#dean who slowly grows more and more tired of the path he's been pushed onto. by john. by god. he's shackled by heroism

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

@paellegere posting and replying to your tags bc yes! love this addition, also i have extra thoughts now.

guy who so desperately tries to find god. who wants to have faith in a higher authority to guide him out of the hole he's in. from the weight of guilt from simply existing, as the person he is. but every time he thinks he's answered his higher calling it turns out he's made the Morally Incorrect choice and his path to goodness and holiness was the road to the devil all along

[bukojuiice]

You got questions, I got answers tonight, babe.

ೃ pairing: (pro hero! katsuki bakugo x pro hero! fem reader)

ೃ  warnings: nsfw (18+)

ೃ genre: smut

ೃ word count: 2,139 words

ೃ  my nav  →  my mha writing masterlist  → my katsuki bakugo x reader smau

  ೃ  shoto’s valentines fic → izuku’s valentines fic  → virtual valentines hcs 

ೃ  please reblog, reply or leave like if you enjoyed! it means a lot! c:

ೃ song inspo: love by dean ft. syd

ೃ you and the bakusquad drag bakugo to a short vacation after such an intense week of hero work, much to his annoyance. however, his stress and pent up energy was more than you expected, so you knew exactly how to release all his frustrations.

After an intense first week of Pro Hero activities, you were given a 5 day rest period. The Bakusquad had a wonderful idea of going on a short vacation to Okinawa before you guys have to face reality again.

You practically dragged your boyfriend, Bakugo to come along as he had second thoughts and didn’t want to ruin his so called “villain streak” by taking a well-deserved rest and relaxation when he could just continue fighting off villains.

Kirishima, Kaminari, Mina, and Sero were so excited for this trip that they could not shut up about it. In turn, Katsuki was more irritated than usual as you take the plane ride there. He was forced to go on this trip after all.

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

You had arrived late in afternoon and the first thing that you guys do as soon as you arrive at the hotel was dropping the bags in your respective hotel rooms. You and Bakugo were in one room while everyone else had separate rooms entirely to themselves.

Before you could even take a full look at the room you were staying in, your pink-haired friend came knocking on the door.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Mina spoke from behind the door, her gleeful voice ever so echoing. “We’ll meet you two at the swimming pool lounge okay? We’ll be ordering food already!”

“Alright! We’ll see you later Mina-chan!” You shout back, and as soon as Mina heard your words of confirmation, you could hear her footsteps as she walks away.

Bakugo continues to rummage through his things, cursing under his breath.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask him sweetly, poking his cheek. “Look, Katsuki-kun… you need to rest. It’s been an intense week, even the Hero Commission wanted us to-“

“Yea. Yea. I get it. Let’s go to the lounge.” He says harshly. He leaves the door open as you follow suit.

“That was… cold.” You blink, trying to process what your boyfriend had just said.

The two of you arrive at the lounge area however the rest of the Bakusquad was nowhere to be seen. Bakugo approaches a waiter and begins to order whilst you decided to go around the area to look for your other friends.

You were minding your own business when a weird and bad-intentioned man begins to approach you. You didn’t pay him any attention at first since you were occupied with looking for your friends, but the weirdo was persistent.

“A pretty girl like you alone in a resort like this?” He coos, trying to catch your attention. “I must be dreaming.”

“Piss off.” You snarled before he could even touch your arm, you quickly run back to Katsuki, as the weirdo loses sight of you. You slowly pace back to Bakugo who had an annoyed expression on his face. When you arrive at the area where he was standing, he grabs your hand and takes you to the elevator.

He clicks on the button that led to your floor and swipes the card key to your room, he comes to a sudden stop when you enter your dark hotel room, and he looks down at your hand in his like he’d forgotten he’d been holding it.

You pull Katsuki closer, twisting your hand around to take his more firmly.

His strong fingers fit perfectly between yours, and you know he can feel it too by the way he tightens his grip. His other hand settles on your waist, holding you against him, so close you can practically feel his heart beating.

“Did you really have to pull me out of the lounge area like that?” You pout seductively.

“Tch. (Y/N)….” He says your name in his low voice that sounds like an “I want you,” but you need to hear his actual words. You can see he’s so used to trying to brush things off that it’s an instinct, but he fights against it.

“Because I couldn’t stand to see an asshole try to make a move on you while I was at the other side of the area, waiting for the food. Who the hell gave him permission to even be within a few meters of you?”

His voice is irritated and strained. Your heart races under the intensity of his gaze, all his unspoken desire just beneath the surface.

  “It’s okay Katsuki-kun. You saw how I brushed him off… What did you take me back here for?”

He moves suddenly, backing you against the wall. You gasp, and then he’s right there, pinning you to the surface, hands on either side of your head.

As you shift, you hit the light switch, and the room is illuminated, revealing the bed. Katsuki goes still as he sees it.

“Of fucking course. Of course Mina would book one bed instead of two.”

His voice is tight, barely restrained. As if he wants to release an intense surging energy inside him. Your body is attuned to his tension. He’s coiled so tight, you feel it radiating off of him.

“Katsuki. Answer me. What did you take me back here for?”

His eyes drop to your lips. You feel his breath skimming against them.

“The way that fucking sleezeball loser looked at you… I couldn’t help it. You’re everything. And I want you more than anything.” Your stomach swoops at his intensity. He’s finally giving you the honesty you’ve been asking for but your conscience chimes in for a second.

“Katsuki…”

He brushes his thumb against your lips, and it’s like a bolt of electricity races through you, leaving you tingling for him.

His stare becomes more and more intense, as if he was craving for something.

“(Y/N), tell me. Right here, right now, what do you want?”

“It’s you, Katsuki. I want you.”

He sucks in a breath then crashes his mouth to yours. You both let out moans as he pushes you harder against the door and you pull him closer.

He kisses you hard and you melt at the feel of his lips and tongue, the sounds of your gasps and needy moans filling the quiet hotel room.

“Fuck. I’ll never ever get enough of this. Every time I kiss you, I get more desperate for the next one.” His throaty groan makes your stomach swoop again, and you tangle your fingers into his spiky hair.

You wink at him, your eyes giving off the same passion and love in his. “Then don’t stop.”

He brushes his lips against yours. It feels so light, yet the desire and the lust behind it is so powerful you can’t help but not resist.

“(Y/N)…”

A shiver runs through you as his mouth covers yours. Everything narrows to the feeling of his kiss, slow and intense like he’s taking his time tasting you.

His hands slide down to your sides to hold your hips, the heat of his body radiating against yours.

As your desire grows, you try to deepen the kiss to match the rate of your racing heart, but he draws back as it starts to get intense.

His eyes smolder, intense and teasing at the same time.

He nips gently at your ear and you arch against him. His hands slide up to grip your waist, pulling you tight to his body while still pushing you back against the door.

“(Y/N)… say my name again…”

You crash your lips to his again, feeling and pouring all your desire and impatience into the kiss. He grabs your wrists and pins them to the door above your head, his show of power making you giddy. You arch against him, and he sucks in a harsh breath, fingers digging into your wrists with delicious pleasure.

Katsuki’s eyes darken, and he captures your mouth with a desperate kiss, tongue sliding against yours, leaving you breathless. You tip your head back against the door as he runs his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking with every inch of his love.

He grabs your hips and pulls you off the door, steering you to the center of the room. You throw your arms around him and speak with your lips pressed onto his. You moan as he kisses down your neck, gasping as his teeth scrape against your skin and he soothes the spot with his tongue.

“(Y/N)…” He says demandingly. “I need you. Right now.”

He takes a step back and starts to undo the buttons of his shirt, but you still his hand with your own.

“Sit back and relax Suki-kun. Let me do it.”

He bites his lip at the term of endearment, or maybe at the thought of you peeling off his clothes.

You brush your lips against the corner of his mouth, and feel him shiver. His chest rises and falls as you continue to slowly unbutton his dress shirt, grinning wolfishly as you toss it to the floor.

“(Y/N)…” there’s an impatient growl in his voice. His hands flex at his sides, and you know he’s dying to touch you, to rip your clothes off.

“Shh. Your patience will be rewarded.”

You press your palm to the center of his chest, then drag it downwards over the ridges of his abs, following the path of his well-toned abs. He rolls his hips forward as you undo the clasp of his belt, and he catches your wrist in an iron tight grip.

“I can’t wait any longer.”

The hunger in his voice makes your brain feel like it stopped for a second, and before you realize it, he’s undressing you.

“Ah. Yes. I will never get tired of how impatient you are.” You shake your head yet feel nothing but arousal from the way he looks at you as he continues.

“I can’t help myself when you’re so irresistible,” He shrugs then smirks.

You help him undress you, and soon your clothes are lying in a heap on the floor. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you against him. You both moan at the feeling of your bodies pressed together, the heat emanating from the both of you.

Your stomach swoops as he spins the two of you around, backing toward the bed. He falls down onto the mattress and pulls you down on top of him.  He laughs, his voice husky at your look of surprise, bringing his hands to your waist to steady you as you lift yourself up to look down at him.

Still laughing a little, you lean down to kiss him, and it quickly grows heated as the intensity between the two of you spikes.

He’s still in his pants and you make quick work of the belt and zipper. He lifts his hips up to pull them off and throws them aside. 

You press your hand against his cock over his underwear, and he bucks against you, head thrown back.

“Ah…”

You feel the heat of his desire through the fabric, but what you want is right beneath.

 You close your teeth around the waistband and tug them down. He groans, lifting his hips to help you get them off. Once you cast his underwear aside, you wrap your lips around his member and suck briefly, a teasing touch that has him arching higher off the bed.

Before you could even process what had just happened, he throws a leg over you and flips the two of you over so that he’s on top and your legs are parted around his hips.

You call out his name as he roughly removes your underwear and creeps between your legs to tease his fingers against you, sending bolts of pleasure racing through all parts of your body.

“K-Katsuki…”

His mouth is hot against your neck as he speaks in a rush, hips rolling against yours.

“Make this one last the w-whole night,” you whisper in between breaths.

Lust flashes in his eyes and he growls deep, slowing the movement of his fingers against you.

You gasp as you feel him push into you, taking one of your hands and lacing his fingers with yours.

He sets a tantalizingly slow pace, making you groan loudly at the purposeful way he thrusts into you.

You grip onto his muscular shoulders, giving yourself over to the exquisite feeling as he bites back several deep groans of his own. He ducks his head to kiss your breasts, then begins to suck your nipples, sending shivers through your body as pleasure coils tighter and tighter inside you.

He stills suddenly, and you groan in a mix of pleasure and frustration, lifting your hips to search for more.

“You want this to last the whole night, huh? I’m going to give you what you want.”

You throw your head back as he starts moving again, your moans filling the room as he teases you toward that bliss, as you lose all sense of time.

_______

“(Y/N)! BAKUBRO!” You hear Kaminari knock on the door playfully. “Were you guys THAT exhausted that you did nothing but sleep yesterday!? We didn’t see you guys by the pool! Is something wrong? Are you guys sick!?”

You were cuddling with Katsuki after such an intense but amazing night, still wearing nothing, the blankets and comforters being the only ones shielding you from anything. 

“W-we’re fine Kaminari-kun.” You say groggily, Bakugo’s strong arms still wrapped around you, giving you all the warmth and comfort you need. “W-we’ll be down in an h-hour.” 

“Ok then! See you!” Kaminari leaves as soon as he arrives. You sigh softly and turn to your explosive boyfriend who was still sound asleep, you rest your head on his chest as you too, drift back to dreamland, excited for what else this vacation has in store for you.

-Fin. 

[talesmaniac89]

I Just Called to Say I Love You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: As Dean realises he’s only got minutes left to live and no way to get help, he calls you; so he can hear your voice and have one last normal, happy moment.

Triggers: Main character death, loss, lethal injury, angst, no happy endings here people.

Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour | Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour

---

This was it. End of the line.

Dean had always known he’d die in a ditch somewhere, fighting whatever monster of the week caught him unaware. But that didn’t make it any easier. The pain that had been blinding hot only seconds ago was already growing numb as his body grew colder from the years of life left unlived that was quickly escaping him to bleed out over the country road.

Gritting his teeth against the new shot of pain that seared through his nerves and burned them to ash, he reached into his coat pocket to fish out his phone. Forcing already shaking fingers to keep a tight hold of his last small lifeline to the rest of humanity. Biting off another gasped breath, he put the momentum of pained adrenaline to good use. Forcing himself up into a seated position against the rear right tire of the Impala with a whispered curse.

His eyes squinted against the darkness as he tried to assess the damage. The gravel around him was just a black canvas, matching the rest of the quickly fading world around him. He couldn’t tell how much blood he’d already lost. But, from the numbness slowly seeping into his bones and the dull constant pain, this was definitely it. His side was warm and wet with blood, and as his hand came away from the gravel he’d pushed against to sit up, the blood that coated it told the same story. Refusing to look closer, Dean pushed his palm against the wound. Willing the blood flow to slow down. 

To just give him a few more minutes. 

Calling for help wasn’t an option. By his professional estimate, he had a few minutes at most. Help wouldn’t make it in time. He was in the middle of Podunk, USA and it would take a hell of a lot more than a few minutes for anyone to make it out there. 

Still, as shaky fingers and quickly blurring eyes scrolled through his contacts, he couldn’t help but pray to an unresponsive God. Not for salvation or a promise of heaven. Just… A few minutes.

---

“(Y/N)... Hey baby,” Dean tried to keep the pain out of his voice as the dial tone across the phone was replaced with the background noise of a busy diner. 

“Dean?” The slight worry that coated your words clearly hinted at his unsuccessful attempt at fully hiding the weakness in his voice. Betrayed by his own slowly weakening body as life drained out of him to paint the gravel road an angry red. 

“Yeah, it’s me…” Biting back another wave of pain, he let the sound of your voice soothe over the worst of it as he forced himself to control his breathing. To hide how few lungful’s he had left to take before the sand in his hourglass flowed out across the bloodied country road. 

“Are you ok Dean? Do you need me to…” 

“No, no… Just tired from the hunt,” Dean lied, unwilling to paint his last few moments with you in dark colours of blood red anguish and black misery. If this was it, then he wanted it to be on his terms. With your soft voice in his ear and the sounds of the world moving on without him in the background. Another forgotten weapon of a war humanity didn’t know it was losing; left broken and useless on the battlefield. 

Maybe it was selfish, but he needed your light, not your heartbreak to lead him into that good night. He wanted gentle, he wanted the whisper, not the bang. 

“It was just a routine hunt. Easy as pie, nothing to worry about,”

“As long as you’re sure…” You hesitated across the phone, clearly not fully buying his words. You’d always seen straight through him; cut past the self-deprecating jokes and flirty smiles that had acted as his armour in a world that was more war zone than shelter. No small protective fib could make it past your emphatic warm eyes and big heart. Your love easily making the walls he’d built around himself crumble from the first time his eyes met yours.

As Dean closed his eyes, he could almost see you. (Y/E/C) eyes overflowing with worry as that cute little frown line formed on your forehead. Your mind making a mental tally of your emergency first aid kit back in the bunker. Ready to patch him back up the moment he walked through the door. Like you always did.

Except… He’d never walk through that door again. 

Squeezing his eyes shut and feeling the stinging heat of bitter tears cutting paths across his skin. Dean took a second to let himself wallow in the pain of those lost moments. All the things he’d never do again were much more agonizing than the deep gash in his side as his head numbly hit the tire of the Impala. The endless lost heartbeats he’d never get to spend by your side spilling out onto the dirt below him and leaving salty wordless verses inscribed across his tightly drawn lips as he tried not to sob out loud at the heartbreak. 

An eternity of you. Lost forever.

He’d never see you smile again. Never get to hold you close. You’d never come running up to him, equal parts happy and worried as he came back home from a hunt. He’d never get to kiss you, wrap you up into his arms and carry you back to the room he shared with you. Never get to feel you curl up against him, happy and content as he held you close and safe through the night. All those little moments, and an infinity more, were never going to happen. Ever again. 

“Dean?” The worry was back tenfold as you called out to him from the present. Pulling him away from the many imagined futures by your side that he’d never get to live. That light that your presence always brought into his life, even over small phone calls, the only bright spot left in the quickly fading world. The dark night around him, growing denser and more impenetrable with every small, pained gasp for air.

Holding the phone away from him, Dean allowed himself a shaky breath. Not bothering to wipe at the many tears staining his eyes and face. Knowing full well more were sure to follow, as he spent his last moment alive on the phone with you.

“Sorry. Connection’s bad. How are you… And Sammy?” Dean asked, keeping the sorrow of a man mourning for a lost future out of his voice as he finally pulled himself together enough to respond. Forcing his voice to sound brighter, happier, as he spoke. His free hand pushing numbly against the ticking clock of a lethal injury that was counting down his last minutes. Like bullets entering the chamber of a revolver. 

Dean’s body was growing weaker. He couldn’t keep up the pressure on the wound for much longer. Still, just… A little more. Just a few more minutes. He just needed to hear your voice for one last shared moment.

“We’re good, just waiting for you to come back. I’m getting your favourite pie ready for you,” Your words came a little easier now, relief clear at his little pained act. The teasing words tempting Dean with a last meal he’d never get to savour.

“Awesome. Can’t wait to dig in,” Dean said, giving a breathy laugh as he pictured your proud smile at the sweet gesture. One that just as quickly faded when the same picture warped. Showing tear stained eyes and a feast left untouched on a cold kitchen counter. “Just… Save me a big slice yeah?”

“I’ll save the whole pie until you get here,” Your bright laugh was better than any drug. Easily dulling the pain enough to distract him from the gruesome reality of his death. Just like it always did. Your laughter was his lullaby on hard nights and the euphoria that turned everyday moments into treasured memories. 

“When will you be home?” The hopeful little tinge to your voice speaking of sleepless nights missing him and the many more that were soon to follow.

“Soon,” Dean lied. 

He’d never be home again. Even if Sam and you broke protocol, forgoing the hunter’s funeral to bring his body back to the bunker. His home was in your arms, in your heart. And as he struggled to keep the phone raised to his ear, he knew he’d forever lost the strength to wrap you up in his embrace. 

His only hope was heaven, if they’d even let him in. And even that seemed like a cheap imitation of itself next to you. He’d long since found heaven in your arms. The real thing paled in comparison to that. 

“Great! Hey… You really do sound tired…” Your voice was soft and soothing through the phone as Dean let his eyes close. Unable to muster up the energy to leave them open for one last look at the ungrateful world he’d spent his whole life saving. Choosing instead to reserve the last remains of his strength to hear your voice and speak to you. 

“When you get back, maybe we should take a break for a day or two? Plan a movie night?” You added, planning for a homecoming that would never happen.

“That sounds great. You pick the movies,” Letting his tired and broken mind float into your pretend future, Dean barely managed a weak smile as he forced his hand to keep the phone to his ear.

“You know I’ll pick the cheesiest chick flicks, right?” Your laugh flooded every one of Dean’s remaining senses. This was it. If he had to go, this was how he wanted it to be. Just another shared moment, rewarded with the most beautiful sound known to man. Or at least to the soldier who was finally laying down his weapons, quiet and alone. 

“That’s fine, if I’m with you then even chick flicks are tolerable,” Dean could feel new warm tears flood the back of his closed eyelids. But unlike their predecessors, these didn’t burn him. Instead they felt like the loving soft strokes of your careful fingertips across his cheeks. Soothing away the pain with overflowing love for a woman that had always been everything to him. Since before he even knew you existed.

“Alright then you big softie, I’ll pick the movies. As long as you pick up the snacks and beer,” You said, your voice a bit louder and brighter as the sound of the bell over the diner door signaled your exit. He could picture you, balancing the pie against one hip, phone between your shoulder and ear and (Y/H/C) hair in your eyes as you pushed open the door and hurried towards your truck to beat him home. Not knowing he’d dropped out of the race already.

“Deal,” Dean promised. Hoping against hope that the same word wouldn’t slip from your lips in a completely different context once you learned about his death. Surrounded by yarrow flowers and standing at a crossroads, a box hiding a picture of your smiling face buried in the dead centre. 

“Listen, (Y/N)... I gotta go,” Dean’s last minutes were up. He could no longer feel the rest of his body. His heartbeat was just a ghost of its former self, as the last functioning nerves in his body focused on the phone that was slowly slipping out of his numb fingers. He had seconds, a minute, at most. He didn’t have time to make you promise him not to do anything stupid. Not without cluing you in on the end to his story that was quickly approaching. Just a few more words. Then it’d all be signed, sealed and delivered. Right into the hands of the same reapers that detested him.

At least he got to share his final heartbeats with you.

“Yeah, ok sure. See you…” Your cheerful voice sounded far away to his ears as you smiled over words that were much more final than you knew. 

Dean bit back the goodbye that tried to spill past his lips. Not wanting the finality of the words to taint his last moments. Instead he let his last words be a prayer to you. His last breath a sacrifice to the most important words in the world.

“I love you (Y/N). You know that right?” 

His voice was barely a whisper, the words a secret between the two of you. His greedy heart unwilling to share the warmth in those words with the cold country road around him, until the very end. The avaricious gravel could steal his life, but his heart was yours and yours alone. 

“I love you too Dean. Forever,” 

That was all Dean needed to hear. No goodbye, no forgiveness of past sins from some judging God. Just a last reminder that he’d been lucky enough to bask in your light and love, and he could finally let go. 

“Forever,” Dean echoed, before ending the phone call with a shaky hand. 

This was it. End of the line. 

As the tired hunter let the now quiet phone fall to the bloodied gravel below him, his last few seconds were spent picturing your smiling face behind closed eyelids. An imagined homecoming playing out in a numb and tired mind. He could put down his weapons, he could let go with no regrets. And as his final shaky breath left him, it did so with a smile and a last dying whisper of your name slipping over cold lips. 

“Forever… (Y/N),”

 ---

Dean Winchester tag: @ria132love​

[saxxxology]

What Goes Bump in the Night - 4

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics, Victorian social dynamics, allusions to non-consent and dubious consent, dominance/submission, slow burn with eventual smut, suspense/horror/gore themes.

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Series Masterlist

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Sam takes you on a short tour of the house the following morning. The living room and dining room you’ve already seen, but he shows you the library, the writing room, and the kitchen. The basement door is large, wide enough to fit four Sam-sized men shoulder to shoulder. The same sigil Sam bears is carved at chest height, lined with red paint to make it all the more obvious that it’s a room not to be entered by any ordinary person. There’s a heavy chain and padlock on the door, evidently put there to keep any over-curious persons out. 

Sam tells you that he’ll be back by late afternoon and leaves you standing in the living room, still dressed in your nightgown. You’re alone with the entire house and grounds to yourself.

You spend most of the day in the library, poring over the books that you can reach. Most of them are science-related, and it takes a while for you to find something illustrated that you can follow. The title reads On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, written by Charles Darwin. 

By the time the sun dips below the horizon, you’re starting to grow tired. All you’ve eaten is a slice of bread and an apple, and you’re longing for some of the perfectly cooked meat you’d enjoyed the night before. Sleep is quick to take over, however, and before you know it, you’re fast asleep, Darwin’s book open on your stomach.

Sam, Dean, and John get home just before dinnertime. The first place Sam checks for you is the library. John and Dean stop dead in their tracks when they see you stretched out on the couch, fast asleep with one of the most complex books of the century open on your lap. Sam, on the other hand, feels his heart warm at the sight. It’s a strange feeling he’s not sure he’s comfortable with.

“Ahh, the bitch can read,” John mutters.

Sam bristles at the insult, but replies with a level tone. “I wasn’t aware she could. Much less Darwin, at any rate.” He steps towards the couch, closing the book before lifting your sleeping body into his arms. “I’ll take her upstairs,” he says, “keep her out of our way while we work.”

***

You wake up in Sam’s bed. He’s sitting beside you, dressed in his usual nightshirt, newspaper open on his lap. He feels you move and looks down, smiling.

“You’re awake,” he murmurs. “It’s later. I’ve brought you something to eat.”

You stretch and look over at the table. It’s not much, just a bowl of what looks like soup, some bread, and a cup of tea. The same as the night he’d brought you home. “What time is it?”

Sam glances at the nightstand clock. “Nearly ten. You’ve been asleep since I got back a few hours ago. Did you have a good day?”

You shrug and sit up. “Just read, mostly. I didn’t think I’d fall asleep.” 

Sam chuckles and holds up the book as you climb out of bed. “I brought the book up, if you enjoyed reading it.”

You spoon soup into your mouth and chew slowly. “Thank you.”

His nostrils flare, and for a second, you see his eyes soften. “You’re welcome,” he replies. “How did you learn to read in the first place? Most Omegas don’t get an education.”

“Had to,” you reply quietly, “living on the streets was hard, but I didn’t have much to do. Sometimes I’d sneak copies of the newspaper and practice, and I knew enough from when my mother used to read to me.”

Sam notices your eyes grow foggy at the mention of your mother. “When did she die?”

“When I was five. She got sick with a fever and died two days later.” you swallow thickly and look down at your hands. “I haven’t thought about her in a long time.”

Sam sighs heavily. “My mother died too. I was six months old, I don’t remember her. I don’t even have a picture.” He issues a soft chuckle. “Guess I have more in common with you than I thought.”

You silently finish eating and retreat to the bathroom to clean your teeth. Sam follows, stepping into your place after you’ve washed your face and twisted your hair into a braid. He comes back to bed and climbs in beside you, reaching for the book. 

“Where did you leave off?” he asks, “I can read to you, if you’d like.”

You’re slightly taken aback by the sudden kindness. It’s strange, you’re used to him being rough and callous, more of a bully than a caring mate. Nevertheless, you slip the covers over your shoulders and give a short nod. “Yes, please.”

He opens the book to where you’d left off and begins reading. His voice is soothing, and you close your eyes, listening for several minutes as he reads slowly and clearly.

Sam only gets five pages in before you’re asleep again. He marks the page, sets the book on the nightstand, and turns out the light before lying down. Slowly, so as not to wake you, he shifts closer, laying his head on your pillow. You instinctively snuggle close in your sleep, and he chuckles softly through his nose. 

“Sleep well, Omega,” he whispers. 

***

You adjust to life at the Winchester house rather quickly. Sam and his family work a lot, more often than not late into the night, but Sam always makes time for you before you go to sleep. You find that Sam reading to you is more comforting than anything, and it becomes a routing for you to wake alone, spend your day reading or walking in the gardens (which happen to be quite full of fragrant herbs and fruit trees), and be with Sam for a brief, tense time after the sun goes down. 

On the fifth night of your stay, you’re woken by the sound of a gate creaking open. Sam’s not in bed, and his spot is cold. Voices echo from the courtyard, and you slip out of bed and go to the window, peering down into the back garden. 

All three men are awake and fully dressed. Two other men stand with them, conversing urgently in low voices. There’s a horse-drawn cart in the middle of the lane, and something in the back is covered in a thick, black blanket. John steps forward, lifts a corner of the blanket, and peers inside. It’s too dark to see the expression on his face, but you know the situation is urgent. 

He motions for the boys to lift what lies underneath the blanket onto a large stretcher. It takes both of them, plus the two other men, to lift it. They disappear under the terrace, and you hear the back door open, the sound of feet shuffling, and then the door closing. 

Suddenly afraid, you slip back into bed. Sam’s told you that the family dwells in the darker areas of science, but what had lain underneath the cart was large, evidently bigger than Sam, who stands several inches above almost everybody else you’ve ever seen. 

You draw the covers up as the voices rise, then fall. The back door closes, and minutes later, you hear the sound of the cart rolling down the gravel path, and the screech of the iron gates as they close.

Sam doesn’t come back to bed.

***

Two weeks after you come to stay at the Winchester house, the three men are set to go to a party. Sam tries to explain what it is, and you eventually gather that it's more of a dinner for fellow scientists than an actual party. He warns that he’ll be back late and not to wait up for him. The sun’s already down by the time the trio leaves, and there’s not much else to do than eat a quick dinner, take a bath, and go to sleep. You leave the oil lamp on; you always do if Sam’s not there with you.

You’re awoken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of the front door slamming shut. Footsteps hit heavy on the stairs, and moments later, the door swings open. Sam stumbles in, his shirt half untucked, one shoulder of his jacket ripped. His lower lip is split, too. He’s been fighting.

“‘Mega.” He’s drunk. You can smell the liquor on him.

“Sam.” You tense as he approaches the bed. “D-did you have a good time?”

He grumbles and crawls onto the mattress, watching you like a tiger stalking its prey. Without warning, he pulls the covers off your body, grabs your ankles, and drags you down underneath him. His hands slide up under your nightdress, brazenly grabbing handfuls of your ass as he ruts himself between your legs. He’s half-hard, you can feel the line of his half-hard dick pressing through his pants.

“Sam,” you try to struggle out from underneath him, “don’t, please...”

“Shut… up…” his voice is a slurred mess; he’s probably so far gone he doesn’t even know what he’s doing. 

He lets out a groan and settles over you, one leg between your thighs. His hips push against your belly, grinding in unsteady, lust-driven movements. The sounds leaving his throat are more like an animal’s, and you close your eyes, letting him take control. 

Fortunately, Sam’s inebriation takes over, and with a final shove of his hips against your body, he goes still, snores filling the room mere seconds later.

He’s passed out.

You slide out of the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet. You need to get out, to get somewhere where Sam can never find you again. Racing down the staircase, you head straight towards the front door, not caring if you’re barefoot. You grab hold of the handle and yank. 

Locked. 

“Well, well, well…”

Dean’s deep purr of a voice echoes behind you. You whirl around to see him slowly sauntering towards you. He’s got a bruised cheekbone and a small cut on the bridge of his nose. He’s obviously been fighting as well. 

“Dean,” you choke his name, “please, don’t—”

“Don’t… what?” He bites his lower lip, smirking as he draws closer. “Why’re you tryin’ to sneak out, pretty ‘mega?”

“I—” you choke as he cups your cheek with one hand, “I was j-just—”

“‘J-j-just.’” Dean mocks you, his mouth curving into a pout. You blink more tears out of your eyes, and he smirks wickedly, brushing your disheveled hair out of your face to expose the column of your neck. He wraps his hand around the back, his fingers curling into the hair at the base of your skull. “What,” he says again, “were you doin’? Hopefully not tryin’ to sneak out.”

“Sa-Sam, he…” you weep, suddenly aware of how badly you’re shaking, “he t-tried to… I don’t know...”

Dean clicks his tongue in mock sympathy. “Just a boy tryin’ to make his claim, ‘mega… it’s takin’ him a goddamn long time to make you his, it’s startin’ to make me wonder…”

You swallow, trying to keep yourself from emptying your stomach. “W-what?”

“If he’s not gonna do it,” Dean growls, “he’s leavin’ you up for me… or even our father.” He grips your hair, hard, and you can’t stop the loud whimper that leaves your lips. “My brother may have bought you, but as long as you don’t have that pretty little claim mark, you belong to all of us. Do you understand?”

You nod rapidly. You don’t know what’s scaring you more, the threat of rape from three Alphas or the lack of instinctual sympathy that Dean’s supposed to be having to your tears. “P-please… let me go, you’re hurting me.”

Dean smirks. “Just… one little thing, before I do.” He leans in and scents the the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He tips his head back, blowing air through his lips, and then releases you. “Go,” he orders, “don’t let me catch you tryin’ to sneak out again, pretty girl.”

You scamper back towards the stairs, tripping through the darkness as you head back to the room where Sam may or may not still be unconscious. 

He’s still spread out on the bed, snoring. You slide back under the covers, muffling your sobs with a pillow. You thought Sam was done being mean. You’ve gotten so caught up in his careful treatment of you over the last few days that you’ve forgotten what he is at his core: an Alpha male who has yet to claim you as a mate. If he’d been less intoxicated, he might have succeeded in his primal drive.

You don’t know how long it takes for you to fall asleep. All you remember is taking one last shuddering breath before passing out, curled up against the headboard.

***

You wake the following morning to the sound of Sam groaning in apparent discomfort. Opening one eye, you see Sam stumbling around the room, trying to get his clothes off. His eyes are slightly red-rimmed, and his jaw is slack. He sees you stir and lets out a short grunt. 

“Morning,” he grumbles, “did you sleep well?”

You nod, hoping he’s too hungover to notice your hesitance. “Yes.”

“Good.” He sits down on the end of the bed and rubs his face. “God, my head…”

You’re too skittish to offer any form of comfort. The memory of his hands on you, his heavy weight as he rutted his cock against you, is still too close for you to be okay touching him. “Did you get in a fight?”

He nods. “Yeah… happens every year, ‘s nothin’ new.”

You swallow, pulling your knees up to your chest. Your eyes are puffy and sting when you blink. “Do you remember coming back?”

Sam shakes his head. “No… I just remember Dean pullin’ me off some guy and then nothing.” He turns to look at you and notices the dark circles under your eyes. His brow furrows with concern. “Why? What happened?”

You shrug. “You just… when you came back, you, um… you got physical w-with me.”

His jaw sets. “How physical?”

“Um…” now that you actually have to talk about it, you don’t know how to phrase his actions. “You pulled me underneath you and… y-you rutted on me. It didn’t last long,” you cover, trying not to faint with embarrassment at having to describe Sam’s actions, “you passed out.”

Sam looks at his knees. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been drinking so much, I didn’t realize… I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I don’t think so,” you reply quietly, “just scared. I was afraid that if I tried to fight, you’d get angry.”

He swallows thickly and stands up. “It won’t happen again.” He makes to head into the bathroom, but stops at the door. “I promise that I’ll never force myself on you like that again. Do you understand?”

You nod, keeping your eyes on the bed. “Yes.”

He lets out a soft sigh and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

***

By the time you finally make it downstairs for breakfast, Sam’s sobered up. Dean and John sit at the table in their usual places, and you briefly make eye contact with Dean as Sam pulls your chair out for you, but says nothing, only sips his coffee like nothing’s happened.

You don’t feel like eating more than a slice of toast. Sam tries to get you to eat more, but doesn’t press the issue. You look like a wreck, even after washing your face and brushing your hair, and John points your appearance out on more than one occasion, much to Sam’s displeasure. 

The rest of the day passes with minimal event. Sam and Dean retreat to the basement after John takes the carriage into town to catch a train to Boston, and you set a blanket out underneath the shade of the large apple tree to read another chapter of Darwin’s book. 

Around midday, Sam brings out a tray of food and sits with you. It’s nothing special, just cheese, bread, and a bowl of strawberries. It’s an apologetic gesture more than anything, but you accept it with kindness. Barely any words are spoken before the tray is cleared and Sam returns inside, leaving you in the gardens alone.

The cook, who you’ve learned only comes at night, is given the night off, leaving you, Sam, and Dean alone in the house. You separate yourself from Sam and head up to the bedroom while the two men retreat to the library to begin a game of chess. 

Dean, unable to help himself, takes the opportunity to spill the events of the previous evening. 

“She tried to run away last night,” Dean mutters, claiming one of Sam’s pawns. “Caught her tryin’ to get out the front door.”

Sam stiffens. Anger wells up inside his chest, burning red behind his eyes. You tried to run from him. “She didn’t tell me.”

“Of course she didn’t, she knows what happens when Omegas try to run.” Dean smirks wickedly. “Doesn’t help that she doesn’t have a goddamn claim on her yet.”

Sam pushes his chair back, fists clenched by his sides as he storms out of the room.

[glitterinchaos]

What really happened after S14.E15...

It’s after Jack kills Michael and gets his powers back. It’s after the hunters that were killed in the bunker get their proper hunter’s funerals. It’s after Sam and Dean have had the time to bury their own emotions like they always do. It’s after Cas works tirelessly to do all he can to keep their family together and functioning.  

After all of this, they finally feel ready for a new hunt - an easy milk run - something to get them back in the swing of things and get their lives back on track. Other than watching out for Jack, there is no major threat to worry about and they can get back to the regular, run of the mill monsters and ghosts. So Sam finds something local, a possible haunted hotel only about thirty minutes away from the bunker, and they all agree to go check it out. There’s really no need for all four of them to go, but it feels like it’s something they should do all together anyway.

The hunt turns out to be straightforward and easy as far as hunts go. They identified the ghost, salt and burned the bones, and saved a young boy who was targeted to be the ghost’s next victim. Sam is thrilled and already eager to find another hunt. Jack can’t stop grinning, finally feeling useful again and, like always, Dean soaks in the excitement coming from them and smiles all throughout their celebratory meal at a local diner. The smile, however, is only on the surface. He doesn’t feel the same joy from the hunt as Sam and Jack do, and he’s not entirely sure why. No one seems to notice anything is amiss, but Dean needs to sort things out in his own head. He needs space.

When they are finished with their meal and ready to head back to the bunker, Dean makes up an excuse to stay behind, something about running errands and needing to pick up a few things. He had taken Jack out fishing again before the hunt, so Sam and Cas had met them at the hotel, leaving them with two vehicles. After assuring everyone that he’s fine, the others climb into Cas’s beat up truck while Dean heads over to the Impala. Just as he’s about to climb in, there’s a hand on his shoulder. It’s a tentative touch, but also firm and familiar. Dean turns around to come face to face with a very worried looking Cas. Just over Cas’s shoulder, Dean can see the truck already pulling away with Sam and Jack inside.

Cas recognizes Dean’s confusion and speaks first; “I’ll go with you… to run your errands.” Dean’s attempts at arguing against him are weak and lacking conviction. Without much of a fight, Cas ends up in the passenger seat as Dean drives. They drive a long stretch of highway in a comfortable silence and it’s nearly an hour before either of them speak.

“I take it you don’t really have any errands to run, do you?” Cas is careful in his approach and makes sure his words are gentle and without accusation. He can sense that there is more going on here and he really doesn’t mind aimlessly driving with Dean anyway. He never has.

“No, Cas. No errands. I just… I just wanted to drive.” The reply comes with a labored exhale and Cas notices that he sounds anxious. It also doesn’t escape his notice that Dean’s knuckles are white as they grip the steering wheel - a stark contrast to his usual relaxed demeanor when he’s driving the open road in his Baby. Dean’s jaw is set and he doesn’t even bother glancing over at Cas.

“Okay, Dean.”  They keep driving.

Another hour passes and dark, threatening storm clouds have rolled in. Dean seems no more relaxed than he was when they started out and Cas thinks it’s about time he say something.

“Dean, I think we should st--”

“I can’t do this anymore.” Dean cuts him off mid sentence and Cas allows him. He thinks Dean has been working up the courage to say something for the past fifteen minutes, so he remains silent and let’s Dean speak again when he’s ready. Several moments pass before he does. “I… I don’t know how to keep going, Cas. I’m just so tired and it’s taking everything I’ve got to put one foot in front of the other right now.” Dean’s fists are now opening and closing around the steering wheel and he’s trying to hold onto to something, anything, that might ground him and keep him in the moment.  

Dean’s breathing speeds up as he tells Cas what’s going on in his head. Cas mostly just listens, but will speak up with a question or comment when he feels like it’s needed. As Dean goes on, it becomes more and more difficult for him to inhale and raindrops begin to pelt the windshield. Cas is getting worried and moves to lay a hand on Dean’s forearm. When he does, Dean suddenly veers the car off to the right. It’s an unmarked dirt road and Cas wonders how Dean noticed it, or even if he really saw it at all. The Impala picks up speed and bumps along the dirt and gravel. Cas’s hand is still holding onto Dean’s forearm when they reach a small outcropping of trees and he comes to a jerked stop.

Dean gets out of the car, slamming the door shut with a force that makes Cas wince, and starts pacing. Cas gets out as well and watches him, helpless, as Dean continues to let it all spill over. His every fear and every worry… it all comes tumbling out in a panicked rush. Cas leans against the hood of the car while Dean goes on. His presence being the only thing he has to offer. Dean doesn’t know where it all comes from, but he can’t stop. He tells Cas things that he’s never even spoken aloud before - things he would never dream of telling Sam - and Cas just listens. He always been so good at that. Even when Dean has nothing important to say, he listens.

The rain is coming down harder now. Cas’s grace keeps him dry, but Dean doesn’t even notice his own clothes getting soaked through and Cas doesn’t dare interrupt. It’s an extremely rare occasion for Dean to freely let out his emotions in such an expressive manner, and Cas will be be there for him as his sounding board. He’ll gladly be whatever it is that Dean needs in this moment and right now, he just needs to be heard and to unload.

The agrier the incoming storm gets, the angier Dean himself becomes - his words get louder, his pacing gets faster, and his desperation grows deeper.  It’s an ominous parallel and one that Cas doesn’t miss. At the first crack of thunder, Dean doesn’t even flinch. He’s still going, but he’s repeating himself now. He’s worked up, a dam about to break. Then Cas sees them… there are tears in Dean’s eyes. Anyone else might not be able to notice since Dean’s face is streaked with rain, but Cas knows. He also knows it’s time to step in because Dean can’t keep going on like this.

Cas steps forward and into Dean’s path. Dean startles to a halt as he’s grabbed by the shoulders and firmly held in place. He looks up, finally making eye contact, and his look of surprise suggests that he had forgotten Cas was even there. His eyes are red now and his breathing is labored. Cas expects a fight, to be pushed away. Shouting maybe, or some kind of struggle at least. What he doesn’t expect is for Dean to collapse to his knees, soaking his jeans in mud and water.

Cas easily accepts Dean’s weight and collapses down with him. Dean immediately falls forward, his face burying into the crook of Cas’s shoulder and his fists grabbing at the lapels of the trenchcoat.  

The trenchcoat. The stupid, old, tax accountant looking trenchcoat. The coat that somehow, a long time ago (and without Dean’s conscious permission) became a symbol of familiarity to him. Dean has lost count of the times he’s held onto that coat for the simple yet profound comfort it provides.

Sobs wrack Dean’s body and despair consumes him. As his chest heaves and the tears fall freely, Cas’s strong, steady hands hold him close; one at the back of his head and the other between his shoulder blades. Neither of them say a word.

It takes a few minutes, but Dean finally begins to calm down. He slowly lifts his head and forces himself to look at Cas. He’s embarrassed and is afraid to see a face full of pity or annoyance or maybe even disgust looking back at him, but he sees none of those things. Cas is looking at him with concern and something that might even be considered admiration. Cas’s hands move to cup Dean’s face, but still he says nothing. They hold each other’s gaze for a few moments, having an entire conversation without any words at all. In the silence, Dean can hear Cas tell him that everything will be ok.  What’s more surprising is that Dean begins to believe it.  

Dean fights back another wave of tears as he wonders how long they’ve been this way with each other. How long has Cas been able to settle him with just a look or a gesture? How long has he trusted Cas enough to lay all his fucked up emotions out in the open? How long has he, without even realizing it, needed Cas’s comfort in times of distress? He’s not sure he can remember. Somehow, Cas wiggled into his life and made a place for himself so solid and permanent and important that his absence would leave a gaping, irreplaceable hole. He learned as much two years ago when he thought he had lost him to the Empty forever.

Cas still has his face in his hands and Dean just breathes, a calm washing over him amidst the rain still coming down. A bolt of lightning flashes behind Cas’s head, illuminating his silhouette. For just a moment, the light looks like a halo and Dean thinks that maybe… just maybe… he can see a faint outline of his wings, but the light disappears as fast as it came and he can’t see them anymore. He lets Cas cradle his head and the rain wash away the tears.

Slowly and with a gentleness that Dean has rarely ever experienced, Cas helps him to his feet.  He gestures for Dean to stay there while he gets the keys from the front seat of the Impala and opens the trunk. Finding what he needs in Dean’s duffel, he gently guides Dean to the back door of the driver’s side. Cas opens the door and lays a towel on the seat, nudging Dean to sit. When he does, Cas hands over a change of clothes for him to hold while he bends down and begins taking off Dean’s shoes and socks - Dean lets him without protest. Then, Cas takes off his trenchcoat and holds it above the door so Dean can change into dry clothes without worrying about the rain. He keeps his head above the roof of the car to give him his privacy.  When Dean is finished changing, the wet clothes are put back in the trunk and then Dean slides across the backseat, making room for Cas to slide in next to him.  

Once they are both dry and seated in the car, they lock eyes again. They haven’t spoken a single word between them since Dean collapsed into the mud. He wants to say something but doesn’t know what or how. He wants to say all the built up “thank you’s” and “I’m sorry’s”, but he can’t make the words come out. Instead, his words culminate in a fresh set of tears and he can’t even be bothered to feel ashamed of them anymore.  

“It’s okay, Dean. We don’t have to go anywhere else until you’re ready.”

Cas understands. He always does.

Just as Cas begins to move to the front seat to give Dean his space, he finally manages to get out one word. One word that he hopes says everything he’s ever wanted to say to Cas. One word that is a question, a suggestion, a request, a plea, and an “I need you” all rolled into one. Just one word.

“Stay.”

The response is immediate and unsurprising, but altogether an indescribable relief . “Of course.”

Cas takes off his coat, still dry by the power of his grace, and wraps it around Dean’s shoulders to help warm him up. Without any thought at all, Dean leans in and rests his head on him. They shuffle around to get comfortable and Dean ends up mostly laying on his left side with his back against the seat. His head is nestled on Cas’s shoulder and his right arm draped over Cas’s stomach. It’s a position that looks an awful lot like cuddling.

Once settled, Dean allows himself to relax against Cas. He feels warm and calm and… safe. Once again, he wonders when this all happened and how they ever reached this point. He stops just short of thinking too hard about how lying next to Cas like this is strange only because it doesn’t actually feel strange at all. It feels natural, like this is something they’ve always been meant to do and to be together. Cas doesn’t flinch or hesitate or question any of it. He’s just there, like he always is. Like he knows exactly when and how Dean needs him.

Dean falls asleep in Cas’s arms and with Cas’s hand stroking his hair. For the first time in longer than he can remember, he sleeps a deep and dreamless sleep. He finds a peace that he’s been searching for for so long and now understands that he’s actually had it for awhile. He has Cas and Cas is his peace. Cas makes him feel safe amidst a world that so often feels like it’s crashing in around him. Cas makes him feel like he’s found home. Cas is home. And that’s enough to quiet the storm that rages on both outside the Impala and inside his own mind. It’s after all this that Dean can finally breathe again.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Lions, Tigers and Bears, oh my! pt. 2; Winchester brothers x teen sister reader

And here is the second part of my new series and here is where I leave you guys cause I’m in the process of writing pt.3 but it’s still the beginning part and idk when I’ll end it before beginning pt.4. Now fill free to listen to the music choice I’ve chosen and if for some reason the link doesn’t work PLEASE LET ME KNOW so that I may try to fix it. Enjoy pt. 2 my lovelies and until next time ;) 

_____________________________________________________________

I was currently on the couch and Sam was huffing and growling almost as if he were talking to me and lecturing me.  

Dean wouldn’t stop glaring at me almost as if he were ready to attack me while Gabriel was enjoying every second of it.

“There’s no point in going at me Sam. It’s Gabriel’s toy!” I then turned towards the Archangel and said. “How do we reverse this?”

“Ohh see that’s the thing. There’s no potion or spell that can reverse this one”.

“What?!”

“And there is one more thing. By the second sunrise, your commandment will be permanent”. At that my jaw dropped as I turned to my brothers who were now both glaring at me.

“Please Gabriel, there’s got to be something that can be done to undo this thing”. He looked at me then my brothers as he hummed before I snapped out his name in anger then he said.

“Well there is one way to undo this. But it’s not by the usual way you Winchesters try to do, it’s what you have to do baby Winchester” I glared at the nickname as he then continued, “The one way to reverse this curse is to remember this phrase; Fate be changed, look inside. Mend the bond torn by Pride”.

“Isn’t that out of a movie or something?” I questioned.

“Movie or not that’s what you have to learn in order to change dear old Dean and Sammy boy back to their original selves. If you don’t realize that lesson before the second sunrise….well that’s just bad news for you kiddo”. I remained silent and looked at my brothers before Gabriel’s voice spoke up again “Well now that I’ve got my orb back, I bid you Winchesters adieu”. He bowed graciously.

“Wait no, no, no, no, no!” But it was too late as he was gone and the sound of fluttering wings echoed through the cabin. I kicked down a table and cried out “SON OF A BITCH!!!” I then turned towards my brothers and they both looked down solemnly.

I looked at them sadly and I knew that I couldn’t keep a full grown lion or black bear in the cabin for much longer. Pretty soon the rangers would come in to check on me and my brothers so I might as well use the damage that my brothers had already done after not recognizing each other at first to make it seem like wild animals had gotten in and trashed the place.

After packing up the bags into the car I got inside and just before Dean got in I told him.

“Whoa, whoa what do you think you’re doing?” He roared at me but I didn’t understand him. “What?” I asked.  My eldest brother then proceeded to roar very slowly and enunciating his roars at some points before looking at me as his ears perked up. “Sorry Dean-o, I don’t speak bear”.

Even as a bear he still was able to give me a bitch face as he gestured to himself first before pointing at the driver’s seat where I was currently sitting at before pointing at me then at the backseat.

“Oh no, no, no. Dean you don’t even have apposable thumbs, how the hell are you supposed to drive Baby? Hell you won’t even fit in this car with all that fat you’ve got”. His bitch face grew darker and it was then Sam stepped in and placed his paw on top of Dean’s back and pulled him backwards and the two of them proceeded to argue about it.

Both of them roaring and growling at each other before finally Sam let out a let roar and growled lowly and soon Dean submitted and started grumbling lowly as he sat on his butt.  Sam turned to me and I smiled at him and said.

“Thanks Sam, now you boys follow me, and try to stay out of sight”. He nodded then I started Baby up and I pulled her out of the driveway and proceeded to take the road further down until I found a path leading straight for the woods.

I made the left turn and drove up the pathway until I came to a clearing where I could hide her well enough up until the spell reverses.  I exited the car and locked her up then I took out the camouflage sheet cover and put it over her so that she wouldn’t draw anyone’s attention with her fabulous black paint.

I then heard a snap of a twig and soon coming out of the trees was Sam and Dean.

“Hey guys, well let’s see if we can’t find ourselves an old cave or something to set up camp for the night”. I then walked on ahead with some of the bags and my brothers followed behind me.

After about an hour and a half hike, we finally came up to good area with a cave. It was a nice area that was close enough to a small river with plenty of fish for Dean to eat.  And I knew where there was water, some game would come as well and that should satisfy Sam’s hunger as well as Deans should he want anything bigger.

“Well at least we’ll be nice and dry should any rain come. Check out the cave for a second Dean, make sure no one’s home”. He immediately went inside the cave and after about a minute, he head poked out and he gave us a gesture to enter.

Sammy and I went inside and I set the bags down and settled myself down. Man hunting is one thing but hiking….ugh that really knocks you right now.  Dean settled himself right down in front of me while Sammy came around behind me and lay down on his stomach and let out a big old lion yawn.

“Tired already?” I gently brushed through his dark mane he turned towards me before falling down onto his side. “Well lions to typically sleep 23 hours a day, especially the males”. He glared softly at me and I held my hands up in surrender telling him that I was just telling the facts.

It was then I took notice of Dean sniffing through the snack bag and I pulled it away from him and said.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XT3gSBCZjNc

“Ah-ah not those!” He growled at me and I instantly knew he was asking ‘why?’ “Because you big goober you’d eat the whole thing and I’d have nothing to eat. You need to eat what bears eat”. I then pointed out to the river where I knew there would be some salmon there.

Now Dean being a smug little shit that he is, thought that he could catch a ton of fish and especially now since bears were experts at getting fish.  So he swaggered over to the stream and stood on top of the small rock formation on his two feet and as fish came flying up he missed each and every one of them.

He kept trying and trying until finally he almost had one but it kept getting out of his paws until he finally fell off the top of the stream and fell into the river.  As he came up two fish slapped each side of his face and he just sat there with yet another bitch face on him.  I rolled my eyes and stood along the river and gestured for him to get back on his feet.

I now stood beside him at the top of the stream and gestured for him to watch me.  I waited patiently for a fish to come and as soon as one came right at my feet, I grabbed it quickly with both hands and then made eating motions towards Dean.

He then looked towards the stream to see more fish coming up towards him.  He decided to keep his mouth open hoping that a fish would just jump right in which eventually one did but it kept squirming in Dean’s mouth so he spat it out which made me laugh as he licked his lips before finally catching one that flew right by him on instinct.

He let out a surprised grunt and turned towards me and I applauded him.  Fish after fish he caught then when he caught another fish he decided to see if he could toss it up onto land to save it for me but he didn’t throw far enough and it landed on the smooth rocks which allowed it to swim back into the water.

Dean grumbled and slammed his paw on the water which made me laugh before he turned towards me and I shut my mouth teasingly while still smiling at him.

The rest of the time Dean and I spent fishing together.  As he was on the tail of one of them, I cried out to get his attention on a big one that I had nabbed.  

When suddenly it slipped out of my hands and I fell backwards into the water but some of my fall was cushioned and when I turned around, I saw Sammy.  He looked at me with warm golden eyes and pushed me back up the rocks before following behind me.  Soon the rest of the afternoon was filled with fishing with my brothers.

The things we never got to do growing up, that they never got the chance to do since hunting had been a part of their lives much longer than it has mine.

Having fun.

Sammy like a house cat trying to chase after a laser pointer, was trailing behind a fish while Dean was on point of another one. And if we weren’t fishing then we were playing with each other.  Sam and Dean wrestling with each other splashing water everywhere trying to see whether Lion or Bear was the strongest beast.

Then I would get in on the wrestling match or just start kicking and splashing water towards them and that’s when Dean would stand up before slamming his paws on the water sending water my way.  Or with Sam when he would playfully but gently pounce on me sending me down to the water.

I now brushed the wet hair out of my face to see Dean sitting along the water like a real bear with a salmon in his paws while Sammy was up along the shore licking his catch like a real lion claiming his kill.  As I stared at them I almost couldn’t help but think back on all that’s happened this far.

Maybe Gabriel was right.  We Winchesters are known to be stubborn and prideful at times because we always want to be right and prove that we can save everyone, especially me.

I’ve lost my brothers so many times that if I had lost them on that witch hunt—I wouldn’t know what I would’ve done.  I just….couldn’t go through that heartbreak again.  

That’s why I did what I did on that hunt, and now here I was with my brothers for the first time since I was a kid before I got involved with hunting playing with them like I used to.

It was then both my brothers began to walk away but in different directions.  I quickly raced out of the water and grabbed my gun and first followed behind Dean calling out to him.

“Wait! Where you going?” As I got closer to Dean I couldn’t help but giggle after still having the adrenaline of having fun just a second ago as I reached out to him saying, “Dean come back” but as soon as I touched him, something happened.

He turned and growled at me.

I looked at him confused and softly backed away. He fully turned towards me his head now lowered as he grunted and growled aggressively, his ears pointed backwards and he showed no sign of fear as he kept stomping towards me.  But what struck me most were his eyes, pure black but they were demon eyes, his irises were just blown up pitch black as his brown eyes weren’t there anymore.

“Dean….is that you?” he then lunged his paw out his claws ready to slice me to pieces but I ducked and let out a cry but felt no claws on me.  I slowly looked up to see Dean mid-way in his attack almost like with a snap of a finger he was back to normal.

He looked at his paw fearfully before I said his name like a scared little girl.  Dean let out a soft bear whimper as he backed away before standing up on his two legs with his front paws crossed over each other.

“You changed. Like you were a—” he grunted again worriedly as I try to break it too him gently, “I mean….like you were a bear on the inside”. He grunted regretfully then he got back down on his fours and nuzzled me, begging me to forgive him. “I forgive you Dean-o but you don’t think Sammy…..” He huffed before he gestured for me to get on his back.

I did as told and he ran on ahead as we tried to find Sam.  We soon found him out in the open eating himself a large moose growling lowly as he ate the large creature.

“Never thought I’d live to see when our moose would eat a real moose. What would Crowley think of that?” I stated.  Dean let out a bear grumble and he cautiously walked up towards Sam.  Once we were about a foot away from Sam, I slowly got off of Dean and I cautiously said.

“Sammy?” It was then he turned towards me growling defensively as his big paws pulled his kill closer to him.  I knew then that I wasn’t talking to my big brother, but a real lion.  He continued to growl defensively at me before he did a false charge which made me jump back as Dean stood defensively on his hind legs and roared as Sam and whacked him with his paw.

At that moment, Sam’s growling stopped and he just looked at us before looking down at me with sad eyes.  Dean stood down and said something to Sammy in bear language which Sam understood.  

Sammy looked to me and slowly walked up towards me and I held my hand out to him and he placed his strong muzzle against my hand and I felt through his soft, golden fur.

“It’s okay Sammy, Dean about did the same thing. But that means we’ve got to get you guys back to normal and fast, who knows when you guys could go rouge again”. I looked up to see that the sun was starting to set so I lead the boys back to the cave campsite.

[impala-dreamer]

For Those Left Behind

SPN FanFic

~Sometimes the hunt goes wrong. Sometimes it goes... really wrong.~

Dean, Sam, Reader, OMC

3,138 Words

Warnings: ANGST. Everyone and Everything Bleeds.

A/N: Thanks to @because-imma-lady-assface for the read over and the incredibly horrid ideas. My wife is just as evil as I am! Thanks to the anon who Dared me to do this. And... to the rest of you... I’m not even a little bit sorry. Though, I did cry twice while writing this. What can you do? 

Feedback is GOLD ~ My Masterlist

The engine roared through the dark, tires kicking up bits of asphalt as Dean pushed eighty; his foot grazing the floorboards.

Streetlights along the empty highway had been left in the dust as civilization disappeared, replaced with corn fields and dying wheat. The amber waves of grain were but a blur in the windows as Dean's knuckles blanched against the steering wheel.

Sam's hand slammed against the dash as Dean took a sharp left, veering off the main road and slipping through the night. All was dark for a moment before headlights lit them from behind.

“Son of a bitch!” Dean cursed through clenched teeth, momentarily blinded by the high beams that struck the rearview.

From the backseat, Y/N gave a muted shriek as she spun around to look out the back window. “He's gaining on us!”

“You think!” Dean shouted at her, trying to control the car as it shimmied on the dirt road. The wheel protested his guidance and shook in his hands.

Sam turned in his seat, his eyes wide when they met Y/N’s. It seemed all her courage during the hunt had been drained by the long car chase, and for once, Sam was right there with her. His chest rose and fell with staccato breaths that matched hers; both hunters terrified by the white pickup truck that sped behind them.

The case had started like any other; a few bodies dropped in an unconventional way, a few random omens catching the Hunter’s attentions. In the end, the trio had stumbled upon a small town populated by demons, with a handful of straggling humans left about as play things. There was no rhyme or reason, and the demons bounced from body to body, causing a ruckus that no one could ignore.

After much prep work, Y/N and the boys had killed all but one blackened soul, and that demon was set on exacting revenge for his fallen demonic family.

He called himself Marax, and a quick peek at Sam's tablet revealed they were in over their heads.

“This bastard means business,” Dean said under his breath as the road bounced beneath them.

“I told you we should have called in backup!” Sam shouted over the engine's protest.

“What backup?” Dean shot back, twisting his face in annoyance. “We are the backup!”

“Do we really have to keep fighting about this?”

Sam and Dean looked over their shoulders in unison, their jaws sealing shut at the sight of Y/N haloed in bright yellow light.

She hadn't expected them to shut up so easily, and stared back in confusion. “What?”

Her voice was muted by a loud whack, and the grind of metal on metal.

Sam sucked in a deep breath, his hazel eyes growing wide in shock as Y/N’s body lurched forward, propelled into the back of his seat by the force of the collision.

Dean scrambled to control the car as the pickup eased its speed and revved its engine once more.

“She OK?” Dean tried to see her in the mirror, but Y/N was slumped too far down; her forehead and nose swelling with a bruise.

“I…”

“Sam! Is she OK!”

Sam all but jumped over the seat, reaching to shake Y/N’s shoulder. She stirred, moaning quietly at the touch.

Sam sighed in relief and sank back in his place. “She's OK. Just get us out of here.”

Dean gripped the wheel tightly and pulled himself up, trying to look ahead down the dark Pennsylvania road. “What do you think I'm trying to do?”

The car went dark as the pickup slowed behind them.

“Is he giving up?” Sam asked in shock, turning once again to stare out the back window.

“Doubt it.” Dean slammed his right hand against the wheel and let out a low growl. “Never should have gone in there, Sammy. We're fucked.”

Sam's eyes narrowed as guilt stabbed his heart. “I didn't know what we were dealing with…”

“You know what!” Dean started to continue the argument, but found no point. “It doesn't matter.”

“So what do we do?”

“I don't know. Why don't you stuck your head out the window and start screaming an exorcism?”

“Dean!” Sam pointed ahead of them to a cutout in the field to their right.

Dean gave him an unsure shrug before turning the wheel.

The wheat was cut down in a path barely wide enough for the Impala, but Dean kept her steady, navigating the erie terrain in the pitch black. The ground was ridged with deep wells that shook the car as it flew over them, and Dean cringed at the loud bangs and scratches he heard from beneath.

“I'm so sorry, Baby,” he whispered to his beloved and pushed her onward.

The road behind them was clear, and for a moment, the boys thought they had lost their tail. They gave each other a smug look of satisfaction before the field fell away around them.

At top speed, Dean drove out of the grass and into an intersection, not bothering to look any way but straight ahead.

A flash of headlights struck the side of his face, and Dean turned towards Sam, watching his mistake come to life.

Marax drove his giant pickup right into the passenger side door, t boning the Impala with all the force of a tank. The crash lifted Sam from his seat, shooting him sideways into Dean, their sides cracking against one another. When the Impala settled into the impact, the force pulled Sam back towards the door, his head cracking hard against the window. Dean screamed for his brother and watched as Sam slumped forward onto the dash, spilling a deep crimson flood across the tan.

The window shattered, the door caved inwards, and Dean was powerless to stop the crash. Tires spun, rubber burning on the gravel as the pickup pushed them sideways down the dark road.

Dean gave up on the wheel, his hands moving to his brother’s lifeless form. He shoved Sam back against the seat and cupped his fingers over his mouth, relieved to feel a weak push of air against them.

“Sam!” Dean shook him hard, but he was out cold. Dean figured it was for the best when he turned back in his seat and saw where they were headed. The road was ending fast, dropping away as the ground dipped into a steep hill. Panic rose in his chest, and Dean scrambled to fit the lap belt across his waist. It took a moment to dig the belt out from between the seat, and as soon as it clicked into place, the loss of gravity made Dean's stomach flip.

The pickup came to a hard stop as the Impala fell away, rolling gently down the hill. The first roll was slow, almost graceful, as the massive car tipped on its left two tires. When gravity reclaimed it however, the tumble became fast and hard. The roof bounced off the ground at the base of the spin, and the three-sixty began again.

After three full rolls, Baby landed back on her tires; a breadcrumb-like trail of shattered glass and bits of metal behind her on the grassy hill. A waxing moon peeked out from behind heavy gray clouds and shone down on the mangled wreck. Horses brayed in the distance; an owl settled on a nearby branch, but otherwise, the night was suddenly still and silent.

Dean opened his eyes, slowly coming back to himself, but not daring to move. He took a few deep breaths as consciousness filled his body and alerted him to the damages done. He felt the blood as it dripped slowly down from his brow and lip; endured the horrid ringing in his ears that experienced named as a concussion. He wiggled his fingers and toes, and finding each responsive, turned to his right to check on Sam. The movement sent fireworks through his system, based around the joint of his left shoulder. His arm felt dead against his side; the old dislocation taking the opportunity to show itself again.

“Sam…” Dean groaned his name, his throat dry and cracking. “Sam!”

Despite the pain flowing through him, Dean leaned over the bench seat and looked Sam over. He was on his side, face down against the black leather; long hair drenched in blood, his arm twisted impossibly behind him. Dean pressed his fingers to Sam’s neck and felt his pulse weak, but steady.

He tried to look over the seat to find Y/N, but broken ribs stopped him mid turn. He let out a yell as he gasped for breath, and slammed a fist against the bent steering wheel.  

Somehow, Dean managed to open his door, the creak of the hinges worse than he’d ever heard it before. He took a step, ready to race to Y/N, but his right knee buckled and sent him down to the ground, cringing in pain.  

Dean struggled to his feet, his good hand pulling desperately at the backdoor, but the metal wouldn’t give. Leaning on the wreckage, he walked around the back, trying not to look at the crumpled truck or the twisted chrome, and gripped the handle of Y/N’s door. The frame was crushed inward, glass gone and blown away. The roof was so low on this side of the car, he was half grateful that she had already been down when they fell.

Barely able to fit, Dean pushed himself through the gap where the window used to be and found Y/N a crumbled mess on the floor. She was jammed in the footwell, foot turned badly as it hung over the green cooler, her head in her hand, chest rising slowly as if she slept. Dean brushed the hair back from her cheek and came away with thick blood. She didn’t move, but her breathing seemed stronger than Sam’s, as if being stuck in the tight space on the floor had cradled her during the automotive acrobatics.

“Y/N/N…” he tried to get her to move, pushing at her cheek with heavy fingers, but she was unresponsive. “Come on, Princess…”

Pulling back, Dean moved up to Sam’s door but found it just as broken as the other, possibly worse, as most of the initial impact had landed there. Fighting through the pain in his shoulder, he pulled at the door frame as hard as he could, but his hand slipped and sent Dean flying backwards onto the ground. His body protested yet another hit, and his vision, already burning with sweat, began to blur. He lay back for just a moment, trying to let the pain subside and figure out what the hell he was going to do. He took a deep breath and nearly wretched from a deep, acrid smell that wafted up from the damp grass around him. Dean’s eyes flew to the underside of the Impala and saw gas dripping down in a thick stream. The smell was all around him, and he slowly followed his nose and the trail of glass up the hill, realizing that his Baby was bleeding as well. A dark, wet line of fuel had marked their path, and when his eyes reached the apex, Dean’s heart stopped.

Marax stood at the very top of the slope; evil intentions visible even as the man was washed in shadow. He lifted his hands towards his face, and Dean caught a glimpse of onyx eyes as Marax lit a cigarette and smiled down at the broken Hunter.

Everything inside Dean screamed as he jumped to his feet and tried in vain to open the backdoor. He could see Y/N lying on the floorboards, could almost reach her, but to pull her out through the window would have been next to impossible.

He let out a scream that echoed through the wreckage, and Sam stirred in the front seat.

“Dean…”

“Sam! Jesus!” Letting go of Y/N’s door, Dean moved to the front and fit his bloody fingers into the tiny gap between the door and the car body.

Sam tried to sit up, but a wave of nausea instantly forced him back down. He managed to untwist his arm from around his back, but he could barely feel a thing; he was numb from shoulder to fingertip.

“Where’s Y/N?” Sam breathed her name around a choking cough that forced blood from his lungs to splatter across the leather. Beside, him, Dean tugged at the door, still unable to pop it open or even disengage the latch.

“She’s-” Dean stopped as a tiny orange light moved across his vision in black paint, and he turned to see Marax flick the glowing cigarette down onto the grass. The burning butt hit gasoline and instantly ignited a fire that took off towards the Impala in a slow, terrifying crawl.

“Sam! I need you to get up! Now!” Dean screamed, turning back to the door.

Sam lifted his head and saw the line of flames fast approaching. He shot up and tried to push at the door as Dean pulled, but it was no use. Through the shattered window he called to his brother, “Get Y/N. Get her out!”

Dean shook his head, green eyes filled with panic, but Sam set his jaw and Dean gave up on his door. He moved to the back and tried climb through the window enough to pull Y/N up.

Sam rolled to his side and attempted to crawl to the open driver’s side door, but his right leg was caught by jagged metal, pinned to the crushed door. He let out a roar as he tried to pull himself free, each movement tearing at his flesh and filling him with pain.

“I-I can’t get her!” Dean yelled, his throat closing around a wave of bile that crept up from deep inside. “Sam!” He looked up to see his brother still struggling on the front seat, and his mind was made up.

Around the car he flew as the flames ate at the ground, coming ever closer. He dove through the open door and grabbed Sam, hooking his hands beneath his arms to yank him up and out. Sam wailed as his leg was torn against the mangled metal, and Dean pulled even harder.

“My leg!”

“Just come on, Sam! Push!”

Gasping through the pain, Sam looked out the broken window where his head used to rest and saw that they were running out of time.

“Dean...stop. Go.”

“What! No, fuck you, come on, Sammy!”  Dean pulled with all the strength he could find, but Sam was stuck.

In the last second, Sam flipped over. Ignoring the pain that rushed through him, he set his big hands on Dean’s shoulders, and gave a push that knocked his brother backwards from the car.

Dean landed on the hard, cold ground and watched in silent horror as the flame reached the back tires. His body moved on its own, his mind begging his feet to carry him back to the car, but they would not listen. Dean turned away from the car to run just as the fire reached its goal.

The blast sent Dean flying through the air and he landed some yards away, his body screaming just as loudly as his head. He rolled over and looked on in shock as the flames burned high and bright; smoke billowing up into the dark night.

Dean’s scream was wordless as it followed the smoke up to Heaven. His fists broke against the stone as he beat the earth, his lungs strained as he gulped for clean air. He could feel the heat from the flames, smell the burning flesh and rubber, see the Impala reducing to a charcoal husk against the green of the hillside.

When his arms gave up their fight with the dirt, he fell back and set his eyes to the cloudy sky, praying to no one, begging to wake up back in the motel room, all of this having been just a horrible nightmare.

He knew it was all too real when he felt Marax’s fists close around his jacket and hoist him to his feet. Dean slumped in the demon’s grasp, already destroyed and uncaring of his fate. Marax lifted his balled fist high, ready to strike, and Dean spit in his face.

“Just get it over with,” he sneered.

The demon lowered his arm as a malicious smile lit his face. He stared down at Dean for a long moment before pushing him back to the ground.

“You know what?” Marax gave a quick laugh and brushed a bit of dirt from the sleeve of his coat. “I’m going to let you live, Dean Winchester.”

Dean’s body was shaking, on the verge of collapse, but he kept his voice strong and hard. “Yeah, why’s that?”

“Because death,” Marax told him, nodding over his shoulder at the burning wreckage. “Is only painful for those who are left behind.”

Fire burned in Dean’s gut to match the flames around the Impala and he pushed himself up, reaching into his jacket to pull his knife. “It’s probably not smart to leave me alive,” he cautioned as his hand closed around the wooden handle. “I’m kind of a Wild Card.”

Marax laughed and gave Dean a final, satisfied grin. “We’ll see,” he said as he tipped his head back.

Dean rose to his feet and drew his weapon just as black smoke flowed from Marax’s mouth; the demon vanishing into the dark sky, leaving Dean alone.

The vessel fell to the ground and Dean went with it, dropping to his knees as tears filled his eyes. He cursed the demon, cursed the lore that had lead them astray; cursed the stupid waxing moon and the empty Pennsylvania landscape. He cursed the clouds, and the air; the grass and the flames. He cursed himself for not being strong enough or fast enough. He cursed himself for being alive.

The car burned for hours, but Dean would not leave the hillside. The sky lightened with sunrise, but Dean stayed put.

When the last ember had darkened to ash, and the final wisp of smoke had dissipated into the morning light, Dean stood up. He brushed the dirt from his palms and shook out his jacket. He fit his knife back into its spot and wiped the wetness from his cheek. On shaking legs, he followed the line burned into the grass and climbed up the hill. His boots found the gravel road at the top, and he turned West, away from the sunrise, away from the Impala, away from Sam and Y/N, away from the pain.

Dean walked West towards the fading night, towards the demon, towards revenge.   

*Tagging all lists, because I can.*

FOREVERS (closed): @akshi8278 @allinhishands @amanda-teaches @atc74 @autopistaaningunaparte @because-imma-lady-assface @blanketmadeofstar @blushingdean @brewsthespirit-blog @brooke-supernatural16 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @cassieraider @charliebradbury1104 @charred-angelwings @chelsea072498 @chrisevansisdaddy04 @chumi-la-chula @courtney-elizabeth-winchester @crispychrissy @daughterleftbehind @docharleythegeekqueen @dustycelt @dylanosprayberry03 @emoryhemsworth @emptywithout @erin654 @evansrogerskitten @evyiione @faithfullpanicmoon @fallenangelsneverfade @fandomismyspiritanimal @fandom-queen-of-wonderland @fangirlofeverythingme @fatalcrossbow @feelmyroarrrr @findingfitnessforme @flormolero @frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @geekgirl1213 @ginasmith @grace-for-sale @growningupgeek @hair-dresses @hexparker @icequeen6666 @idreamofhazel @ilsawasanacrobat @imascreamerbabymakemeamute @impalaimagining @im-super-potter-locked @jayankles @jessilliam-caronday @jesspfly @jocelyn-of-the-jellyfish @jpadjackles @just-another-winchester @katelynbkool @katymacsupernatural @kdfrqqg @lauren-novak @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @lefthologramdeer @lipstickandwhiskey @luciisthebest​ @mandilion76 @meganwinchester1999 @mery-magizoologist @michellethetvaddict @milkymilky-cocopuff @missselinakitty @mistressofallthingsgeeky @mjdoc90 @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @mrswhozeewhatsis @musicgleenerd @myfand0msandm0re @naviwhite @newtospnfandom @nichtlisax @notesfromalabprincess @obsessivecompulsivespn @ohmychuckitssamanddean @percussiongirl2017 @pinknerdpanda @poukothenerd @purrculiar @queen-of-deans-booty @ridingmoxley @riversong-sam @roxy-davenport @roxyspearing @samisimportant @saxxxology @sgarrett49 @sireennotsiren @skadi-winterfell @snarkpunsandsarcasm @sofreddie @sophiebobzz @spn-fan-girl-173 @spnjunky @sumara62 @super100012 @supernaturaldean67 @supernatural-girl97 @supernaturallymarvellous @super-not-naturall @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @theoutlinez @there-must-be-a-lock @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thinkwritexpress-official @tmccarney @trexrambling @turnttover @typicalweirdbookworm @walkingkhaleesi @wayward-marvel-sommer1196 @winchesterprincessbride @wordstothewisereaders @wotinspntarnation @xxmizzlexx

The Dean’s List:

@babyismyspiritanimal @blackfandomtrashandproud @blue-eyed-devil

@brihughes4 @boxywrites @bringmesomepie56 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @colagirl5 @ericaprice2008 @fangirl-brat @girliciousdreams @jealousbitxh @jojo-nz @juniorhuntersam @kathaswings @lavieenlex @lostsoulsworlds @love-me-some-pie21 @melodyhiddleston @nerdwholikesword @niamandthings @oreosatmidnight @paleogamrgrl @pilaxia @polina-93 @salvachester @samikitten @sanjuskaa @shamelesslydean @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @spookyphyscho @spontaneousam @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @thehardcoveraddict  @torn-and-frayed @valerieshubin @vickihushush @waiting-to-find-myshadows @wanderlustnightwanderer @winchasterdean @winchester-writes @xxhorrorkingxx @zanthiasplace

Sammy Lovers:

@akoya-pearls @bambi95-blog @blackfandomtrashandproud @blue-heaven-winchestergirl83 @frickfracklesackles @jealousbitxh @jenwritesfiction @lavieenlex @melodyhiddleston @m0ther-of-drag0ns @niamandthings @nerdwholikesword  ofloveandlonging @oneshoeshort @paleogamrgrl @pilaxia @sammy-moo @samwinjarpad @spnwoman @spontaneousam @winchester-writes @winter-in-wakanda

Just because even though she didn’t ask: @kittenofdoomage

[sophisticated-angel]

Out of My Hands - Part Fifteen

Character: Castiel, Dean Winchester

Warning: Leading up to hella angst

Word Count: 1,640

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Castiel x Reader

Prologue - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six  - Part Seven - Part Eight  - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve - Part Thirteen - Part Fourteen

Summary: Coughing up his Grace, Castiel finds his wife close to death and knows there’s only one thing he can do.

Story

   Castiel can feel the tennis ball - his Grace - building by the time Azariel has dragged him down the hall to the first occupied cell he’s come across. Inside, (y/n) lies splayed on the floor, and Castiel’s heart drops when he sees her all covered in drying blood, black, veiny burns blazing terrible paths up her left arm, eyes closed, body still.

   “What have you done?” he coughs.

   “What does it look like?” Roughly, Azariel throws him down beside (y/n)’s body. “There’s your precious wife.”

   Shaking and sick, Castiel braces himself above the girl and cups her face with one hand. Tears burn in his eyes, and his grief mingles with rage and hatred towards his brother. “You killed her,” he murmurs.

   “Not yet I haven’t. Focus. She is dying, though. Slowly. You two have a lot in common.”

   Biting back every emotion, Castiel shuts his eyes and directs every ounce of strength into reading (y/n). He just about laughs when he picks up a brain wave and a breath. Both are weak, and he realizes that she’s dying from the inside out. She’s so close to death, too far gone to wake up. Still, she’s not all the way gone yet. He made it.

   Above him, Azariel lets out a bored sigh. “This Grace thing is taking too long.”

   Castiel looks up just in time to see his brother raise his angel blade above his head. Flinching, he huddles over (y/n) as the blade is brought down, but a shout interrupts the moment. Azariel whirls around just in time to have a new blade plunged up through his jaw and into his brain. Light pours from his eyes and mouth, and then he crumples to the floor, lifeless. Dean stands over him, chest heaving and eyes wild with adrenaline.

   “Dean,” Cass croaks. The ball is moving up his throat now, bringing with it a dizzying wave of nausea. “We have to go.”

   “Please tell me she’s-”

   “Not dead. Alive. Barely. Go.”

   Carefully but without restraining his urgency, Dean scoops up (y/n)’s body, and Cass doesn’t miss the kiss he plants on her forehead. With considerable effort, Cass gets to his feet and sucks in a breath. The nausea persists, but he fights through it and fumbles in his pockets for a nub of white chalk that he uses to scrawl the symbol that opens the portal. The portal bursts forth in its blue-white glory, and he follows Dean through it.

   They step through into the same sandbox, but now the park is streaked with pale pink and gray morning light. Fresh air fills Castiel’s lungs, and he sucks it in greedily. It turns on him in an instant, and the tennis ball in his throat erupts again. More of his Grace spills from his mouth, but somehow he manages to stay standing though he bends and plants his hands on his knees.

   “Cass!” Dean’s voice snaps him out of his sick daze. “Come on!” Dean is already striding back to where he parked his car, too far ahead and too worried about (y/n) to notice his friend’s predicament.

   On shaky legs, Castiel attempts to go after Dean, but his body fails him. His vision swims for a moment, and he swerves sharply to the left. It’s Sam that comes to his rescue. Asking no questions, the younger Winchester offers himself as a crutch to the angel, and together they hobble towards the Impala. Amid the rush, Castiel notices that Sam appears to be unharmed. The two guards are nowhere to be seen, and he wonders if he’s lost two more brothers. He zones out on this idea and barely registers being guided into the back seat, and then the world spontaneously snaps back into focus. Dean lays (y/n) across the back seat, laying her head on the angel’s lap and tenderly brushing her hair out of her face.

   “Don’t let her die.” It’s less demanding and more beseeching.

   The Impala rumbles to life, and in seconds Dean is gunning the car out of the park and onto a long stretch of empty road. There isn’t a town for miles.

   Yet again the ball is growing in Castiel’s chest. His stomach rolls, and he breathes through his mouth. The nausea tickles the back of his throat just behind his tongue, and the moment he shuts his eyes, all he wants to do is fall asleep. It’s so nice in this dark place, so calm and quiet, and maybe he could escape all of this. If he goes to sleep and never wakes up, none of this panic, this rush to save the girl he was forced to marry, would bother him anymore. He would be free of everything; the dream world would have him. But the curse won’t let him sleep. Just as his consciousness begins to flicker out, the ball is in his mouth, his stomach lurches, and he spits out another stream of blue light. Gagging on his own Grace, one of his hands grips the top of the front seat, and the other rests stiffly on (y/n)’s chest. This round leaves him feeling weaker than ever, and through the pounding in his head he realizes there isn’t much more Grace left to cough up.

   He’s running out of time.

   Sam and Dean couldn’t help but notice this last bout, and both of them twist around in their seats in time to see Cass clutch at his abdomen, pained.

   “Cass?” Dean barks. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

   “Nothing, I’m fine.” He groans around a stomach spasm.

   “Cass!”

   “Azariel,” Cass hisses. “Spell. My Grace . . .”

   “Grace? What about it? Cass?!”

   But Cass doesn’t hear him. His eyes are on the landscape speeding by outside, the gravel-tainted grass along the side of the highway, the ditch that dips into the earth, the forest that begins when the ditch rises again. In this state he knows he won’t last long. Too much of his Grace has already been ejected, and he can’t fight it, doesn’t even know where to begin. And (y/n) is running out of time too. No matter how fast Dean can drive, she’s fading fast, and there isn’t a doctor alive who could do much to help her. There’s a shred of Grace left inside Castiel, a shred not currently being sucked into the fourth ball or contributing to the sick feeling. That single shred is untouched as of right now, is still pure and usable and able to do some good. He needs Dean to pull over.

   “Dean.”

   “Cass?”

   “Dean.”

   “What?!”

   Speech fails him, and so he launches himself from the vehicle, simply opens the door and pushes himself forward. The way he lands knocks the air out of him - going from a hundred miles per hour to unmoving ground will do that - and his momentum sends him rolling into the ditch. As he stops to rest on his back and the sound of screeching tires reaches his ears, he notices that this particular ditch is dry. In his throat the ball bursts, and he coughs to expel the thinning river of Grace.

   “What the hell, Cass?!” Dean grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him to a sitting position. He spits when he shouts, and his lower lip trembles out of anger or fear.

   “Needed to stop,” Cass manages. His mind fogs over for a second, and that dark sleep world beckons, enticing him.

   “What is wrong with you?! I’ve got your dying wife in the back seat, and you just puked blue all over my car!”

   “My Grace.”

   “Your Grace? You’re puking up Grace?”

   “Azariel . . .”

   “Damn him. Come on.” Each taking an arm, the Winchesters try to hoist their friend to his feet, but the angel finds the strength to twist out of their grip and sink to his knees.

   “Cass-”

   “Bring her to me,” he orders.

   “You need help, Cass. We need a doctor, and we need to figure out what the hell that dick did to you.”

   “Bring her . . . to me.”

   “Dean’s right,” Sam tries. “You need help, (y/n) needs help, and if we don’t hurry, she’ll die.”

   “Now.”

   Both brothers purse their lips. Then, cursing, Dean strides back to the Impala and yanks open the back door.

   “What are you going to do?” Sam asks.

   Castiel looks Sam in the eye, feeling too sick to speak. Besides, he believes Sam has already figured it out. Fighting another threatening churning of his stomach, he focuses on preserving that shred. He tucks it away out of reach of the curse and beats back the claws of the sickness that tries to take it.

   Dean returns with (y/n) in his arms. Her life force is so weak Cass can barely sense it even when she’s laid in front of him. There’s blood on almost every inch of her, and the black burns on her hand and arm are hypnotic. Shallow breathing punctuates long breaks where she doesn’t breathe at all, and her closed eyelids are parted, showing twin slivers of white. Leaning down, Castiel digs his hands in the grass and presses his forehead to hers.

   Slowly, trembling, he kisses her. Where their lips meet, they form a seal, and then Castiel coaxes that wisp of Grace up to his mouth. This tiny piece brings a cool sensation with it; its purity refreshing after having dealt with the poisoned portions. He guides it into (y/n)’s mouth with his tongue, breathes it into her lungs with a labored breath from his own. When it leaves him, he knows he has nothing left to give, and he falls to lay beside her. The Winchesters are frantic, pawing at him and calling his name, but he doesn’t pay any mind to them.

   He’s done all he can.

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall @gabriel-themightysugaraddict @kiwi-pop @coffeekeyboardsss@erikafierce @kdfrqqg @riversong-sam @18crazybutcutealsopsycho@peaceloveancolor @4401lnc @mogaruke @little-castiel13 @mrswhozeewhatsis

[incesthemes]

#the military upbringing (absolute obedience to patriotism and the myth of nationhood)#= patriarchal familial dynamics (absolute obedience to the Man of the household and his authority)#= American protestant cultural christianity (absolute faith and obedience to god and his authority)#all inseparable in the American mythos...#the Bioshock Infinite of it all..........#early spn was clever! sam framed as the prodigal son escaping heroism. who chooses to embrace his doomed destiny#dean framed as the obedient son pushed to his limits and ultimately rejecting his destiny/father/god#and reading the brothers as 'rejecting' john/god. there's a lot of complexity between them#sam who initially rejects family/john because he was the one rejected first! he's been excluded/an outsider his whole life!#and he is the one more eager to jump on the sword. because therein lies the belonging he's never felt he's deserved.#his ultimate longing for full acceptance into hunting = heroism = his family is what dooms him...#(i could write a whole separate meta on why sam's desire for 'normalcy' is a veneer. too many ppl buy into it at face value??)#dean who slowly grows more and more tired of the path he's been pushed onto. by john. by god. he's shackled by heroism#he defects but there's no escape bc he's so wrapped up in nostalgia.#his longing for domesticity and home <- all the cultural symbols by which Family reasserts itself as inescapable truth#but the Family is a power structure...and his absolute nostalgia for it is what leads into him recreating its power dynamics.#they're both just lil haunted rats running circles in the maze of America..........#< or however that nico vega song goes (via @finalgirlsamwinchester)

many people, especially in a culture where religion is so omnipresent, turn to religion for community and belonging—this is also how cults recruit new members: preying on people's feelings of isolation and loneliness and inviting them into a community of people just like them. it makes sense that sam, ostracized and alienated as he is, would be the one to turn toward religion, and since "religion" in the united states almost universally means "christianity" because of cultural reinforcement and the overwhelming presence of christ, this was the option presented to sam and the one he took.

dean on the other hand already has a god in his father. not only is there no room for christ with john consuming dean body and soul, but he's actively discouraged from believing in a higher power due to his lifestyle (and probably from john himself, since all mentions of religion in the winchester family are related to mary only, dean initially rejects the possibility that angels exist which means john probably never considered it a possibility either, golden boy dean would probably never disagree with his father on such an important ideological ground, and sam is treated as odd and Other for believing in god, indicating that religion is a stranger to the family).

so sam fills the hole of belonging and community inside of him with god, but dean's is filled by john. john is just as much an absent father as god is, but dean pours his faith into john and doubles down on his belief in him as an absolute authority as a result of the shtriga attack, and then likely continually reinforced over time. because sam isn't given the responsibility dean is, he has more freedom to reject john's authority, but it doesn't change his upbringing: he needs to find authority somewhere else, and so he turns to god, hoping he will save him. this faith is strengthened by his feelings of dirtiness and sin, which is encouraged by christianity because of the concepts of original sin and penance and salvation.

but in the end they both need the same thing, because they're cut from the same cloth. the absolute obedience to a higher authority to tell them how to live. when sam's faith in religion begins to ebb, he clings more to dean as an authority; when john dies, dean clings to sam for direction. it's not an immediate shift, and they both constantly return to god/john as an authority, haunting them both long past they exited left stage. they're both seeking approval and direction from someone other than themselves because they've been raised soldiers, not leaders (and isn't it fitting, then, that christians call themselves god's warriors?).

even the marked physical absence of john in the narrative positions him as a god figure. he becomes no different from god because he's not here. all they have is the good book (dad's journal) and faith that following his path (quite literally) will save them and bring them closer together. the first season, then, can be a metaphor for a religious journey, for seeking god in america. the cross-country road trip (wild goose chase) is as literal as it is spiritual. and the ultimate critique is that god is absent; god is a deadbeat father; god is an abusive son of a bitch who demanded obedience from soldiers kept ignorant by design. the metaphor is extended when the judeo-christian god is revealed to be literally, actually an absent, deadbeat father demanding obedience from soldiers kept ignorant by design. john is the symbol of an absent god, and god is the symbol of an absent father.

kripke is jewish, not christian, so i'm sure a lot of this critique is by design. because as someone who is not christian, it's easy to see how christ-haunted america is. it's easy to understand the alienation and otherness that spawns from a lack of faith in the christian god. sam and dean are trapped in an americana nightmare they can't escape from. they can reject god, but dad is still there haunting them anyway. they can reject dad, but god is still there jerking them around on puppet strings. even rejecting everything and turning to each other doesn't allow them escape, because they're a product of their raise and they still crave obedience to authority, and they still act the way they were taught. you can't escape christinity when christianity is your culture. you can't change the way you were raised. you can't help that your father is also your god, and you can't prevent the damage of his abuse. free will is an illusion, and you will always follow the path god laid out for you because you can't escape your very nature.

guy who so desperately tries to find god. who wants to have faith in a higher authority to guide him out of the hole he's in. from the weight of guilt from simply existing, as the person he is. but every time he thinks he's answered his higher calling it turns out he's made the Morally Incorrect choice and his path to goodness and holiness was the road to the devil all along