling off the bed and into a heap of blankets on the floor.

“Jesus! Y/N, it’s just me!” Sam said, his hand pressing against the nostrils of his bloody nose. “You were having another nightmare.”

“Oh, I- Sam, I’m so sorry,” I said, shaking my head.

“No, no, it’s… it’s okay. Nice hit,” he said, a small laugh leaving his lips. I cleared my throat, picking up the blankets and sitting back on the bed.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” I murmured, keeping my eyes down.

“No, it’s okay. Look, I understand. If you ever need to talk-

“I don’t need to,” I said quickly.

“Okay,” Sam said quietly. “But if you do need to-”

“I won’t.” I cut him off again. “I just- I’m just tired. Can I go back to bed?”

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Of course. Good night, Y/N.”

The door closed behind him, and I collapsed back on the bed, my breathing shaky as I tried to catch it. I didn’t want to close my eyes in fear I would see another memory. I couldn’t bare to be back there, to feel the pain and the crippling fear. I could taste the bile in my mouth at the memory of the feel of his hands on me, and a tear slipped down my cheek.

Sleep would have to wait.

***

Jane was coming back today.

I couldn’t begin to describe my excitement. She didn’t know I came back. Dean seemed to be even more on edge, which confused me more. It still stung to know that he didn’t love me anymore. That he didn’t care.

It had been almost a week since I returned. Each night was plagued with a different nightmare, eventually the mere thought of sleep making my stomach roll. Within that week, Dean had avoided me, and each day turned a little worse.

Sam was walking on eggshells around me, always scared about sneaking up on me or making too much noise. I was skittish, and he was trying to be careful, which I was thankful for. But the excessive worrying became a little much.

I heard the bunker door close in the distance, and my heart fluttered with excitement. I would be seeing my little sister again. Technically she was now older than me, but she would forever be my baby sister.

I jogged out into the library with a wide smile on my face, the first real smile I had since getting topside, not being able to contain the joy. I saw Sam out of the corner of my eye, a low gasp slipping past his lips.

My smile fell as I saw the scene in front of me.

Jane’s lips were pressed firmly against Dean’s, her arms wrapped around his neck. I placed a hand on my stomach as it jumped to my throat. It all made sense now. Why Dean had been the way he was towards me, and why Sam had been so cautious.

A pained whimper sounded from me unannounced, and the two broke apart, Jane’s hazel eyes meeting mine. They widened, mouth dropping open as she took me in.

“Holy shit,” she breathed, walking up the steps into the library. Dean avoided eye contact with me, and I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

“She’s back, Jane,” Sam murmured, looking down as well. I felt as though my heart had finally destroyed, this being the last stab to an already broken heart. “It’s really her.”

My sister lunged forward, her arms wrapping tightly around me as she laid her head on my chest, ear pressed against it as she listened to my heartbeat. She let out a sound of joy, rearing back to look me in the eyes, tears swimming in hers.

“I never thought I’d see you again!”

“Here I am,” I whispered, my excitement gone. Her smile faltered, guilt quickly over taking her features.

“Look, Y/N… I-”

“I don’t really want to hear it,” I said, breaking away from her. I closed my eyes and shook my head, clearing my throat as a single tear fell. “I can’t- I can’t deal with this right now.”

She nodded, teeth sinking into her bottom lip. Dean finally made his way up into the library, his emerald eyes scanning my face.

“Look, I wanted to tell you but… you had just gotten back from hell after five years, and I don’t even know how long that is in hell time. I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said quietly.

“So you decided to keep it from me?” I asked angrily. “Because quite frankly, walking in on my sister and the man I love shoving their tongues down each other’s throats hurts a lot more than you just telling the truth.”

“Look, I know this must hurt,” Jane said. I scoffed. “But you gotta understand, we didn’t think you were coming back.”

“When did this start?”

“Few years ago,” Dean muttered.

“When?” I pushed.

They glanced at each other. “About a week after you died.”

Dead. I was dead.

It finally killed me.

“What?” I choked. “Dean did you… did you ever love me?”

“Of course I did,” he said quietly. “I just… I had eyes on Jane, too.”

“You what?” I whispered, vision blurry from tears. “When we were together?”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. Really,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

“I… I can’t deal with this right now,” I muttered, turning and taking off down the hall. My body surged with anger and hurt, Dean’s words bouncing around the inside of my skull. I was shocked. Shocked that it had taken them a mere week to get over me and begin seeing each other.

But truthfully, should I have been so surprised?

My whole life, I had been the outsider. I was the other sister. I was the other one who hunted with the Winchesters. I was the one who was invisible, so easily forgotten that people I had met a dozen times would look right through me with no recollection as to who I was. It was always Jane; Jane, Sam and Dean, the hunter trio that took on the world’s monsters. The trio with an angel friend and a debt that needed repaying by the King of Hell.

And then me. The one who was seemingly always in the background. The one left behind on celebratory toasts and claps on the back. The one who was never noticed missing until it was too late. I was always someone’s second choice, never the one someone thought of first or wanted first.

The one who was forgotten, the one who was given up on one too many times to count.

I locked my bedroom door, a heart-wrenching sob coming from deep within my chest as it all settled in. I always assumed Dean would find someone new, I had hoped. I just wanted him happy. But once I saw no one else in the bunker, I thought he was single. That maybe we could pick up where we left off. But no, he was with my sister, and had been since I died.

He had wanted her when I was still alive and sharing his bed.

I curled up into a ball on my bed, tears staining the pillow case, knuckles turning white with how tightly I was gripping the blanket. My cries echoed off the walls of my room, and I didn’t care who heard me. I was hurting too much to care.

At this point, I would have rather been dead. If I couldn’t come back to Dean, or to my sister, what else could I do? I could never look at them the same again. Knowing they were together in that way was much too painful to suppress.

I was tired, but I couldn’t go to sleep. With sleep came the nightmares, ones of my time in hell that I couldn’t bare to relive. I was scared of what played behind my eyes when they closed. So the simple solution to that, would be to keep them open.

I heard a knock on my door about an hour after I left the library. I ignored it, a few more knocks following a few moments after. Whoever it was, didn’t pry, and I heard the retreating footsteps after a little while.

Knowing Dean had began to have feelings for Jane while we were still together was heartbreaking. My own sister. The one I sold my soul for, only needed a few days to fall into bed with the love of my life. That’s what stung; is that I’d have to live with the fact that he would choose my sister over me, just like everyone else in my life.

***

I was exhausted the next morning. My eyes were heavy and I struggled to keep them open, knowing I’d need lots of caffeine just to get to noon. But I’d gladly put up with the tiredness if it meant not having the nightmares.

I shuffled to the kitchen, doing my best to stay out of sight. But of course, both Dean and Jane were in the kitchen, low whispers being heard from outside the doorway.

I took a deep breath before entering, their conversation coming to a halt. They both watched as I took a cup, pouring a generous amount of coffee into it before setting it on the table, turning and reaching up into the cabinet to retrieve a bottle of rum.

I poured a few cap fulls of the alcohol into the black liquid, ignoring the stares from my sister and my ex.

“Don’t worry. It’s not because of you two,” Sam said, looking away from the staring eyes. “She does this every morning.”

“Why?” Jane asked.

Dean let out a breath. “She spent five years in hell,” he murmured. “It does shit to you.”

I sipped the coffee, grabbing a banana from the bowl on the counter and leaving the kitchen.

“Wait!” I heard Dean say. I ignored him, heading back to my room. I heard him follow me anyway, and I tried my best to hold my tongue. “Y/N, please.”

He grabbed my arm unexpectedly, causing me to jump, making me drop the mug to the ground. It shattered at my feet, the burning liquid splashing against my ankles as I fell back against the wall.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, holding his hands up. Sam and Jane ran out into the hall.

“What happened?” Sam asked, worried eyes trained on me, Jane’s trained on Dean.

“I just… I grabbed her and I scared her,” Dean answered. “I didn’t mean to.”

I trembled, backing up slightly. Which proved to be a mistake when I stepped onto a piece of the ceramic, a yelp bouncing off my tongue. I tripped backwards, falling onto my ass and flinching away from Dean when he tried to catch me.

“Y/N, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Don’t touch me!” I said, scooting back away from him. I reached down and ripped the ceramic from my skin, a gush of blood oozing down onto the tile. I used the wall for support as I got to my feet, wincing when I tried to put weight down onto my hurt foot. “Just fuck off.”

“Let me help you back to your room,” Dean said, moving towards me again.

I took a few steps back. “No. Leave me alone.”

“But your foot-”

“I’ve had worse, Dean,” I said, throwing him one last glance before turning around.

I collapsed onto my bed when I got back to my room, thinking back to a simpler time. A time where I could turn to Dean and cup his cheek or hold his hand, where I could curl into him at night.

I let out a frustrated growl, looking down at my foot in the light of the nightstand lamp. I gently picked out a few stray pieces of ceramic, wincing only slightly as they ripped through my skin each time I tugged on one.

The only thing that kept me going when I was in hell was the thought of Dean. The only thing that kept me from ending it completely after I was topside, was Dean. The thought of seeing him again gave me enough willpower to fight through the nightmares and the memories. For a long time, he was the oxygen to my flame. He kept me going, kept me from ending it all; even before hell. And the mere thought of him brought me back to life, the thought of being in the arms of the one I called mine was more than enough to fight for.

But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t call him mine, and I couldn’t fall into his arms. I couldn’t curl into his body at night, seeking the comfort I so desperately craved. I couldn’t kiss him, or trail my fingers along his skin as I traced the freckles along his cheeks. Instead, it was my sister doing those things, the one person who I was sure I loved before Dean came along. She was my best friend, my other half, the one I sold my soul for. And she had intertwined herself into Dean mere weeks after my death.

***

“Hey,” Dean whispered. My eyes fluttered open, squinting, trying to focus on him in the dark. A lazy smile was pointed towards me, his hand softly pressed against my cheek. I smiled back, letting a sigh of content fill the space between us as my E/C eyes met his emerald ones. “I love you.”

He pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose, one to my forehead, and finally my lips, whispering one last “love you” before tucking me into his side, his chin resting on my head as he brought the sheet up over our bare bodies.

***

A knock sounded on my door, and I wiped away the tears, sniffling and opening the first aid kit.

“Y/N?” The soprano voice said gently. I sighed, picking up the alcohol pad and needle.

Jane opened the door, stepping inside silently. She stood there for a moment, watching as I prepped the needle. She then bit her lip, closing the door and making her way towards me, sitting gently on the bed beside me.

“Hey,” she murmured, hazel eyes trained on me. I pierced the needle through my skin, lip twitching at the sting, but staying relatively still. I weaved the needle in and out, sewing my skin back together.

If only it were that easy to do to a broken heart.

“Look,” she began, taking a deep breath. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but… I care about him. A lot. And… and I know that he was yours and I know you love him. And I’m sorry. I just never thought you were coming back.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to hear this.” I set the needle down after tying off the thread, lathering the wound in neosporin and covering it with liquid bandage. I ripped open the gauze packet.

“Y/N, I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I am. But, I’m not going to back away just because you’re back,” she said. I stopped what I was doing, head lifting to narrow my eyes at her. She nearly flinched at the cold look.

“Did I ask you to do that?” I said, shaking my head. “I’m not that much of a bitch.”

“I didn’t mean it like that I just… I know you still love him but he and I are together now,” she said.

I focused back on wrapping the gauze around my foot. “Do you love him?”

She opened her mouth, closing it not a second later. I heard her sigh, watched from my peripheral vision as she clasped her hands together.

“I… I care about him. Very much,” she said quietly.

“But do you love him?” I repeated, placing a small piece of tape on the gauze to keep it together, grabbing the wrap next. I looked up at her. “Do you love him, Jane?”

She bit her lip again, looking down at her lap before shaking her head.

I scoffed, unwinding the wrap. “Look, Jane. I love you. You’re the only person in the world that I truly know I love. I would do anything for you.”

“You have,” she interrupted.

“And I know that I’ve made mistakes in the past. But I would never- never- be with someone you were in love with after you were gone. Because even if you weren’t here, I would never be able to do that to you,” I said, finishing bandaging my foot. I put everything away in the kit, clasping it back up.

“And that’s what makes this so much worse,” she whispered, wiping a tear. “Because I know that you never would have done this to me. And I feel horrible. But I can’t give him up.”

“He doesn’t love me anymore, Jane,” I muttered. “It’s not like he’d let you go so easily.”

“What are you talking about? Of course he still loves you,” she said, shaking her head.

“No, he doesn’t. You should see the way he acts towards me, and if he was able to get over me so fast…”

“Get over you?” She asked. “He isn’t over you.”

“How can you say that?” I said.

“He still says your name,” she said quietly. “In his sleep. He’ll say how he misses you… how he loves you. It hurts but… I know that he can never love me like he did you. And it’s not fair to want that from him when I don’t love him back.”

“He doesn’t love me, Jane,” I said harshly. “He said he had feelings for you when we were together, and it took him a week to get over me.” I sighed, rubbing the base of my palm against the bridge of my nose. “I’ve never had great luck with guys. Dean… he’s the love of my life, but I knew he was going to move on. I urged him to. I just didn’t know I would be coming back to him and my sister, and I didn’t know it would hurt this much.”

“I’m sorry,” Jane whispered.

“I don’t think I’d be able to be… intimate with him anyway,” I murmured.

“Why not?” She asked.

I swallowed the bile in the back of my throat, closing my eyes. Memories replayed through my mind; memories that sent shivers down my spine and made my skin crawl. I turned my head away from her, biting my lip. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

I heard her breath hitch in her throat as she put two and two together. “Y/N I’m-”

“Don’t. Please… don’t,” I said.

She sighed. “He’d understand something like that. That sorta thing isn’t everything to him.”

“Yeah but I wouldn’t be able to provide that and I don’t think he’s going to want to spend the rest of his life never having sex again,” I said. “Besides, he’s with you. I’m not going to have to worry about that anyway.”

“He loves you, Y/N,” she said. “You. Not me. He cares for me and I know that it sucks he started feeling something for me when the two of you were together but… it never grew into something like the two of you had. I’m telling you, I can tell. He talks about you in his sleep, but he avoids the topic of you when he’s awake. I can tell it hurts him too much to talk about. And he keeps a picture of you in his wallet and in the glove compartment in the Impala.”

“What?” I said, surprised. “He does?”

“I’ll catch him looking at it sometimes when he thinks I’m not looking. I’ll be in bed sometimes and I’ll wake up in the middle of the night to find him gone. But he’s in the library, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and your picture in the other,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. Her hazel eyes locked on mine.

“Why are you apologizing? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. When someone has feelings as strong as he had for you, they don’t just go away.”

I stared at her for a moment, heart clenching in my chest at her words. I wasn’t sure if I should believe her. His actions had shown otherwise, but she never had given me any reason to not believe her.

“Why can’t you let him go?” I asked, looking away again.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think… I think because when you were gone, he was the closest thing I had to you. You two were so in sync and he loved you so much… I dunno. I guess it made me feel closer to you when you were gone.”

“Well I’m here now,” I said.

“You’re here now.” She smiled smally, swallowing thickly. “It’s my fault you were gone in the first place.”

I shook my head, brows furrowing as I took her hands in mine. “No, don’t say that.” I bent my head a little, meeting her downcasted eyes. They were watery, and her face was written with guilt. “I would rather spend a million lifetimes in hell than let you die.”

I hugged her, bringing her head to my shoulder like I did when she was young. She smelled the same, her hair cut to right above her shoulders like she always liked. She was more slender, but she was Jane.

“I missed you, big sis,” she whispered, squeezing me tighter.

“You have no idea, little duck,” I said. “No idea.”

***

I stayed in my room for the rest of the day. I was more tired than I had ever been in my life, but the mere thought of sleep made my chest tighten with fear. I was emotional after the talk with Jane. If what she said was true, I was torn. I couldn’t just sit back and watch the love of my life and my sister be together. I wanted to leave, I needed to leave, in order to keep my own sanity. But then again, it would hurt too much to leave the bunker. I wouldn’t get to see Dean anymore, even if I didn’t see him much anyway. And Jane wouldn’t be with me, and I couldn’t protect her.

A small voice in the back of my mind, one that sounded eerily close to the demon of my nightmare, told me they didn’t want me here. They hadn’t looked for a way to get me out of hell. Dean moved on all too quickly. And he and Jane were together.

Maybe they were sneaking around behind your back, the voice hissed. Maybe they just couldn’t wait until you were gone so they didn’t have to hide anymore.

I bit my lip, letting out an angry breath. Even separated by different worlds, Amel found a way to get to me.

I fell back onto my bed, groaning as a knock on my door echoed through the room.

“Come in,” I said without sitting up. The door creaked on its old hinges, a face poking into the room.

“Hey,” Sam said. “There’s a hunt not too far from here. I don’t know if you’d be up for it… probably not but I thought I’d offer just in case.”

I looked over at him. “Uhm… I dunno, Sam. I don’t know if I want to throw myself back into it quite yet. I’m out of practice. I’d slow you down.”

“You could just tag along,” he said. “You wouldn’t have to hunt if you didn’t want to. You could research, take notes. If you don’t want to be alone, that is.”

“Jane and Dean are going too?” I asked quietly. Sam swallowed.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe it’s better if I stay here,” I muttered. Sam sighed.

“You can’t avoid the two of them forever,” he said.

“I’m not avoiding Jane. Just Dean,” I told him. He scoffed.

“Right. Look, I can stay if you want. Or one of them can. Hell, I could call Cas, see if he wants to head down here for a little while,” Sam offered.

“No, I don’t want to be a burden or hold anyone back. I’m a big girl, Sam. I’ll be okay,” I said.

He sighed again. “Okay. I’ll see you in a few days, Y/N.”

I nodded, looking back up at the ceiling as he closed the door, once again bathing me in the silent darkness of the room.

***

The bunker was eerily quiet without any other occupants.

It seemed as though every little thing made me jump, and I always felt as though I was being watched, when I knew that was impossible inside the bunker. I was jittery from the pot of coffee I had, needing something to fuel me enough to keep me from falling asleep.

Boredom soon overcame me, and I found myself roaming the bunker halls, turning down corridors I forgot about and relishing in the cool feel of my home again. I hated the fact that I might have to leave. But the sight of Jane and Dean would be too painful to see each day.

Selfish, the voice whispered. You’re sister is happy. Dean is happy. They’re happier without you. Stop moping and get out.

I bit my lip, taking a deep breath at the words. I felt as though I was doing a disservice by being alive. Everyone had been walking on eggshells since I got back, and Jane and Dean had been so awkward around each other and me, and I could tell that they weren’t anything like that before I showed up.

A clang echoed around me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I spun around, the sound coming from the front of the bunker. I glanced around, reaching into a room and pulling out the first hard thing I could find; which just so happened to be a broken lamp.

I rolled my eyes, holding it up like a bat before quietly making my way through the halls and into the front of the bunker.

Stopping before the entrance to the library, I peered my head around, eyes scanning the room. I sighed in relief at the sight of a familiar duffel bag on the table.

“What the hell are you doing?”

I jumped at the voice, lamp coming back up as a weapon. My eyes flashed to Dean’s, an amused look on his face.

“I… I heard a bang in here,” I said, lowering the lamp. “I came to check it out.”

“With a lamp?” He asked, narrowing his eyes. “Where the hell did you even get that?”

I shrugged. “I found it. That’s not the point.” I set the broken thing down, scrunching up my face. “Why are you back?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, a blush creeping onto his skin. “Well, uh… I got worried. I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“Why didn’t Sam come back? Or Jane?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Jane was the one who pushed me to come back, actually,” Dean answered. “Said we need to ‘reconnect’ or some shit.”

“Ah, I see,” I murmured. “Well, it was a waste of time. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Dean said. “I can tell.”

“Really?” I deadpanned.

“Yes, really,” he said exasperatedly. “In case you don’t know, I know you better than anyone.”

“Yeah, not anymore,” I said. He sighed.

“When was the last time you ate? You looked like you’ve lost weight.”

I shrugged again. “‘M not hungry.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

I hesitated. “I’m not tired.”

“Bullshit,” Dean growled. “I can see your dark circles and your eyes get all twitchy when you don’t get enough sleep. Why don’t you go sleep and I’ll go out a pick up food?”

He turned to leave, picking up his keys.

“No,” I said. “I’m not going to sleep.”

He stopped. “Why not?”

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach at the thought of telling him. There was a time where I would tell him absolutely everything. And how I yearned to pour myself to him again, to watch his eyes bore into mine and his hand grasp mine in comfort. But I couldn’t. Not anymore. I couldn’t burden someone else with my constant thoughts, or share the nightmares I experienced on the daily, even when I wasn’t asleep.

His brows furrowed as he watched the wheels turn in my head, how my eyes went out of focus and shoulders slump. I snapped myself out of it and shook my head.

“Because I’m not, okay?” I said. “I’m not tired.”

He sighed, knowing damn well that was a lie. He shrugged, rubbing his forehead and dropping the keys back onto the table.

“Okay. Fine,” he grunted. He walked past me, bumping his shoulder harshly into mine, causing me to flinch. “Why even try.”

I closed my eyes as his footsteps progressively faded away.

***

It was midnight, and currently day three with no sleep. My body was drained, physically and emotionally, and I felt like I might collapse at any moment. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal since before hell, the banana the only thing I ate in three days. But honestly, the mere thought of food made my stomach roll.

I paced back and forth, not allowing myself to rest because I knew I’d fall asleep, and the absolute terror that came with that idea kept me from doing so.

I hadn’t seen Dean for the rest of the night after our encounter. But to be honest, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to see him. He always seemed angry with me, and I didn’t have the energy to be bothered with it.

I wasn’t sure what the appeal of being alive was anymore. I felt utterly alone, and with the memories constantly surging through my head, I felt as though I was living my own personal hell all over again.

***

“I will never get tired of this,” Amel said, patting my hip. I winced, biting my lip as a sear of pain flashed through my side.

The chains that held me up rattled as he yanked my head back by my hair, eliciting a yelp from my throat as he snarled at my ear.

“Beg.”

“No,” I said through my teeth. His forehead dropped to my blood crusted shoulder, a frustrated groan grumbling deep from his chest. He yanked my hair again, a squeal echoing off the walls before he let go, sending the blade that was in his hand flying across the room to clatter against the stained cobblestone.

“Why must you be so insolent?” He yelled, hand gripping my chin. “I have given you every opportunity. Beg. Let me be your master and I can train you into the perfect pet. Your pretty skin won’t be marred and I won’t be so angry.”

“Go to hell,” I seethed, conjuring up all the blood and saliva I could, spitting it into his eye.

He winced, lip curling into a ferocious snarl. He let go of me roughly, swiping an iron rod from the table beside him. Gripping the loose fitting tank top I wore, he pulled me close to him, chains groaning as he brought his arm back, ramming the rod through my abdomen with one, strong thrust of his arm, his hand curling around my throat as he did so.

I cried out, and it spurred him on. He laughed as he twisted the iron, blood coated teeth and feral eyes searing into my brain as he dug his nails into my neck.

***

I only realized I was crying when the pads of two thumbs swiped gently across my cheeks. I was sitting in the corner of the room, eyes staring blankly at the wall across from me as flashbacks danced in front of my eyes.

But a pair of green orbs came into focus, and I watched as he carefully unravelled my balled fists, bringing my palms up to his lips. He pressed soft kisses to each crescent shaped mark left on my skin from my nails, not caring if they were beginning to bleed or not. He eased away the pain with his lips, taking his time to softly brush against each one, barely putting any pressure.

He then kissed both of my wrists, where I once had ugly scars, scars that he, too, kissed under the moonlight and in the safety of our room. But that was simply a memory, one that was brushed away and erased much like the scars on my arms. And as Dean gently pulled my hand to rest against his cheek, it was those memories that flashed before my eyes, not the ones of hell. Memories of smiles and stolen kisses. Memories of soft caresses and long night talks.

Memories that were brushed away, too.

I couldn’t stop him when he leaned forward, his forehead resting against mine. I couldn’t stop him when his hands came up to cup my cheeks. And I couldn’t stop him when he pulled away for a moment, simply to aim a little lower, just enough to press his lips ever so softly against mine.

Suddenly I was wisped away, carried up into the sky by everything Dean. I was surrounded by him; his touch, his smell, his lips. My body reacted in a way of a relapsing addict, and I didn’t think twice before I wrapped my arms around his neck. The thought didn’t occur to me that he was no longer mine, that he was with my sister. No, all I could think of were the times before; before hell, before the deal, before I made a shit show of things and fucked it all up.

If only I had listened, we wouldn’t be in this situation. Jane wouldn’t have died, I wouldn’t have sold my soul and gone to hell, and he wouldn’t have gotten with my sister.

Or maybe he would, the voice said. He said it himself, he had feelings for her well before you bit the dust.

No, I thought. He couldn’t have. The mere thought of that sent me down a path of crippling pain.

But he did, he said. Why wouldn’t he? Jane is so much better than you. Anyone would be better than you.

What the hell was I doing? I was so wrapped up in my own fantasy of Dean, that I hadn’t thought to push him away. I was betraying Jane.

I pulled back, shoving his chest. He fell backwards onto his ass, confusion flashing onto his face.

“What the hell? What’s wrong?” He asked, his tongue running out over his swollen lips.

“What’s wrong?” I scoffed. “What’s wrong is that you’re with my sister now. Not only that, but you’ve acted like I was a parasite since I got back, and you blatantly admitted that you didn’t want me back. Now you come in here, wiping away my tears and-and kissing me?”

“I didn’t see you complaining,” he shot back.

I stood up, and he copied my actions. I didn’t look him in the eyes, but I stood tall, keeping my ground.

“Because I love you, you moron! Of course I wouldn’t fucking complain!” I yelled. “But you are dating my sister!”

I finally looked up at him, just to see him roll his eyes and run a hand through his hair.

“Jesus, you’re acting like a child!”

“I’m acting like a child?” I asked. “Oh, that’s rich, especially coming from you. Make up your damn mind, Dean. Because you’re the one who decided to go have feelings for my own sister while we were still together, and then began shacking up with her not a week after I died-”

“-Hey, you said that I should-”

“-And then proceeded to treat me like absolute shit ever since I got back, and then come in here and kiss me like everything is fine. So don’t tell me that I’m the one acting like a child, Dean Winchester. I have been the most mature out of all of us, because at least I’m not the one keeping shit from the others.”

“Oh really?” He said. “Then why the fuck aren’t you sleeping? Huh? Because you’re keeping that from me.”

“Because it’s none of your damn business!” I shot at him.

“Well it’s none of your business if I decided I want to fuck your sister!”

I took a step back, mouth gaping as my eyes grew wide. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, the echo of his outburst still bouncing around in my head.

I took a deep breath, snapping my mouth shut. “Fine.”

“Fine,” he snarled. He spun around, stalking towards the door. “Don’t think I don’t know what you probably did to get off the rack. I have no doubt in my mind that you were some demon’s whore. And knowing you, you probably fucking liked it. That’s why you’re so messed in the head now.”

I gasped, a tear trailing down my cheek at his words. It was pure venom shot at me; salt in an open wound.

“You have no idea what happened when I was in hell. But that is the farthest thing from the truth, Winchester, and you know it.”

He scoffed, a dark smirk on his face. “Yeah, real likely, princess.”

He gave me one more look before slamming the door behind him, leaving me to slump to the ground and curl up on the cool floor, because at this point, I was at a loss for words, completely and utterly drained.

***

The next three days were spent shrouded in the darkness of my room. It was one of the few with a bathroom, so there was no reason to risk bumping into Dean. He hadn’t tried to come and apologize the next day, nor did he try to talk to me at all. It was radio silent.

Sleep had tried to take me, but there were things I would do to keep it from doing so. I’d splash water on my face, pace back and forth. I’d do anything if it meant I didn’t have to relive hell.

I barely registered the bunker’s door loudly creaking as it opened and closed after a few days, two sets of footsteps echoing down the stairs, my sister’s cheerful voice ringing in my ears.

The mere sound caused tears to spring to my eyes.

When had things become so messy? Why couldn’t I have just left it? I could’ve left the bunker, like I originally wanted to. I could’ve walked the other way when I got topside, ignoring the past completely. Or I could have just stayed dead.

Or I could die now.

I would be lying if it wasn’t on my mind a lot. With the constant flashbacks and pain from hell and the emotional stress from within the bunker, the weight on my shoulders was too much to handle. It was difficult, and the fact I didn’t have anyone to talk to made it all the more difficult.

“You said what?!” A screech could be heard from down the hall. I jumped, sitting up and turning to face my door. I heard murmurs echo and travel to my room, loud stomps sounding until a fist pounded at my door. “Y/N! Open this door or so help me, I will knock it down.”

I swallowed, letting out a long breath. “Yeah, I’m not really in the mood to talk right now, Jane.”

“I don’t give a fuck!” She said through the door. I head her hush someone, before she jiggled the door knob. “Y/N, open the door.”

“I really don’t want to,” I said. “I’m tired.”

“You haven’t slept for almost a week, Y/N. Don’t deny it, either. Just open the door. I need to talk to you,” Jane told me. I sighed, licking my lips and shaking my head.

“Jane… please. I can’t do this right now,” I said. “Just… leave, okay? We’ll talk later. I can’t… I can’t right now.”

I heard her grumble, a thud sounding as she must have kicked the door. “Dammit, Y/N… fine.”

“I told you,” Dean said. I got up from my bed, walking towards the door to listen. “She hasn’t left her room in three days.”

“Did you at least check on her and make sure she wasn’t dead?” Jane hissed.

Dean was silent, and I heard her scoff. “Room. Now. You’ve got some explaining to do.”

I heard him clear his throat, and their footsteps retreated down the hall, a door slamming a few minutes after. I rested my forehead against the wood, taking another deep breath to try and calm my nerves. Dean must have told her what had happened, and I wasn’t ready for a yelling match with my sister. I knew she would be pissed at me, and I can’t imagine what Dean must have told her.

I unlocked the door, opening it and stepping out into the hall quietly.

“Jesus, I thought I’d need to take the door off.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin at Sam’s voice, his shadow falling over me. He rested a hand on my shoulder and looked me over.

“You look terrible.”

“Wow, Sam. You really know how to make a girl feel special,” I deadpanned, looking up at him. He visibly winced at the sight of my dark circles and hollowed cheekbones.

“Jesus- Y/N, you’re killing yourself,” Sam said, brows furrowed in worry. “You need sleep. And food- something.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said, shaking my head, ignoring the dizziness that came with it. “I just need some water.”

“And calories and sleep,” Sam said. “I’m serious. I’m not going to sit idly by and watch you kill yourself.”

I heard a yell down the hall, and I shared a glance with Sam before taking off towards the sound of it, him hot on my heels.

“Have they been going at it since you guys got home?” I asked, stopping at room 11. Sam nodded.

“Pretty much. Dean told her what happened the other night and she flipped. She was freaking out about it, and marched to your room. She’s pretty pissed.”

“Great,” I said. “That’s all I need.”

“Huh?” Sam tilted his head. “What do you… Oh. Oh, no, Y/N… she’s not mad at you.”

“What? Why not?” I asked.

“Dean told her what happened. He told her he kissed you and told her what he said to you. He was feeling pretty guilty about the whole thing. I don’t think he anticipated this reaction from her. She’s pretty protective of you now, you know,” Sam said.

I shrugged. “She never was before. I think she just feels bad.”

“She’s your sister, Y/N. She’ll take care of you before him. She’ll put you first.”

“Heh, sure. Tell that to Jane seven years ago.”

Sam sighed, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure what to say to that, because he had witnessed it first hand and knew I was right.

The door swung open, startling the two of us. Jane’s eyes locked on mine, and she rushed forward, throwing her arms around my neck.

“Dammit, Y/N. Look at you,” she muttered. She pulled back, looking at me. “Come on.”

“Where?” I asked, eyes flickering to Dean for a moment. He was looking anywhere but at me, and I bit my lip.

“I don’t know, somewhere where you can shower and then eat,” she said.

“Jane-”

“No, Y/N! I’m done watching you kill yourself,” she said harshly. “Now, let’s go.”

She took my hand, dragging me down the hall and to my room, leading me past my bed and into the bathroom. She pointed to the toilet seat.

“Sit.”

I obeyed, watching carefully as she started the bath. The silence scared me. She wasn’t letting on if she was angry at me, but the sour look on her face let me know that her mood wasn’t very pleasant. I waited for her to scold me, or to say anything, but she kept her mouth in a tight line, the running of the water the only sound in the room.

“Alright, come on,” she said, motioning to the tub. “In ‘ya get.”

I eyed her warily before undressing slowly, my limbs feeling like led after not being mobile for the last few days. I wasn’t entirely comfortable being naked in front of her. I wouldn’t have cared before, but I knew my bones were sticking out from under my skin and I knew how sickly I looked.

I lowered myself into the water slowly, allowing the warmth to seep into my skin. Jane took a wash cloth and gently began to clean my back, and I kept my eyes away from hers, not wanting to see her reaction.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” she murmured, dipping the cloth into the water. She brought it back up, swiping it over my shoulders.

“You didn’t,” I said truthfully. “I was just worried you were angry at me.”

Her hand faltered for a moment, and she hesitated. “Don’t be silly. There’s nothing you could do that would make me angry at you… except let yourself go like this.”

I closed my eyes. “Jane, please.”

“No. I lost you once, I won’t lose you again,” she said. She rinsed my back, grabbing the shampoo. “I can’t imagine what you went through, and I know things with Dean are difficult. But you’ve got to try. For me. I’m begging you.”

I didn’t respond as she carefully washed my hair. I was silent for the rest of the time. After my bath, she brushed out my hair and moisturized my face, and then flossed and brushed my teeth for me. She babied me, but I knew that I didn’t have the strength to get up and do it all on my own.

She allowed me to go back to my room if I ate something. I reluctantly agreed, my appetite still nonexistent, but choked down a sandwich for her sake. I knew she was trying, and I appreciated it. I just didn’t want it, and I did my best to swallow back the urge to throw it up.

“Sleep,” she said.

“I can’t,” I told her. “Really, I can’t.”

“Why not?” She asked. “Talk to me.”

I shook my head, and she sighed deeply. “I can’t help you unless you talk.”

I stayed silent, and turned away from her, bringing the covers up to my chin. I heard her mumble something under her breath, and her hand gently laid itself on my leg.

“I’ll come check on you later, okay?” She said. I didn’t respond, simply stared at the wall across from me. I didn’t want to sleep. I didn’t want to eat. And I didn’t want to leave my bed.

I didn’t see the point in existing anymore.

***

“You exist purely for my pleasure.”

Fingertips ran down my face, smearing blood across the hollowed cheeks and over cracked lips. My eyes were glazed over, focused on nothing as I stared blankly at the wall.

The fifth hundredth year was approaching. I had given up hope on the Winchesters and Jane around the third century. I knew that the extent of their rescuing ways only reached so far.

Amel was persistent, not once letting me rest for a day. He would always come around, some sort of new torture thrown my way, if that was even possible. There were a few tactics he liked to recycle, but he didn’t want to “get bored.”

“I know you know that they aren’t coming for you. Surely you’ve given up on them?” Amel said, palm cupping my cheek. I ignored him, as I always did, and kept my eyes trained forward. His other hand ran down my torso, stopping at my pelvic bone, and I bit my tongue in disgust. “I did. I truly thought they would come for you at some point. But alas, they have disappointed me.”

He sighed, letting go of me, not missing the slight slump in relief I had. He turned away from me, heeled boots clacking along the cracked stone floors. His onyx painted nails scraped along the handles of the knives atop of the metal cart, and he let out a whine.

“What must we do today, pet? It seems we’ve used just about everything here at least twice,” he said, mostly to himself. He glanced over at me, leaning against the cart. “Hm?”

A knock rang through the room, and Amel grumbled to himself. Without breaking his gaze from my body, he motioned with his wrist, and the door creaked open. Astrid, whom I had gotten quite familiar with over the last century, sauntered in, her platinum hair tied up in an intricate braid.

“Crowley wants to speak with you,” she said. Amel groaned, picking up a small, curved knife. He twirled it between his fingers.

“Must I go? I’m busy,” he said, pouting. He was immature for a demon of such high ranks, and his black lined eyes and painted nails made him look like a teenage rebel, his leather pants and boots not helping his case much. He looked more like a pirate than a demon.

“He said it’s urgent,” Astrid said. Her eyes flickered to me briefly.

Amel sighed. “Fine.”

Before I could react, he had shot his wrist out, the small knife being shot through the air like a bullet. It lodged itself inside my windpipe, and I cried out, not much sound coming out. Blood soon filled my airways, and I began to choke and sputter. Astrid’s eyes widened, and a smirk crossed Amel’s face.

“She’ll be fine once I get back,” Amel said, waving his hand at me. My lungs burned for oxygen as they began to fill with blood, and black spots began to dot my vision as panic bubbled in my chest. “In case you’ve forgotten, she’s already dead.”

And with that, he left me alone, blood beginning to foam at my mouth as I desperately tried to suck air into my lungs.

***

Weeks flew by faster than expected, and with time, I grew weaker. I began to sleep a bit more, only a couple hours a night, and even then I would be awakened by fits of nightmares. It seemed as though I couldn’t catch a break, and I found it difficult to function by midday.

My relationship with Jane was still strained, but it finally began to repair itself around the third week. She eventually stopped helping me, and I didn’t mind. The old me would have, but not anymore. I was actually grateful. At this point, I was merely surviving, but if it turned out that I would stop doing so, I don’t think I’d mind.

I barely spoke two words to Dean within the four weeks of our last encounter. He hadn’t made any moves towards me and I hadn’t made any moves towards him. It was his turn to move a pawn, and I was simply staring at the clock.

I slowly but surely began to feel a little more numb, and whereas I usually wouldn’t like that, I welcomed it. This way, I wouldn’t have to feel the fear and pain I felt when I had a flashback. Instead, it was simply a dull ache.

Hunts were far and in between. I typically hunted on my own, taking the larger hunts out of carelessness, but also out of spite. It gave me more things to kill and get my anger out on. Jane didn’t like it, but she didn’t do anything to stop it, either. I slowly began fading away before their eyes, and they had given up on me.

Old me would’ve been pissed, but now I was thankful.

I didn’t want pity, and I didn’t want sympathy. I simply wanted to float; float down a path far away from the one I was on now. I didn’t see the point in living anymore. I was constantly exhausted, absolutely burned out. I was slowly but surely wasting away, and no one cared enough to notice

“Hey.” Dean’s voice sounded from behind me. I hadn’t realized he opened the door, too wrapped up in my own mind to notice. I ignored him, my throat too tight to speak and my mind too foggy to form words to reply. “I uh… I wanted to apologize.”

I rolled my eyes, setting my jaw. He was full of shit, and I knew it. I could hear it in his voice. I knew Jane must’ve set him up to it, I knew he wasn’t genuine. I just wanted him to leave me alone.

“I know what I said was shitty… and I’m sorry.”

I scoffed, staying rolled onto my side so I didn’t have to see his face. He hurt me. Jane hurt me. Even Sam hurt me for not saying anything. I felt utterly betrayed, and I didn’t know how I could possibly heal from Hell and this.

“Look-”

“Go away, Dean.” I cut him off, voice low but loud enough that he could hear me. I heard him shift uncomfortably.

“Y/N…”

“Just go!” I raised my voice then, grinding my teeth together.

“No, I won’t leave until you talk to me.”

I growled angrily, sitting up and spinning around. “I am fucking talking to you. And I believe I asked you to get out!”

“This is my home, I can go where I want,” he said. “I don’t have to leave.”

“So what, this isn’t my home anymore?” I asked. He swallowed.

“I didn’t mean it like that…”

“Yes you did. I bet Jane put you up to this, you dick. For your information, if you died, I never would get with Sam. Ever. And it really fucking hurts that it took you a fucking week to get over me. It really stings, Dean. I don’t care what you say, I know that you didn’t love me.”

“I did,” he said.

“... Did? So you admit it? You don’t love me anymore?” I asked, voice lowering again. He sighed, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“Can I be honest?” He asked. I nodded. “No.”

“When?” I whispered. “When did you stop?”

He looked away. “About three months before you died.”

I stifled a gasp, a choked sound seeping from my throat. It felt as though a dagger had been shot through my heart, twisted deep inside my chest until blood flowed through the wound and the life drained from me slowly. It was heart wrenching, the pain in my chest almost too much to bare.

“Are you serious?” I rasped, tears flooding my eyes. I bit my lip, willing them to stay where they were, not wanting to allow myself to show weakness in front of Dean.

“Yes,” he whispered. I took in a shaky breath, squeezing my eyes shut. “I’m so sorry.”

“No… you’re not,” I said, shaking my head. “You never are. I should have known… it was too good to be true, you know?” He looked at me then, and I shrugged, a tear finally slipping down my cheek, another following… and another… and another. “I never had a boyfriend in highschool. Even when I lived with Bobby for three years and went to the same highschool… no one was ever interested. The two years of college I had, no one wanted me then, either. I met guys, all who would look right through me and to Jane. It was always her.” I sighed, swallowing the growing lump in my throat. “She was dad’s favorite. She was the one people picked over me. I was always the forgotten Y/L/N. I was always picked last, always the second or third or fourth choice. And when I met you, dammit I tried so hard not to fall for you because I knew- I knew- it would end with me having a broken heart. Because I never thought that Dean Winchester would like me back. If no one else ever had, how would Dean Winchester like me? But then you showed me affection, you showed me love. You made me feel better, as if I actually mattered. For the first time in my life, I felt as though I was someone’s number one, that I wasn’t in the backround and that I was actually fucking lovable.”

“Y/N…” Dean shook his head, face scrunched up as if he was in pain.

“I gave you my heart, Dean. I gave you everything. You were my first everything, and I let you have it all. Because I loved you. I still love you, so much that it hurts. Fuck, it hurts. Because I know that you don’t love me anymore. That you don’t fucking care.”

“Of course I care,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside me.

“I know now that I am not good enough… I-I know that, and I know that I will never be good enough… but I sure as hell try, okay? I really thought I had it. I thought I finally found someone who found it in themselves to love me. But again, just like everyone else, you chose Jane.” I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeves, sniffing. “Amel used it against me in hell.”

“Amel?” Dean asked.

“He was a demon… a high ranking demon, who took a liking to me. He used my love towards you as an advantage. He tried to twist it, tried to make me think you didn’t care, but I couldn’t think that way. The thought of you was what got me through. He’d always say, ‘No one will ever love you. They’ll eventually realize they don’t need you, and they’ll let you go. Just like they always do. Like Jane, like dad, like Dean. If they cared, they’d find a way to get you out.’ I always ignored him, or at least tried to, but now I realized he was right.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dean murmured.

“I really don’t want to hear it, Dean. Please just leave me alone,” I whispered. He took a deep breath, hesitating, before getting up to leave.

I jumped up from the bed, rushing to the door to lock it, ignoring the wave of dizziness I got when I moved so quickly. Turning around, I walked to my dresser, opening the top one and digging around inside for the one thing that I hid in there. I didn’t use it the whole time I was with Dean, but I had the urge; the craving for relief. To feel something.

To stop feeling everything.

My fingers curled around the handle, and I pulled out the small knife that Bobby had given me for my eighteenth birthday. It was the thing I used years ago to make the scars on my arms that had vanished when I got topside, and it would be the thing that would put scars on my arms that I would never see.

I sat down against the foot of my bed, running the blade up and down the clean skin of my forearm and wrist. I couldn’t handle the flashbacks, or nightmares, or the constant feeling that I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t handle watching the man I loved so deeply not care for me. I couldn’t handle my own sister pull herself away from me once again because she, too, didn’t care. I couldn’t handle it.

Swallowing down the fear, I pressed the blade down onto my skin, dragging it down towards the inside of my elbow until blood seeped from my arm. The cut was long, and as the blood steadily flowed, I knew there was no turning back, no saving me. But at this point, I didn’t care. I welcomed the fact that I would no longer be in pain. I switched the knife to my other hand, and dragged it down my other arm, wincing at the sting, but welcoming it.

I didn’t know where I would end up. I didn’t know if I would go upstairs or downstairs, I simply just faded; faded like the scars on my arms and the memories of a time before now, a time where I was happier and my head wasn’t as dark. I whispered my final goodbyes to my sister and the man I loved, two people who I never thought would turn their backs on me.

The knife slipped from my hand, and when my vision blurred and body began to weigh down, I knew it was only a matter of time. I knew I was going to die, and I knew that there would be no turning back or rescue missions, no deals. And with my last breath, using all the strength I could muster, I whispered my final words to a world that was so cruel to me, to the man who broke my heart.

“I love you, Dean Winchester… Always have.”

And as if a memory resurfaced, as though God wanted to grant me one last wish, I felt the brush of lips at my ear and the arms I loved surrounding me, and I could’ve sworn I heard the words that I had been wanting to hear ever since I got back from hell, words that sent me off into an endless slumber and that made the tiniest of smiles appear on my lips as I faded from the Earth.

“Always will.”

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@thisismysecrethappyplace

@fangirl-forevers-world

@rawritsmolly

@frozenhuntress67

@reginaphalange2403

@x-waywardaf-x

@jessieray98

@thewinchesterchronicles

@cookiechipdough

@tryn25

@yesfictionalboysarebetter

@angelessquirrel

@ackleholic-hunter

@weepingwillowphoenix

@analisespn

@dolans-lover

[angelkurenai]

Imagine after being freed from Michael, Dean finding out that you and Sam are got in a relationship. Just as he was ready to confess to you that he’s been in love with you for years.

“Took your sweet time with that shower, am guessing you really needed it huh?” you asked with a barely visible smile, closing the door of his bedroom softly once you entered. You had all been very tired lately but you couldn't help the relief flowing through you when you finally got Dean back.

“More like missed the heck out of it.” he shrugged, turning to face you “And I don't mean just the feeling of the water.” a smirk formed on his lips as he searched for a flannel to wear.

“What? Is Dean Winchester really implying that he missed the candles and decorations I've put in the bathroom even though it makes it look girly?” you raised an eyebrow, biting on your lower lip as “Which, by the way, is totally not the case because everything has been chosen to create a soothing environment for you guys more than me.”

“And it really seemed to do the trick this time, I can't complain... even though it still looks girly as heck.” he added the last part while looking at you and you took a few steps closer to him.

“Really? So that's why you used the shampoo I got you all that time ago huh?” you crossed your arms over your chest, smirking at him and he felt the corners of his lips tug in a smile. With a low chuckle he just gave up.

“I thought I'd give it a go.” he shrugged “Turns out it isn't as girly as I thought it would be and that you were right after all.” he added, giving you a small smile that barely reached his eyes but it was as true as it could get at the moment. His muscles were so relaxed and he felt so exhausted he just wanted to pass out but as much as his body craved sleep, then his heart craved even worse for this moment. He felt that familiar tug at his heartstrings when a beautiful smile graced your lips, gosh had he missed that.

“When am I not? It just took you long enough to recognize it. But then again-” you shrugged with an almost bitter smile this time “You're too oblivious to some things, Winchester.”

“Maybe not to everything, though.” he pointed out in a lower voice but certainly audible. He noticed the perplexed look that formed on your face but tried not to get distracted by how adorable you actually looked,or how he held his breath to keep himself from kissing those soft pouty lips at the moment. It was something you didn't even realize you were doing while looking confused, so he shook his head, clearing his throat “How have you been?” he asked instead.

“Me?” your eyebrows raised, voice soft and delicate just like he loved it and calmed him down “You're asking me how I am?”

“Well-” he licked his lips, shrugging a flannel on, a small half smile on his lips “I just did, didn't I?”

“D” dear, the way that nickname made his heart beat “I- I wasn't the one possessed by an archangel, I wasn't the one who had to give up their body and control over it to become vessel for a bastard like Michael.I wasn't the one having to see every terrible thing he had to do and be unable to help. I wasn't the one I wasn't in co- you were, you were gone for so long, having to be away from your family, having to hurt your friends even though you didn't want to, having to...” you trailed off, shaking your head “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he wanted to smirk but he was too emotionally exhausted as well.

“That. Go through hell, literally sometimes too, and all you care is about others. It's always about how someone else feels or what they went through.”

“But that's the thing... you're not just someone.” he breathed out in a more hoarse voice, pausing for a moment as his eyes roamed your face as he tried to soak everything in – every little detail, every little change he had missed in all the while he was gone – before finally choking out “Gosh, I missed you so bad, (Y/n).”

The smile that spread on your lips showed him that, despite how exhausted you were both mentally and physically, you held such hope and light inside you that nothing could make your smile shine any less brightly. He instantly felt his heart beat faster inside his chest, his stomach tying in knots and his lungs struggle to breathe while a smile formed on his lips,his chest feeling lighter. A breathless “Come here.” only left his lips.

And he didn't need to say it twice before you jumping in his arms, wrapping yours around him. You were both clinging onto each other as if clinging to air for dear life, grasping onto body parts and fisting the fabric of your clothes as if to bring each other closer. You buried your face in his chest and he in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent.

“I missed you too, Dean. So so bad.”

And as you breathed out the words with such desperation he knew it and he felt it crystal clear. His entire body could feel it. He had missed you. He needed to feel you close to him. He didn't want to let go of you or the moment. He was desperate to keep you close. He regretted losing all this time without telling you how he felt. He wanted to experience this again and again. This time he wouldn't back away or be a coward, he'd confess what he felt. He loved you.

“Dean? Hello, Earth to Dean?” you waved a hand in front of his face, your soft giggle that made his heart swell was what finally brought him back to reality “D, are you even paying attention?”

“Wha- huh?” he blinked, looking from your smiling face to his the angel of the family looking at him with a tilted head and then to his brother resting his chin on his hand, his face adorned by a dimpled-smile that Dean thought would take long for him to see but it was there and it effectively took some of the weight off his chest besides your laugh.

“I just asked if you wanted some more pie.” another beautiful laugh came from you “But you were obviously too busy daydreaming.”

“No” a chuckle left his own lips “No, I wasn't really.”

“Oh” your smile fell as you glanced at Sam “Is- is it about... him then? Something that happened while Michael was in control or...?”

“No, no certainly none of that either.” he gave you a half smile, mostly because he was sleepy, dragging a hand down his face “Just got carried away, thinking about certain things. Nothing special, only-” his smile turned into a small grin “Just how I can't wait to go to the bar, have a beer or two and then visit that cute strip club that opened at the side of the town.”

“Wow” Sam breathed, a warm laugh leaving his lips “You really are back to your old self huh?”

“Well, he has every reason to. In fact I think we all should.” you spoke in a soft voice, placing another slice of pie on his plate before making your way back to your seat “This was a big win, don't you think?”

“Damn right.” he nodded his head, taking a sip of his beer “Speaking of which. (Y/n) what was the problem with the room this time?”

“I- what?” you blinked, frowning.

“A problem, you know like last time with the heating?” he stuffed some more pie, and it took you a moment to remember how you'd changed a room already once to find one with better heating “I came by your room for those headphones I thought I forgot last time I was there and I uh I didn't find them but I also didn't find, pretty much, anything else. It was empty, save for the bed and some old furniture.”

“Oh oh.” you nodded your head, realization dawning on you “Yeah, uh truth is I did change a room but... it wasn't because of the heating system per say.” you said a little nervously, biting the inside of your cheek.

“Really?” he asked through a mouth full “Then what? And where's the new one?”

“I uhm” you shifted in your seat, your eyes casting down at your own food as you played with a french fry “It's uh an entirely different reason actually. I moved out cause-” but you paused, looking at Sam who gave you a slow and encouraging nod before you took a deep breath and turned to look at Dean.

“It is in the bunker right?” he asked with a funny look and you nodded your head with a small laugh, Sam also smiling slightly.

“Yeah, yeah of course it is. I didn't move out of the bunker, I knew you guys would just crumble down without me in here.” you tried to reassure him with a small smile and he nodded his head before you straightened your back “And it's actually Sam's room.” you almost said in one breath.

A moment of silence followed as you held your breath, fearing to look at Dean. You almost closed your eyes, not knowing what kind of reaction you'd get out of the older Winchester, being almost scared but at the same time very eager to know what he thought. You valued his opinions very much, he was your best friend, and you had been avoiding to tell him the news for a good few hours ever since you got him back; but you couldn't avoid it forever and it was better if you told him yourself. You only glanced at Sam to see he looked just as worried you, holding his own breath.

“Oh. Alright.” you heard the most casual reply.

Your eyebrows shot up and you looked at Dean, blinking “Huh?”

“I said alright. I guess it's a good room, he's got a nice heating system.” was his blank stare and a shrug of his shoulders came, as he kept eating “...And where did Sam move to?”

But his question only made a deep frown set on your face. Your lips parted an a small breath left them. You blinked, looking back at Sam with a perplexed look. His lips parted and closed several times before he looked back at Dean with a frown.

“I- I didn't really.” he breathed out a small laugh, confused by his brother's reaction.

“You didn't... what?” Dean blinked, eyes moving back and forth between the two of you.

“He didn't move out. Of his room, we mean.” you explained in a softer voice, fidgeting with the sleeve of your flannel “Sam didn't move out... I only moved in.” you looked deeply into his green eyes and as realization started to set in, his eyebrows pulled into a deeper frown.

“Then... how did you fit two double beds in it?” he asked, still seemingly not getting what you were trying to say, but you knew from the look on his face that he was indeed starting to get it but... almost didn't want to believe it.

“We-” you laughed slightly, again out of nervousness “We didn't really fit another double bed in there.”

“You got two singles then?” he asked again, his voice more rough though the frown not leaving his face.

“We didn't get two singles either. We- There's only one bed. Sam's bed.” you said reluctantly, shrugging softly. Not knowing if you should smile or not, because this was definitely not going the way you planned. You thought he'd try to pull of the older-brother mode on Sam in case he hurt you, because hey he saw you as a little sister right? But then you knew he'd be happy for you two because it was obvious that you completed each other perfectly, you had found just what you needed in life in each other the most important of which being love and peace.

“So-” his back straightened, a serious yet perplexed look on his face “You moved in Sam's room with all your stuff except for your bed, 'cause it doesn't fit there. You didn't get two singles either, though. You're sharing a room and you're, apparently, sharing a bed too.” he repeated and got small nods from both of you.

“Yes, exactly.” you said with a hopeful smile. Glancing at Sam you began to see some hope in his eyes as well. He reached out for your hand and placed his on top of it, out of instinct you laced your fingers with his and he gave it a squeeze. You looked back at Dean to see his eyes focused on your faces, looking back and forth.

“...Why?” he asked after a small pause, making you in the end sigh heavily.

“Because that's what couples do!” Sam nearly exclaimed in exasperation, but a small laugh left his lips afterwards “And (Y/n) and I are-” he looked at you, bringing your hand to his lips “Together now.”

Dean's eyebrows raised, his eyes widened and his back straightened. His eyes fell on your hands before he looked up to meet your eyes, only they weren't looking at him. And when you did gaze back at him, it wasn't in the way he wished. His heart dropped, painfully so, at the pit of his stomach and a shaky gasp left his lips.

He hoarsely choked out “What?”

[georgialouisea]

What Should Have Been - Part 16

Characters - Dean X Reader, Bobby, Jody, Sam, Baby Singer Word Count - 3.4k Warnings - Fluff, swearing.

Part 15  -  Series Masterlist

Dean’s hand took yours as you stood outside of your Dad’s house. “Ready?” He asked giving your hand a squeeze.

Looking up from your sleeping daughter you smiled at him. “Yeah, I am, you know he’s gonna be pissed he couldn’t bring us all home.”

“In our defence, we didn’t know she was coming home today.” Dean shrugged. “He can go through me anyway.”

“You know you say that and the second he shouts at you, you'll have your tail between your legs.”

“Shut up.” He chuckled looking down at you. “Go on lead the way mama.” Winking at you his hand rested on your back as you walked towards the house.

Opening the front door Jody nearly dropped the plate she was washing into the sink. “You’re home sooner than we thought you’d be, how is she? Tell me you took more photos this time.” She smiled at you watching as Dean put the carrier on the table.

“I don’t know why you two keep ferrying that empty carrier back and forth.” Bobby walked towards you nodding at the back of the carrier.

Dean’s arm wrapped around your waist. “I think if we left the carrier unattended today I think Jody would be getting a call.”

“What?” She walked towards you with a furrowed brow as she dried her hands with the tea towel. “Oh my God! She gets cuter every day.”

Bobby grinned at you. “She’s home?” He moved so he could look down at her. “She’s so beautiful.”

“We have Y/N to thank for that one.” Dean gave you a gentle squeeze.

Pushing against his chest you rolled your eyes at him. “She has your eyes.”

“And she has your nose.” Dean smiled before kissing you hard, not caring that you weren’t alone.

“Alright, you two knock it off before I end up with a second grandbaby.” Bobby hit Dean’s shoulder, pulling away from him you unbuckled your daughter scooping her up you got her settled in your arms. “Does she have a name yet or are you two still undecided?”

“She has a name.” You nodded walking towards the couch you settled with her.

Bobby sat next to you his eyes on his granddaughter. “And what am I going to be calling this beautiful little girl other than pumpkin?”

“Olivia Mary Singer.”

“Olivia Mary.” Bobby nodded. “It’s a good name kid, I’m proud of you, you know that?” Bobby wrapped an arm around your shoulder. “So damn proud.”

“Both of you look up at me and smile.” Dean was pointing his phone towards you.

“Don’t, I look like crap.”

“You look beautiful, and we need the first official at home Singer family photo.” With the way Dean was looking at you, you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Give me the phone.” Jody held her hand out in front of Dean. “Go sit next to Y/N, we’ll add to the Singer photo album, throw a lil Winchester in there.” She winked at you as he sat down next to you, his arm slipping around your waist kissing your cheek before he looked up at Jody. Taking a few photos she handed Dean his phone back. “So we’re celebrating tonight, I’ll cook any preferences?”

“Anything,” Dean mumbled running his thumb across Olivia’s cheek as he cupped her head.

“Well, you two are easy to please.” Bobby chuckled. “Are you gonna be alright if we go on a supply run?”

“Supply run? You know you can call it going for groceries, no one’s gonna judge you for it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled. “You gonna be okay?”

“We’ll be fine.” Dean nodded looking up at him. “We need anything we’ll call.”

--

Laying down next to Dean you watched his palm rest on her tiny belly as he watched every breath she took.

“Have you ever seen anything so perfect?” Smiling up at him his eyes flickered toward you.

A smile growing on his face. “You, you’re perfect.”

Rolling your eyes you tried to suppress your smile. “Shut up, she still looks tiny right? Or is it because your sasquatch hand is on her?”

“Hey! Sam’s the sasquatch, not me.”

“Where is he? I thought he’d be here.”

Dean took a deep breath. “He’s taking some time to think things through, he’s got his soul back, he’s readjusting, he said he wants to see Olivia as soon as she’s home.

“I’ll call him ask him if he wants to come to dinner tonight.”

“Sounds good.”

Sitting up you grabbed your phone off the bedside table. Sam was more than happy to come to dinner, especially when he heard about the tiniest guest of honour.

Resting your head back on your pillow you watched the way Dean looked at her, she already meant the world to him and you had no doubt he would do anything for her.

“What?” Dean’s brow furrowed. “Something on my face?” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Nope, just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked with a smile.

“How the hell we got here.”

The smile left Dean’s face. “Baby, I promise you, everything is going to change, it’s me and you, we’re gonna raise Olivia here in Sioux Falls, I’ll get a job, we’ll buy a house, me, you and Liv we’re gonna have the full apple pie life.”

“Dean you don’t have to stop hunting for us.”

“What and risk my baby girl growing up without her Daddy, I don’t think I even have it in me to leave you both for weeks at a time.”

“What about Sammy?”

“He can hunt or he can quite too, he could go back to school, it’s up to him.” Dean shrugged.

“Is this really what you want?”

“To raise my baby girl with my beautiful girlfriend? Hell yeah I do.”

“Do you really think we can get out properly?”

“You have for months and I think we’re gonna have something a little more important to focus on for a while.”

Sitting up you took his hand in yours your fingers lacing with his. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

“You guys okay with chicken?” Jody called up the stairs.

“Who’s cookin’ it?” Dean yelled back.

“Me.”

“Yeah, we’re good with chicken.”

“Like you’d turn it down if my Dad made it, you love his chicken.”

“Yeah I do, I was kind of hoping he’d be cooking.”

“You’re going to have to ask him to give you the recipe, he wants to know your burger recipe by the way.”

“I’ve not given that recipe to anyone, not even you.”

“You best give it to Papa Singer or I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Olivia gurgled next to you her tiny fists smushing against her cheeks, Dean scooped her up supporting her head as he settled her in his arms.

“So this is it huh? This is what the rest of our lives are gonna look like?”

“I sure as hell hope so.” Dean smiled looking up at you. “Me, you and our beautiful babies.”

“Babies?”

“Well, she’s gonna need a brother and a sister right?”

“You can have those two then.”

“Deal.” Dean winked at you as he leaned forwards kissing you.

-

There was a definite shift in the house your relationship with Dean was still new, Bobby and Jody’s relationship had definitely taken a few strides forward, they tried to hide it but you could see how happy they were together. It took nearly two weeks for Sam to move back in and back onto the couch. He wouldn’t look you in the eye since he’d moved back in, he was trying to avoid you and you let him, you were too tired to face whatever problem Sam had head on. Your current focus was Olivia she would always come first.

Walking downstairs with your crying daughter in your arms you were surprised to find Sam sat up still watching TV. “Hey, is she okay?” Sam nodded at your daughter in your arms.

“Yeah, she’s hungry.” Rubbing at your eyes with one hand you waited for the bottle to heat up. “Why the hell are you still awake? What time is it?”

“Four am.” Sam shrugged his focus back on the TV as a family guy episode played.

“Why aren’t you asleep?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping.” He admitted as you grabbed the warmed bottle and sat next to him on the couch.

Testing the temperature you started feeding your hungry daughter. “Why what’s going on?”

“I didn’t have a soul, I was running around for nearly a year without a soul, I don’t even properly remember what I did or who I hurt.”

“I don’t know the full story either but what I can tell you is that you saved me at least twice, you pulled Lisa off me and honestly Sam I don’t think Olivia would be here without you, Lisa wanted me gone, you were like my little… well, big guard dog.” You smiled up at him. “Sammy you didn’t have a soul and you protected me and your unborn niece and I think that says a hell of a lot about you, I have no idea how I would’ve made it through this pregnancy without you.”

Sam’s eyes were focused on Olivia as you fed her. “Really?”

“Soulless you was kind of an ass but you put me and the baby first which was a literal life savour.”

Sam smiled looking up at the TV. “You want me to turn it off while you feed her.”

“No we’re good, Sam I mean it she’s alive because of you.” Your eyes were focused on your daughter as she suckled on the bottle.

Sam’s arm fell around your shoulders as you fed his niece. “You don’t hate me?”

“Sam I could never hate you, if anything I owe you, she’s here because of you, stop feeling guilty about your soulless stint.” Resting your head against his shoulder as you tried to keep your eyes open, Sam pulled his arm from around your shoulder gently taking your daughter he fed her as you fell asleep next to him.  

--

“How’re my girls?” Bobby asked as he sat down opposite you at the kitchen table.

“We’re great, where’s Jody?”

“She’s at work, Dean?”

Nodding towards the stairs you could hear him clattering around upstairs. “Getting ready for work by the sounds of it, Dad will you feed Liv while I make his lunch?”

“Cuddles with my granddaughter? Hand her over.” Settling your 7-month-old Daughter in his arms you couldn’t help but smile at them.

Having a newborn and a guy who recently got his soul back under one roof should have made the past few months hell, but everything had gone surprisingly well. Bobby and Sam started hunting together, mostly local hunts for something further away Sam would go and meet up with another hunter when he needed help or he’d tackle is solo. Everyone had worried when he started going off late at night and not coming back until mid-morning trying to cover up the blood stains on his flannel, when Dean confronted him he admitted he can’t stop hunting knowing there are monsters close to home, close to Olivia.

“Y/N? Have you seen my keys?” He asked running down the stairs in his overalls.

“They’re in the bowl down here.” Grabbing the keys to the Impala, you held them out for him along with his lunch.

“You’re a lifesaver you know that right?” Taking the keys and bag from your hand he wrapped his arms around you. “Tonight I’m taking you out for dinner, I’ll be home at five.”

“But Liv’s still sick I don’t really want to leave her -”

“I can watch her.” Bobby nodded. “You two go out and enjoy a night together.”

“See, all sorted.” He grinned at you pecking your lips and pulling his arms from you. “I love you.” He leaned down kissing the top of your daughters head. “And I love you, I’ll see you tonight.” Winking as he ran out the door.

“What do I not get one?” Bobby called after him.

“Did you know about that?”

“What he’s taking you to dinner? Yeah, he asked me last night if we’d watch Liv for the night, I think he just wants to spend some alone time with you.” He looked up shrugging.

“It’s just weird.”

“How is it weird? The boy wants to take you to dinner, you haven’t spent time alone in months, he’s working hard let him take you out.”

He was right Dean had been working hard, he’d convinced the owner of the local garage to give him a trial run four months ago, something he was reluctant to do given that Dean had no formal training, by the end of the day he’d taken Dean on full time. You only spent time with him during the evenings and Sundays when he spent every second with you and Olivia.

“Stop thinkin’ about it.” Your Dad’s voice made you look up at him from your cup of coffee. “I have Liv go shower.”

“You sayin’ I smell?”

“No, but you do have puke in your hair.”

The day seemed to drag on at an agonisingly slow pace when you weren’t looking after Olivia or cleaning up you managed to give Bobby a hand with research for a case Sam was on. You’d almost forgotten about Dean’s plans when he walked through the front door at 5pm as Bobby fed your daughter.

“Hey, I’ll be ready in ten minutes okay?” He leaned down kissing your cheek.

“What? I haven’t even got changed yet.”

Dean stood up looking down at you. “What? You look beautiful.”

“Where are we even going? What should I change into?”

“Whatever you’re comfortable in, we’re not going anywhere fancy.” Dean shrugged kicking off his boots, he held his hand out towards you. “Come on.”

--

“I don’t think I can eat another thing ever again.” Dean groaned as he shut the car door behind him.

“I can’t ever remember it being that good, they’ve definitely changed the burger recipe.”

“They’ve got to have.” He nodded starting the car.

“You want to get home to her?”

“I was thinking we could make one more stop before we head home.” He smiled at you.

“Dean, I’m not having sex in the backseat of baby.”

Pulling away from the diner he chuckled. “That wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there.”

Dean told you to close your eyes halfway to wherever he was taking you, pulling the car to a stop you listened as he shut off the engine and got out his side, the door next to you opened, his hand took yours helping you out of the car. “Keep em closed.”

“I am!” Smiling at him he kissed your cheek.

“Okay, come on, there are a few steps.” Dean’s hands lead you towards your mystery destination, something clicked in front of you before Dean lead you forward again. Coming to a stop Dean’s hands gave yours a squeeze. “Open your eyes sweetheart.”

Opening your eyes you were stood in what looked like the living room of an empty house. “What the hell? I thought we stopped breaking into places.”

“What?”

“Why did you break into an empty house?” You asked looking around.

“Did you not get enough sleep last night? Y/N, I didn’t break in, I opened the door with a key.” He pulled the key from his pocket.

“Who’d you steal the key off?”

“I didn’t.”

“Dean, what the hell is going on?”

“This is our house.”

“Our what?”

“Our house, we’re five minutes from your Dad’s, ten minutes from Jody, it has three bedrooms, a huge yard.”

You couldn’t help but smile up at him. “You bought us a house?”

“Yeah, I mean Bobby’s helped a bit, well a lot.”

“This is ours?” Walking towards the kitchen you took everything in, it was going to be the perfect home.

“All ours, Y/N Singer?”

Turning to face him Dean was down on one knee in front of you. “Dean.”

“We haven’t had the best start in our relationship and it’s been the furthest thing from easy, but I love you, I love Olivia, hell I even love your Dad and I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you and our daughter, I want us to have the apple pie life, I want us to be normal, I want us to have everything you’ve ever wished for and more, Y/N Singer, will you marry me?” He asked pulling a small black box out of his jacket pocket opening it to show a beautiful silver ring.  

“Oh my god.”

“Y/N?”

Dropping to your knees your arms wrapped around his neck. “Yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

Dean pulled your arms from around his neck so he could look you in the eye. “Yes?”

“Yes.” Nodding you smiled at him, his hand took yours sliding the ring onto your finger.

“I love you.” He mumbled as his lips crashed against yours. “So much.”

-

Walking in at gone midnight you thought everyone would be asleep, you didn’t think you’d walk into see Bobby and Jody cuddled up on the couch in their pyjamas trying to act casual as they watched the TV or Sam half asleep in the armchair with Olivia asleep on his chest.

“Hi.” Jody sat up smiling at you both. “How was your night?”

“It was nice.” Dean shrugged taking your jacket from you he hung them up.

“Just nice?” Your Dad sat forwards his eyes on him.

“Yeah, I mean, we had some pretty good burgers went for a drive, saw the house, got engaged and now we’re home to put our baby girl to bed.” As Dean spoke you watched your Dad’s frown slowly turned into a smile.

“You said yes?” Jody was up off the couch like a shot wrapping her arms around you both.  “Oh my God, I’m so happy for you guys.”

“You knew? Oh my God, you both knew.”

Bobby got up off the couch walking towards you both, as soon as Jody let you go he was hugging you. “He was a real gentleman, asked me months ago for my permission.”

“Months ago?” You asked as your Dad let you go.

“Yep.” He nodded. “We’re so happy for you both but we’re gonna head up to bed, want us to put Liv down?”

“Erm, yeah could you? That would be great.” Smiling at them your Dad kissed your cheek before gently picking Olivia up from Sam’s chest and walking upstairs following Jody. “You asked him months ago?”

“I’ve known for a while that you were gonna be the woman I married.” His arms wrapped around your waist. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Sam shot bolt upright from the armchair. “Liv, where is she?”

“She’s in bed, Jody and Dad have her calm down and go to sleep.”

He rubbed at his eyes as he walked towards you both. “You ask her to marry you yet?”

“Yes, and It’s a good job I did you, idiot.” Dean shoved Sam’s shoulder.

“I’m happy for you two but God I was fed up of his nervous questions.” Sam chuckled at Dean. “What if she says no? What if she hates the ring? What if she says no? What if she hates the house? What if she says no?”

“Sam carry on talking and I will shoot you,” Dean warned as his arm around your waist tightened.

“Sorry.” He held his hands up as he backed away towards the couch turning off the TV. “Hey am I gonna need earplugs tonight or -”

“You shut your Goddamn mouth.” Dean raised a finger at his brother.

Grabbing Dean’s hand you pulled him towards the stairs. “Sam lock up for us will you?” With a nod of confirmation from Sam you pulled Dean up the stairs towards your room where Olivia was already asleep in her crib.

Crawling into bed next to Dean in one of his old flannels you pulled the sheets up over you both. “Are you happy?” He asked looking at you.

“I am beyond happy, Dean I love you.” Smiling at him his hand cupped your cheek.

“I love you too, I can’t believe you thought I’d say no.”

“I still think you might.”

“Dean Winchester I will never say no to you.”

Part 17 

Forever Taglist - 

@mega-loser1298 @smalltowndivaj @roxyspearing @emoryhemsworth @dwgrl1903 @cassieraider @mirandaaustin93 @mogaruke @heyitscam99 @mouselovesmusic @supernaturaldean67 @atc74 @witchofenoch @malindacath @skathan-omaha @ain-t-bovvered @beffyblueeyes @unicorn-sparkles123 @serienjunkiegirl @jchona @polina-93 @thefangirlliveson @rhochradel @juanitadiann @amandamdiehl @dixonsunicorn @deanzeppeloin @katieelementarymydearwatsonme @atlas-of-the-world @spnbaby-67 @chelsea072498 @dean-winchesters-bacon @racheo91 @mrswhozeewhatsis @death-unbecomes-you @brewsthespirit-blog @shann-the-artist-moon @team-free-will-you-idjits-67 @claitynroberts @spnwoman @angelsandwinchesters @smoothdogsgirl @cdwmtjb8 @perkypolarbear @thisismysecrethappyplace @tatertot1097 @jessieray98 @curly-haired-disaster @gh0stgurl @starfirerules @kcrews74 @calaofnoldor @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @screechingartisancashbailiff @malindacath @kolelondon24 @natura1phenomenon @thehufflepuffblog @lemondropirwin @babypink224221 @mariekoukie6661 @mymysosa @blackcherrywhiskey @lonely-skys @titty-teetee @foreverwayward @81mysteriouslyme @x-waywardaf-x @deanwinchesterswitch @blueberrykushlovexoxo-blog @paintballkid711

Dean Taglist -

@akshi8278 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @dramaqueenrolf @itsallaboutthedean @shadowysandwichcreator @amillionfandoms-onlyoneme @lisssays @ruprecht0420 @hobby27 @05spn18 @stevieboyharrington @aussiefangirlwolfy @destiel-equals-life @waywardrose13 @supernatural13-13 @vickyfarley @musiclovinchic93 @spnskinnyballs @adoptdontshoppets @flamencodiva @parksandrecmyass @brightestflame @hhiggs

What should have been - 

@soullessbabee @jotink78 @arses21434 @viviandarkbloom06 @superapplepie @pretty-fortune @shadowysandwichcreator @the-greatest-1919 @waywardrose13 @alinicole33 @tw1721boobear @youre-alive-and-thats-your-job @bromperidol @wtfcas @me-han10 @txp87 @frackinawesomeninja @itsallaboutthedean @deaniebean @spnwoman @sandlee44 @thinkwritexpress-official @marslovesme @dixonsunicorn @crazyspn67 @meredith019 @letsgetyourdeanon @butifulsoul125 @keepcalmandbeajunkie  @i-am-enough-always @woodworthti666 @h-ness1944 @perpetualabsurdity @dancingalone21 @msimpala67 @deanandsamsbitch @posiemax @mysweetcookie99 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @tequilavet @laisbeltrans   @ocholove @mirandaaustin93 @lilypalmer1987 @anotherwaywardsister @toomuchtv95 @12jennifer12 @itsyouandmeinthend @loveofwords87 @waywardnerdakf @succubussass @mojean13 @123helloitsmelol @imascio08  @katieelementarymydearwatsonme @killerunicorn3 @awesome-as-i-wanna-be  @tngrayson @lizziththegreat @genesisreborne6 @spn-impala @crazinessgraveyardsandcartoons @queenstark65 @destielwinchester09  @pink1031 @princessbookworm25 @19agbrown @alek-glz @salt-n-burn-em-all @chelseadanielle19 @mariahoedt @destiel-equals-life @tia58 @love-superwholocked @sweatshirtsfromsatan @katy80us @samwinchesterfanfic @trumpettay @earthtokace @watermelonfruitsalad @fromthediariesofaoncer @hopefulcolorcollectorsthings

[seljepw]

Sleeping With the Enemy: Part 3

A/N: My beloveds.  Thank you for your unending patience with my slow-ass story crafting.  This one has been in the works for a long time, and I’m so freaking happy to share it with you.  Sláinte.

When last we left our heroine: A year ago, Crowley and the reader came to an agreement.  Since then, they’ve fucked seen each other twice, and it’s no longer as cut-and-dry as it once was.  What is going on, here?  Just great sex?  Just business?  Or something more? (Catch up on previous chapters HERE)

Menu Warnings: HERE THERE BE SMUT.  Demon power kink, unprotected sex (you know this is pretend, right??), public sex, orgy, Crowley’s dirty mouth, etc.

Weighing in at: 7,780 words.  I’m not even sorry.

The King of Hell had been fucking with you for months.

Note: fucking with you, not fucking you.  Therein lay the problem.

It started the morning after his last visit.  You had dragged yourself, sore and sleepless, to the shower.  You spent much longer under the hot water than usual, hoping it would wash away some of your confusion.  By the time you got out, the huge bathroom was full of steam.  In the condensation on one of the mirrors was a large heart, around your first initial and a capital C.  Crowley’s voice echoed in your mind.  

“I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook…”  

You hastily wiped your hand over the drooling lines, and hoped that neither of the Winchesters had wandered in in the last hour.  

A month later, you had opened the shitty motel room door in po-dunk nowhere, Arkansas, to find the entire room covered in flowers.  Every kind, every color possible.  On the pillow, tied to a black rose with silk ribbon, was a note.  “Your favorite must be here, somewhere.”  When you climbed in the car the next morning in your FBI duds, Dean asked if you were wearing a new perfume.  

You managed to keep the boys out of your room for the remainder of the case, and every night when you “went to get ice”, you discarded another bin full of flowers.  

You did keep your favorite bloom, though.  Pressed in your hunter’s journal with no other context.

The fancy underwear had shown up next.  Scraps of red lace that looked like they had been made to be taken off almost immediately, but would disintegrate with normal use.  When you left them in the box, the next day they were replaced with soft, clearly expensive pajamas.  Those you wore.  But not out of your room.  Sam and Dean were observant enough to notice when you got new clothes, and you didn’t want to have to come up with a groggy, pre-coffee lie, one morning.

It went on for months. Pizza you didn’t order arrived at the library where you and the guys were pulling an all-nighter.  On laundry day, your clothes were magically folded and arranged in a C on your bed.  A box of bandaids in Baby’s backseat, the day after you put down a rugaru, with a note inside that said “Just protecting my interests…”.  It was getting infuriatingly difficult to explain away or hide the evidence of demonic visitation from the Winchesters, despite the fact that you hadn’t actually seen your demonic visitor, at all.  

And then there were the dreams.  

Every few nights, you would dream of Crowley’s hands on you.  Burning fingers on your thighs, breasts, wrists, pussy… one night, you woke up coming.  Most nights, you just woke up frustrated, flipped the pillow to the non-sweaty side, and tried to get back to sleep.

You (ahem) filled the void with a few guys here and there, but mostly, they just took the edge off enough that you didn’t literally claw your way up a wall.  Nothing quite matched the intensity that you had experienced with Crowley.  Eventually, you gave up on outside help, and invested in a large pack of batteries.

It had been almost six months since your last… what to call it?

“Encounter”? Too spaceshipy.  

“Assignation”?  Too romance-novely.

“Date” was flat-out wrong.

Whatever it was that you and Crowley had indulged in, it had been too long since it happened.  

October came again.  You hadn’t heard from Crowley for two months.  No semi-intrusive gifts, no cryptic notes, not even a bathroom mirror doodle.  You tried not to think anything of it.  So, he had gotten tired of toying with you, and moved on.  Fine.  Good riddance.  You would just have to compartmentalize and move on with your own life.  It wasn’t like he owed you anything.  This all started as basically a business deal for an ancient, witch-fighting talisman.  Nothing personal, right?  In fact, it was a relief not to have to hide the evidence from Sam and Dean.  You definitely did not miss him.  Or, so you told yourself at least twice a day, when you caught sight of the Luisgeàrd as you changed clothes, or felt it pressed between your breasts under your shirt.  Despite yourself, though, you never took it off.

~~~

Another vampire, another hunt, another po-dunk nowhere.  Two lane blacktop and spanish moss-layden oak trees whipping by the open window.   Unseasonable heat that was sticking to your skin, making you itch from the inside out.  Dean singing and drumming on the wheel.  Between the sexual drought and the muggy air, you had to concentrate hard on not throttling him.  

When you and the boys finally tracked down the vamp, you spent a little longer than normal beating the shit out of it before the killing blow.  Sam had given you A Look, but said nothing.  Dean offered to buy you a drink.

The town bar was a standard Southern-American dive.  The kind of place where a night had never passed without at least one drunken sing-along to “Friends in Low Places”.  Women and men in ass-hugging jeans and tank tops bumped around like bubbles in a kettle.  Dean was in heaven.  Soon, he was hustling pool in the corner, a blonde woman giggle-whispering in his ear, a huge grin on his face.  You saluted each other with your respective drinks through the neon light and loud voices.  

“You good?” his raised eyebrow asked.

Your smirk and sip responded, “Not as good as you, but I’ll keep.”

His head tilted a bit to your left.  “Heads up, lame pickup line at 9 o’clock.”

You turned to face the guy just as he slid into the stool next to yours.  In the time it took for him to smile at you, you gave him a once-over.  Not bad.  Cute, in a Friday Night Lights kind of way.  No outward display of “southern gentleman” that really covered up misogyny.  And the lack of a rebel flag on his shirt was a welcome change from the other customers.  He’d do.

Before he could say anything and ruin the moment, you spoke first.  

“Buy me a drink.”  It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am!”  

A beer and a half later, things were right on track.  His hand on your thigh and his mouth on your neck and your thoughts most definitely not on the King of Hell, thankyouverymuch.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured in his ear.

“Aw, fuck, yeah!” was his charming response.  This guy was lucky you were so hard-up.  

“Just gimmie a minute to freshen up.”  You extricated yourself from his grip, slid off the stool, and headed for the bathroom.  As you passed the pool table, you and Dean had another silent conversation, where you assured him you had things well in hand, and would call him if needed.  

You actively didn’t think about Crowley.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you checked to make sure you had a condom in your bag.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you sat on the toilet.  You didn’t think about Crowley while you washed your hands.  Then you glanced in the mirror and saw the note.

“Enjoy the junk food, Love.  He’s cute.  You deserve a treat. -C”

In your shock, the only thing you could think was, So, the King of Hell uses Post Its.  Good to know.  Then the rage hit.  How dare he pull something like this?  Months of radio silence, and then suddenly popping up and implying that he was giving you permission to sleep with what's-his-name, out there.  Fuck.  That.  You were not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he could control you.  

“Fuck you, asshat!” you snapped to the empty bathroom.  Then you were through the door, pushing past drunk rednecks, not hearing Dean calling your name, not seeing the confused look on “junk food’s” face, until you were out in the humid parking lot, the Post It crumpled in your fist.

Dean had the good sense not to press you.  The drive back to the hotel, breakfast at a diner in the morning, and then the whole way back to Kansas, he didn’t ask what had happened in the bar.  He didn’t ask about as loudly as a person could, in fact.  Sam kept giving you the patented Winchester Look Of Concern™ when he thought you couldn’t see.  But they knew you.  They knew that when you had shit to deal with, you did it alone.  The only one who’d ever meddled in your all-alone shit-dealing was Crowley.  Damn him.  You twitched angrily and turned up the volume to your headphones, closed your eyes, and ignored the Winchesters all the way to the Bunker.  It wasn’t until Dean killed the engine that you opened your eyes and realized your fingers were tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord.  

~~~

You almost didn’t open it.  The box on your bed.  Large, white, and tied with blood red ribbon.  You were considering how to get it to the garbage chute without Sam or Dean seeing it when you read the note attached.  

“Please wear this when you yell at me. -C”

“At least he said please this time…” you grumbled.  Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the box.  

It was a dress. A white silk gown that poured over your hands as you rustled it out of the tissue paper.  You held it up for inspection, and stared.  Simple.  No frills, no lace.  Just artfully draped white silk that fell to the floor.  Despite your anger- which hadn’t abated, by the way- you were enchanted.  You thought back to last Halloween as you kicked out of your jeans and flannel, and then slithered the silk over your head.  

The gown you’d worn to Crowley’s masquerade ball, when this whole thing started, had been uncomfortable and heavy.  Swathes of red velvet that left you restricted and off-balance.  Undoubtedly gorgeous, but so not you.  The leather mask that hid your features and cut off your peripheral vision hadn’t helped, either.  The foreignness of your costume that night had lent an overall feeling of Other to that whole experience.   And that feeling had colored everything that came after.  Added to the confusion.  Was still adding to the confusion.

This dress was exactly the opposite of last year’s getup.  You regarded your reflection, spinning slowly.  It fit you well.  More than that, it suited you.  You could move easily in the lightweight fabric.  It didn’t get caught under your feet as you walked, and the sleeveless bodice gave you full use of your arms.  The glowing white of the silk played with the tone of your skin, making you glow, too.  The Luisgeàrd, in it’s constant position around your throat, nestled comfortably in the neckline, which looked like it had been cut specifically to show off the talisman.  

“Sneaky fucker,” you murmured, fingering the wooden disk.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘Romantically Mysterious’,” rasped a familiar voice in the corner.

You’d been expecting this, but you still flinched.  Whirling to face him, months worth of angry thoughts stampeded to get out of your mouth and bottlenecked, leaving you working a jaw around silent fury.

“You look radiant,” was all he said.

All the trapped words coiled in your throat like an about-to-cry lump.  You managed to gasp in a breath, then blurted out, “Where have you been?”

Seriously?  You berated yourself.  ‘Where have you been?’  Like you’re some neglected housefrau confronting an errant husband at 2:00am.  Fuck, get your fists off your hips.  You don’t care, remember?

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling foolish in the gorgeous dress. Still, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t back down.  Crowley unsettled you, and that was unacceptable.  You weren’t unsettled.  Ever.  You couldn’t be, in your line of work.  You put on your fight face and looked him squarely in the eye.

He just stared at you for a moment, something like sadness around the corners of his eyes.  “I was watching,” he finally said, quietly.

“You were watching?  Well, thank you.  That’s not creepy at all.”

“It occurred to me that we both might need some space, after…” he stopped and looked away.  His glance fell to your bed.

The memory surfaced.  You and Crowley, face to face, sweaty and sated...

“What the fuck are we doing, Crowley?”  You’d asked.  “What is this?  I mean, I barely know you.  Half the time, I don’t trust you...  What are we doing?”

You remembered the feeling of his palm on your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours.  The way he had whispered, “Y/N, I-”

...And that was when the boys had come home, and everything had gone to shit.  

You took a small step forward.  His eyes darted to the silk rustling around your feet, clinging to your thigh as you moved.  If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… scared.  It was unheard of to see Crowley, King of Hell and consummate cocksure ass, off his game.  Maybe this dress was exactly what you needed.  Leveling the playing field, so to speak.

“After what, Crowley? After last time, in this room, in that bed, when you almost said something you’d regret?”  You’d closed the distance, now.  If either of you reached out, you could grab the other.

“I need your help,” he said, finally meeting your eyes, again.  There was no guile.  No half-smile in the words.  Just fear and perhaps a little shame.  “All right?  There it is.  I need your help.”

You were stunned.  “You… what?!”

“There are some rumblings in my kingdom.  Pissants who think I’ve lost my edge; that Hell’s not what it could be under my rule.  ‘Make Hell great again’, and all that twaddle.  I’ve made a shaky alliance with a coven-”

“A coven?  Of witches?!  Crowley, do we need to have another talk about what I do for a living?”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t.  “-A coven that’s powerful enough to sway the dissidents.  If I can show that I’m strong enough to forge a treaty like this, it would go a long way to restabilizing my reign.”  Somewhere in that statement, he had rested his hands on your hips.  He gave you a gentle shake and looked at you through his lashes.  “A delegation from this coven is coming to the Halloween ball, tonight, but they’re old-school.  They respond favorably to symbols and archetypes.  Pomp and circumstance.  They may not like dealing with me alone.  I need backup, Love.”  He hooked a knuckle under your chin and lifted your face to his.  “I need a Queen... for the night.”

“A…. a queen.  You mean… me?  Me, queen?” Great, now you had devolved into Tarzan sentence structure.  Get a grip, woman!  

He smiled at you.  A real smile.  You weren’t sure you’d ever actually seen Crowley smile, before.  It was gorgeous.  His hands were still on you- hip and chin- and he used the leverage to pull you forward into a kiss.  

Warm and soft and gentle, this was one of those kisses that seemed to wrap around you, raising goosebumps and relaxing every tense muscle.  You wanted to swim in it.  Drown in it.  

Crowley’s sulfur/incense smell was everywhere.  His hands whispered around your waist and into your hair.  You signed into the warm solidness of his chest pressed to yours.  The feel of his suit coat under your fingers.  It went on forever.  It was, ironically, pure heaven.

When he reluctantly eased his lips off of yours, your face felt cold.  It took you a moment to resurface and open your eyes. Crowley’s earnest face stared back.

“Please, Y/N.  Will you help me?  Just for tonight?”

You stayed silent for a moment, slowly working your fingers through his hair, not looking at his eyes.  Letting yourself enjoy the feeling of making him squirm, for a change.  You carefully wound his tie around your hand; got a good grip.  That’s when you met his gaze.  With a deliberate tug, you command his full attention.

“I’ll make you a deal, Crowley,” you said, low and only a little breathless.  “I’ll be your Queen for the night.  And afterwards, you will owe me a conversation.  About feelings.”

A hint of terror darkened the corners of his face, but his overall expression was one of hunger.

“It’s a deal.”

There was a lurch somewhere in your guts, and suddenly you found yourself standing in a dim alcove, like a theatre box, overlooking a familiar black marble ballroom.  

Hell’s Halloween Ball was in full swing, already.  The assortment of attendees echoed last year’s.  Fae, vamps, and even a djinn or two wound their way around and through the crowd of demons, all decked out in elaborate costumes.  

You looked down from the shadows of your hiding place, and once again, the feeling of being so terribly human overwhelmed you.  Like a goldfish in a school of sharks.  That was when you realized that Crowley had zapped you here before you’d had a chance to grab a single weapon.  Or shoes.  ...Or underwear.  That off-balance, othery feeling took hold of you.  You shivered.

“Something wrong, darling?” Crowley rumbled from behind you.  

“Just feeling a little underdressed, all of a sudden.”  You kept your voice down, even though you were so high above the dance floor, no one could possibly hear you.  

Crowley hummed low in his throat and pressed himself to your back, snaking his hands over your silk covered hips and nipping slightly at your earlobe.  

“Underdressed is exactly how I like you,” he growled.

Your whimper was purely instinctual.  So was the way you arched back, rubbing against him and offering your neck for kisses.

Crowley groaned and bit down on the junction of your throat and shoulder.  A slight keening sound happened somewhere in the vicinity of your vocal chords without your permission, and you ground against him again.  You had just a heartbeat to enjoy the feeling of Hell’s most impressive cock rolling against you before that feeling was replaced by a sharp slap on your ass.  You pulled a breath through clenched teeth and gripped the railing in front of you.

“Careful with that.  It’s loaded,” you said, and shook your ass at him.

“And who’s fault is that?” He retorted.  

“Who’s fault?” You huffed a laugh. “Yours!  It’s been a while, you know.”  

“You didn’t listen to me- I tried to steer you towards that little snack back in Alabama.  You chose not to take the offer.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said without any real anger.  “Like I’m gonna do what you tell me.”

“Cheeky.”  Another sharp spank, softened by a kiss behind your ear.  “We can-and will- play later.  Now, it’s time to work.”  

He stepped back and let you turn to face him.  At some point, he had donned his costume.  It was the same from last year, you saw; a red cape draped over his impeccable black suit, a multi-horned devil mask covering the top half of his face.  Standing in the shadows of the alcove, the flickering lights from the ballroom below picking out the lines of that mask, Crowley was back to the mythical dark figure you’d encountered a year ago.  A wolf-in-the-woods kind of shadow that made all the animal parts of you quiver.  The devil that had fucked you senseless in the dark above his library.  God, you wanted him to do it again.

He must have known how his appearance affected you, because he licked his lips, smirked, and crooked a finger in your direction.  His eyes flared red as you took an involuntary step forward.  

“That’s it, my Queen,” he murmured low, “Come to daddy.”

You snorted in quiet amusement as you crossed the carpeted floor to him.  “Ass.”

From behind his back, Crowley produced a mask for you.  It was white filigree, not solid, so it wouldn’t cut off your vision like the last one, the metal swirls were wrought to dip low over your nose and high on your brow, almost horse like.  The antlers that sprouted from the top gave the appearance of a crown, much like the demonic horns on his own mask.  You reached a tentative hand out to touch one of the points.

“A deer?”

“A hart.  A White Hart.”  When you looked askance at him, he continued,  “The White Hart, in stories, is a traveler from another world.  An emissary of sorts.  And the bestower of blessings upon Kings.  I told you- symbols and archetypes.”

“So this is a political move, not an aesthetic one?”

He rolled his eyes.  “Sweet missionary on a spit, woman.  Have you seen yourself?  It’s both.”  

He helped you settle the mask in place- it was much lighter than you thought it would be- and offered his arm in a courtly gesture.  “I think we’ve reached ‘fashionably late’, by now.  Come on, Pet.  Let’s give them a show.”

~~~

The ballroom fell silent when you walked in.  The music died away, dancers stopped swirling, conversations ceased, and everyone turned toward the King of Hell as though it were choreographed.  You looked out over the sea of supernatural faces and tried to slow your heart rate.  If Crowley needed you to be a Queen, and it got you an honest conversation from him, by fucking Hell, you would be a Queen.  A deal’s a deal, after all.  

“Friends, demons, countrymen,” Crowley addressed them, a little sardonically, “Welcome to my annual ball.  As always, until sunrise, the legendary hospitality of Hell is open to you.  Enjoy yourselves!”

The music rose again, and the party resumed.  A path opened in the crowd, and Crowley led you to the dance floor.  Although the fizzle static of a few hundred conversations filled the huge room, it seemed that every eye was still on you.  Your bare feet, blessedly hidden by the liquid swirling of the dress as you moved, made no sound on the cool marble floor.  A lack of shoes allowed more maneuverability than last year’s heels, but it made you feel even more venerable.  And you still didn’t know how to waltz.

But Crowley wasn’t King of Hell by chance, and he played his role flawlessly.  As he swung you into into his arms, you felt the familiar hot pressure of invisible hands lifting you just an inch off the floor.  You fought a gasp and smirked at him.  The hands in question had lifted from just under your ass.  

“Bastard,” you murmured.

“Oh, darling, you say such lovely things,” he retorted, and began swirling you around the floor.

With the whirling motion blurring the world around you, it was easier to forget that you had entered the room as the center of attention.  

“So, this is a yearly thing, huh?  I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Well,” he tilted his head conspiratorially, “It’s not like we’re the types to have a company Christmas party.  This lets everyone mingle, drink, blow off steam…” At that, one of the manifested hands under your skirt reached a little deeper, running a finger of heat through your folds.  You hissed through clenched teeth, to keep from crying out.  Crowley continued in a conversational tone, but low enough that only you could hear, “Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look, tonight, Y/N?  I can’t bloody wait to have the business bit over and done with.  I’m going to eat you alive.”  His eyes flared red as you moved through a small shadow on the edge of the floor, and an ethereal tongue joined the fingers under your skirt, lapping at the juices there.

“Fuck, Crowley, you fucking asshole… shit…” You whispered and writhed, trying to ease the pressure.  But his power just moved with you, and you couldn’t get away.  Your vision went white around the edges and your breath came in shallow pants.  The King pulled you closer, to keep you from swooning back, and never broke stride.  

“Oh, there she is.  Hello, darling,” he crooned, “Did you miss me?”  The spectral tongue never relented, and a sucking pressure was added to your clit.  You bit your lip in a desperate fight to keep quiet.  Crowley kept going.  “This is the version of you I like best, Love.  All flustered and pliable and dripping.”  The disembodied tongue pushed deeper, writhing inside.  You couldn’t bite back all of your pleasure and a small Aaaaah! Slipped out, buried in Crowley’s neck.  He continued, “That’s it, Love.  Let your King take care of you.  You like when I play with you, don’t you?  My squirming, soaking wet little toy.  I wonder how long I can keep playing with you until-”

The music died again and Crowley broke off mid-sentence with a whispered curse.  He stepped away from you, to greet the intrusion.  The invisible mouth abruptly stopped its torture, as well.  But the hands remained, more to keep you upright than anything else.  Which was a good thing, as you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own.  Again, the occupants of the room turned toward the main doorway, in which stood three women in glittering black gowns.  

The witches had arrived.

~~~

To help get your heart rate down and your brain back in working order, you took mental notes of the new guests.  Queen-for-a-night or not, you were still a hunter.  The blonde one was young.  In her early 20’s, if you had to guess.  She wore a white mask over her eyes.  On the other side of the doorway, there stood a statuesque brunette that seemed to be nearing 40.  Her mask was red.  The one in the middle was a head shorter than the other two, but was unquestioningly In Charge.  She was old.  Middle 80’s maybe?  You hardly ever saw a witch owning her age, like that.  Her black mask and black dress made her white hair stand out against the dark marble room.  

“Ladies,” Crowley’s tone was friendly, if a little cautious, “I’m so glad you could join us.  Please come in.”

A new path cleared, and you saw a small dais set at the end of the hall, on which sat two empty thrones facing the crowded room.  That was where Crowley led you.  He didn’t even look behind to see if the witches followed- just took your hand and proceeded to the thrones.  

You had regained most of your composure from his mid-dance teasing, and though you were still a little short of oxygen, you were able to tread silently on your own bare feet, once more.  You tried not to think about how many eyes were on you- you just focused on Crowley’s warm, steady hand in yours, and followed his lead.  You moved on autopilot until you were both seated, Crowley on your right side.  You must have made an imposing sight.  Crowley all in black and red, you in glowing white, and both masked faces staring down at the assembly.  

The witches stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the King and Queen of Hell, and remained silent.  

You swallowed quietly and rested your hands on the throne’s armrests.  Queen.  You are a fucking Queen.  Get yourself under control.  Head up, shoulders back.  It’s showtime.  Think Queen, damnit.  You tried not to dig your fingernails into the carved, dark wood.

“We have some illustrious guests,” Crowley addressed the assembled creatures, “The Exalted Coven has sent a delegation to Hell, in hopes of forming an alliance.  Isn't that right, ladies?”  

The white haired woman inclined her head a fraction.

“Then you are welcome.  Let’s talk business, shall we?”  From some hidden pocket, Crowley produced an ornate scroll.  The parchment scratched and fluttered in the silent air as it unfurled, stretching from his lazy hand to the old woman���s feet.  She would have to stoop to pick it up and read it.

“Just a boilerplate agreement, of course,” Crowley continued, “You are granted the protection of Hell, blah blah, and we gain your fealty, with tithes due every seven years, etc etc.”

Your hunter brain went into overdrive.  Protection of Hell?  Tithes?  What would this mean for you and the boys and your work?  What parts of that contract was Crowley glossing over to make a quick sale?  You were so busy speculating that you almost missed when the old witch spoke.

“Your Queen seems very quiet, Crowley.  She doesn’t speak?”  Her voice was strong and resonant, not at all the voice of a little old lady.  You also clocked the use of Crowley’s name, not “your majesty” or whatever.  

Everyone turned to you.  Fuck.  Shit, fuck, damnit, pissing hell.  They expect you to talk, now?  For a heartbeat, you thought terror would overwhelm you.  But suddenly, you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck.  Crowley’s demonic power applying reassuring pressure to the spot in your spine that he had repaired so many months ago.  That feeling of Otherness washed over you, and the world took on the fuzzy edges of a dream.  

“She speaks,” you said, mildly amazed that you sounded so calm, “She just doesn’t speak merely to fill silence.”  Where did that come from?  Astounding yourself even more, you continued, “The King has made an offer.  Do you accept?”

She regarded you for one long, agonizing moment that was probably only a heartbeat.  Her eyes dropped to the rowan wood disk on your chest.  You couldn’t be sure, with masks obscuring all faces, but it looked like the old woman cocked an appreciative eyebrow at you.  In the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley’s mouth twitch as if trying not to smile.  

The witch then nudged the air with her chin, which was apparently some kind of signal, because the two women at her sides stepped forward quickly.  The youngest picked up the trailing end of the contract and held it steady, the other ran her hand slowly down the parchment, muttering under her breath.  The Luisgeàrd grew slightly warm against your chest, as it always did in the presence of witches’ magic.  When she reached the end of the contract, the red masked witch murmured a few words in her leader’s ear.  Wrinkled lips pursed at Crowley in a decidedly “we are not amused” sort of way, the old woman flicked her fingers towards the contract.  A few words and phrases blazed red, changed, or disappeared altogether.

So this is how the supernatural elite negotiate?  You thought.  It was a far cry from beers and pizza and yelling in the Bunker’s war room.

Crowley shrugged and grinned like a precocious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying, now can you?  The changes are acceptable.  We have an agreement.”

The witch smiled, stepped forward, and dragged a finger along the bottom of the contract, leaving a thin line of crimson behind.  Signed in blood.  

Crowley’s grin widened, and the contract vanished with a flick of his wrist.  

“Now, then,” he announced, “You ladies are welcome to share our hospitality, but I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, tonight.”

“The Maiden will stay,” said the witch, and the young blonde stepped forward, “The Mother and I will go to our own festivities.”  Crowley gave a half bow of acquiescence from his throne.  

And with that, they swept out, the music rose, and the party resumed.  The blonde witch- The Maiden, apparently- was swept up into a dance by a demon in a wolf mask.  At least, you hoped that was a mask.  

As you contemplated that, Crowley pressed his mouth to your ear and whispered, “You were bloody magnificent, Y/N.”

You turned to face him. “Really?  I thought I was gonna pass out when she put me on the spot like that.  I just said the first thing that came to mind that sounded… I don’t know… Queenly.”

“You were perfect!  Fuck, that was perfect!”  And there, in full view of the movers and shakers of the monster world, he grabbed your arm, swung you into his lap, and caught you up in a devouring kiss.  

As if the guests had been waiting for this signal, the tone of the room changed.  A throbbing beat threaded through the music, the lights dimmed a bit, and the air seemed to take on a crackle of energy.  When Crowley moved from your lips to your throat, nipping and sucking and kissing, you stole a glance around the room.

In an alcove, two vampires were busily feasting on a faerie.  One on her neck and the other… Oh.  Definitely not on her neck.  The faerie looked like she was having the time of her life.

On the dance floor, waltzes had given way to spinning, grinding couples and thrupples, costumes shoved aside so hands and mouths could access the flesh underneath.  

“Crowley...” You gripped his shoulder to get his attention on your words and not your uncovered skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

He looked out over the ballroom and it’s writhing occupants with a proprietary smile.

“I told you, Love.  We like to blow off some steam at this party.”

“But… I mean… This is looking like an orgy!”

Crowley smoothed a hand over your hair and gave you another genuine smile.  Damn, you could get used to that smile.  It made you all wobbly in all the right places.

“Bugger me, you’re adorable,” he said, “You left before the good stuff, last year.  Or, should I say, we jumped the gun on the good stuff, last year…” The grin turned predatory, and his eyes flared in the candlelight.  “What do you say, Pet?  Want to give them a display of what they missed, last time?”  He guided your hand to the considerable bulge in his lap.

In another involuntary response, your fingers wrapped around the suit-covered shaft, pulling a groan from Crowley that he didn’t bother to stifle.  You glanced over your shoulder again, at the assembled hosts of Hell.  

At the end of the buffet table, the Maiden was laid back among the champagne glasses, the wolf-faced demon hovering over her.  She reached down to undo his pants.  

Tearing your eyes away, you focused on the King, once more.  He was palming your breast- the silk sliding delightfully against your nipple.  He licked his lips once again.  His eyes were unwavering bonfires of red light, fixed on your face.  You hadn’t stopped stroking him, you realized.  You kept stroking, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the look Crowley was giving you.   An equal mix of quiet disbelief and ravenous hunger.

Over the roar of blood in your ears, you began to hear unmistakable sounds from the crowd behind you.  It was like being immersed in porn.  Fuck, it was hot.  You stared into those red eyes and tried to think coherently.  Crowley’s hand that wasn’t on your chest began to inch under the hem of your dress.  Slow and deliberate and easy to stop if you wanted to.  

Just then, a crash of glass behind you drew your attention away.  The champagne glasses had been jostled off the table by the force of the wolfman’s thrusts.  The Maiden wallowed back, emitting small gasps and squeals.  You stared.  

The heat between your legs was throbbing.  Your face was flushed.  This was unlike anything you’d ever seen.  The dreamlike feeling hung over you as you slowly worked Crowley’s dick in your hand and gazed into the crowd.  You noticed not only the writhing masses of flesh and cries of pleasure, but several grinning faces turned in your direction.  Hell was watching.  

“People are staring at us.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Crowley bucked into your hand and growled appreciatively when you tightened your grip.  You turned back to face him.

“I… I don’t know how I feel about that, Crowley.”

He released his hold on your breast and took a moment to straighten his tie.  The gesture was so refined, the turn of his neck so fluid, that it became obscene against the backdrop of intimate noise that filled the air.  You squirmed against the wet heat at your core, trying to figure out if you were actually about to fuck the King of Hell- on his throne- in full view of hundreds of witnesses.

He leaned forward to kiss you, moving from your mouth to your jaw and up to your ear.

“This night is ours, Love,” he murmured, “And as much as I would love to make you scream for me right here, I think you like to watch more than be watched.  Besides, I’m in the mood to have you all to myself...”

You felt the tug in your gut once more, and again found yourself in the alcove high above the ballroom.  From here, you had a bird’s eye view of the orgy- and that’s exactly what it was, at this point.  Piles of limbs tangled on the dance floor, humped backs and arched breasts undulating in the candlelight, bare flesh and flashing teeth and holy shit- the sounds.  It was enough to make your head spin, even without the supernatural teleport.

Crowley pressed against your back, hands braced against the railing on either side of your body, trapping you.  You melted back against him and watched the display on the dance floor.  The band hadn’t stopped playing, but there was now a driving, drumming beat hanging over the melody, and people fucked in time with the music.  You felt drunk.  Drunk and dizzy and more turned on than you’d been in a long time.

“Crowley?” you said, twisting around to ring your arms around his neck and look squarely in his burning eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I need you to fuck me.  Right now.”

“My Queen!” he exclaimed through grinning teeth, and yanked you back into the shadows.

In a tangle of kisses and hot grasping hands, you managed to rip away each other’s clothes.  

Soon you were flat on your back, nothing between you and the deep red carpet below you, the Luisgeàrd resting on your bare chest, the King of Hell between your legs.  

When he reached up to dislodge your mask, you gripped his wrist to stop him.

“No,” you gasped, “masks stay on.”  

He chuckled.  “We’ll make it a Halloween tradition, then.”

As the music and screams and groans drifted up from below, Crowley reached between you, grasped his cock, and slowly began dragging himself through your folds.  Teasing your clit with the blunt head, dropping back down to press against your clenching core, then back up again.  Over and over, with agonizing gentleness, never stopping his methodical torture, never looking away from your face.

“Crowleeeeeyy…” you whimpered, trying to buck up and catch him.

The burning, invisible hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still and helpless against the floor.  

“Tsk tsk tsk, Y/N,” he whispered, “Look at you.  Soaking wet and desperate to be fucked.  Mewling and panting like you’re in heat.  My little toy.  You think you’re ready for me?”  He nudged at your opening, again, applying just enough pressure to slide in a fraction of an inch.

“Aaa! Fuck, yes, Crowley please... please…” Your vision wouldn’t focus.  You couldn’t lift your hips to meet him, so you arched you back and rolled your head from side to side in desperation.  He didn’t move at all.  

“Can you hear them, down there?  All those screams and wet slaps?”  You nodded emphatically. “That is nothing to the noises I want you to make for me.”  Then he slid backwards, away from your throbbing center.  It undid you.

A scream of frustrated agony ripped out of you- bouncing off the marble walls of the hall and momentarily drowning out the din below your alcove. But before that scream died away, Crowley slammed into you full force, and a new scream took its place.  The distinctive stretching burn that always accompanied the arrival of that cock inside you was shocking after so long an absence.  You roared with pleasure at the sensation.

“That’s my girl! That’s my Queen!” Crowley exclaimed into the cacophony, grinding his hips against you, buried to the hilt.

When you ran out of air, the King took advantage of the relative quiet and backed out of you a bit, then shoved back in with a groan.  You were only dimly aware of your own noises, at this point- too focused on the hymn of obscenity that the masked, looming devil with glowing eyes was pouring into you as he slowly dragged out, then snapped back into your quaking pussy, again and again.

“Fuuck, you’re so wet, Love!  That’s my Queen!  So wet and hot and tight- oh, yes!  I’ve waited months for this… Dreamed of getting back into this cunt!”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, reaching up to grab the horns on his mask, all reservations gone, just lost in the feeling of fucking the King of Hell, again, “It’s all yours!  Oh my god, you feel so good!”

With a roar of his own, Crowley yanked himself out of and away from you, leaving you empty and sprawled on the floor.  Before you could do more than squawk in protest, he jerked you up and spun you towards the railing.

“I told you before. God’s not here,” he snarled.

You landed against the barrier, chest and shoulders hanging over the rail.  The festivities hadn’t died down.  In fact, it looked like they were gaining steam.  A swirling, pulsing mosaic of skin and colorful costumes spread out across the ballroom.  Anything that could be done for carnal pleasure was being done, somewhere in the room.  Still in the throws of your own passion, you took in the display, gasping for breath.

Crowley was behind you again.  His fingers stroking in and out of the dripping, aching spot between your legs.  He pressed you forward, leaning out over the ballroom.  The Luisgeàrd swung back and forth, as if to draw your attention to the spectacle below.

It was the kind of thing that would have made you blush and look away, any other time.  Hanging half over the railing, looking down at a kaleidoscope of sex, breasts dangling in the air- so exposed.  But not tonight.  Tonight, you weren’t you.  Tonight, you were the White Hart.  The Queen of Hell.  And God wasn’t here.

Crowley fisted one hand in your hair and gave a sharp tug, the other hand guiding his cock back where it belonged.  Wet as you were, he slid home smoothly, to a chorus of groaning from both of you.

Slowly, methodically, almost reverently, he fucked you against the railing as you watched the show.

“Look at that, Pet.  Look at all the fun they’re having down there.  But they all wish they were here with you, you know.  They all wish they were right here, deep in this gorgeous cunt… Aren’t I lucky?  Fuck, I love this pussy!  You glorious thing…”

The stream of his words, the slow, exquisite drag and thrust of him against your swollen inner walls, the delicious sting of being suspended from his fist by your hair; it was all too good.  The moans fell out of you in one long note, and you felt the tightening in your belly that meant release wasn’t far off.  Still, it stayed maddeningly just out of reach.

“Crowleeeeyyy… Crowley, pleeease… I need to come… please!”

Once more, the King maneuvered you effortlessly.  In a swirl of motion too quick to follow, he had you facing him, perched on the railing. Somehow, he was still buried inside you.  Ruling another dimension clearly came with some physics-bending perks.

“Look at me, darling.”

You stated into those cigarette red eyes, set in the demonic mask, glowing in the dark alcove. The intensity in those eyes made you even more light-headed. Almost to the point of fear.  But if you’d learned anything in the past year, it was that when Crowley was fucking you, you could trust him.  

Gripping your waist to hold you steady, he aimed a powerful thrust right to your center.  You swooned back a bit, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, grabbing Crowley’s arms and wrapping your legs around him for stability.

“Ooooh, yes!” You cried.  So close… you were so close…

“No, Pet.  You keep your eyes on me, now.” You brought your focus back to him. “That’s right,” He crooned and ground against you, “You watch me fuck you.  Watch me fuck you until you come.”

And you did.  You kept your eyes locked with Crowley’s as he pounded into you over and over.  All his words were gone, now.  His bottom lip clutched between his teeth as he concentrated on you.  The demonic power manifested again; this time a merciless vibrating heat against your clit.  

You forgot where you were.  Forgot who you were.  The entire world narrowed to the sensations shooting out from between your legs and the burning points of light hanging in the gloom before you.  Somewhere, far outside your senses, someone was repeating, “Fuck!  Yes!  Fuck!  Yes!” over and over.  Was it you?  Finally, that internal cord snapped and you came, screaming, shaking apart from the inside out, still staring in Crowley’s eyes.

He didn’t slow down.  Just kept fucking you through it until you were spent and limp.  Then he gathered you to him, buried his masked face in your neck, and with a few more shuddering thrusts, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed like that for a long while; locked together, lazily running fingers over each other’s skin, dropping gentle kisses on ears and necks and shoulders.  Not speaking.  Not needing to.  The King and Queen of Hell.

You both managed to get safely to the floor before Crowley slid free.  You were exhausted.  You just puddled in his arms and drifted in and out, kissing deeply and trying to catch your breath.  Swimming in that dreamlike Otherness.

After what may have been days, for all you knew, you felt that lurch in your guts, and realized that Crowley had zapped you back home. He lowered you into your bed, smoothed back your hair, and with another kiss, rose to leave.

“You.. you owe me…” you slurred through sleepy lips, “conver...sation.  You said.”

“Next time, Love.  I’m a demon of my word, don’t you worry.  You sleep, now.  My Queen.”

As Crowley pressed one last, gentle kiss against your brow, you finally fell into unconsciousness.

~~~

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @emilyymichelle, @singingphoenix, @cassiopeia-barrow, @roxy-davenport, @fuschiarulerinthebluebox, @generalgoldfishldrm, @sunnysaysbookreviews, @kittennovak

[destielstuffandthings]

Chapter 17, Panic

"CAS!" Dean yells as he runs through the bunker door. "Cas, dammit get out here!" Sam runs down the stairs, heading to his room. "What's wrong?" Cas asks, in a worried tone, coming in from the other room. "They got Gabe. Dammit, why'd you let him leave!" he yells. Cas rubs his chin "Dean I'm so sorry. He said he was just going to talk a walk through the bunker. I never expected him to leave-" "Yeah well he did!" Dean growled, slamming his fist down on the table. Dean raked his fingers through his hair. "Shit, shit I'm sorry, Cas. It's not your fault." He walks over to Cas and wraps an arm around his neck. "I'm sorry." he sighed and leaned into the angels neck. Cas reached up stroked his humans head. "It's ok, Dean."

Sam walked briskly into his room and slammed the door. Everything in his room shook. He paced back and forth before stopping and resting on his desk. Filling with rage and a mix of other emotions he couldn't pin down, he starts to lose it. He swiped everything of his desk, glass shattering and clattering to the ground. He shoved a chair across his room, kicked his bed away, breaking the leg of it. Finally ending his tirade by punching a hole through his closet door. He stood there holding his bloodied hand against his chest.

"Sam--shit. Sammy what the hell happened?" Dean said looking around the trashed room. Sam stood in the corner panting and gripping his hand. "Sam, seriously what the hell?" he said louder this time. Sam looked over at Dean, his eyes red with tears. "Oh." It hit Dean like a ton of bricks. "Oh, Sammy. Shit." he walks over and takes his baby brother in his arms, holding him tight. Sam can't help it. He sobs into Deans shoulder, letting it all go. "Alright, it's alright Sam. We're gonna fix this." he reassures him, patting his back hard twice before letting go. He puts a hand on Sams shoulder and grips it tight. "Get yourself cleaned up and meet us in the library." He turns and walks out of the room, running his hand down his chin.

Fifteen minutes and a lot of bandaging later, Sam walks into the library. Dean and Cas look up at him and Cas smiles. Sam huffs. "You told him." Dean swings his finger between the two of them and said "No secrets" bluntly. "Cas," Sam begins, "I'm sorry. It's brand new. L-like, BRAND new. I didn't even get a chance to tell Dean. He figured it out--" Cas walked over to Sam, placing his hand on the bandage. "Sam. You never have to apologize. We-" he gestures to Dean, "we understand. Relationships are complicated." Cas removes his hand and walks back to Dean. Sam looks down, unraveling the bloody bandage to find it's completely healed. He sighs and nods "Thank you." Cas nods back.

"Do we have any leads at all?" Sam asks. "Bubkis." Dean states, taking a long drink of his beer. "The last I heard it was still in heaven under lock and key." Castiel sighed. "We can't very well break into heaven, steal the tablet and hand it over to the demons." Sam slams a book shut, standing up and running his big palm over his mouth. "There's gotta be something we can do. Right now, they're probably tort--" "Stop. Stop right now." Dean scolds. "We cannot think about that right now. Cas, you have any friends left in heaven that can help us out? There's gotta be someone." Cas lowers his brows and sighs. "No. No one trusts me anymore. I think my connections there are all against me now. I've tried to make amends but every time I apologize, they assume I'm lying. That it's fake." Dean pats his angels shoulder and smiles lightly.

"Fake." Sam says. "Yes," Cas rolls his eyes, "fake. As in not real. Insincere." "N-no--Cas. I know what fake means. We have all of Kevin's inscriptions still right? He deciphered the tablet before he died." Dean makes a confused face. "Ya lost me, Sammy." "We make a fake tablet. We inscribe it with Kevin's notes and hand it over." Sam says quickly. "That'd work right? I mean, fudge some of the markings, its not the real thing so it won't work. We'll have to be really convincing but--this might work, right?" Cas tilts his head. "Demons are inherently stupid. They might fall for it." "Well," Sam mutters, "let's get to work."

Two days pass. They all work tirelessly making the tablet prefect. Sam, looking through a large illuminated magnifying glass, makes the final inscription on the rock. He hears Dean snort from across the table. "What?" Sam squints his face in confusion. "You're mouth is like--this big." He holds up his hands about a foot apart. "Gabe is gonna lov--". "NO." Sam interrupts. "Do not go there." he warns, pointing the chisel at his brother. "So, uh," Dean clears his throat, "what exactly has.. happened.. between you two?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"NOTHing!"

"Liar!"

"Dean!"

"C'mon, man. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." Dean smiles. "Gross." Sam scowls. He sighs and pushed the light away. "We.. we haven't even touched. Just," he huffs, "just flirting. 'Cat and mouse' is how he put it." Dean raises his eyebrows, "So, you've talked to him about it. It's hard isn't it?"

"Right?!"

"Freakin' angels."

They both smile and let out a sigh of relief. "He put his lollipop in my mouth.." Sam whispered after a minute. "WHOA, SAM, NO!" he yells, covering his ears. "No, jeez, Dean. Like, an actual lollipop. We were talking-the night he came back with us- and he came up to me, licked it and put it in my mouth." Dean pursed his lips and leaned back into his chair. "Hot." he mouthed. "You're tellin me." Sam huffed. They both laughed again. "You're turn." Sam insisted. "Aw, man, c'mon. You don't want know about me and Cas. That shit... that gets dirty." he grins. "Dean..I don't wanna know specifics. I, uh, maybe just, advice? I've literally never..." Dean looks at Sam, wide eyed. "Never?" "What? Dean, no, never. Have you-you've-before Cas?!" Dean pulls his lips in, trying to hide a smile. "Remember our first trip to Canada?" "Yeah, so?" Sams face squints. "Well.. when you were at the hotel, and I left to go get food, I kinda..."

"Kinda what?"

"I kinda got a hand job from the bus boy in the back of the restaurant." He throws his hands up I'm the air, his smile beaming now.

"Wow." Sam gawfs. "Yeah," Dean laughs, "but Cas. Cas was first for just about everything else. Like, the big important stuff. You just gotta take it at your own pace." he said repeating Cas' words. "It's easy once you get goin, harder to stop." he winks, finishing his beer. "Again, gross." Sam laughs.

[samwinlover-blog]

Of Dark and Broken Things- Part Two: A Man Named Sam Winchester

Pairing: implied/eventual Sam x reader Characters: Crowley, Dean, Sam, Cas, a few random demons and many many more Warnings: angst, violence, gore, drama, swearing Summary: (Y/N) has been different her entire life, and she knows it too. She’s grown up feeling like an outcast for the things she was able to do, the unnaturalthings she was able to do. But then she meets the Winchesters, and things are better for a while. Until they’re not. When (Y/N)’s past finally catches up with her, and the Winchesters have a front row seat to the madness, what’s going to happen next? And, more importantly, who’s able to survive the chaos? A/N: If you liked what you read, don’t hesitate to leave a comment:)

In the weeks following that dream, Chicago was wrecked by a string of natural disasters. Fires, storms, and even earthquakes, rocked the city to its core and left a trail of rubble in its wake. Everything, including your small apartment, was left with a layer of dust as the days went by. 

Chicago: the city you’d finally settled down in after a lifetime of running. The city where you’d gotten your first real job, your first real apartment, deposited your first real check and called your foster mother for the first time in years. This city was a home of firsts for you, and you knew its blood ran deep in your veins. 

So, that made it even more troublesome, that your abilities were somehow linked to everything that had happened to your beloved hometown. 

It didn’t make sense, it couldn’t have even been possible, but you knew they were connected. You didn’t have any actual evidence, only a feeling. A feeling so similar to the one you’d had in that bookstore in Phoenix so long ago, that you knew you’d be a fool to ignore it. To ignore what your gut was telling you to be true. 

But, none of that changed your initial shock and terror, when two armed men in flannels came bursting through your door one night. 

“What the hell?!” You kicked the blankets off your lap and jumped out of bed, “Who are you?!” 

When neither of them answered, just nodded to each other and kept their guns pointed at your head, you decided to take matters into your own hands- literally. 

You raised an arm, summoning everything dark and twisted within, and then closed your fist- expecting your veins to turn black from the sudden use of your power. But they didn’t. 

In fact, nothing happened at all. 

You looked at your hands, and then the two men standing in front of you, and tried again. Still nothing. 

It felt like there was a block, something unseen that was shoving your magic back down every time you tried to use it. You’d always struggled to control the darkness, to only let it out in small doses, but this was something different entirely. Deep in your chest, you could literally feel it screaming to get out, to be freed from whatever was holding it back. And, quite honestly, any other day it might have been a relief. 

But not then, not in that moment, because you still had two enormous men standing in the middle of your apartment with guns pointed in your direction. 

“Yeah,” The shorter one smirked, “That’s not gonna work anymore, sweetheart.” 

The taller one finished the sentence, with a glint in his eye you couldn’t quite place, “There’re so many hexes and spells cast over this place- don’t try anything stupid.”

You inhaled, suddenly terrified by the idea of what was coming next, “Who the hell are you?!” 

“My names Sam Winchester, and this is my brother Dean,” The tall one jutted his chin towards his brother, “And we hunt monsters like you for a living.” 

Wait.. ‘Sam Winchester?!’

                                                  One Week Earlier:

“Hell belongs to you, Sam...... you and another as well. Find her, go to her, find her, go to her.....” 

Sam jolted awake from yet another nightmare- every night, always the same for the past year and a half. There was a hooded figure, dressed in black with a willowy frame, calling out to him night after night. Sleep had never been his forte, but this was getting unbearable. 

At this point, Sam knew he wasn’t going to go back to sleep, so he stumbled into the kitchen and found his computer instead. Hunts had been lazy, slow, nothing more than quick salt and burns without any action for the past few weeks. And he knew that both him and Dean were itching for some action, in all honesty it was driving them nuts.  

When the two of them were alone, with nothing better to do, they seemed to focus on reality a lot more than usual. And, at that point in time, reality was god damn insanity. 

This was entirely due to Sam, and these strange abilities he now possessed. At first they were just visions, headaches and nothing more, but these visions started coming true. He’d see supernatural deaths before they happened, every single time. 

However, it was more than that- there were parts of it Sam hadn’t dared tell Dean. These parts were buried deep, but still were there, and the younger Winchester felt them calling to him every day. They whispered and whorled somewhere beneath his chest, and made the darkness feel inescapable. Like it was some form of fate even he could not cheat. 

                                                       The Present

Sam felt his finger tremble over the trigger of his gun, as if for the first time in his life he couldn’t bring himself to pull it. To shoot the barefoot girl standing in front of him in skimpy pajamas. 

But it wasn’t because of the way she looked, frozen there with her hand held up to stop them, there was something else about her as well. He’d called her a monster, but that had just been a front. In truth, when he looked into those night-black eyes, he felt a tug. A kindredness he’d never felt before in his life, not even with his brother. Or Jess. 

There was something about this girl, who looked to be around his age, maybe a little bit younger, that made him think twice. He could feel the parts of himself that he'd been running from wake up once more- those dark and glittering parts that now felt like a beast in his stomach. Pick her, she’s the one, she’s yours, they seemed to chant. 

Weeks before, he and Dean had pegged this case for a witch, and a god damn powerful one at that. The omens were everywhere: fires, earthquakes, storms, power outages- this girl had single handedly wrecked the city of Chicago. 

But now, staring at her from across the barely lit bedroom, Sam knew she wasn’t a witch. He didn’t know how, he just knew she was something else entirely. Something special- he just didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing yet. 

So, he tried, and failed, to follow his brother’s example- standing there with his face a mask of deadly serenity. He couldn’t bring himself to lower the gun, but he also knew he could never bring himself to pull the trigger. 

tags: @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@evyiione@mogaruke@aliensdeservebetter@spnfanficpond​ @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@evyiione@mogaruke@aliensdeservebetter@27bmm@craving-cas @spnfanficpond​ @amanda-teaches @myplaceofthingsilove  @spectaculicious@bambinovak@bambinovak@writingthingsisdifficult@padackles2010@mamaredd123@milkymilky-cocopuff@iwantthedean@zeppo-in-a-trenchcoat@spntrista @d-s-winchester@just-another-busy-fangirl@winchesterprincessbride@waywardjoy@supernaturalyobsessed@whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname@sandlee44@fangirl1802@kittenofdoomage@evyiione@winchestersmut@purgatoan@mogaruke@therewillbeblood@megansescape@taste-of-dean@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @scarlet-soldier-in-an-impala@deathtonormalcy56@wildfirewinchester@notnaturalanahi@jensen-jarpad@impalaimagining@fangirlextraordinaire@itseverythingilike@jesspfly@lovekittykat21@mysteriouslyme81@mrswhozeewhatsis@aiaranradnay@supernatural-jackles@girl-next-door-writes@spnsasha@27bmm@spnfanficpond @amanda-teaches@myplaceofthingsilove@spectaculicious@bambinovak@writingthingsisdifficult@spn-imagines-to-feel@spn-ficfanatic@cleverdame@saxxxology@jensen-jarpad@keepcalmandcarryondean dancingpanda137 @tatalopes23 @spnfanchicon14 @hollandisstilinski growningupgeek rosep16

[webcricket]

The River

Characters: CastielXAngel!Reader

Word Count: 1748

A/N: Tasked with peacefully conveying Castiel home to the halls of Heaven, you listen as he relates to you a children’s tale in order to illustrate why he must remain behind. I honestly don’t know what to categorize this as…maybe we’ll call it angelic banter with an underlying fluffy moral.

Seated on a slatted wooden bench situated at the outskirts of a quaint suburban park, a motionless spot of tan trench floating in a sea of lush grass, Castiel considered the carefully landscaped homogenous green-ness of the space stretching out before him. Even the bench and paved pathways were painted in a garish peeling emerald hue in apparent effort to make them stand out less and to further promote the unnatural uniformity of verdant color presiding over the scene. The whole effect of the scheme, rather than being unobtrusive to sight as the designer likely intended, was decidedly unsettling to the sense in its sameness. The angel had been enigmatically summoned here, by certified postal mail care of the Winchesters, to this peculiar park bench on what presented itself as a sunny Monday afternoon. He did not know exactly what or whom to expect at this mysterious meeting.

On the nearby playground, children played and shrieked wildly. Tiny bodies gesticulated on the monkey bars. Nimble legs kicked in a rhythmic rise and fall on the swing set. The avocado tinted metal slide squealed to announce every rider in the heat of the sun. A refreshing autumn breeze rustled the treetops surrounding the grounds. The leaves were just beginning to don their bold seasonal color – rebellious hints of red and yellow overhanging the edges of the park fence and threatening in protest to cast down their ruddy pigments any day into the unremitting green. The undulant air carried with it the occasional orange and black lined migrating Monarch butterfly in solitary fluttering travel south to overwinter. Castiel greatly admired the delicate winged creature’s resilient ability to endure the danger-fraught thousands of miles long journey across the states and into Mexico. He felt a certain kinship with their ability to survive this battering crossing of worlds.

“How long has it been, Castiel?”

He did not miss your approach in his reverie. Rather, he chose not to react. He sensed the proximity of a fellow angel when he first arrived. He assumed he was not bidden here to be slaughtered mercilessly in front of school children and their caretakers and surmised whomsoever you were, you posed no immediate threat. A small smile of recognition now tempered his world-weary aspect at the familiar resonance of your celestial voice interlaced with the soft-spoken speech of your selected vessel. He recalled you with fondness and a fresh appreciation, given everything he had experienced living with humanity, for your divine traits – not a soldier, but a sensible, astute, and above all else, compassionate angel. “Too long, Y/N,” he spoke low, the remark intended to be a friendly reminiscence upon the regretful expansive passage of time since you last crossed paths. An eternity by human standards.

You arched a perplexed brow, clarifying, “I mean, how many years has it been since you first came here? Since you raised Dean Winchester from Hell?”

He clasped his hands in his lap without looking at you, chuckling blithely to himself. Angels could be so literal sometimes. “Nine,” he answered.

“Nine,” you marveled, “nine years and so much change and upheaval after what must seem to you and endless age standing still in Heaven.”

“Then you understand why I’ve stayed behind,” he dared a glance sideways, receiving your inquiring gaze.

“I do not. Tell me.”

“Humanity is nothing like what we were taught,” he began, glad to plead his case to sympathetic ears. “Their hopes, their torments, the creativity, the destruction, the aptitudes for kindness and cruelty. There is a term they use here which aptly describes them, an oxymoron – beautiful disaster.”

“And why should we have any interest in these human concepts?”

“Because they need our help, our guidance, now more than ever, sorting out this mess they’ve created of the world before they destroy themselves,” his fists balls tightly, jaw set with firm conviction as he spoke.

“You mean the Winchesters need your help,” you countered. “Because humanity has been corrupting itself since the very dawn of time. They rise, they fall, they rise again. Not unlike you, it seems, Castiel. It’s what they do. This era will be no different.”

“It’s true that Sam and Dean are my friends. They are noble men. They have my loyalty and my life when the need arises.”

“So I’ve seen,” you remarked coolly. “How does one gain such special favor with Father to rise from the ashes time and again?”

He ignored your blatant attempt to provoke his ire. “Together with the Winchesters, I’ve saved countless lives, not to mention the world once or twice. Alone, I can only do so much,” his gravelly tone, burdened with sorrow, hung heavy in the air. “I’m one man.”

“You forget you are an angel.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he growled, impatience mounting, “though I do wonder about the rest of you.”

“Do you know why I’m here, Castiel?”

“Do I want to know?” his lip snarled bitterly.

“Your last official assignment, to gather the rogue angels and return them to Heaven is all but concluded in spite of you,” you pivoted to meet his steely stare. “Only one angel remains.”

He narrowed his blue gaze in defiant anticipation of the name.

“You, Castiel.”

He gave a throaty laugh, an impudent smirk spreading across his mouth, “And here I’d hoped this was a simple social visit.”

“You don’t belong here, Castiel,” you scoffed.

“And you believe I belong in Heaven?” he snorted, shaking his head. “It may not always be clear to me precisely where I fit in creation, but I know for certain where I do not.”

“Angels, all angels, belong in Heaven. Your duty…”

Disinterested in the canned lecture he’d heard a hundred times before from the mouths of lesser angels, he interrupted, “Humans have a parable about an ugly duckling they tell their offspring.”

“What do childish fables about foul fowl have to do with us?”

“Everything if it demonstrates my point.”

“And you think so little of your kin that you deign to tell a fairy tale?” you sneered, insulted.

“I think the inherent angelic capacity for grasping the finer nuances of emotion is on par to that of human children,” he intoned matter-of-factly. “Just listen, it’s worth hearing.”

You reluctantly acquiesced to his keenly imploring gaze with a nod.

“Once upon a time, there was a large egg misplaced in a duck’s nest. When it hatches, the bird looks and acts nothing like the rest of his duckling kin. He is larger and swims faster and bolder and free when out in the pond; but back in the farm yard, his home by birth, the other animals harass him endlessly and do not understand why he is different,” Cas glared pointedly at you too confirm if you were paying attention before going on. “He cannot change himself and becomes so unhappy that he decides to run away from his family. On that fateful day, he comes to a river, and sees big beautiful birds swimming there. He looks at them and knows they are swans. He admires them, wants to stay and watch them, and be beautiful like them. And yet he remains at a distance. Winter eventually comes to the river, and again, in the cold and frozen water the ugly duckling knows the deep despair of loneliness and not belonging. When Spring comes, he again sees the beautiful swans. He still desires to swim with them, be amongst them, but he is afraid of them and their unusual ways. Lost beside the river, not belonging anywhere, he looks into the water and sees the reflection of a beautiful swan and realizes it is him. He is no more an ugly duckling.”

“And what is it that you see when you look into the river, Castiel? Desiring to live with humans, wearing one of them as a vessel, it does not anymore make you one of them than our wings make us swans.”

“It’s not what I see in my own reflection, it’s who I see standing beside me,” his eyes shone with unrestrained emotion. “Friends who accept me for who I am without question. Friends who embrace me for my differences. Friends who welcome me into their home. I may not be one of them, nor do I want to be human, but I do belong here and it is here where I shall remain.” Castiel rose. Jaded by his prior interactions with other close-minded angels, wanting to distance himself from celestial trouble, presuming you could not begin to fathom his meaning, he strode briskly toward the park exit.

You followed quick on his heels, reaching out to clutch at his elbow to stop him, tenuously catching only a handful of the thick tan fabric of his trench coat in your fingertips. “Castiel, wait!”

He halted his retreat to confront you, the blue of his irises dimmed forlornly as he focused wearily upon your countenance.

“I think I do understand,” you murmured, glancing diffidently to your feet then back into his hopefully illuming features. “I mean, I do. You’re, as you say, an oxymoron. A beautiful disaster. Humankind’s angel. But what do you expect me to tell Heaven about your refusal to return?”

He read, with welcome relief, the open empathy in the swirling of grace thinly contained behind your vessel’s concerned regard. You grasped about him what so very few of his kin were willing or able to. He perceived, reflected in your eyes, the possibility that he was not alone in his angelic aberrations. “I don’t expect you to tell them anything. They wouldn’t understand,” he answered simply.

Your expression glazed with concern. “I cannot forestall the entire heavenly host with silence. They will send another of our brethren, one perhaps less sympathetic to your plight than I. I cannot return empty-handed without an explanation.”

Castiel looked down at your trembling grip on his coat. An optimistic smile touched his lips as he tenderly took up your hand in his own. “Then do not return yet. Choose to stay here. Stay with me. Walk amongst humanity for a little while. Then look into the river yourself and tell me what you see reflected therein.”

Choice. Free will. The foreignness of the notions made you dizzy with apprehension.

He folded his fingers warmly around your palm, soothing you with a confession, “I was afraid once too.”

You squeezed his hand in acknowledgement and he led you from the perfectly green park in search of the river.

[hale-of-stiles-heart]

Prompt: Bamf tattooed doctor Cas & shy nerdy cute patient Dean (bamf cas is my undoing 🙈🙈🙉) Please and thank you!!!!

Not sure if I really managed the BAMF Cas or the shy/nerdy Dean but I hope you like it anyway! (also on ao3!)

Dean may or may not have had a doctor kink.

He blamed it on all of those hours he had spent binge watching Dr. Sexy. And the few times he had watched Grey's Anatomy out of curiosity.

And House M.D. Even Scrubs once or twice.

Okay, so he definitely had a doctor kink. But it wasn't his fault. Really!

How could anyone not find those white lab coats and ties and scrubs not ridiculously hot? No one that's who.

So when Doctor Novak entered the exam room with his sex hair and the dark stubble peppering his jaw, in his pristine white coat, it was no surprise that Dean's brain promptly went offline. Especially when the doctor turned his unimaginably blue eyes on him.

He ended up just gaping at Doctor Novak as he read off the clipboard in his hands, reiterating the information about Dean's injury. His voice was low and intriguingly gravelly as he read off the description of the injury, Dean focusing on just the sound of his voice instead of his actual words.

He was too busy running his eyes over the bow of Doctor Novak's plush pink lips as he spoke, watching the way he formed his words. His lips were chapped, Dean noted, only slightly but enough to be noticeable.

His hair, thoroughly disheveled as though he had just rolled out of bed and thrown on a lab coat, looked extremely soft, almost fluffy. It curled behind his ears.

His eyes, narrowed as he squinted down at the clipboard, were a startlingly clear blue, like a cloudless spring morning. They were so beautiful that Dean briefly wondered if Doctor Novak was wearing colored contacts.

His eyes strayed further down the doctor's body in a purely curious manner, idly wondering what the insanely good-looking doctor wore under his lab coat. It turned out that he was wearing a white button up and black slacks. His tie, a deep blue one a few shades lighter than navy, was backwards.

"Mr. Winchester? Mr. Winchester?" A voice called, but Dean was too busy admiring the definition in his doctor's thighs through the fabric of his slacks. "Did he sustain injuries that affected his hearing?"

A second later something jabbed him in ribs, hard enough to drag a rough front from him. He whipped his head to the side to glare at his giant of a brother, snapping, "The hell, Sam?!"

"You were spaced out, dude," Sam informed him, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest. Dean had a mind to reach up and yank his too long hair.

The only thing that stopped him was the sudden realization of where exactly he was, the day's events running through his head.

He had been driving in to work, Bobby calling him in early to help out with restoring an old '69 Mustang, when he had noticed a car pulled over on the side of the road. A woman had been trying to use a jack, a lug wrench lying on the pavement beside her.

Figuring he could help out with the easy task of changing a tire and get his good deed for the day over and done with, he had pulled over. Flashing a charming grin, he had explained that he was a mechanic and offered to help out.

It had been going perfectly fine until he somehow managed to cut his right hand open on the car jack. The woman he had been helping had nearly fainted at the sight of blood so Dean had to calm her down while wrapping a dirty rag around his hand.

He finished up with changing the tire much to the woman's delight, earning him a kiss on the cheek before she flounced back into her car and drove off. With a resigned sigh, he had called Bobby and explained that he had to run to the hospital for his hand.

He managed to drive one handed to the closest urgent care that was conveniently a few blocks away from the law firm where Sam was working. In the waiting room, crammed between an old lady who hacking up a lung and a shaggy haired teenager who had a weird looking rash on his arm, he had texted his brother and asked him to come over to the urgent care.

Sam walked in right as the receptionist called Dean's name and handed him off to a nurse with dark hair and horrible people skills. She had muttered under her breath about him being an idiot as she poked and prodded at the cut on his hand, ignoring his grunts and groans.

When she had left the room after jotting something down on a clipboard, announcing that Doctor Novak would be in soon, Dean and Sam had exchanged shared looks of incredulity. Then Doctor Novak had arrived, putting McDreamy to shame.

"Oh. Uh, sorry," Dean apologized, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks heated before holding out his hand to shake Doctor Novak's. His palm was a bit rough, slightly callused but not as much as Dean's own hand. "Dean Winchester. Uh, you already knew that."

"Doctor Castiel Novak," the gorgeous doctor introduced himself, smiling brightly enough to take Dean's breath away. Still smiling, he turned to the side and started shrugging out of his lab coat, nearly making Dean swallow his tongue.

He coughed a few times, curling his left hand into a fist to bang against his chest. He pointedly ignored the look Sam gave him, recognizing it as the one he used whenever he noticed that Dean had the hots for someone.

Swallowing heavily once the coughing fit passed, he watched with wide eyes as Doctor Novak unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the action revealing tattoos covering his forearms. If Dean's mouth hadn't gone dry at the sight, he would have started drooling.

On the inside of one forearm, a statuesque angel robed in white stood, its large wings spread as it raised its hands skyward. A cluster of brightly colored flowers served as the angel's backdrop, making the monochrome figure stand out in stark contrast.

The other forearm bore a scattering of bees, striped and furry as they buzzed around on the lightly haired skin. A banner was stretched across the inner forearm, running perpendicular to the veins in his arm. Dean couldn't make out what was written on the banner.

And if Dean had a doctor kink the size of Kansas itself, which he definitely did, then his tattoo kink was the size of Texas.

He wasn't proud of it, especially since his little brother was in the room, but he was suddenly sporting a semi. Just at the sight of some tattoos. So much for him being a cool, suave Lothario.

Doctor Novak crossed to the sink and washed his hands before taking a seat on the wheeled chair by the counter and moving over to sit directly in front of Dean. He caught of whiff of some sort of cologne as Doctor Novak said, "You're definitely going to need some stitches but there won't be much scarring and you'll have full function of your hand."

"Good, that's the hand I use to jerk off," Dean hummed in response. He regretted the words the second they left his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and wincing as Sam groaned aloud.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam complained in a whine, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I'm gonna go wait in the car."

Doctor Novak chuckled as the door shut behind Sam, smiling as he claimed, "Your boyfriend seems very nice."

"God, no! Eww," Dean immediately balked, sticking his tongue out. At Doctor Novak's confused expression, tilting his head to the side, Dean rushed to explain, "Sam's not my boyfriend. He's my brother. I don't have a boyfriend. Not because I'm straight or anything... I'm bi!—" he groaned and facepalmed "—Why can't I shut up?"

"Pain has a way of inhibiting our brain to mouth filters," Doctor Novak announced as he spread some numbing gel over the cut on Dean's hand. "And that is, of course, the medical term."

"I'm sure," Dean laughed, relaxing a bit as the edge of pain lessened. He followed the gentle path of Doctor Novak's thumb as he rubbed in the gel. "Y'know, you're a lot gentler than your nurse."

"Yes, I suppose Meg's bedside manner could use some improvement," the doctor conceded as he finished applying the gel. He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, "But everyone here is too afraid to tell her."

Dean chuckled, conceding the fact that Meg was, in fact, a little bit scary, as Doctor Novak picked up forceps and some surgical thread. He winced as he turned back to Dean, explaining, "This part won't be too much fun but it won't hurt."

"This when you tell me to close my eyes and think of England?" Dean quipped as he took a few deep breaths. It wasn't the first time he had gotten stitches but it was never a pretty sight.

He may have had a pretty strong stomach but the sight of flesh literally getting sewn back together? That was enough to make him lose his lunch.

"If it helps," Doctor Novak intoned as he started the sutures.

Dean tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and hummed "the Memory Remains". He reopened his eyes when he heard Doctor Novak chuckle under his breath. He quirked a brow at the doctor, wondering what was so funny about stitches.

"Metallica?" Doctor Novak asked, his lips curling up at the corner. "Interesting choice. Though I would've picked Enter Sandman."

"It calms me down," Dean admitted with a one-shouldered shrug. He offered a smile as he inquired, "So, you like Metallica, doc? Bit of a badass?"

"My brothers would beg to differ but I like to think so," Doctor Novak answered easily, continuing the stitching. "I have the tattoos and the motorcycle to prove it."

"Whoa, you ride a motorcycle?" Dean whistled, impressed. A motorcycle explained the windblown hair, though he was sure a doctor would wear a helmet. "What kind?"

"Harley-Davidson. Softail Slim S," Doctor Novak relayed as he finished the stitches. Setting down his forceps, he beamed over at Dean before suggesting, "Maybe I could take you for a ride sometime, if I'm not being too forward."

"Really?" Dean asked a little breathlessly, feeling his face heat up again. When Doctor Novak nodded, he blurted, "Hell yeah!"

Laughing softly, Doctor Novak stood and quickly washed his hands before grabbing something out of his lab coat pocket. He scribbled something on the business card he had pulled out before handing it over to Dean.

"The receptionist will give you instructions for your hand," he explained as Dean stood, turning over the business card in his hand to look at Doctor Novak's cell phone number. "And you can call me whenever you're up for a ride."

Tucking the business card into his pocket, Dean smiled and returned, "Sure thing, Cas."

Send me Destiel prompts!

[madleeindifferent]

You Give Love a Bad Name

Title : You Give Love a Bad Name (Love Stinks Part Two)

Pairing : TBD

Word Count : 2,101

Prompt : Apparently, Gabriel hit you with a really potent love potion while you were at a bar on valentine’s Day. You had hoped that the boys would be above all the nonsense of  love and war, but turns out, Dean and Sam have a lot of feelings. And adding a love potion to the mix just puts everyone on edge...

“Okay, wait.” You looked from Sam to Dean and back again as Sam pressed his fingers to his brow as he processed what you just said.

“You are telling me that we got hexed?” Dean cut his brother off, pointing at his chest with an expression of disbelief mixed with disgust written in his livid green eyes. “You’re kidding.”

You raised your eyebrows with an exasperated groan. “So you’re telling me that you feel totally fine right now?”

You looked between the brothers at your question. Sam swallowed hard and looked away, rubbing his arm a bit restlessly. With each passing second, the air seemed to change, buzzing with tension. Dean narrowed his eyes and gave his shoulders a quick shrug before he smiled. “I feel great, sweetheart.”

You narrowed your eyes skeptically and Dean reached out with his hand and ran it along your shoulder lightly and down your back. “Never felt better.”

For a moment, you almost believed him. After all, this was Dean Winchester, the womanizer. He had just spent the entire night dancing up on better looking girls than you. It would take a pretty powerful potion to make him infatuated with you.

But then, he moved his hand lower and suddenly he was cupping your ass in his hand. You let out a choking cough of shock and shoved him off before you thought twice. Dean groaned and staggered to keep his balance before he looked up into your angry eyes.

“You dick!”

Dean spread his arms and stared at you, his expression open and imploring. “Sorry.” He shook his head, looking stunned. “I-I don’t know why I did that—”

“Tell that to your hard-on.”

You and Dean whipped around at Sam’s snarky comment. You felt a blush raise to your cheeks and you looked away, your head spinning as Dean shot his brother a poisonous glare. “What did you say?”

Sam blinked at his brother, and before you could even respond he pursed his lip and narrowed his eyes, a glare of defensiveness on his usually placid face. He folded his arms and looked his brother up and down. “Having a tough time controlling yourself all of a sudden, jerk?”

Your lips parted in a silent sigh of exasperation as Dean shifted uncomfortably, shooting you a nervous glance. “What the hell, Sam?!”

“Maybe don’t touch her next time and you won’t get slapped around.”

Dean’s eyes flashed like green daggers and he stepped forward, his fists clenched. “I can touch her all I want. Since when do you give a crap anyway?”

“Guys…” You tried to speak up, but neither of the brothers seemed to have noticed.

Dean gave his brother a rough shove in the chest and Sam stumbled back, knocking into a couple who were making out at the bar. The man stood up and the girl gave a hiss of contempt. You buried your face in your hands, heat rising to the tips of your ears.

“I’ve always cared!” Sam snarled, shoving Dean back harshly. “You don’t get to touch her, not now, not ever. Go find one of your groupies, I’m taking care of her like I always have!”

Dean swung his fist first, barely clipping Sam’s jaw as he ducked out of the way, lunging for Dean’s middle. You let out a shriek and ducked out of the way as your two best friends started wrestling, snarling savagely as fists started to fly. “GUYS!” You bit your lip as Sam hit Dean in the stomach before throwing him off roughly. You heard Dean curse under his breath and stagger to his feet. “Stop!”

You took a step forward, but just then, you felt a hand on your wrist. You turned, hoping to see Castiel had come to your rescue, but instead you found yourself staring up at the man who had been making out at the bar. He was staring at you intently. “Hey…”

You twisted, trying to pry yourself out of his vice-like grip. But the man took a step toward you, his blue eyes fixed on your face, biting his lip lightly as he moved close to you. “What’s a girl like you doing in a dive like this?”

Your eyes flew wide as the realization hit you. The potion hadn’t just affected the boys. You looked around, horror opening in your gut. The fight had drawn the attention of all the people at the bar, but their attention quickly had turned to you. Every single pair of eyes, mostly male, some even female, were locked on you like you were sent straight out of heaven. You felt a blush work onto your face and you twisted again, but the man had grabbed your wrist in both of his hands.

“Let go.” You snapped.

“Awe, come on, babe, I don’t bite.” You tried to pull back, but the man had you cornered against the bar. You grimaced as he leaned toward you, his lips parting and his breath smelling of alcohol.

Just as you squeezed your eyes shut, you felt a sudden jar and the weight of the stranger was gone and you had to stagger just to keep your balance. “Get off her!” You blinked in shock as Castiel gave the man a jerk and threw him to the ground rather easily. You felt your heart drop to your toes. You didn’t think you could handle Cas being love-sick too. You needed help… But as the man when tumbling to the ground before your eyes, Cas turned back to you with wide, clear eyes, his expression chaste and concerned. “Are you alright?”

You looked at him hard for a few seconds before you realized, he wasn’t swooning. He looked the same as he always did, same doe-eyed, innocent look on his squinting face. You had never been happier to see Castiel look so regular in your entire life. “Y-Yeah.”

He nodded and turned just in time to duck as a beer bottle was chucked over his head and smashed into the counter behind him. He looked around, his eyes narrowed, but looking rather calm as the bar was breaking out into an all-out fight all around the pair of you. Sam and Dean were literally rolling on the floor, slapping each other with hisses of anger and frustration.

Castiel looked around as the man he threw to the ground was jumped on by another larger man and slowly he turned his deep blue eyes to you. “I think we should go.”

You nodded breathlessly, and barely had time to duck as a pair of men ran past; trying to grab your hand before another guy got in the way and beat them back. Someone screamed and there came the sound of a bar stool breaking as you looked at Cas with a swallow of panic. “Yeah, I think that’s a good plan.”

You drove the Impala back to the bunker, trying to avoid the looks of the Winchesters as they sat in the back. You gripped the steering wheel tightly. The air in the car was electric. You snuck a cautious glance at Cas sitting next to you in the passenger seat. He was staring out the windshield, his eyes calm, but his face slightly frustrated ad puzzled. He however seemed at ease in the silence.

He must have seen you staring because he turned to you and when he met your gaze he gave you a gentle smile.

“What did he say?” You nearly jumped at the sudden voice from the back seat. You looked in the rear-view mirror at the source of the voice as Dean slouched in the far left seat, his eyes locked on you intently.

“What?” Sam sat up a little straighter at his brother’s question, looking up at you and Cas, his arm holding his bruised ribcage. When he spoke, Dean narrowed his eyes and shot him a glare.

“Uh, he didn’t say anything—”

“I knew that.” Sam interrupted with a smug look at his brother, his chest falling with a look of relief when he realized Cas hadn’t made a move on you.

“She smiled.” Dean defended himself and leaned toward you in the seat. “You smiled. Did he say something?”

“Dean, I love you but you need to chill. Please.” You mumbled, your tired eyes turning back to the dark road.

“What?” The sound of hurt in Sam’s voice made you stop short in your thoughts.  

“You love me?” The disbelief and excitement in Dean’s voice was almost stifling.

As you struggled to understand what exactly you had said, Sam sat up and looked quickly at you and then back to Dean. “Oh, come on, man that’s just an expression.”

You could barely breathe. What was happening?! You ran a hand through your hair frantically, trying to calm your frazzled nerves.

“Right, Y/N? That was just an expression?”

“No way! She has always cared about me! You’re just jealous that she doesn’t—”

“I am NOT!”

“Yes you ARE!”

The boys were almost yelling at the top of their lungs in the back of the car. You bit your lip. This was turning into one of the worst nights of your life; and you were spending it having two of the best-looking guys you’d ever seen nearly tear each other apart for your attention. You felt tears burn at your vision and you sniffed to hide the pain in your throat.

You could face down vampires, werewolves, demons, even Lucifer himself. But right now, you were about to cry in front of the boys. Yes you had wanted them to give you a little bit of attention; you just couldn’t believe it took an archangel casting a spell on you for them to notice.

You really must be dull if they needed a potion just to recognize your existence…

You blinked but a tear slipped down your cheek anyway. You wiped it away hurriedly, hoping no one would notice. From the screams in the back seat, you thought you were in the clear, but then you looked up to the road and noticed someone watching you. You looked to the side just in time to meet Castiel’s concerned gaze. His blue eyes were sympathetic and wide and the expression of kindness on his gentle face nearly made you cry again. He tilted his head to the side and reached down into the cup holder on the side door and produced a napkin that he held out to you without a word.

You took it and wiped away your tears with a sheepish smile of thanks. You swallowed and opened your mouth to thank him, but your voice was drowned out by the bickering in the backseat.

“Why the heck would she want you?!”

“Oh so you think you are so much better than me?! Who’s been there for her all this time? Not you!”

“Oooh! Says the guy who’s only been laid like twice! You wouldn’t even know how to—”

“SHUT YOUR CAKEHOLES!”

You almost slammed on the brakes in shock at the voice that boomed through the Impala. You had known Cas for almost five years, but you had never heard him raise his voice like that.

And apparently neither had the boys. Instantly, Dean and Sam fell silent, their eyes wide and their mouths still agape from arguing. Castiel glared at them from the front seat, his blue eyes piercing and scolding. “If either of you say another word I will cut of your genitals until we get this figured out.”

There was a moment of complete, tense silence and you almost broke it with a stifled giggle. You managed to keep your mouth shut as you looked at the boys in the rearview mirror. Dean looked positively mortified, and Sam’s eyes were wider than you had ever seen them in your life.

Cas waited for them to speak up, but the brothers only exchanged a quick look and then closed their mouths. When neither of them said another word, Cas gave them a curt nod and turned back around in his seat. “Thank you.”

You were almost too afraid to look at Cas as you drove down the road, you felt a small smile creep onto your lips. Bless Castiel…

He looked up only to meet your waiting eyes. You mouthed a soft “thanks” and he smiled with an understanding nod and then he leaned forward and turned on the casset that Dean had left in the radio.

“Shot through the heart

And you’re to blame, Darlin’

You give love a bad name!”