#don’t get those anymore… no Sam content only Dean

[squashberri-art]

Wasn’t planning to come back with a doodle but…he looks so good in this scene 👹👹👹

[winchester-girl67]

Cravings (Part 2)

Summary: Post-claim, Dean and the reader enjoy a lazy day at her place when she tells him that she wants to bite him back.

Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!reader, Baker!Dean x pregnant!reader

Square: True mates @spnaubingo​

Word Count: 3,529

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, non-traditional true mates, pregnant reader (Dean is not the father), unplanned pregnancy, pregnancy cravings, morning sickness, mentioned/implied one night stand, mature themes, smut adjacent touching/kissing/cuddling, implied smut, light/brief smut, language, mostly fluff

A/N: For those of you who wanted more of these two. Sorry this took so long, I haven't been able to write much lately. Also written for @spnaubingo​. Enjoy!

_____

"Hmm, you like that?"

"Oh my gosh... Yes, Alpha. Harder!" You ordered and he happily obliged.

Then you whimpered, your foot jerked and Dean froze, "Are you okay, Y/N? Is it too much?"

"Don't stop," You sing-songed and he chuckled between purrs as he continued to circle his thumbs. "Right there, so strong, Alpha. I love you."

"Wow, you're really enjoying this," he hummed, taking pleasure in giving you pleasure.

"Mhm," you nodded, "I can't remember the last time someone massaged my feet. This feels A-MA-ZING!"

Your hums started to vibrate in your chest, you couldn't remember a time where anyone had been this attentive with you. Your eyes watered a little but you were too content to let the tears fall.

The pregnancy had your feet and ankles so swollen already and you didn't even have to say anything for Dean to notice. One of the many benefits of your new bond. He just felt what you felt and vice versa.

Even during Dean's rut -which only lasted a couple days, just long enough to get you both out of spending Christmas with family- when he mated you for the first time, he was tender and loving. You tried to present for him but he flipped you over onto your back, wanting to feel every inch of what was about to be his. Forever. Every promise of what your future together held.

Then he bit and you were claimed.

That was near two weeks ago now and Dean hadn't spent a single night at his house since. All that was left was to officially move him into your house and make it a home.

There was really no reason to wait, no second thoughts on the claiming from either of you either. Dean agreed to move since he knew moving a pregnant omega could be upsetting and enough had already changed quite quickly. He was just happy you accepted the change; having an alpha in your life, in your house, when you said you never wanted one.

Dean was different, though. He wasn't your typical breed, you would've thought alphas like him didn't exist anymore; if he wasn't currently digging his fingers into your flesh in the most pleasurable -non-sexual, for the most part- way right now.

You didn't have to let him claim you, because he would never force you, and he was determined to show you he loved you endlessly for it. For choosing him.

Your house was also slightly bigger and had your scent infused into the walls and carpeting. It wasn't a hard sell to a rutting alpha at the time. Plus, this way he would be able to sell his house to his brother who'd been searching for a home for a while with his mate. They were trying to expand their family themselves, but hadn't had much luck lately.

Dean talked about his little brother a lot but you hadn't met him, or Jess. Sam and Dean planned to move over his stuff soon though, so you'd get to meet them then.

You were nervous because Sam wasn't apparently all that thrilled about you joining their pack without being introduced to you first. Dean explained that it had less to do with you and more to do with his dating history. Dean's past with omegas rivalled yours with alphas. Apparently the wrong omegas take advantage of tender alphas.

He was your forever. You wouldn't do anything to hurt him, you were a team, a partnership and you're supposed to build and grow together not tear each other down. Sam would see that when he met you.

Dean's hands slid up your legs, his strong fingers massaging the muscles of your calves and you felt like you were melting back into the couch. All you could think of was watching him make bread yesterday at the bakery. The way he folded and kneaded the dough in front of you. Except now you were the dough and his palms gripped and molded the soft flesh of your legs.

You never wanted this to stop.

You didn't even notice when you completely sunk onto your back, lengthways, until Dean's hands slid higher up your legs to your hips as he crawled over you. One of his palms felt the skin of your inner thigh as he pushed up your maternity dress with the other, revealing your swollen belly.

"Fuck. You're a sight, sweetheart." He sighed happily, sitting between your legs and holding a palm on your bump.

The pup rolled and Dean followed the movement until he felt a little kick on the side of your stomach. He purred so loud you almost thought he was growling, if it wasn't for his almost unbearably sweet scent -it was a far turn from the salty musk when you first met him, he was happy now- and he bent over you to place a kiss to your belly, below your navel and to the side. You loved him like this, already bonding with the pup as if it were his own.

As far as you both were concerned, the pup was his now; blood had nothing to do with it. His claim included every extension of you, you could feel it. You were a family.

Gosh, he was a beautiful man. If more alphas were like him, less omegas would feel the need to suppress their natural cycles. You often wondered how nobody snatched him up before you did. You were beyond thankful no one did.

"You're carrying high," Dean determined, feeling up your stomach with both hands.

"And," you laughed and caught his wrists as he roamed higher up your dress towards your swollen breasts.

"That means, it's a girl." He smiled softly and leaned over you to kiss you on the lips as he held your ribs. You hadn't found out the pup's gender yet, you wanted to be surprised. "I fucking love you. So fucking much. Fuck."

Tears welled in his forest green eyes and he swallowed his purrs with his emotions. He cleared his throat and kissed you again. His mouth hugged your bottom lip with a quiver and his tongue licked the tip of your nose when he pulled away. He didn't like letting you see his emotions get the best of him and he was trying to distract you, but with the bond you felt everything he was feeling. Fear and excitement but mostly a need for comfort, a reassurance in your new bond.

You tangled your fingers in his soft hair and moved his head to the crook of your neck, where your mating gland was. He turned his face and pressed his nose to the claim, inhaling and fermenting your bond instantly with a single scent.

A calm rushed over him and you tugged him up by his hair for a needy kiss. Dean groaned, his chest heating and lungs rumbling against you with a violent, growling purr.

"Alpha," you whimpered against his lips, wanting more of him.

He gave 'alpha' every meaning of the word.

Instinct took him over and he pushed your dress up your chest, exposing your breasts. His lips found your puckered flesh as he massaged the tension from your sensitive mounds.

Forget dough, you were putty in his massive and capable hands. His fingers worked every inch of you like he read your mind. But you still whimpered, needing more.

"I know, Omega, I know." He cooed, "I got you, baby. It's okay."

He tugged your panties down your legs, throwing them aside to the floor and slotted himself back between your thighs. His sweatpants, still separating your skin from each other and you snapped at him.

Dean laughed and leaned over to kiss you again.

You scented him and your teeth ached with a need to claim him -which you still hadn't done, it didn't need to be done to cement the bond and alphas typically didn't like to bear a claiming mark- but you refrained, now wasn't the time. You didn't want him to reject the claim, so you'd bring it up when your heads were clearer.

You clenched your jaw shut instead and enjoyed his touch.

After your little romp in the living room, you watched Dean make dinner as he strained the pot of spaghetti over the sink.

"D," you said, "you do know that carrying high doesn't mean anything, right? It's an old wives' tale. We could still be having a boy."

"I know," he shrugged, rinsing off the pasta and shutting off the element to the stove, turning the second one down to let the tomato sauce simmer. "I just have a gut feeling."

You knew Dean wanted a girl, a little princess to spoil rotten, but you wouldn't be heartbroken if you got a little prince instead. Either way, you could always try again for the one you didn't get. You always wanted to fill your home with lots of pups, eventually move out to the country with a picket fence, a big yard for them to run wild in and a long driveway to learn how to ride their bikes.

It was a dream you gave up on long ago but Dean revived it just by being himself.

"How much do you think I eat?" You gawked at the super-sized bowl of pasta Dean served you.

You were a little over five months pregnant, but it was still a lot of food.

"The pup needs the nutrition. Just eat what you can." He said and kissed your forehead.

Dean spooned some sauce on top of your mountain of spaghetti, holding the lid of the pot under the spoon as he did so. You beamed up at him, getting butterflies like the first day you knocked on his door and padding away to the table with your bowl of pasta like a trophy.

Dean was the real trophy, but you liked the food, too.

He served himself next, using a plate instead because he liked to cut the noodles. You told yourself it was because he was a baker, not a chef; a real chef would never cut spaghetti. You liked the bowl because it made less of a mess when you twirled the noodles onto your fork.

Dean joined you at the table and hummed around his food, clearly happy with his recipe. You, on the other hand, thought something was missing after your first forkful. It just tasted off.

"Something wrong with the food, sweetheart?" He mumbled, slurping bits of spaghetti back into his mouth that tried to escape as he spoke. "Want me to make you something else?"

"No, no," you waved him off, the man was catering to no end when it came to your cravings. "It's just missing something."

You padded back to the adjoined kitchen and Dean studied you as you searched the cupboards, not really even sure yourself what you were looking for.

Until you found it.

You made your way back over to the table with your prize in hand. A clear plastic case, housing round, golden-wrapped, hazelnut and wafer chocolates. Dean stared with a grin plastering his cheeks as you unwrapped three of them and stuck them on top of your pasta mountain.

The chocolate immediately started to melt in the heated tomato sauce and it smelt heavenly. Your mouth watered and you sniffed the air above your bowl.

"Mmm," Dean hummed hesitantly like he wasn't sure if that was going to satisfy you or make you sick, but he didn't stop you.

You twirled equal amounts spaghetti and melted-chocolate-meatball onto your fork, shoving it into your mouth before it fell into your lap. You chewed for a moment -watching Dean take another bite of his chopped meal and swallow- before you decided you couldn't and spit it back into your bowl.

"Yuck," you groaned, wiping the taste from your tongue with your palm. "Ugh. Sorry, D, I can't eat this."

That was not heavenly tasting, it was disgusting.

"That's all right, tell me what you want instead and I'll make it." He said, standing from his seat to give you a peck on the cheek and clear away your plate when you heaved at the smell.

Morning sickness never really went away, it just got sneakier.

Your tastebuds were off today and Dean made a series of your favourites, which you ultimately couldn't eat, before you settled on toast. After your first slice, though, you followed your nose and let the pup tell you what it wanted, that included toast with a dollop of honey and a mashed banana spread.

Dean reheated his meal, finally content you had something to eat and smiled at his happy omega.

After dinner, you crawled into your king-sized bed to watch a little TV comfortably with your mate. The nest of blankets and pillows had only gotten bigger with the addition of Dean's bedding -which he'd been slowly moving over a little at a time, same with his clothing, which packed the walk-in closet full of flannels. The rest of his stuff was left waiting for Sam to come by to help, although you suspected most of Dean's furniture would be left behind for his brother, who was living in an apartment at the moment and didn't have a lot of furniture to begin with.

You snuggled into Dean, barely giving him any room to get comfortable and threw your leg over his, pushing your knee into the space between his thighs so your hips hugged his leg. Dean was used to being used as your body pillow by now and he purred, nuzzling the top of your head. He flipped on a baking competition show for some background noise and you placed your hand over his heart to feel the strong thump against your palm.

A calm washed over you that you knew came from him and the claim and you lightly scratched your nails over his ribs lovingly. Your alpha was content and you fucking loved being able to feel every emotion without having to scent him like before. That being said, you still loved the sweet, warm scent of him when he was truly happy.

You slid your hand under his shirt and palmed the love handle above his hip. Squishy, warm flesh filled your palm and you dug your nails in possessively. Dean growled when you gripped a little too hard. He was all muscle but he didn't need to be sculpted with rock hard abs to prove it, he was soft and hard in all the right places and you loved his tummy.

"You okay, Y/N?" Dean asked and stopped purring.

You realized he was probably picking up on a little insecurity coming from you. You didn't even notice that was what you were feeling until he asked. Something was on your mind though.

"D, do you think we're true mates?" You asked, nuzzling his scruffy chin with your nose.

"Honestly, I don't know." Dean wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you to lay half on top of him.

You tried to adjust your swollen belly so you weren't making him uncomfortable but he just tugged you back in closer. Your leg still nestled between his but your bump now pressing into his hip.

"But," you started but stopped and instead laid your head on his big shoulder.

"What is it, sweetheart?"

You couldn't hide anything off feeling with this bond, that was going to take some getting used to.

"What if another omega comes along and they're your true true mate, meanwhile you've already claimed me?" You muttered, brushing your fingers over his unmarked mating gland.

Typically only omegas bore the claim, but you would've liked him to have one, too. A mark that meant he was yours.

"I. Love. You."

"But-"

"No buts. It's a fairytale, Omega." He growled, not liking your implication.

You pulled your hand away from his gland and wiggled your hips until he released you and let you roll onto your side, facing away from him. It didn't happen often, but you didn't like when he took that tone with you.

The alpha tone.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, I just don't want you ever to think I'll leave you, for any reason. I love you, that means something to me." He sighed and rolled over to tuck you into his chest as he spooned you from behind. He kissed the crown of your head and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you grounded to him. "I mean, it's a little ridiculous to think that an alpha and omega will find and make each other happy just because it was meant to happen and they're instantly attracted to each other. If true mates are real, and that's a big 'IF', it's just about compatibility but even compatible people need to put work into their relationship. There's zero guarantee of a perfect romance, no matter what, and just because you're true mates, doesn't mean you'll make each other happy. A neglected mate is a neglected mate, despite the amount of stars that had to align in order to pair them together. So let me ask you this, are you happy with me, Omega?"

"Absolutely, I am." You sniffled and found his hand on your waist, sliding your fingers between his large ones. "Are you happy with us, Alpha?"

"Incredibly so." He kissed down your cheek and nuzzled your claim, teasing it with his teeth. You shivered and purred softly at his nips. "Then to answer your original question... because I'm happy and I know we'll never give up on each other even on our worst day, despite our imperfections, and because I am truly, deeply, helpless in love with you. Both of you." He moved your entwined hands to rest on your bump, "Yes, I believe that makes us true mates... And it doesn't hurt that you smell so good."

"I wanna bite you," you breathed.

Dean laughed hard and his chest shook against your back, "What was that, my little Omega?"

You hardly felt little these days, being practically swollen everywhere, but you liked the way he saw you.

"I want to claim you, too." You explained and turned in his arms to face him.

He brushed the hair from your cheek behind your ear, "We're already bonded, Y/N, it won't change anything if that's what you're thinking. The bond only cements feelings that are already there and links us together through our emotions, we already have that."

"I know, but- I just always told myself that if I was claimed, I would claim my alpha back." You said, wetting your lips and circling your fingertips over his gland again.

"You want to claim me, for the sake of claiming me?"

"I want to claim you because when you marry, you both wear rings." You murmured, placing small kisses over his gland and trying to entice him.

"We could just get married-"

"Is my big alpha afraid of a little bite?" You chuckled against his skin and you felt him flush against your lips.

"Pfft, no." He said unconvincingly.

"I'll make it enjoyable," you promised, pushing him onto his back and crawling on top of him. "You won't even feel it."

It wasn't a lie. If you claimed him the same way he claimed you, it would feel like a pinch at most. You nipped at his neck and felt a nervous shiver race through his body, your teeth nibbling his flesh.

"I won't do it if you don't want me to." You kissed the burning skin covering his mating gland and he shuttered again.

"I want you to claim me, Omega." He said and you met his gorgeous, green eyes. Then he teased, "Just, please, be gentle. It's my first time, sweetheart. But I trust you, baby."

He pushed his sweatpants down and your nightie up to your hips, then rocked into you and before long, you fell into him and bit. Your claim marring the perfect, freckled skin of his neck beautifully.

You licked at the mark as you laid on top of him, satiated as you cleaned away the few drops of blood despite the gross copper taste on your tongue. He'd done the same for you with your claim, something in the saliva of alphas and omegas help it heal quicker and not get infected.

You hummed against him, your belly pressing into his and your breasts flattened against his ribcage. Both your chests rumbling with a harmonized purr.

None of this was in the cards for you, not if you thought about it months ago. It's incredible how much can change in such a short amount of time.

"I still wanna marry you," Dean murmured in your ear.

His nose trailed down to your neck and buried into your scent. Dewy skin making the smell stronger as big hands roamed up your nightie and over your bare back. He held you to him gently like you'd float away if he let go, or pop if he held too tight.

Dean was a gentle giant of an alpha and he was all yours.

"Okay."

_________________________

Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28

SPN: @hobby27

Cravings: @hogwarts--imagines

[deanstead]

There Will Be Peace (5): Real Monster

Chapter 5: Real Monster

Chapter Summary: As Y/N becomes aware of the real monster in this case, Dean and Y/N have to rush over to Sam’s aid.

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: allusions to sexual assault/grooming behavior, mentions of sexual predators, canon-typical mentions of guns, injuries

A/N: Okay, I know I am the worst, I am sorry! I had to take an extended break from writing in general, and then I had to get back into the groove of this but here's an update! I realize I should have updated this eons ago but too many things have happened! Anyway, let me know what you think if you can!

SERIES MASTERLIST || DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST

Chapter 4 || Chapter 6

Sam headed straight for the guidance counselor’s office, picking the lock and slipping into the room quietly.

He looked around before heading for a chest of drawers, rifling through the files and trying to find a Sarah Smith. “Hello, Sam?” Sam muttered to himself before closing the drawer. If there was anything to hide, the file wouldn’t be in an unlocked drawer.

He glanced around before he found what he had been looking for - a locked drawer tucked under the desk, almost invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there, or who wasn’t looking for it.

“Come on.” He muttered to himself as he picked at the lock, taking longer than he’d expected, glancing up periodically.

Sam quickly rifled through the contents, finding a bunch of papers and spreading them all out onto the table that was in front of him, his eyes scanning as quickly as he could. There was something weird about all the papers laid out here in front of him now.

Sam bent down to look back in the drawer, noticing something small that must have dropped out of the bunch of papers when he’d taken them out and he frowned as he picked it up.

It looked like a handmade bracelet, one of those things that teenagers liked to make with their friends, but he didn’t have long to dwell on it.

Sam stuffed the bracelet into his pocket, but before he could pick up the notes, his head snapped up at a sound.

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

Crap, too late.

“Y/N!” Dean yelled, watching you crumple to the ground just before the blinds fell, which only made Dean more nervous.

“Damn it!” Dean yelled, long forgetting that they’d sneaked in as he yelled. “Y/N!”

Dean threw his weight against the door but it wouldn’t budge. The unease settling in the pit of Dean’s stomach was new and kind of confusing, but right now all Dean could think of was getting through that door.

Dean threw himself against the door one last time, muttering to himself that he’d shoot the door down if he had to when the door creaked open and Dean tumbled through.

“What the hell…” Dean muttered but snapped his head up at where you were lying crumpled on the floor just a few feet away.

“Y/N!” Dean scrambled up and towards you, barely touching your arm before your eyes flew open.

“Y/N?”

You blinked, looking up at Dean before you looked wildly around the room. Dean shook his head. “She’s gone.” He said, bending down next to you.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Dean demanded.

You exhaled. “Dean.”

“What is it, Y/N?” Dean looked worried, as he peered at you.

“We got a problem. We gotta go get Sam.”

Sam didn’t have an excuse for being here. His FBI badge wasn’t going to get him out of this one, that much he knew. At least he recognized the man standing in front of him now - the guidance counselor.

Sam was getting a bad hit so he really needed to make something up.

“Listen…”

But Sam didn’t have any time to get a word in as the guidance counselor pointed his gun right at Sam.

Sam exhaled as he put his hands up. “Andrew, right? Andrew Foster? Listen, I know my partner talked to you this morning. Why don’t you put down the gun, alright?”

Andrew, the guidance counselor, didn’t seem so harmless anymore. Sam narrowed his eyes, knowing there was no way he could reach for his gun without first getting shot but waiting around for you and Dean seemed a bit of a long shot, especially if the both of you were held up dealing with the ghost.

“You found the file.”

It was a statement, not a question and Sam was once again reminded why Dean always said he’d deal with monsters any day. Humans were just crazy.

Sam didn’t respond to Andrew’s statement, instead just watching him, and with barely any prompting from Sam, Andrew started talking.

“At first, it just happened and then I found myself being drawn to her. Things just spiraled out of control.” Andrew went on while Sam was putting the pieces together in his head.

“She wanted to stop. She wanted to report me. I didn’t have a choice, she forced my hand.” Andrew finished telling the story of how he’d taken advantage of the young and vulnerable Sarah and Sam had to take a breath so that he wouldn’t punch the lights out of the armed man standing in front of him.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “So basically you’re saying a teenager turned you into a sexual predator? How many other girls were there before Sarah? Girls that didn’t have the courage Sarah had to try and stop you?” Sam internally sighed, he hadn’t been able to curb it after all. Although he couldn’t imagine what would happen if it was Dean who was standing here now instead of him.

“That, you don’t need to know. I just wanted you to know what you’re dying for.” Andrew said, pulling up his gun now.

Andrew put his hand on the trigger and Sam ground his teeth together before there was another click.

“Drop it,” Dean growled, as Andrew felt the nozzle of Dean’s gun graze the back of his neck just slightly.

Dean held the gun just slightly away from the back of the guidance counselor’s neck, like a trained professional. You remembered that class when you’d been in the academy, the one where they’d taught all of you to stay a short distance away from whichever perp you’d be arresting, so he couldn’t twist the gun out of your hands too easily. You just wanted to give a dry laugh at this very thought. If only your instructor could see you now.

You stepped to the side just a little just in case Dean needed some space, peering in and breathing a sigh of relief to see Sam was standing and looking none the worse for wear.

“I said, drop the gun. Your finger so much as twitches, I’ll blow your damn brains out.” Dean growled, his eyes flicking up to Sam.

Andrew lowered the gun now, pulling his finger away from the trigger, glancing backward as far as he could at Dean. “I knew there was something about the way you were fishing for information. Walk away and no one gets hurt.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Big talk for a freaking perv.”

You’d filled Dean in as much as you could while the both of you ran to get Sam. There’d been something different about this ghost, and you’d been right. She hadn’t hurt you, she’d shown you - at least enough for you to know that Andrew was dangerous.

With a sudden motion, Andrew threw himself backwards against Dean, sending both their bodies tumbling onto the floor.

“Dean!” You yelled but even though you held your gun in your hand, there was no way you could shoot, not without the danger of accidentally shooting Dean as they struggled on the floor. Sam hurried forward towards you, opening his palm to show you the friendship bracelet.

“That’s it, Sam but…”

Your voice trailed off. “Alright, I’ll handle the ghost. The two of you…”

You nodded. “I’ll get the police here. Go.”

Sam nodded, heading a little way off so he could burn what was left of Sarah’s things. No matter what, Sarah was killing people and they had to stop her.

You ran into the office now, trying not to be distracted by the sound of the fighting outside, resisting the temptation to make sure neither Dean nor Sam was hurt. Blocking out the sounds you moved behind the desk, finding the phone under the scattered pieces of paper that Sam must have been sieving through.

You picked up the receiver, glad that at least this was working, quickly dialing in the number of the detective that you’d spoken to that morning when the three of you had visited the local precinct. Normally, the three of you avoided police interaction as much as possible save for the early part of the case, but in this case, the human was definitely more dangerous than the ghost lurking around. In fact, you were pretty sure the ghost problem would be solved once Andrew was taken care of.

“Detective, it’s Agent Day. Requesting local police assistance at the school. We have a…”

You were talking fast but apparently not fast enough.

“Y/N!” You heard Dean yell, followed closely by a gunshot.

You didn’t even look up as you dropped yourself to the ground, bringing the phone down with you with a distinct crash.

There were more scuffling sounds and you peered around to check.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled and you peered out from around the huge desk in the middle of the office.

Sarah had appeared right in front of Andrew, looking definitely like the vengeful spirit the three of you had been coming to hunt in the first place. Normally, the three of you would always try to keep the supernatural away from people, guilty or not, but Dean didn’t look particularly interested in getting the ghost to back off yet, considering Andrew had almost shot Sam just a few minutes ago.

Andrew was frozen, staring terrified at the face of the girl he had murdered and Sam paused, the lit lighter in one hand, the rest of her belongings in the bin in front of him, as if he was hesitating to put this spirit to rest.

Thank you.

Sarah’s voice washed over you as you watched her eyes tick up at you and she nodded at you like she was ready. You took a breath and nodded at Sam who now dropped the lighter into the bin and she disappeared.

Dean took the opportunity to hold Andrew down, as the police now swarmed in.

“Y/N?” Dean called.

“I’m okay!” You answered, and you could even hear Dean’s sigh of relief.

The police had taken Andrew into custody immediately, Sam handing them all the evidence that they needed to put him away for good. Andrew’s face was still white as a sheet and you hoped the scumbag would never forget that moment, ever.

It was only when the three of you were climbing out of the Impala back at the bunker that Dean paused, turning to peer at you.

“Y/N, what the hell, you’re bleeding.”

You glanced down at your arm, a small patch of blood that had formed on your sleeve. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Dean repeated, looking at you incredulously as his voice rose. “Were you shot?”

Sam turned back as he heard Dean’s voice rise.

“I’m fine. It doesn’t really hurt.” You answered, although it gave a stupid throb as if it needed to prove you wrong.

You scowled down at it and Dean rolled his eyes.

“I’ll get the stuff,” Sam said, disappearing into the bunker ahead of the two of you, as Dean reached out for your arm gently and led you inside.

The bullet had grazed your arm but as you had been trying to explain to both Sam and Dean, it really hadn’t hurt. Dean gave you a look as you flinched while he was cleaning your wound. “Until now. Maybe it was the adrenaline or whatever.”

“I’ll go get some food. Be back in a bit.” Sam said as Dean nodded at him, and you heard Sam leave.

There was a silence after Sam left and you tried to focus on not flinching. “Y/N, it’s okay.” Dean said in a low voice.

You looked up at him.

“You don’t have to…” He paused. “Don’t hold it back. It’s okay to show you’re in pain.”

You blinked back at him.

Dean smiled. “Yes, I know I’m not the best person to preach this, but I’m serious. It’s okay.”

You gave Dean a look. “Dean, seriously. I wasn’t holding back, alright? I seriously didn’t feel it until we got back.”

Dean sighed. “Fine, but you have to tell me if you’re hurt alright? Otherwise you’re not coming out for hunts anymore.”

You glared at him and Dean shrugged. “That’s the way it is.”

You exhaled and nodded. “Yeah, I got it.”

Dean smiled, patting your head gently as he slapped on the bandage. “That’s the only way I can protect the both of you.”

You just smiled up at him, the warmth spreading in your chest once again. “Thanks, Dean.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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[ananke-xiii]

“Beat Lucille” or when spoofing resurrection fails. Pt II.

Part I Part III

(I’ll do my best to tag this post will all the possible trigger warnings but I’ll say it here too: the content’s about Sam and Lucifer in “Beat the Devil” and all the implications of their “relationship” in the episode so I’ll touch upon a lot of sensitive themes)

I love Lucy!: comedifying Lucifer and aestheticizing Sam’s corpse.

Interestingly, Lucifer’s (forced-upon) intimacy with Sam is highlighted when he calls him “Sammy” or “Samuel” and who are the only two people who use those names for Sam? Of course, Dean and Rowena, respectively. I’ll write about Dean later because it’s time to focus on Rowena.

Sam’s peculiar relationship with Rowena isn’t exceptionally new but S13 does rebrand it a bit. Sam and Rowena are united in their fear of Lucifer and they’re also tied by the thread of “fate” because, for unknown reasons, the only Death Book that never changes its finale is Rowena’s: she will always die by the hands of Sam. S13 also explicitly states that Rowena can be redeemed if she helps the Winchesters out and so she does. This is the main reason why she appears in “Beat the Devil”, because they need the most powerful witch to cast the spell to open the rift to the other world. Or do they?

It turns out that they don’t really need her, after all. She tells Gabriel, who’s trying to blame her for his own “failure”, that “A drunk 6-year-old could execute that magic. It wasn’t the spellcaster or the spell. It was the ingredient”. So yeah, Rowena is here with us not as the Most Powerful Witch Ever Existed but as a trait d’union between Lucifer and Sam. She’s also the one who gives Lucifer the funniest nickname ever: Lucille.

Consistent with the episode’s parodic tone, Lucifer and Rowena “bicker” about gender stereotypes to cover up the biiiig elephant (or maybe… the piglet? I’ll explain later) in the room: this is not Gabriel anymore, this is the Archangel who had brutally murdered Rowena. Twice. The same Archangel she’s terrified of. The same abuser she has to face now and be in very close proximity of. This is very, very similar to what Sam will be forced to face later on in the episode in the same parodic fashion that tries to mask the horror.

While at the beginning of the episode Rowena is shown to know “a thing or two about wounded masculine pride” as she covertly “bicker” about sexuality with Gabriel, by now the latter has been substituted with Lucifer who’s trying to get a rise out of Rowena by belittling her not as a witch but as a woman (because he knows anger powers him up)((much to think about the meaning behind of all this but I digress)). Rowena doesn’t fall for that:

LUCIFER: I don’t know, Red. I think I’d be a tad insulted if I were you. It’s not like you’ve got the posh job here of babysitting me. I mean, there is a sort of old-fashioned rightness to it, if you think about it. The men going off to face the trials and glories of war. Woman staying home in the kitchen, where she belongs. ROWENA: I know you’re trying to bait me with your seeming Neanderthal misogyny. Anything to distract yourself from your profound, deeply emasculating humiliation. Mm. Sorry, Lucille, I’m not biting.

Rowena calls Lucifer “Lucille” because she’s making fun of his attempts at baiting her and is paying him back in kind without knowing that this is Lucifer’s plan all along. But, interestingly, Lucifer doesn’t bite either. And I think he doesn’t bite because it’s a bit true by virtue of who “Lucille” refers to, aka famous actress Lucille Ball from the sit-com I Love Lucy. Lucifer’s not being himself for a while now because he’s this sit-com version of himself which I’ve personally and maliciously named “Lucifer’s a virgin who can’t drive”.

I think the change started after Lucifer’s recycled stint as rock star in S12 but it was surely amped up in S13. Somehow we’re supposed to find him funny? Goofy? But at the same time we’re reminded, because of Jack’s storyline, that he’s evil-evil-evil, like irredeemably evil. It worked for Crowley so why doesn’t it work for Lucifer? Well, to me, it doesn’t work because of Sam and this episode shows it.

In the movie Beat the Devil the relationship between two male antagonists is written as a parody because they, as we would say  today, are “frenemies”. Peterson/Lucifer is the villain who’s also incredibly funny and Billy/Sam is the hero who’s also incredibly shrewd. They share the same interest which is going to “British East Africa” to acquire uranium to get rich. It’s not difficult to see the parallels with this SPN episode where “British East Africa” is the Apocalypse World and “uranium” is Jack and Mary with all the colonization’s implications that entail. One of the funniest moments in the movie is when Peterson compels Billy to take a plane together to go to British East Africa but their car to the airport breaks down on the Amalfi Coast (<3) and eventually crashes into the sea but, luckily, they are not in the car. People, however, think they’re dead when, lo and behold, they come back together to their hotel and everybody is shocked by their “resurrection” (just for the sake of completion, to conclude the parallels, Gwendolen/Rowena who’s a self-professed “something of a witch” sort of falls in love with Billy/Sam).

The thing is that transferring this parody onto Sam and Lucifer doesn’t work because a. they’re not even en route to becoming frenemies and b. some episodes prior we were explicitly told that Sam is absolutely scared of Lucifer. Berens tries to address this in the kitchen scene (lol, where women belong!) with Sam, Cas and Dean but it’s important to notice that Sam agrees to bring his abuser into his own house (again!) just because he thinks he can drain him, aka he can use him, overpower him and finally kill him. Which, of course, doesn’t happen.

So we, as viewers, find ourselves in the rather dire situation of finding “fun” that Sam leaves Rowena alone with her abuser (the throwaway line “You gonna be okay back here?” is definitely not enough) and where Rowena, unwittingly, sends Sam’s abuser back to him. And the abuser is, of course, the same. And it’s a good thing! Because Sam is dead! And Lucy saves him! And he’s funny! He’s Lucille! It can’t be fun if it’s not earned and this definitely doesn’t feel earned.

The spoof of Sam’s resurrection doesn’t work because “comedifying” Lucifer doesn’t work. But this is only a half-truth. The other half is to be found in the aestheticization of Sam’s corpse.

Since I’m reflecting on resurrection I must pay attention to the representation of dead bodies. Cas’, Sam’s, Jack’s and Mary’s resurrections (and lack thereof) show very different approaches to the topic. To limit myself because this is becoming a PhD thesis, I want to compare Cas’ and Sam’s corpses and how they are presented to us.

Cas’ corpse is re-arranged for us to view it in a way that hides his real death. Angels’ deaths are usually quite gruesome, brutal and a bit horrifying because they’re almost always shockingly violent. Cas’ death in S12 is no exception although it is abundantly toned down. Nevertheless, Cas dies of a violent and very sudden death and we see nothing of it in the aftermath, no scorched eyes (his eyes are even closed), not even blood: his dead body looks almost peaceful and commands our respect. One of the angels who uncovers him even says that “he deserved better”. Not to mention the heart-breaking scene where Dean has to prepare Cas’ body for the pyre. It’s an intimate, discreet moment but full of gravitas.

Sam’s corpse is arranged for us like Sunday roast, it’s almost delicious. This is not the body of Ray Brower from Stephen King’s novella The Body, it's more like For the Love of God by Damien Hirst, aka it’s presented as an object of desire. Sam’s dead body is like one of those Baroque paintings where the staging and the lighting make the scene almost look… sensual. To make matters worse, Sam dies because he gets attacked by vampires who bite into him and drain him of his blood like he wanted to drain Lucifer of his grace and then kill him. It’s another violent, brutal but also ironic death. Being caused by starving vampires means it’s also connected to sexualization. Sam is mouth agape, open-eyed, blood-sullied, wounded, lying on the ground and framed by a spider-web: this is what we and Lucifer contemplate and it’s getting a bit uncomfortable now. There’s nothing funereal about it but there are undoubtedly morbid and macabre vibes to Sam’s resurrection.

This is not something new, not even for Supernatural where violence and death are romanticizing and aestheticizing from the pilot. And yet I must ask: why is Sam’s corpse arranged this way and why Cas’ isn’t? The episode was supposed to be a fun parody but it’s now betraying itself (and the audience?) because we find ourselves trapped in a tunnel with a highly eroticized corpse and an archangel who’s historically been associated with rape and whose grace the show has repeatedly compared to semen. In the shadows, vampires are waiting to get back to their prey. We, as viewers, start to look a lot like Lucifer and/or the vampires. The writing doesn’t lend any gravitas to the moment as I’ve already established so what does it mean? Is the episode mocking its characters or is it mocking us? Is it even aware of it? To be honest, I don’t know. What I know is that Sam Winchester died, Lucifer has resurrected him and we all move past it as if it never happened. Just like Sam’s trauma from the Cage. Or his trauma from being soulless. Or his trauma from his hallucinations. Let’s just never really address all these things, shall we? (but let’s keep using them for retelling and style purposes)

What we do know is that Dean says they have to get Sam’s body because we know the significance of the dead body in the hunters’ community. But whose other body is sexualized by another Archangel in this episode? It is Rowena’s: “Oh, she’s so tiny…so angry. That milky white skin, dancer’s body. God, I bet she’s flexib—“. And how did her story continue? She had sex with said Archangel. The same Archangel who’s implied to be impotent and whose grace is not enough so they need Lucifer’s. The same Lucifer who was supposed to be “drained” (“We drained you” Sam tells him) and who’s been tracking Sam in Apocalypse World and ate (this is the verb that’s been used) “a handful of Michael's angels” to pull off his “little Lazarus trick” (the "Then" part of the episode shows a S5 Gabriel saying "Tricks are for kids").

To sum up: Sam’s resurrection doesn’t get to have the same solemnity as others do. It’s a parody, it’s a gift, it’s the nth metaphor for rape that we do see up close but that we also don't need to see up close because we gotta move on.

In the beginning of the episode Castiel (who’s not written exceptionally well this season, I wonder why) says:

CAS: Look, Sam, I was used by Lucifer, too. It was the worst possible violation. So I-I’m not taking your reluctance lightly, but he is already out there, and we’ve been ignoring it and avoiding dealing with him because we’re afraid.

Well, I think the same can be said about the show re: Sam and Lucifer. It’s not that the show is directly avoiding dealing with it, it’s just that everything is stored in the subtext and the parallels and other narrative techniques, which are fun to analyze alright, but it wouldn’t hurt for some stories to come to the fore. There’s an over-reliance on the viewers’ ability to pick up what the show is trying to say on the sly which is cool and I love it and definitely don’t want to be spoon-fed, but yeah, sometimes it does verge on connivance and I’m not so sure about that. Eventually, the responsibility is solely mine as viewer so I take my fair share of it but that doesn’t change the fact that, even if this quite good and sufficiently honest storytelling, it still feels like it’s… afraid.

To be continued! (Last part :P)

[sinnabonka]

Prompt: Sam figuring out that Cas has feelings for Dean and vice versa!

(I might have got carried away with this one)

There’s no eureka moment, the understanding doesn’t fall from the sky. It starts like a little song playing on the back of Sam’s head, quiet, unobtrusive, that gets louder and louder every day, up to the point he can’t ignore it anymore.

First, there are looks, few words ringing not quite right. There is the accidental brushing of sleeves and knuckles. There’s healing with the usually not required touch. There’s a hug, when Castiel comes back from the dead once again, that lasts just a moment longer to be casual. Then there’s “It’s Cas”, as if it explains everything, and there’s “He’s coming with us” and finally there’s “Cas is family”, which ends the argument.

There are movie nights with one bowl of popcorn for two of them and half voice midnight conversations with beer, loud laughs at breakfasts and some more looks. 

All the “Are you coming?” are met with “Of course”, but Dean just keeps asking. He doesn’t have to, he knows it, Cas knows it, Sam knows it, too, but he still does it every time.

Dean stares, when Cas seems to be too deep in the book to notice. Castiel stares back, when Dean throws himself at the burger after the long and exhausting hunt. Sam smiles, when the angel blushes and averts his eyes being caught.

It’s not his goddamn business, so he doesn’t get any farther then a knowing smile and an occasional joke, but he knows. Sam has no idea when it has changed, when the tectonic plates in his brother’s mind shifted and initiated the imminent collapse of the walls he’s been raising within himself for so long. They go down crushing, eventually freeing him. 

Dean feels lighter, he looks lighter, the green in his eyes starts to shine with renewed vigour. He smiles more often, and his smiles are not bitter and they don’t stay only on his lips anymore. His whole face lights up and his eyes get framed with tiny wrinkles, them being the only implication of the years that have passed. That’s a good look on him. 

One night Dean shoves himself on the couch right between Sam and Cas, as if there was no perfectly good armchair next to the TV. In the old days, they’d be fighting over such a perfect spot for the movie night, but now? After some fidgeting and wriggling, Dean finally settles in, takes the bowl of popcorn from the table and puts it down onto his knees.

“A’right.” Dean nudges Cas with his elbow. “Ready for a little hike through Middle-earth?”

Dean’s face is ridiculous, he can’t bring himself to stop smiling. Cas, on other hand, looks at the still image on the screen with a confused frown. 

“I thought it was supposed to be a movie night,” he glances at Dean.

Sam chuckles. Cas might have lost his alien tilt of head along with his grace, gained some normal habits, started to wear hoodies and t-shirts, rediscovered his love for PB&J, even caught a cold once, but he still was not fully human. 

“No, that’s not...I…oh, come on.” Dean bursts with laughter, as if it was the funniest thing ever happened in the bunker. Cas eyes soften, they always do when he hears Dean laughing, especially, when he is the reason for that. “Middle-Earth? Shire? We’ve talked about it, man, c’mon.” 

Cas nods, lips puckered, eyes fixed on Dean’s hand now resting on top of his thigh. Dean does not notice, or acts like doesn't, stuffing his face with popcorn using his other hand. Neither is bothered by the touch, so why should Sam be? 

The movie is so goddamn long, and for the most part Dean keeps narrating everything that’s happening on screen. He explains what Cas doesn’t get, he points out some important details, he talks and he talks and he talks. And Castiel listens, silent, content, eyes bright and shiny in the dim lights. He looks like a kid seeing a Christmas tree for the first time in his life. Cas looks at Dean, and he doesn’t see a man in his forties with silver already touching his temples, he sees a miracle. Sam looks away, finding the scene too sacred for him to witness.

Cas straightens up his legs at some point, which have started to fall asleep with not much going on for the last two hours. It has it’s downhill, meaning Dean taking away his hand. The deep shadow of disappointment lays across Cas’ face, as his thigh starts to cool off. He sighs. Right away, with a little smile, Dean, eyes on TV through the whole action, casually throws his hand against the back of the couch. It just happens to be around Cas’ shoulders, too.

Sam smiles softly at the imagery. The way Cas instantly cozies closer to Dean’s side and grabs a handful of popcorn to munch on, makes his heart skip a beat. He might have suspected it for a long time, he might have even known it deep inside, but seeing it with his own two eyes... 

It hits differently.

Sam gets his stuff, yawns theatrically, making sure Dean notices the gesture and doesn’t think his hand around Cas’ shoulders has anything to do with him leaving, and heads out.

“Night, Sammy,” Dean rasps behind his back. 

“Good night, you two.” 

Sam glances at them, before shutting the door. Cas is slowly drifting off, head resting atop Dean’s shoulder, and Dean, with one of his softest smiles on, is gently stroking Cas’ side. He might be still looking at the screen, but his mind is definitely not in Shire anymore. There’s something in his eyes Sam has never seen before.

He catches Sam looking, but instead of interrupting the mindless movement of his hand, he just pulls Cas closer. Instead of getting embarrassed and looking away, he gives Sam one of those expressions screaming “I know, right? How lucky am I?”

Sam chuckles and nods. Yes, you are.

The door shuts with a quiet thud, leaving Sam alone in the darkness of the corridor. He stays there for a moment, just listening to the rambling of TV and a single little squeak of the couch, probably just Dean leaning back, so Cas could snooze while still in his arms. 

Sam walks back to his room thinking that life is not as bad.

Good things do happen. And sometimes to Winchesters, too.

[boykingdom]

Dean doesn’t have to drive far before he finds Cas. He’d had a hunch Cas might be waiting for him no matter the direction he went, but still he can’t help the sigh of relief he lets out when he sees the slump of Cas’ shoulders among the trees.

He doesn’t have to walk far, either, once he’s pulled the Impala into the grass beside the road and let the metal door shut behind him with a creak. He’s in the forest after a few paces—it’s a pretty forest, all green and overgrown, the tan of Cas’ coat standing out purely for its dullness. Cas’ back is to him and he’s looking down at something, hands in his pockets, but the rigidity with which he holds himself gives away his awareness of Dean’s presence. Cas won’t turn toward him but will angle his head so Dean can see the sharp line of his cheekbone, like he’s any sort of thing that would need ears to gauge how close Dean is.

Dean has half a mind to hesitate, to stop and take a deep breath and collect his thoughts or something, but he’s so fucking tired of not being near Cas and of schooling how much he gives away to Cas in every conversation that he walks up so their shoulders are inches apart and he doesn’t think twice about it. He looks down to take in what Cas is looking at and finds a small pond with a few muddy-gray fish scooting their bellies across the silt. Dean thinks Cas might be gearing up for a speech about the fish and creation and humanity, something nice and cinematic to bookend their journey, but instead Cas says, “Hello, Dean.”

That works, too. At least Dean knows how to respond to that one. “Heya, Cas.”

They’re silent for a second.

“Sam?” says Cas. 

“Went off to the Roadhouse. Wanted to see Bobby and Ellen and Jo,” says Dean. “But you knew that already.”

“Mm. I did.”

They both watch the fish drift. One comes close enough to the surface to form gentle ripples in the water.

Then Dean is smiling, because he can see Cas out of the corner of his eye, see the way he shifts and fidgets and is so clearly also looking at Dean out of the corner of his own eye. It occurs to Dean that Cas is nervous—that after everything they’ve been through, after the end of the world, after Cas’ big sacrifice, this angel of the Lord is nervous to speak to his best friend of twelve years. Dean can’t help but take the opportunity to tease him.

“What, did you think we’d never talk about it?”

A pause. Cas half-grumbles, “I thought I’d have a few decades to prepare something to say.”

And then Dean is laughing and laughing and bent over double with it because this whole thing is so fucking absurd and he’s so happy to be standing here next to Cas, weird and awkward Cas who pulled him out of Hell and told Dean he was in love with him just months ago. Cas who he thought he had lost forever. Dean laughs so hard he cries and then he—he cries, and cries, and he’s not laughing anymore. It happens fast and hard. Cas finally turns to him, eyes wide and hands suspended in front of him like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. Dean’s sniveling and holding his jacket sleeve under his nose so his face doesn’t get all snotty but he probably looks fucking gross anyway, the way the tears won’t stop coming. Cas says, “Dean?” all worried and concerned. Dean practically falls forward into him, wraps his arms around Cas’ waist to clutch at the back of his coat and shakes when Cas immediately holds him in return.

“I missed you so bad,” Dean sobs into Cas’ shoulder. “I missed you so bad. I thought I would never see you again. I missed you so bad.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes. “I’m here. It’s okay. I’m right here.” Cas hugs him tighter, leaving no spaces between their bodies. His voice breaks a little when he says, “I missed you, too.”

They stand like that for a moment. The forest buzzes around them, twiddling with birds and squirrels and insects. Dean breathes Cas in, feels him warm and safe and real in his arms. It’s a small piece of Earth here in Heaven. Unlike any other time before, Dean lets himself lean into it, touch Cas without Death looming over their shoulders. It feels good.

Dean does calm down after a few minutes, and as much as he would love to freeze time and stay suspended in that moment, he knows he can have even more if he gives it one last push. He pulls away, Cas’ hands sliding off his coat, lingering. “Sorry,” he says, a little embarrassed despite himself.

“Don’t be,” says Cas, in a way a that shows he really means it. Dean clears his throat and looks at him. Cas looks back. The whole thing is so achingly familiar, so akin to how they were when they first met. Even when Cas was alien and unknowable and potentially a threat, Dean always had to stifle the breathless thrill of having Cas’ attention. He doesn’t stifle it now.

He hasn’t quite internalized all the things Cas said to him, but he can see Cas was telling the truth about one thing—he is clearly so happy to be standing at the edge of this pond with Dean. Nothing in his gaze is asking for something more.

And as much as Cas would argue differently, Dean isn’t as good as him. He was never content just wanting. He had long ago accepted that he could never have Cas, sure, had recognized that he would spend the rest of his life with a horrible ache in his chest, that he would white-knuckle the wheel of the Impala to keep himself from touching. But he couldn’t find peace with it. Love rotted in him like a body at the bottom of a well. He spent a long time thinking it would kill him and kill Cas too, that it was a weapon to be used against them both, that the heat of his gaze would actually burn Cas if he looked long enough. He still has to choke down those half-formed thoughts when he looks at Cas now and can see in his eyes that he loves Dean without reservation, that despite everything he doesn’t think of Dean’s love as a death sentence. That he wants him.

Dean’s mind was made up the second Bobby had mentioned Cas’ name on the porch. It took him too long to untangle that part of himself that couldn’t separate loving men from danger, but he did untangle it, in the end.

“I know I can do it,” Dean says, both to Cas and to himself, “but I think it might be hard.”

Cas’ brow flickers in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he answers, gesturing lamely at the two of them, at the space between them. He swallows, steels himself, thinks of all the words he spent the nights since Cas died murmuring into his pillow, deliriously drunk. “I don’t know— I don’t know how to be this to someone— to you. I’ve never— and you’re—”

He’s getting frustrated, is upset that after thinking so long and hard about this moment for so many years he somehow still doesn’t know how to explain to Cas how much he means to him, how much he wants him, how hard it is to beat down his self-hatred and accept that he might just deserve Cas, too. But Christ, he wants to try.

“Dean?” Cas says. Dean can see in his expression the flowering bud of hope. He is so beautiful.

“I love you too,” Dean says, because it’s the best explanation he can give. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat. Cas blinks; his mouth drops open. “God, Cas, you have to know that. Of course I love you too.”

“You mean...?” Cas can’t finish the question. He’s looking at Dean like a man finding faith, finding Heaven. Dean feels so overwhelmed and so happy for the two of them and surely he’s still red from crying before, but again he feels himself burning.

“I’ve been yours,” he chokes out. “You can have me. Please.”

Cas kisses Dean. It happens so fast that Dean feels it coming rather than sees it, feels Cas’ hands on his face, feels himself be tugged forward. Cas’ hands are shaking and Dean’s are too when he grips the front of Cas’ shirt and the back of his neck, eyes closed tight, learning the shape of his mouth. It’s hard and a little desperate and not at all artful, and Dean’s whole self feels a bit like an open wound but Cas is healing him, like he always has, like he has since the beginning.

Dean pulls away for air but doesn’t pull far, keeping his forehead pressed to Cas’ and his eyes shut. Cas’ thumb strokes his cheekbone. “Dean,” Cas says, and Dean takes a deep, shuddering breath. The way Cas says his name doesn’t scare him anymore.

Dean opens his eyes. He smiles. “Hi,” he says.

Cas smiles back.

**

They’re sitting in the Impala, Dean’s hand on Cas’ thigh, when Cas asks, “What do you want to do now?”

Dean pauses, thinks. The answer to what do you want has been Cas for so long, but he never let himself think far enough to decide what he would do if he ever got him. He’s safe, Cas is safe, Sam is safe. Realistically, he shouldn’t want for anything.

He looks out the Impala’s windshield, smooths the hand not holding Cas over the steering wheel. He knows that he loves this car with everything he is—that for a long time it was the only home he had. He also knows that he’s tired of the road. Desire has always come too easily to Dean.

“I think I’ll build us a house,” he answers, and immediately he knows it’s the right thing to do. They can pick a spot wherever Cas wants—Dean’s not picky. It’ll be something solid, something with walls that he built with trees he cut himself. Something that reflects the home he already built for Cas, the one that lives between his ribs.

Cas’ eyes light up. “I like that plan,” he says. “I want that, too.”

Years ago, Cas had sat in Dean’s passenger seat and asked him if he would rather have peace or freedom. Dean never got the chance to answer him.

Dean leans across the seat and kisses Cas again, open-mouthed, slow. He does it for him now and for the version of himself who mourned the distance between them. It’s answer enough.

[wearywinchester]

Good Enough

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a hunt goes south and you can’t get past a loss, Dean helps you through it.

Requested by Anonymous: “Hi! I was just wanting to request and dean winchester x reader where the reader is struggling to deal with a hunt that didn’t go right and the person they were trying to save didn’t make it and dean helps the reader?”

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: angst, mentions of death, guilt, injury, blood, comfort, fluff

If there’s anyone that knows you better than you know yourself, it’s Dean Winchester. He knows you like the back of his hand and it’s been like that for as long as he can remember. That being said, it takes a lot to get anything past him. It takes a whole lot to fool the green eyed hunter, no matter how good you are at telling him you’re fine. He knows the signs, he knows what to look for.

He knows.

This time was no different than before. He knew it the moment it happened, saw the look on your face, that frown you got that you don’t even realize you have. He knew it because it wasn’t like most other times when you lose someone on a hunt. Each time it happens it’s never easy, it’s never ideal when you lose people to some nasty monster that does nothing but prey upon people. They were monsters, that’s what they do.

It was never easy but he knows the difference between you brushing it off and accepting it, stuffing it down and moving on with the next hunt, and you brushing it off when it really digs down and bothers you. He knows that difference and he knows that lie.

You’re a strong hunter, the strongest one he knows and you certainly handle things in the department of working through your emotions a whole lot better than he can. So much better but even then you still have your moments, still have times where a hunt will bother you far too much for you to deal with that all on your own. He knows the signs, he knows exactly what to look out for.

The moment you lost her you shut down. Your gaze lingered and you did that thing you always do—you swallow real hard and you tense your jaw and he knows you’re trying to reign it in because if you don’t you’ll cry right then and there no matter how hard you deny it. You get real quiet, really dismissive and that’s the most telling thing about you. Your silence.

You’re quiet as you sit in the Impala, gaze fixed out of the window as you bite consistently on the inside of your cheek. You say nothing as you sit there and think of everything you did wrong as a hunter that night, everything you should’ve and could’ve done better, the things that wouldn’t have happened had you just done your job. They ran through your mind in a loop of torment and self doubt, every inadequacy you felt you had rising to the surface and boiling over.

The more you thought about just all the ways you possibly could have messed up the time, what the end result was, it made it all the more difficult to keep that tremble from your bottom lip. It made your stomach twist in knots and it made your head ache from suppressing those tears that just wouldn’t go away. It was hard, it was harder than ever to sit there and reign it in.

Dean only found a motel to stay at all of half an hour ago. That demon drug the two of you miles away and a few towns over. Sam wasn’t along, hung back at Jody’s with a broken arm and a busted ankle. There was only one room left at that motel and it just barely worked out that way for the two of you because there wouldn’t have been a bed for Sam. It took about two minutes for Dean to make that decision to skip out on the motel, to drive the extra miles just to get back to Jody’s that night. There’d be left overs of a home cooked meal for you to have, there’d be a much nicer bed for the two of you to share.

It’d be better on you than some tacky, old motel room for a change.

He glanced over at you, that’s what he did the entire drive was steal glances at you. Each and every time he was met with that same look, that same sorrowful look that screamed regret and guilt and he hated that the feeling even crossed your mind. He knew that’s what it was and he didn’t need to ask, it was clear as day what it was.

There wasn’t that much longer of a drive left, he knows that, but he finally felt it was a good time to slip his hand in yours. He knew it was because even though you were stubborn as hell when you were like this, he felt the way you scooted a little closer to him, he felt the way you toyed with the ring on his finger. Your gaze was still focused out the window.

He noticed the little things and it made all the difference in the world.

When you did finally get there, you were ever so quick to snag your duffel bag and go, to slip through the door with hopes of sneaking past any company. You weren’t in any shape to be around anyone, you looked worse for wear in far more ways than one. That quiver in your lip worsened and the clench in your jaw tightened.

Dean knew you’d disappear and he let you, he let you go off and have your space for a little while but he stayed close behind because he knew. He knows that no matter how hard you might try and look tough, no matter how hard you try and prove that you want to be by yourself, it isn’t true. You’ll never admit it but you don’t need to, he knows you don’t really want to be alone, and if there’s one person you really truly need, it’s Dean.

But he lets you have your space for a little while.

So, he checked on Sam, checked on Jody a while. He made conversation with them on how the hunt, didn’t give specifics but they knew it didn’t go so well. They knew because you were there to give them that hug you always do. He made conversation but you were on the very forefront of his mind, and he lingered, he did that until he couldn’t anymore.

You’d splashed water over your face a million times over, more and more until you felt even just a fraction better. You had your own bumps and bruises from the hunt but that was the least of your concerns. A few scrapes, a few bruises here and there was nothing compared to what happened that day.

You didn’t worry about yourself, didn’t want to, it wasn’t a big deal and it felt selfish to worry about what little damage you walked away from that hunt with. It could’ve been worse for you and it wasn’t, it should’ve been worse for you and it wasn’t. That very idea played through your mind over and over without pause. You had to expect this kind of thing on a hunt, that’s what happens as a hunter, but it hurts every single time.

Usually you can brush these things off. Usually you can push it to the very corners of your mind and move onto the next hunt with just as much optimism as before, with just as much courage as before. You could take things as they come and you could accept the downfalls of being a hunter for what it was because at the end of the day these things were monsters.

When you thought about it that way, it didn’t seem so bad. It made it feel like you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, they were supernatural monsters that most people don’t even believe in till they see it for themselves. You knew it was bound to happen, you knew the job wasn’t ever going to be perfect. You knew it but you couldn’t believe it this time.

You rifled through your bag where you’d tossed it on the bed, looking for something you didn’t quite remember. Something, anything to busy your mind and the building pressure behind your eyes. You were frazzled, bursting at the seams and you knew it.

The knock at the door made you jump a little, but you didn’t look up, you knew who it was. You tried to ignore the burning ache running along the heel of your hand, the jagged scratch along your skin more and more painful as it sits under the scrap of bandana tied over it. You tried to hide it so Dean wouldn’t fuss over you, so he didn’t worry because he’d been through enough that day.

“Hey,” he said softly, gently as he walked in the room with the kindest smile.

“Hey,” you say, all the more softer as you dig around some more, letting out a frustrated huff as you lose your train of thought.

“Y/n.”

You didn’t hear him at first, too caught up in your own mind, in your own looping guilt that ate away at you. Too caught up in trying your hardest not to give it up and cry in front of him because that’s the last thing you wanted to do. But it was becoming increasingly obvious as you all but dumped the contents of your duffel bag on the bed, only to realize it was Dean’s.

You let out a frustrated groan as you pick up his clothes you’d tousled around, putting them back in their rightful bag before going for your own. You weren’t yourself and that much was clear, each second that passed you were handling things worse and worse and he saw the way your frown tugged ever so softly at the corners of your mouth. He saw the way you clenched your jaw.

“Y/n.”

You look up at him, gaze meeting his for the first time since that hunt a couple hours back. Your eyes are quick to move, though, fixating on the cut above his eyebrow, the crimson slowly but steadily beginning to trickle down his temple once more. Then they bounce to the cut across the bridge of his freckled nose, swollen and pale purple around it. They went from his nose to the one on his cheek, to the blood staining in his hair. Then you circle back to his gaze, the mere sight of the concern pooling in his eyes having your own begin to gloss over.

All that, all of that was from saving you as you tried to save her back there. Those cuts and bruises he’s got on his face, any bit of pain he was in had guilt bubbling in the pit of your stomach, twisting in knots because you felt you were solely to blame for it.

You swallowed thickly and he saw that too, that thing you always did, and you cleared your throat quickly. You snagged your first aid kit from your bag once you realized that’s what you were looking for.

“Let me patch you up,” you say, and he can hear every ounce of your emotions in your words. He could hear it in your tone and he could see it in that look you’ve got on your face.

His shoulders slump a little and his brows furrow, lips pursing softly as he looks at you with that realization. He can see it in the way your gaze lingers on those cuts in his face a little too long for it not to be so.

“Sweetheart, don’t tell me you think this is your fault,” Dean says, soft and hopeful that you don’t.

You swallow thickly, biting the inside of your cheek as you look at him with that crease between your brows. That tremble in your lip is back, that stupid thing that gives away just how bad you’re really hurting.

“I know it is, Dean,” you say quietly, toying with the kit in your hand as you narrow your gaze up at him.

You watch as his lips purse a little more, as that furrow in his brows becomes all the more apparent.

“Y/n, it wasn’t—”

“Let me patch you up, Dean,” you said once more, a little louder than the last.

He looks at you, at that look you’ve got, one look and he caves. One looks and he’s sighing, following you to the bathroom. There’s not a chance he’s blaming you for getting a little roughed up back there, he never would. He made that choice to step in and snag you before that demon could get you too while you tried to save that girl. He made that choice and if he came out of it a little bloody then so be it. He’ll take it over losing you any day.

He takes a seat on the toilet lid, patient as ever as he gazes up at you with all the softness in the world. It nearly makes you fall apart right then and there, but you don’t.

You take a breath and you dampen a cotton pad with an antiseptic, your good hand settling on his cheek. You feel the soft scratch of his stubble under your palm, you can feel the little bit of tension in his jaw but the looks he’s giving you isn’t indicative of any malice, isn’t indicative of any anger you felt you should have gotten.

Your thumb brushes over his cheek softly before you wipe away the blood that started to run down his temple. He closed his eyes briefly at the sting it evoked, you could feel a little more tension in his jaw but he didn’t say anything. You wanted to say you were sorry, you wanted to say it a million times.

He could see the way your hands trembled as you worked, and he could see it when you dropped some of the first aid supplies. You were crumbling more and more under the weight of this hunt and it was becoming increasingly more obvious the more time that ticks by. The more thought you put into the events that transpired that day.

He nudged you with his knee as you stood between his thighs, pulling your attention once more and you saw the smile tugging upwards at the corners of his mouth.

“‘Member that one hunt at the circus, that spirit masking as that goofy lookin’ clown?” He asks.

You nod softly, and he sees the corner of your mouth quirks up as soft as ever, nearly unnoticeable.

“Sam was so focused on avoiding that damn thing, so on edge that he thought I was that clown. Hit me square across the head and ran like a bat outta hell.” He chuckled softly at the memory as you cleaned him up, your smile widening just a fraction. “Knocked me flat on my ass and had my head spinnin’ for a good while. But you know who was right there with me, kept that spirit away from me while I was down?”

You tilt your head, sighing at his words. “Dean.”

“You did, Y/n/n. I was toast if you wouldn’t have been there and you know it.”

He watched that frown come along again, saw that furrow in your brows and he knows you’re still blaming yourself for what happened earlier. He knows it and it tears him up.

You put a couple butterfly closure strips across the cut above his eyebrow, and one across the bridge of his nose. You clean him up and clean that blood that’s worked it’s way in his hair along the edges. That apology is still sitting heavy on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be spoken a thousand times over to a man who won’t accept a single one unbeknownst to you. He won’t accept it because there’s nothing to be sorry for.

He can see the way you’re biting the inside of your cheek, gnawing away at it the way you do when you’re trying your very hardest not to cry. You don’t want to do that, not even a little bit, but the threat of you crumbling to pieces in front of him is becoming a little more real with each passing moment.

He looks a little better now that he’s cleaned up, now that he’s got those bandages on and that sweet smile that you know you don’t deserve. He looks better but he’s still hurt and that’s what’s nagging at you, that’s what’s wearing away at you. Two people got hurt today because of you, two people got hurt and one of them didn’t make it out alive. All because of you.

Your lip wobbles and you’re so close to losing it, so close to losing that stubbornness you’ve built up all for the sake of looking tough. That dam was about to break and you didn’t want it to.

“How ‘bout I take care of you now, sweetheart? I know your hand’s bust up pretty good,” he says, trying his best to take the heat off of you because he knows how much you don’t want to cry.

“‘M fine, Dean,” you say, stubborn as ever but he doesn’t care.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up. He’s careful as he unties the knot in that bandana, unraveling it and pulling the bloodied fabric away. His eyes bounce to the jagged cut running along the heel of your hand, stretching all the way across to your palm. It was angry and red, and it wasn’t quite done bleeding.

You weren’t fine, you were hurt and he wouldn’t believe you for a second if you told him again that you were fine.

“Demon got you good, didn’t he?” He said he stood up, urging you to sit down in his place.

“Could have been worse. Should have been,” you say softly, and you see the faint purse of his lips and that crease between his brows.

You’re not done beating yourself up about this one and he knows it, he knows how fragile you feel and he hates that he can do better for you. He hates that he can make you see it the way he does. Because it’s not your fault. It’s that simple, it’s not your fault.

He takes your hand in his once more, palm up as he looks it over. It’s not deep enough for any stitches, but it’s nasty enough to hurt a good one for a while. It’s bad enough to know that you’re not fine. He can see it in the way you try and tug your hand away when that dreaded peroxide comes in contact with it.

You wince as it bubbles and stings, searing across your palm as his grip remains around your wrist, his palm against the back of your hand. His thumb runs back and forth against your skin as he looks at it and at you. He wipes away the excess and the blood, wipes everything carefully to keep from upsetting the wound further and to keep from hurting you in the process any more than he has to to clean it up.

That wobble in your lip is worse than ever with round two, that pent up guilt overflowing and cracking at the walls you tried so hard to keep intact. They cracked and they cracked as he patched you up, wiping your hand clean as he grabbed a cotton pad and a roll of gauze.

It hurt, it hurt way more than you let on and it was quickly becoming too much to handle as he started wrapping your hand much more securely than before. He was gentle, but the built up emotion, that pressure behind your eyes, the weight of it all was too much to bear for a moment longer and the second he looked at you, that first tear rolled down over heated cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said, kneeling down in front of you, “don’t go cryin’ on me now, sweetheart.”

His words were soft as his hand settled on your cheek, thumbing away the tear that fell and the few others that followed it. “Talk to me.”

You look at him, at those bandages he’s got, you look at the way his flannel is torn and the blood you missed in his hair. You look at him, you think about that hunt. You think about what went wrong that day, what went so horribly wrong and the way everything happened. You thought about it and you thought about the nagging and numbing pain in your hand and that’s when it tumbled out.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around his neck as he knelt there in front of you. “It’s all my fault.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, pulling you up as he stands. Your arms drop to wrap and his waist then, his grip on you tighter now as he tucks you under his chin. “Please don’t say that.”

He wasn’t going to let you blame yourself and that much was clear. He wasn’t going to let you even when you tried your hardest to make him believe it. That frustration came bubbling back in the midst of your tears, that stubbornness came back as you broke away from his embrace.

“You don’t have to sugar coat it, Dean. You don’t have to try and make things better just to spare my feelings.”

You turned away from him and wiped your tears, but you felt that gentle grip on your elbow, you felt him turn you back around and tug you in close again. You wanted that, you needed that real bad and you weren’t about to push it away a second time.

You hugged around his waist once more, face hidden against heaps of flannel and his t-shirt as he held you, steady and warm. His chin rested atop your head first before he moved to press his cheek atop it, breaking every now and then to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmurs after a little while, your crying having died down to stray tears that came and went. “It ain’t even close. You know why?”

You shook your head against him, whispering a soft response.

“We did the best we could today. You did the best you could. I know it sucks and I know it hurts, damn does it hurt sometimes, but sometimes we lose that fight,” he says against the top of your head before kissing your head, pressing his cheek there once more. “But we get back up and we try again the next day. Hunting ain’t easy, and I’ll be the first to admit I don’t cope very well. You know that, sweetheart.”

He pulls back to look at you when you tip your head back, looking at you with a heavy gaze as he thumbs away those tears. You’ve got that unintentional pout as you reach up, you reach up and brush your thumb over that cut on his forehead.

“You’re hurt because of me, Dean.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up as he chuckles softly, bittersweet and he sees the way your gaze narrows.

“If takin’ a couple blows from a black eyed douchebag means I still get to have you here, I’ll take it,” he says, and it doesn’t help your frown.

“It’s not funny, Dean,” you grumble, exhaling a soft huff.

“Maybe a little bit,” he says, shrugging lightly and you roll your eyes, your lip still wobbling. He sighs softly, pressing a kiss to your temple before looking at you once more. “We can’t save everybody, sweetheart. It hurts, I know it does, I’m the freakin’ poster child for stuffin’ things down because I don’t wanna deal with it. I’m the worst at dealing with things. But bein’ a hunter ain’t easy. We try our best, every day we try our best. So don’t think for a second that I’m gonna blame you for this. For any of it.”

You’ve still got that narrowed stare but it softens a little, and you’ve still got that quiver in your lip but his words ease the weight in your shoulders a little bit more. Every time the thought of that hunt crosses your mind, it sends a jolt through you, makes you want to cry all over it again. It hurts and it will for a little while.

But he’s got you.

“I love you,” you whisper softly, nodding as you lean up on your toes and press a kiss on his cheek, and one to his lips. You sink back on your feet and rest your head over his heart as he squeezes you a little tighter, kissing the crown of your head.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he says, softer than soft as his brows furrow at your sniffle, at that last bit of tears you’ve got left to get out.

It was hard, it was beyond hard to lose someone in a hunt. But it’s moments like these that make it better. He’s got you.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @malindacath @happyt0exist @awkward-and-indecisive @ajreturnstocringeyaccount

[dothwrites]

15.20 coda--at the end of the world

author’s note: while i am still reeling from the finale, this was my way of making some kind of personal peace with it. don’t mistake this for me agreeing with the choices made <3 

---

“I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”--Madeline Miller

---

Castiel opens his eyes. 

All around him is green. A moment later, he hears the soft sound of birds chirping in the background; from further away, the faint sounds of children laughing. The air is ripe with the smell of growth, damp in the air and life underneath his fingers. 

He sits up. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, the kind found only in poet’s and painters imaginations. A few feet away, the shrubs grow, flowers spilling over themselves in their enthusiasm to be born. Everything is a riot of life and color. 

“Cas.” 

Castiel’s heart thumps against his ribs. He knows that voice. 

He whirls around, already knowing who he’ll find. Several feet away, Jack waits, one hand raised in a short wave. 

Castiel finds himself up on his feet, and within two short steps, he’s enfolded Jack in his arms. For a moment, he forgets about everything which came before, and allows himself this sheer comfort. If nothing else remains, then Jack is here. 

Jack hugs him back, twice as fiercely, before they separate. Castiel holds him at arm’s length, trying to find injuries or hurt on him, but there’s nothing. In fact, it’s almost as if...

“Jack,” he says slowly, his arm falling away from Jack’s shoulder, “what happened?” 

Jack smiles, a little lopsided, but still his boy. 

“Well,” he says, gesturing towards a bench, “It’s kind of a long story. 

---

For all that Jack said it was a long story, it ends up being remarkably quick in the telling. Castiel listens, sometimes grieving and sometimes proud, as he hears of how Sam, Dean, and Jack ultimately defeated Chuck. His heart grows in his chest as Jack recounts Dean’s words. 

That’s not who I am. 

A small part of him wishes that he could be there to see it, but he tucks that part of himself away. He said his piece. He relieved the burden which has been pressing down on his shoulders now for years. In his lifetime, it was nothing more than a blip on the map, but those years have made all the difference in the world to him. Finally, he can look back on them now without regrets. 

“And so, I came here,” Jack finally says, shifting a little on the bench. He looks oddly guilty, like the times Castiel would find him sneaking snacks back into his room. “I thought...” 

“What?’ Castiel prompts, after a few moments when it becomes clear that Jack has no interest in speaking. 

“Sam and Dean don’t really need me anymore. I mean, I know that they want me, but the world is bigger now. And the people up here need me too.” 

It’s then that Castiel looks around, scrutinizing his environment more closely. The nagging sense of familiarity hits and then he wonders how he didn’t see it before. His favorite Heaven, caught in an eternal Tuesday afternoon. 

“It’s not right,” Jack says, his forehead wrinkled into an earnest expression of worry. “The people here are stuck. While I was on earth, we all talked about free will, but the people here don’t have it. They’re stuck forever in an endless loop of memories, and it’s all just...empty.” 

Jack looks at Castiel, and Castiel doesn’t see God. He doesn’t see a divine being, or Lucifer’s son, or even an angelic being. He just sees his boy, lost and confused, but still so pure, still wanting to do the right thing, no matter what. 

“Cas?” Jack asks. “Will you help me?” 

---

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems. 

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed. 

He does make one stop, however. 

When he walks in the door, Kelly’s head lifts up from the book she’s flipping through. Her smile is a balm to the hurt places inside him, the ones that he likes to pretend don’t exist, because he was happy, yes? That was the whole point of everything, was to be happy. “Hey, Cas,” she greets him, shifting over and patting the couch next to her. “I was wondering when you’d be by.” 

“I’ve been busy,” Cas says, settling down on the cushions. In Heaven, his body is easier than it was on earth, more flexible, and he wonders if that’s because after all these years, he’s finally returned to where he was supposed to belong, or if it’s because he no longer has the shadow of his love pressing down on his shoulders. 

“Jack told me. Rebuilding Heaven? Sounds ambitious.” 

“The old Heaven was...not ideal,” Castiel says. “I thought it was at the beginning: each soul gets a paradise tailor made to them. But then, I realized that human life is meaningless without the connections we form along the way. Each soul, stuck forever in its own loop is...” 

“It’s lonely,” Kelly says, reaching out and squeezing his hand. Castiel returns the gesture, grateful for the connection. Her eyes are kind as she moves closer to him, her shoulder pressing into his. 

“So what happened?” 

---

In their time together, Castiel never told Kelly about Dean, at least not explicitly. But she had a brilliant mind and was able to see the threads of his longing woven into everything he did. Relating the story to her comes easily, and he tells her things which he would never tell Jack. 

“And I was happy,” Castiel says at the end. “I was.” 

“You trying to convince me or yourself?”

“Neither,” Castiel replies, bristling slightly. It was true that he might have been happier--he had performed a willful obfuscation of the original terms--but that doesn’t negate what he felt in that moment. The sheer love, the overwhelming gratitude, the incandescent happiness of being able, one last time, to proclaim to the world Dean Winchester is Saved. 

Everything else is unimportant when viewed through those lenses. 

“Why haven’t you gone to see him?” Kelly was always good at cutting to the heart of the problem. 

“Dean has his life on earth. I have my work here in Heaven. I don’t...” Because, of course, he’s asked himself the same question many times. Why doesn’t he go find Dean and tell him of one last, improbable miracle? 

“Cas, let me tell you: I didn’t know Dean all that well, but I didn’t need to if I wanted to know how he felt about you. It was all over his face.” Kelly turns to face him, suddenly serious. “Cas, you should go to him. At least allow him to speak his side. If he doesn’t feel the same way, then you’ll know. And if he does...” 

Castiel shakes his head. Happiness in the being is what he’s told himself ever since he awoke to find himself in Heaven. Happiness doesn’t come from the having. He will live with himself and find contentment in the works which he does. 

Kelly looks sympathetic, but doesn’t say anything as he walks out. 

There’s work to be done. 

---

Castiel sighs with satisfaction as he walks through Heaven. Slowly, the walls are coming down. Souls are mingling and interacting. There’s joy in the once quiet halls, the giddiness which comes from freedom after too long without. He moves through the different realms, silent as a thought, and goes unnoticed, at least until a gruff voice catches his attention. 

“What the hell are you doing here, boy?” 

A wide grin splits Castiel’s face. Only Bobby Singer would think to call an angel ‘boy’. He walks towards the old hunter, who looks the same now as he did in life, and is surprised when Bobby sweeps him up in a hug which would threaten to crack his ribs, were he human. 

“You did good,” Bobby whispers, his voice thick in Castiel’s ear. “I heard what you and that boy Jack did, and you did real good.” 

It means more than he would have thought, to have Bobby’s approval. After a moment’s pause, he hugs Bobby back. 

When Bobby pulls away, he quickly knuckles his eyes, before clearing his throat. “So, you fixed Heaven on top of everything else? What do you have planned next?” 

Castiel’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “There’s always work to be done maintaining Heaven. We don’t know what, if any, effects the restructuring will bring, so I suppose I will be traveling and making sure that everything is stable.” 

“If that ain’t a load of shit,” Bobby scoffs. “From what I’ve seen, your boy has enough power in his pinky finger to do just about whatever he wants. Stop making excuses and get your feathery ass back down there.” 

Castiel swallows. “It’s not quite as simple as that. Sam and Dean have a chance to live their lives, the way that they would wish for them to be lived. It’s not fair of me to intrude.” 

“Now, if that isn’t the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever heard.” Bobby’s mouth twists underneath his beard. “Only one thing keeping you from going back down to see those boys, and it sure as hell ain’t concern for Heaven or some BS notion that they’re better off without you.” Castiel opens his mouth, but Bobby speaks over him. “And don’t tell me that you’re just waiting either. Something I learned a long time ago--you never have as much time as you think you do.” 

Castiel closes his mouth and says nothing. 

---

Bobby is wrong. 

There’s still time. He doesn’t have to go yet. There’s still work to be done in Heaven, souls to be guided, walls to be broken. Jack still needs him. 

There’s still time. 

There’s still time, until there isn’t.

---

Castiel feels it before he knows what’s happening. It’s a rift, a tear, something which ripples throughout the universe and comes to hit him in the chest. He staggers backward, hand clutching at his shirt. 

His first thought is that Heaven is under attack, but a second’s observation tells him that’s not the case. Everything is fine. The fabric of Heaven remains secure, the souls are unbothered. It’s only him that feels the blow. 

With a flutter of wings, Jack appears beside him. His face is a mask of distress, tears welling in his eyes. “Cas,” he cries, clenching his hands into fists at his side. “Cas, it’s--” 

“Dean,” Castiel says, finally understanding the bolt of pain which ripped through him. 

It was too soon. He doesn’t know how much time has passed on earth, but he knows it was too soon. 

It’s always too soon. 

“Cas, what do I... I can heal him. I can go and heal him now. I can save him. I can...” Jack trails off, his feet still pacing in desperate circles. “What do I do?” 

It’s a child’s question, and Castiel has no answer. 

“Free will,” is all he says. “Whatever you do...It’s your decision.” 

---

Castiel feels when Dean Winchester’s soul enters Heaven. He held that soul within his grace, he snatched it away from the filth and flames of Hell. He cradled that soul while he was reassembling Dean’s body, pulling atoms out of air to create skin, flesh, and bone. He would know that soul at the end of everything, and he knows it here, when it settles into the place which was created for him. 

It was as perfect as Castiel could make it; down to the Impala sitting in the Roadhouse’s parking lot. He created every inch of Dean’s Heaven in homage, in apology. 

It wasn’t fair. Dean deserved to live to a ripe old age. He deserved to enjoy the world for which he fought so hard. He should have grown old, should have found peace, should have discovered the foibles and pitfalls of normal, human existence. Dean worked too hard, for too long, and he deserved a kinder, softer fate. Instead, he’s here, and all Castiel can do for him is to craft his Heaven with painstaking care. 

He pauses on the boundaries of Dean’s Heaven. Every fiber of him yearns to go forward, to rejoice in Dean’s presence, to see that beloved face again. He wants it so badly he can almost taste it, leather and gasoline and whiskey mingling together until he’s back in the bunker, listening to the sounds of his family--

Castiel takes a step away from the border. First one, then another. After three steps, it becomes easier. 

Dean has his paradise, and Castiel won’t interfere. 

---

Heaven moves as it always does, timeless and changeless. There is no turn of the earth to mark the passage of time. Instead, it moves like the ocean, rolling waves which are always moving and yet the surface remains the same. Castiel travels through various Heavens, observing the newly liberated souls, and taking his peace from their newfound enjoyment. It eases something within him to see his former home restored, better than it ever was before. 

He’s inspecting a field of sunflowers when the sound of a car door closing surprises him. Immediately, his heart lurches in his chest, dipping down to somewhere around his knees before hurtling upwards to lodge in his throat. He swallows before he turns around. 

Dean Winchester is there. 

Castiel’s heart, always out of his control, performs a quick dance against the confines of his ribs. Dean looks...He looks whole and wonderful, vibrant and alive. The lines around his eyes look as though they’ve been carved through laughter instead of despair. His shoulders sit easier, no longer pressed down with the burden of the entire world. 

Castiel licks his lips. “Hello, Dean,” he finally says, when it becomes obvious that Dean has no intention of making the first move. 

Dean’s lips quirk up in a grin. “Cas,” he says, not moving from where he’s leaning up against the frame of the Impala. “You’re a hard guy to track down.” 

Layers upon layers of subtext are placed within the seemingly simple sentence. Castiel remembers Purgatory as well as anything else, the desperate year of keeping one step ahead of Leviathans while close enough to Dean to protect him if need be. 

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says faintly. “I wasn’t aware anyone was looking.” 

Dean’s face performs a series of interesting maneuvers, dropping and rising and twisting. It finally settles into an expression like stone as he pushes off the car and storms towards him. Castiel waits, caught up in breathless anticipation of the oncoming storm. 

“Look,” Dean growls, reaching out and snagging the lapel of his coat, almost like he wants to ensure that Castiel doesn’t escape. Castiel doesn’t even dream of it; there’s no other place he’d rather be than caught in Dean’s grip. “There was a lot of shit going on at the time, so I didn’t get to say it then, but there’s nothing happening now, so you are going to sit here and listen, all right?”

Castiel nods, but Dean doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you didn’t...” He runs the hand which isn’t still wrapped up in Castiel’s coat over his face. “You idiot,” he finally breathes. “A couple of dumbasses. You’ve had me, Cas. All along, you’ve had me.” 

Castiel looks up at Dean in sharp surprise. When he meets Dean’s eyes, there’s nothing but the infinite compassion which he fell in love with. “You... You’re this force of nature that came bursting into my life. All this time, you’ve always been there, always helping, and I took that for granted, I know I did. But, god, Cas, I should have told you every day how thankful I was to have you there with us. I should have let you know what a miracle you are. You never gave up on me, not once, not even when I deserved it.” 

Castiel’s breath hitches in his chest as Dean lets go of his coat. Slowly, with a shaking hand, he reaches up to cup Castiel’s cheek. “You never stopped believing. You never stopped trying. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.” 

“Dean.” The name bursts out of Castiel’s chest in a harsh breath. Dean’s words are working their way underneath his skin, to the point where his body can’t contain them. 

“Cas.” Dean gently angles his face up so that there’s no escape when he says, “I love you.” 

“I’m sorry,” explodes from Castiel’s chest, the helplessness and grief he felt when he felt Dean’s soul leaving earth erupting in a single quick sob. “Dean, I’m so sorry, I should have been there, I should have done something, I never should have left you alone--” 

“Cas.” Dean’s fingers press into his cheek, not hard, but firmly enough to get his attention. “It sucks, all right? There was so much I wanted...” The corner of his mouth drops. “I was going to get you out, and you, me, and Sam were going to head to the beach. I was going to get you drinking out of a coconut, maybe a Hawaiian shirt. We were going to do Christmas, I was going to take you to a theme park and see if you puked on roller coasters. I wanted...” For a moment, grief so overwhelming that it can’t be touched crosses Dean’s face, but then, with effort, he pushes it away. “There’s so much that I wanted, but it’s done now. And besides, you’ve been busy.” Dean raises his eyebrows. The grin on his face invites Cas to smile as well. “Reforming Heaven?” 

“I wanted...There was so much I did wrong here. I thought if I could make it right, that maybe...” Castiel leans his cheek into Dean’s hand. “I wanted it to be perfect for you. You weren’t supposed to be here yet.” 

“I know. I know. And it’s not okay, but you’re here, all right? Mom’s here, Bobby’s here, Charlie, and Jess, and Kevin, and Ellen and Jo...They’re all here, and thanks to you, I’m going to see them. You did that, Cas.” 

“Jack did most of the work--” Castiel begins, but he’s cut off by the soft press of Dean’s lips against his. 

Sparks burst in his chest as Dean’s hand slides around to the back of his neck to cradle his head. His other arm slides around his waist, and suddenly, Castiel is held by Dean Winchester, by this miracle of a man. Dean’s kisses consume him, until he’s no longer Castiel. Instead, he’s heat, and friction, and more. 

“You and me,” Dean pants against his lips, pulling away just far enough to run his nose along Castiel’s. “We’ve got time now, Cas, we’ve got so much time. I’m going to take you apart, going to show you how much I love you, every single day. I’m going to show you everything.” 

Castiel is drowning in the outpouring of Dean’s devotion. He’s helpless in the riptides. All he can do to save himself is kiss Dean again, tasting salt on their lips from where their tears trace down to their lips. Castiel cries partly for Dean’s missed opportunities and the fact that life is so cruel. But he also cries from happiness. Dean is right. Here, they have all the time they could ever want. There’s time to explore every feeling and desire, time for them to become themselves, without the pressure of the world around them. 

They part. Somehow, Castiel’s hands have found their way onto Dean’s waist. One of his thumbs is braver than the rest of his whole body, as it sneaks underneath Dean’s shirt to touch bare skin. Dean grins at him. 

“Hey, Cas,” he asks, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Do you want to take a drive?” 

Their fingers entwine as they walk towards the Impala. Castiel’s chest feels light, like Dean’s hand is the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground. “I’m still trying to figure out the roads here. It felt like I was driving around for forty years to try and find you.” 

They settle into the Impala, where they’ve been so many times before, but now Castiel can enjoy every squeak of the leather seats. He can revel in the imperfections of the car because of the perfection that’s next to him. Dean Winchester reaches across the seat and takes his hand, as easy as breathing. 

“I can’t wait to show Sam everything,” Dean says, as he guides the Impala back onto a road which Castiel is almost certain wasn’t there when he arrived. “I, uh...Hope it takes him a while to get here. But. Yeah, when he gets here, I can’t wait to show him everything.”

“We’ll see it all together,” Castiel finally says. It’s all he can say, his heart too busy dancing in his chest. 

They have all the time they want.

---

Time slips and passes and stops. In between his time with Dean, Jack, and the rest of the residents of Heaven, and performing maintenance throughout Heaven, Castiel watches the earth. He sees those left behind grow older. Claire and Kaia start a family, Claire finally having set aside the kernel of anger in her heart. Castiel watches Sam and Eileen’s family grow, smiling when Sam finally goes back to law school and gets his degree. He spends the rest of his career fighting for justice for children lost in the system, those who can’t fight for themselves. Saving people, hunting things, indeed. 

Several times, Castiel thinks about going to visit Sam, if only to assuage the grief he can still see the man carrying, but each time he stops. It hurts, but grief is a facet of life. This grief is natural. It comes honestly. It’s not manipulated by a sadistic higher being for a voyeristic pleasure. 

Eileen comes out to the Impala and brings Sam back into the house with gentle touches. Throughout the years, she’s learned how to navigate Sam’s moods, and knows how to bring him back. They lay in bed, foreheads pressed together, Eileen’s body curved into Sam’s. 

“I just,” Sam begins, twisting slightly so Eileen can read his lips, “I just miss him so much sometimes.” 

“I know,” Eileen answers. It’s all she needs to say. 

After a while, Sam gently wraps his fingers around Eileen’s wrist, partly for comfort, partly to grab her attention. “Dean’s baseball game is next weekend. Do we know yet if it’s going to conflict with Beth’s dance rehearsal?” 

“It shouldn’t,” Eileen answers, and with that, the normal routine of their life is reestablished. The grief is always present, but it’s part of the human condition. 

Castiel turns his eyes back to Heaven, where Dean waits for him. Despite it being Heaven, he insists on making repairs to Bobby’s house as well as the Roadhouse, even when Castiel reminds him, for the hundredth time, that if he truly wanted to, he could fix these imperfections with a thought. 

“Sometimes, you just have to do things the hard way,” he answers, through a mouthful of nails. 

Castiel rolls his eyes and goes to help him. 

---

The morning dawns, quiet and gentle. The dawn is silvery-gold as it stretches across the grass leading up to the cabin. In the distance, the birds start singing. Castiel can smell the fresh scents of spring, dew clinging to the grass, the clean, bright potential in the air. His toes stick out from underneath the comforter, but a quick flip of his foot flicks the corner of the blanket back into place. 

A warm, heavy arm winds over his waist. “Babe, it’s too early,” Dean mumbles into the nape of his neck. “Go back to sleep.” 

Castiel strokes over the back of Dean’s hand. The words are tempting, but something has woken him up, and now that it has, he wants to know what it is. He props himself up on his elbows, ignoring the chill of the air as it bites at his bare skin, and concentrates. After a second, he startles. 

“Dean,” he says. 

Though he doesn’t put urgency or fear into his voice, something about his tone makes Dean open his eyes, suddenly alert. Castiel looks at him, and Dean rolls over onto his side. After their time together, they’ve mastered the art of the wordless conversation, much to the chagrin of Charlie, Kevin, and anyone within ten miles of them, at least according to Jo. 

“It’s time?” Dean asks. He rolls closer to Castiel, stealing his warmth, as he trails his fingers over Castiel’s ribs. 

“Yes,” Castiel answers, taking Dean’s hand in his and pressing kisses to each of Dean’s fingertips. “Won’t be long now.” 

Dean’s fingers slide across his cheek before he curls his fingers around the bolt of Castiel’s jaw, pulling him down. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss which still manages to make fireworks explode in the pit of Castiel’s belly. He doesn’t think the thrill of kissing Dean will ever fade. Castiel doesn’t want it to. 

“I should get going,” Dean murmurs, rubbing against the bristles on Castiel’s cheek. “You want to come along?” 

Castiel relaxes back into the mattress, only reluctantly parting from Dean. “No, you go. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

“I know.” Dean slides out of bed, and Castiel takes a moment to appreciate the play of his muscles underneath fair skin. He lets out a small, disappointed noise when Dean slides into a pair of jeans and a jacket, causing Dean to roll his eyes at him over his shoulders. “Yeah, keep it in your pants. Definitely wearing clothes to this particular meeting.” 

“Shame,” Castiel murmurs, waggling his eyebrows. 

“Shameless,” Dean corrects, leaning over the mattress to kiss Castiel once more, short and sweet. “We’ll be back before too long.” Another kiss to Castiel’s forehead, and then Dean murmurs, “I love you,” into his hair. 

Castiel smiles. Much like kissing Dean, hearing those words will never grow old to him. He’ll revel in them, roll in the simple syllables, allow them to sink into him, with the simple truth that Jack tells him, that Charlie tells him, that Kelly tells him, that even Bobby and Ellen and Jo tell him. 

You are valued. You are loved. 

He smiles at Dean Winchester, this impossible, miracle of a man. “I love you too,” he replies. 

Dean out of the bedroom. The door to the cabin opens and closes. Castiel rolls over onto his back and stretches, staring up at the ceiling. 

There’s work to be done today. He’ll need to travel through Heaven, informing the various interested parties that Sam Winchester has arrived. There will be a party tonight at the Roadhouse, a celebration instead of mourning. Then he and Dean will get to show Sam their Heaven, will listen to Sam relate through his years. 

There is so much work to do. 

But they have time. They have all the time they need. 

---

“Life never ends when you are in it.”--Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

[winchester-girl67]

Don’t Say A Word (Part 16)

Summary: Just when she thought things were settling down, the reader notices something's not right with Dean.

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,572

Warnings: language, angst, blood/blood loss, mentions of stabbing, major injury, injured!Dean, hospital visit, scary situation, mature themes, Sam being cute, love triangle, unrequited feelings/rejection, pining, a little jealousy maybe, slow burn, kissing, a little fluff

A/N: If only things went differently, this easily could've been a love story with Sam.

_____

“You’re hurt!” You cried, Dean gripping your henley at your waist so you couldn't disappear on him. “Dean, let me go, I need to get Samm-”

You tasted the tears streaming down your cheeks when he molded his lips to yours. He didn't give the kiss any more energy or heat than that, content with the feel of his lips on yours. Like he was saying goodbye. You sniffled against him. This couldn’t be the end, not after everything. How was this fair?

“I just wanted to kiss you, one last time...”

“No, you asshole, you don’t get to leave me like this. I-I need to get help...” You pressed your palm into the wound on his side when his hand faltered and he stumbled to the side.

His head bobbed and he smiled sadly at you, brushing a thumb over your cheek. Unintentionally smearing warm blood on your skin before his knees buckled and he slid down the wall with you. You tried to soften his fall and keep pressure on his wound at the same time, awkwardly kneeling over him with a knee on either side of his bowed legs.

Tears gushed from your eyes at the sight of his blood steadily seeping through your fingers and you pleaded with him to stay awake. You pecked his pliant lips, desperately trying to keep him present with you. But the lids on those bright green eyes fell shut, despite your best efforts.

You pushed harder into his side when he passed out, unable to see straight anymore through your watery eyes and you screamed out for help, "SAM. SAM!” Your voice broke and you heard the thump of boots headed your way, but you kept your attention on Dean. “Please, Dean, don’t leave me. I need you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." You didn't know why you were apologizing, although it wasn't like you weren't at fault either. He was hurt, probably dying, because of you. You kissed his lips again and sobbed silently. "No,” you whimpered at the cool feel of his lips on yours, “No, no, no.”

“Dean, Dean!” Sam shouted, sliding to the ground next to you and hollering back at some other agents. “Man down! We need a medic!”

Everything after the medics arrived and took over blurred together; words, sounds, lights. You weren’t sure you were even breathing until Sam grabbed you by your shoulders and shook. You could feel Dean’s blood starting to dry on your hands and the damp spots on your sleeves and chest turn cool. You looked up at Sam for what to do next, silent tears running down your cheeks that you couldn’t wipe away; not without smearing more of his blood on your face.

“Is any of this yours?” Sam asked hastily, but you were in shock and didn't say anything.

He touched your stomach just to be sure and you stared vacantly at him. Finding the strength to shake your head slightly, your chin quivering when you glanced down at yourself. Dean’s blood covering the entire midsection of the henley he’d given you. Sam grabbed your chin and tilted your head back up.

“Keep it together. Dean needs us.” Sam ordered, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and directing you out of the house and towards his SUV.

_____

You sat in the hospital waiting room for hours, tapping your fingers against the arm of the chair and bouncing your knee nervously. Nobody told you anything since you weren’t family and Sam had disappeared as soon as you got there to check on Dean. You watched the seconds pass by on the analog clock on the wall, glancing at the door every time someone walked through it; hoping for an update you knew wouldn’t come. You were about to get up and harass the nurse, like you had been every half hour since you got there, when Sam finally walked through those doors.

You jumped up to meet him, noticing how pale he was and the bruising that started to form on the left side of his face. Probably caused by whatever transpired with Ketch. Ketch was the type to fight back and you were sure Sam would’ve broken his cover after you were taken.

You prepared yourself for the worst. But he walked past you, grunting as he lowered himself into the chair next to the one you’d been sitting in forever. He smiled sadly up at you, his eyes red rimmed and you took a shuddery breath, willing away the tears.

“Have you been here the whole time?” He asked, seemingly exhausted as he looked up at you still standing in front of him.

“They won’t let me in, they won’t tell me anything, I’m not a blood relative.” You said, sniffling and wiping your nose on your sleeve.

The blood had dried long ago, but the site almost made you burst into tears again. You thought about getting cleaned up in the washroom, but you didn’t want Sam to think you’d taken off and miss your chance at an update on Dean.

“Sorry, I should’ve said something.” He hung his head and you thought he looked dizzy, that wasn’t a good sign.

“Sam, you’re killing me. Please, just tell me, is he alive?” You pleaded, holding your breath.

“Uh, right. Sorry. It was touch and go for a while, he lost a lot of blood when he got stabbed.” Sam explained, glancing down at the stain on your shirt. “But they’re confident he’s gonna pull through.”

“That’s good news. Why do you look like somebody died?” You asked, letting go of a breath you’d been holding since you got there and finally feeling your nerves start to settle.

"I'm a universal donor, the hospital didn't have enough of his blood type on hand and donating two pints at once takes a lot out of you." Sam gave you a weak smile. "He's always been there for me. He would've done the same, if he could."

You wiped a stray tear from your cheek and sat next to him, pulling Sam over and into an awkward side hug.

“You like him, don’t you?” He asked sadly, breaking the hug.

“I do. I’m sorry.”

You felt bad since you knew Sam had feelings for you and technically made the first move of the two of them, but you just didn’t feel the same. Not that anything was wrong with Sam and maybe in another life things might’ve turned out differently, but the only thing on your mind was Dean. And you suspected that it had been that way for quite some time now.

“Don’t be. You’re good for him. He needs you.” He said sweetly, pushing your messy hair back so he could see your face. His palm resting on your cheek as he continued, “I took a shot and it didn’t turn out in my favour. Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but you can’t force something that isn’t there. You and Dean obviously have that, I saw the way you two bicker. You don’t do that unless there’s something between you. And who am I to stand in the way of two idiots that hate each other, finally realizing how they really feel.” His touch lingered, brushing his fingers into your hair for one final moment, before he pulled his hand away for good.

“I just want you to know that I think you’re a great guy, Sam, and I wish I felt the same because then I wouldn’t be here right now on the edge of my seat, feeling like I'm drowning. Still, I wanna know that you’re okay with this? And that we can be friends." You asked, knowing it might take some time, but hopeful all the same.

“Absolutely, Y/N. Dean deserves someone like you, who’ll give him hell when he’s being a dick and I’m not around to set him straight.” Sam chuckled and you cringed.

“Ugh, don’t say that word.”

“Dick?” He questioned, laughing when you nodded and cringed again. “Okay, we’ll use jerk from now on.”

“Thank you,” you leaned over and craned your neck to peck a kiss to his cheek, “For everything.” His cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat when you pulled away. “Are we allowed to see him?”

“Dean?” He asked playfully, pretending he didn't know who you meant.

“Of course, silly.” You nodded giddily with an exasperated sigh.

“I think I can get us in. Come on, Y/N/N.” Sam smirked and you helped him to his feet, not that you were able to support much of his weight on high heels especially.

“Aren’t they supposed to give you a cookie or something?” You asked, barely catching Sam when he stumbled.

“I’ve had five already,” he grinned, directing you through the doors and down the hall towards Dean’s room.

“There’s a food cart at the end of the hall, I’m stealing you an orange juice.” You said, leaning Sam against the wall and sidling over to the cart.

You swiped an orange juice when you saw the hall was clear and rushed back over to him.

“You are aware you just committed theft, in front of a federal agent no less.” Sam teased as you popped the cap and handed over the bottle of juice.

“And you just stood by and watched.” You quipped. “Shut up and drink your juice. Trust me, it'll make you feel better.”

_________________________

A/N: Read part 17 here

_________________________ 
 Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891

Forever SPN: @hobby27

Don't Say A Word: @lacilou @mlovesstories @spn730015 @hunni-bunny @ria132love @fmstafford  @spideysimpossiblegirl @houseforwhores @siospins2 @globetrotter28 @nt-multi-fandom @maggiegirl17 @iprobablyshipit91 @tigergirllolipop @stoneyggirl2 @mimaria420 @muhahaha303

[dotthings]

Let’s talk about why Dean dancing with a lamp is subtext, but it’s subtext that supports textual arcs. Dean dancing with a lamp is not random. Meta on why Dean dancing with a lamp is part of the build of a textual arc for Dean, thematically, which also connects to his relationship with Cas. This symbolic moment being tacitly about Destiel will only feel like reaching if you ignore context, ignore canon, ignore long arcing, ignore textual material surrounding it. This isn’t just me talking about a ship, this is an important arc for Dean himself emotionally and the way canon’s working, Cas has become the star player in this specific emotional Dean arc about yearning. 

Here are some canon quotes. I could just leave these here and not write another word of meta because the canon wrote it for me. But I’ve added some further commentary to spell out clearly what I’m getting at.

Dean in 8.14 “Trial and Error” by Andrew Dabb:

“You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know – it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get.”

Dean in 10.16 “Paint it Black” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:

“You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I’d go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it....Now, um… recent events, uh… make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don’t know. I mean, you know, there’s – there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.”

Sam and Dean in 11.04 “Baby” by Robbie Thompson:

SAM: Really? You don't . . . Ever want something more? DEAN: I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM: You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?

Sam and Dean in 13.23 “Let the Good Times Roll” by Andrew Dabb:

DEAN: But on a beach somewhere, you know? Can you imagine? You, me, Cas, toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously. Some hula girls. SAM: You talking about retiring? You? DEAN: If I knew the world was safe? Hell, yeah. And you know why? 'Cause we freaking earned it, man.

Sam and Dean in 15.08 “Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:

DEAN: Look, man, I didn't want to say anything, okay, 'cause I was kind of in in a bad place, and, uh, yeah, I didn't want to jinx it or whatever, but, you know, I tried the family thing, right? SAM: Yeah, me too. And that's not for us. DEAN: No, not really. But I'm just saying if it was to work, Eileen, you know, she gets it. She gets us. She gets the life. She's hot. SAM: Dean. I mean, I'm not even- DEAN: Look, all I'm saying is you- you could do worse, okay? And she could certainly do better. Like, so much better. I'm happy for you, Sammy.

Dean and Garth in 15.10 “The  Heroes’ Journey” written by Andrew Dabb:

DEAN: You know, I gotta say, aside from pincushion in there… this is pretty nice. GARTH: Yeah, better than I ever thought I'd get. I mean, hunting -- I figured I'd be dead before I'm 40. You know, go out young and pretty. But now I've got a great wife, great kids. I guess...sometimes things work out.

Dean in 15.10 “The Heroes’ Journey” by Andrew Dabb:

Dean, wistful, watching through the window as Garth and Bess dance: You know, I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be.

Ok, let those roll around in your brain for moment. 

Now: CONTEXT. CONTEXT. CONTEXT.

There’s this long running arc about maybe Sam and Dean could each find a significant other, not white picket fence, but...something, with someone already in the life, who gets their life. There’s Dean’s move from despairing and believing the only ending he could have, the only ending any hunter could have, is dying with a gun in hand, to Dean’s enthusiasm for the concept of retirement, Dean’s wistfulness about finding a significant other, for what he thinks he can’t have, and he starts the cycle all over again, if he can’t have it, then he wants Sam to have it, so Dean encourages Sam with Eileen. Saileen, the Dean-blessed, Dean-approved Sam ship. Dean ships it. And that is how the canon is trending, complete with Sam and Eileen kissing goodbye and saying “this is real” and even God himself saying their feelings were real, “that was all you,” even if God manipulated events around them. Which is an overt mirror to Dean and Cas and Dean’s expressly stated doubts about what’s real and what isn’t, and Cas telling Dean “we are.” 

Much the way Sam has been witness to Destiel, and has often pointed out Dean’s Cas feelings. Dean’s got a front row seat to Saileen and approves; Sam’s had a front row seat to Destiel and approves. 

Let’s throw in Robert Berens’ work in The Trap here, since that’s relevant to this specific topic as well, because why did Sam and Dean in the potential future timeline where they’d killed Chuck give up and cave in to their vampire instincts? The world being overwhelmed with monsters...and losing Eileen and losing Cas. It’s right there in the dialogue. I’ll give you the quote and everything:

Sam and Dean in 15.09 “The Trap” by Robert Berens:

SAM: You want to quit? What's happened to you, Dean? Ever since -- DEAN: Ever since what? We lost pretty much everyone we've ever cared about? Ever since the Mark made Cas go crazy? Ever since I had to bury him in a Ma'lak box? Ever since then? Yeah. You know why? 'Cause the monsters -- they're everywhere. Everywhere! What we do -- it's not even Hunting anymore. It's whack-a-mole. We don't even save people. Every friend we've ever had is either dead, or they got wise and they packed it in. SAM: Jody's still fighting, and Bobby -- DEAN: Bobby has a death wish, and you know it. And Jody -- ever since what happened to Donna and the girls, she does, too. And after Eileen... so do you.

“Ever since” Dean had to bury Cas in a Ma’lak box. “After Eileen...so do you.” 

So there’s this canonical long, long thread across multiple authors (and those weren’t even all the quotes, I’m sure people could dig up more) about Dean in particular yearning towards finding a significant other, some contentment, with someone who already is in the hunting life, who gets it, who understands.  

An episode that flat out shows how losing their significant others is the final straw that rips out Sam and Dean’s last will to fight, and they lose themselves, and after they’re turned into vampires, they just...give into the darkness. Where Sam gives up their shot at destroying the big bad because losing everyone they love is too high a cost. Where losing Cas makes Dean lose hope, where losing Eileen sends Sam into a death wish mindset. Sam and Dean don’t just need each other. That’s not canon, it never has been.

And then right after that, along comes meta episode The Heroes’ Journey. Sorry if you don’t like The Heroes’ Journey, but it’s what the canon did, it’s textual, along with everything else I’ve pointed out here, and in among the crackish humor are some real emotional narrative points. 

In The Heroes’ Journey, Dean gets to see Garth’s life. Garth found his significant other, Bess, and she’s another werewolf. Now, Garth’s life resembles the traditional white picket fence idea a lot more than what Team Free Will are headed for. Garth has a big house with a porch, and he’s a dentist. He’s also a werewolf and his wife is a werewolf and his kids are werewolves because Bess is a pureblood werewolf, Garth didn’t exactly leave the life, and he helps Sam and Dean on a case. But nothing’s been indicating to me that anyone in Team Free Will is headed for that kind of settling down, with a house, becoming a dentist. However, the canon has been practically shouting now, as we near final episodes of SPN, to make the point about a desirable outcome--some kind of stability, contentment, and a significant other. Dean gets a front row seat to seeing a hunter can have that. Garth’s a hunter who turned into a werewolf and he can have that. 

When EP’s talk about how they aren’t headed for a white picket fence or driving off into the sunset or settling down, none of that rules out them finding...something...with someone, and some form of stability and contentment.  Nope, I can’t really imagine them in the suburbs becoming dentists. But canon sure is putting up big neon arrows to...something. Think outside the box. This isn’t about the white picket fence. 

And in The Heroes’ Journey, Dean, conked out on the good gas so Garth can fix his teeth, has a trippy dream where he dances with a lamp.

Rewatch the ep. Look at how the dance is choreographed not just the use of light, because that’s a clue too. The whole dance could have been Dean and Garth being dancing bros, but Garth fades off the stage, and Dean dances alone...until he grabs the standing lamp. In a season where Dean and Cas’s relationship is an A-plot, define it how you like, it’s A-plot. Their breakup and their reconciliation, which played like a marital breakup and reconciliation, are tied to major mytharc beats. In a season where a long-running textual theme about Dean’s developing hope for retirement and his wistfulness about “things...people...feelings...” is getting further play. Where Dean and Cas’s relationship continues to be one of the show’s most central ones.

Dean dances with a lamp. While his emotionally fraught, intense close relationship with Cas--A BEING MADE OF LIGHT--has a long-running arc and recently more and more textual level content spelling out the sublimated romantic interest in small words, while there’s an arc about Dean’s yearning for that stability, contentment, a significant other.

CONTEXT. 

We don’t think Destiel’s “going canon” because Dean dances with a lamp, it’s that Dean dancing with a lamp is kinda loud serving as reflection of canon textual arcing. Sometimes subtext adds a layer. Sometimes subtext is directly tied to the surface layers, an echo, a highlighter.

I’ll just be over here, crying because Dean danced with a lamp.

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

9 Oct. Suptober: Body Mods

"What is that," Dean said as he tried to make sense of the shape on Cas's arm that he (Dean) seemed unable to quit poking.

s11 au (cas isn't possessed by lucifer, for one thing, and it's October); deancas

Nothing like a good piece of ash, Dean thought. He hoisted the Louisville Slugger over his shoulder and tiptoed down the bunker hallway towards wherever or whatever the *ka-thump* had originated from.

In the doorway of Cas's bedroom, the baseball bat slid through his fist and made a *clunk* on the tiled floor. Dean stared, and stared, and tried with his hazy three a.m. brain to make sense of what he was seeing. 

Cas was here. He had arms. Arms? Coming right out of those shoulders. So much shoulder. Broad. Had they always been broad? And then the aforementioned arms. Toned. Strong?? Colorful????

"Hello, Dean," Cas said in his normal voice, as though his presence was not unexpected and his current attire -- a pair of trousers and a plain white undershirt -- was not akin to public indecency.

He was fussing with his belt and not paying Dean any particular attention. No problem, because Dean was not available to come to the phone right now, please leave a message.

Could Dean wrap his whole hand around Cas's bicep? Not anymore, no, didn't look like it. Again, no worries. Why would he even want to? Ha ha, that was a crazy idea. Just because his hands felt like they might crack off his arms at the wrists and go zooming through the sky to grip said biceps, just to see, just to feel the musculature of them--

"Dean?" Cas said, a note of concern in his voice.

"Thought you were a couple days out," Dean said, some backup doppelganger version of himself jerry-rigging his mouth enough for speech.

"Claire found a case in Michigan," Cas said, finally freeing his tetchy belt from the pants loops and tossing it on the chest of drawers. "She didn't want a sidekick." At that, he looked a little disappointed.

Dean attempted to rally his sanity. "She doing okay?"

Cas hoisted his big duffel bag up onto the mattress and Dean watched the muscles in Cas's arms subtly flex with the effort. There was something in that bag that had caused the earlier noise that had awakened Dean, probably loose weapons lent by Sam; Dean processed this simple info without it actively swimming to the surface of his thoughts, because arms. ARMS. Cas had so many very nice strong arms. Two of them, even.

Was Cas saying anything important about Claire? Yes? Focus?

"She's enjoying staying with Jody and Alex more than she wants to admit." Cas sat on the bed to start removing the bag's contents, which included some dirty laundry and an orange plastic sack. From the sack, he fished out a pair of gray men's socks patterned with ghosts. "We went to a novelties and costume store after having lunch. Does $7 seem like too much to pay for fake vomit?"

Dean's brain snapped back online. "How much fake vomit we talking here?"

"About the size of a dinner plate?"

"Oh, yeah, that's armed robbery." Dean inwardly high-fived himself for a relevant pun only he would get for multiple reasons. 

He did not sigh, dreamily or otherwise, as he watched Cas yawn and go through a series of arm stretches and bends that Dean knew Sam -- Sam who was snoring in his own bed and not in any way vexed or befuddled -- had taught him to do after long drives. Flexibility was underrated. The undershirt strained to contain Cas's body, and Dean's mind started to buckle again under the weight of the mere concept of Cas's body.

"Do you want to sit?" Cas asked. He was squinting at Dean. "You look very tired."

Dean sat. Was his decision to sit directly beside Cas unwarranted? Of course not. They were best friends, had sat next to one another plenty of times. Also, there were no chairs in the room. 

Don't touch the arms, Dean thought. Don't touch anything.

But he'd no more than admonished himself to do this altogether normal thing of not touching his buddy, his pal, his fave angelic dudebro, when his index finger shot out and poked Cas's arm like Dean's hand was a transplant from a serial killer. A possessed hand. A hand with an agenda of its own.

"Yes?" Cas asked, the picture of tranquility.

"What is that," Dean said as he tried to make sense of the shape on Cas's arm that he (Dean) seemed unable to quit poking.

"It's a tattoo." Cas gently took Dean's hand to disarm it.

(Dammit, Dean thought. Someone ought to be appreciating these goshdang puns.)

"Maple leaf. See?" Cas pushed up the sleeve of the undershirt so the whole image could be revealed.

Dean stared at the leaf -- marbled in red, green, and orange hues -- for a very long moment. "You got a tattoo?"

"It's not real, Dean." Cas had not let go of Dean's hand. "It comes off with baby oil."

"I don't know what's happening right now." May as well just admit it, Dean thought. 

"I don't think you've been getting enough sleep," Cas said without sounding too judgmental. "Claire's considering a tattoo. There were these packs of temporary ones at the store that she decided to buy as a trial, to see if she liked the size and placement of them. I liked the leaf one so she shared. Nice autumnal colors."

"Ohhh-kay," Dean said. He studied the fake tat. "Very realistic."

"Thank you." Cas squeezed Dean's hand. "Are you all right?"

A serious question. Dean realized he hadn't thought about Amara once in days, not in any obsessive way and especially not in the last ten minutes, where there hadn't been any room in Dean's cracked-up blitzed-out lust-addled psyche for anyone but Cas and his beautiful arms. 

"You've been through a lot lately," Cas said.

Dean looked, really looked, at his face for the first time all evening. "Haven't we all." 

He meant, a couple of months ago he'd scythed Death, Sam had almost been reaped while suffering from Amara-induced viral zombie-itis, and Cas had been whammied by the king of Hell's witch mom and gone rampaging around in full-on whacko mode. They maybe didn't lead average lives.

"I don't think about her," Dean said, "unless she's standing right in front of me." He blew out a breath. "And then."

"You can't stop thinking about her," Cas finished for him. 

"Yeah, except." Except when Amara was near, she filled up his mind like blood leaking from a blow to the head. Dean wanted to look away and made himself not. Cas held his gaze gently; it brought something warm into Dean's throat. "Except even then, I don't wanna be thinking about her."

When she isn't right in front of me, I think about you too much, Cas. But I don't know how to stop. 

I don't want to stop.

"Dean," Cas said, from somewhere far away.

Dean's eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion rolling over him like a fog. His cheek landed on a pillow. The lights were out again and no-one, certainly not Dean, was home. He felt Cas pull a blanket over him. Everywhere was darkness, but a safe one this time, the mattress dipping alongside him as Cas stretched out. 

"Cas. You gonna get a real leafy tattoo later?" Dean mumbled.

Cas gave a small, pleased huff. "Probably not."

"Looks good, though, man. Real good." 

Dean didn't hear what Cas said after that. He reached out his hand and let it land on Cas's arm, and then fell fast asleep, still holding on.

[corrupt-touch]

Prayers of the Damned

Day 4: Secrets

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: M Word Count: 977

Tags: Secret Relationship, Castiel’s Deal with the Empty, Implied Sexual Content, Dean Winchester & Castiel Love Each Other

Dean Winchester’s bed is covered in secrets and lies and tangled sheets. It’s covered in the evidence of whatever this is, whatever this has become. Whatever all these late-nights, or early mornings, spent with Castiel’s body and Castiel’s mouth all over him really mean. And they’ve been doing this for years now, and no one knows. At least, they’ve convinced themselves that no one knows.

These are the things they never speak of, never acknowledge, in front of anyone else. The way that Dean buries his face in Castiel’s neck in the aftermath. The way that Castiel’s fingers move down Dean’s spine, the way he pushes Dean’s bare skin tightly into his own.

Read on AO3

Before tonight, before Castiel had brought Jack back from the dead, Castiel would lie here, with the weight of Dean’s chest against him, with the feeling of the stubble on Dean’s chin scraping across his face, and tell himself that, someday, this would be nothing but perfect.

But, now, Castiel can still hear it, the Empty, erratic and frantic. He can still feel its suffocating presence as it spoke to him in an invaded Heaven. And then, when you finally give yourself permission to be happy, and let the sun shine on your face, that���s when I’ll come. That’s when I’ll come and drag you to nothing. Now, Castiel knows everything he’s ever wanted, everything he needs, is everything he can never have.

And, as he lets his own lips succumb to Dean’s, Castiel wants to tell him that the resurrection of Jack Kline isn’t the big, no-strings attached win he thinks it is. But Castiel knows it will drive Dean to the edge, to know that Jack’s life is the result of nothing but Castiel’s sacrifice. And he knows that trying to break an unbreakable deal will consume Dean.

So he tilts his face into Dean’s kisses, and he tries not to think about the things he felt, the things he thought, just moments ago, when he was still inside Dean, when their bodies moved in rhythm with each other in way that, to Castiel, was indescribable, unholy, divine.

He tries not to think about how he’s doomed, about how none of this can give him relief anymore. Never again, can he find peace in the sound of Dean breathing in his ear or the way Dean moans through clenched teeth when Castiel finally brings him to his breaking point.

Castiel turns his eyes away from Dean’s eyes, turns his eyes away from the dim light that streams from under the locked door and the way it outlines Dean’s body in the darkness. The way it highlights the parts of Dean that, maybe, Castiel knows better than anyone else ever has. He pretends that he can’t feel Dean’s fingers crossing through his, Dean’s leg as it falls over his knee. Because reveling in all of this, any of this, might be enough to summon it here, the shadow that will drag Castiel into an eternal void.

“Something is wrong with you tonight,” Dean says, pushing himself up, arms on each side of Castiel. “Was something about this—what we did tonight—wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. Nothing about this was wrong.” Castiel clenches his fingers around the crumpled sheets beside him. He tries to ignore everything. His own flesh against Dean’s. Dean’s hips pressing into the side of his body. Dean’s hair in his mouth when he rests his head on Castiel’s shoulder. Castiel tries to ignore what he knows he feels, deep inside, because if he lets himself feel it, if he lets himself give in, it will be the end of him.

“What if this—us—or whatever, what if it wasn’t a secret? What if, I don’t know, we told Sam?” Dean slides his face up onto the pillow, next to Castiel’s. And Dean waits, for the answer he wants, for permission to finally turn this into something other than silent longing, something other than whispered consummations in abandoned buildings and filthy motel rooms.

“Tell Sam what?” Castiel turns towards Dean, turns so that his mouth brushes against Dean’s as he speaks. And he knows, he can’t let Dean tell Sam, he can’t let Dean make this real, because something real is the only thing that Castiel wants.

“Tell Sam that—you know what, forget I said anything.” Dean closes his eyes as Castiel runs his fingertips down his cheek. It tears Dean apart, to think that, maybe, all this is to Castiel is nothing more than some hollow ritual he repeats with Dean just to get off. Just to feel good.

And these moments, spent together in the near-pitch-blackness of Dean’s bedroom at three in the morning, are the secrets they share, the secrets that they keep from Sam and Jack and Heaven and Hell and God and the Devil. But Dean has his own secrets, buried within his heart, secrets that he’s been keeping for too long, secrets that he can’t keep any longer.

Dean wraps his fingers around Castiel’s wrist. “Cas, I need to say something.”

Castiel’s eyes meet Dean’s across the inches of space in between their bodies. He knows, he can feel it, he can see it, in Dean’s expression, the words that Dean wants to confess. Words that Castiel has heard, in Dean’s prayers, words that Dean doesn’t know Castiel aches to hear out loud and aches to reciprocate.

But he can’t let Dean confess, and Castiel can’t reciprocate.

Because, if he lets Dean say those words, if he says those words himself, it’s coming for him, it’s coming to steal him away from Dean forever.

“Don’t say it. I can’t let you say it. I can’t let myself say it.” Castiel’s lips run along Dean’s mouth, his neck, his throat. “Those words, they need to stay unspoken. Those words—we need to keep them secret.”

[the-rad-pineapple]

i want u

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Supernatural oneshot: After they found a way to get Cas back from the Empty, things go back to normal between Dean and Cas. Dean thinks he made up the whole love confession thing. It was exactly what he wants to hear. Plus, he’s re-written his own memories before like when he lost Cas in Purgatory all those years ago. It totally makes sense he’d make up a love confession to cope with Cas leaving him again. Dean’s suspicions are confirmed when Cas comes back and doesn’t say anything about it to Dean. And things go back to normal as if it never happened. Because it didn’t.

Words: 2.7k

I’ve been writing angsty stuff for my current WIP, but then I had an angsty day and needed something sweet. I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading!

Inspired by Violent by Cummrs

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ao3

fanfiction

wattpad

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Today is one of the best days ever. Sam married Eileen. Dean cried. Multiple times. He ate too much at the reception and got a little tipsy. His best man speech rocked, though. Sam and Eileen left ages ago. They’re having their honeymoon in California. Dean can’t be happier. Everyone left a couple hours after them. The last people to leave were Jody, Claire, Kaia, and Jack.

Now Dean and Cas are sitting against the empty wall of the dirty dance floor. Music is still playing, and it echoes across the empty room, making the moment feel ethereal. Miscellaneous wedding decorations and napkins litter the floor. A lone broken high heel lays near the edge of the dance floor. Dean takes a swig of a champaign bottle and passes it to Cas. Cas doesn’t have his shoes on for some reason. He said it was easier to dance without them or something. He takes a drink from the champaign bottle. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned a few buttons on the top. His suit jacket disappeared hours ago. His hair is messy. He looks so good as a human. Cas hands the bottle back to Dean.

Dean takes it and stares at the empty floor in front of them. “This is the best day ever,” Dean decides. He takes a drink and hands the bottle back to Cas.

Cas hums. “It is one of the best I’ve ever had,” he agrees and takes a long drink.

“Mmhmm.” Dean leans his head against the wall and stares at Cas. The singular white light in the center of the ceiling casts long shadows on Cas’ face, making his face full of dark, sharp angles. It reminds Dean of the Cas he met in a barn over a decade ago. Dean lets the nostalgia wash over him as he stares at his best friend. Cas takes another drink from the champaign bottle and swallows. It’s really distracting, especially when Cas has his shirt unbuttoned like that.

After they found a way to get Cas back from the Empty, things went back to normal between them. Dean thinks he made up the whole love confession thing. It was exactly what he wants to hear. Plus, he’s re-written his own memories before like when he lost Cas in Purgatory all those years ago. It totally makes sense he’d make up a love confession to cope with Cas leaving him again. Dean’s suspicions were confirmed when Cas came back and didn’t say anything about it to Dean. And things went back to normal as if it never happened. Because it didn’t.

And Dean doesn’t really care. It hurt at first, but that was eclipsed by the ecstasy of having Cas back. He’ll take Cas in any way he can get. Angel. Human. Friend. Lover. Anything. Just as long as Cas is here and safe.

Cas hands the bottle back to Dean. Dean finishes it and sets the empty bottle down beside him. They don’t really have a reason to stay here anymore. It’s also getting late. And Dean is tired. They should go back to their hotel. Jody booked everyone a room at the hotel nearby as a wedding gift.

“I don’t want to move,” Cas says.

Dean chuckles. “Me neither.”

A comfortable silence lapses between them. The music is still playing. Dean closes his eyes.

“Dean.”

“Mmm,” Dean answers.

“I don’t want to move, but I also don’t want to sleep here.”

Dean sighs. “Yeah, yeah.” He opens his eyes and looks at Cas again. Cas is staring at him. Dean smiles. “What?”

Cas’ smile turns sad. “Nothing.” He looks away. “I suppose we should stand up now.”

“I suppose.”

Cas sighs and tugs his shoes forward. He slowly puts them on and ties them. Dean watches. Cas’ hands work carefully and precisely. Cas’ hands look soft. He finally stands up and looks down at Dean. He offers Dean a hand. Dean grabs it and stands up. Cas releases Dean’s hand, and Dean wishes he didn’t. Dean doesn’t want this moment to end. He likes being near Cas, and he knows once they get to the hotel, they’ll separate. It’s clingy as shit, but it’s how Dean feels. And he can’t do anything about that, can he?

He used to shove down those thoughts and feelings like they were something toxic. But, over time, he stopped doing that. He’s not exactly sure why. Maybe he’s just getting more comfortable with himself. Maybe he just doesn’t care enough to push them away. Maybe he’s just getting old. Maybe it’s all of those things. Dean doesn’t really know. And he doesn’t really care.

Cas smiles sadly at him again and turns away. Cas does that a lot now. Smile sad. He’s done it ever since he got back from the Empty. Dean thinks Cas misses being an angel.

Dean follows Cas down the short hallway and out into the parking lot. The Impala is the only car left. The summer air is warm and humid. The stars twinkle above them. Dean reaches into his pocket and grabs his keys, already missing today. It was so blissful and happy. Dean’s still adjusting to not feeling completely shitty all the time, let alone happy. It’s nice but also kind of weird.

They both head over to the Impala, and Dean unlocks it. They get inside. Dean turns the radio on to a low volume. The streets are practically empty, and the drive back to the hotel is relaxing. He also enjoys Cas’ presence, even if they’re both too tired to say anything. Just being around Cas makes Dean content.

They pull into the hotel parking lot and get back outside. The night air is peaceful, and Dean stands for a moment to feel it. He’s happy. Really happy. And so is Sam. They somehow did it. Part of Dean is convinced this must be a dream or something.

“Dean?”

Dean turns to look. Cas is standing in front of him, the lights from the hotel outline him. He’s so pretty. “Sorry,” Dean says. “Just don’t want this day to end, you know?”

Cas smiles. This time it isn’t sad. “Me neither.”

An idea pops into Dean’s head. “Wanna watch a movie in my room? We got the fancy tv’s here.”

Cas’ smile grows. “I would like that.”

Dean smiles back. “Awesome.”

----

Dean picks the first action movie he sees. He and Cas are sitting on his bed. Their shoulders are touching. It would take barely any effort for Dean to rest his head on Cas’ shoulder. He doesn’t.

Not even halfway through the movie, Cas starts to fall asleep. It’s selfish, but Dean doesn’t wake him up. He’ll take as many moments as he can with Cas. Besides, Dean will wake him up once the movie is over. But Dean doesn’t count on drifting off himself.

“Dean.”

Dean jerks awake, immediately on alert. He doesn’t have a gun on him, and he goes rigid.

“Dean,” Cas says again, gently.

Dean blinks and blows out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Oh, that’s right. They’re fine. They’re in a hotel. Sam got fucking married today.

Cas continues, “I think we missed the movie.”

Dean chuckles and looks over to him. “Yeah, I think so.”

Cas looks sleepy. His eyes are half open and his hair somehow got messier. His clothes are wrinkled, and he has a dazed smile on his face. He’s gorgeous.

Dean smiles. “You can stay here if you want, sleepyhead.”

Cas lifts his head up from where it was resting against the wall. “I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not. You never are.”

Cas smiles at him again. But it’s one of the sad ones. “Thank you, Dean.”

“You’re welcome.” They stare at each other. The longer it gets, the more awkward it is, but Dean can’t look away. To break the silence, he says, “I can take the couch.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

They stare at each other again, but Dean is too tired to care. He closes his eyes.

A few moments pass before Cas says, “We can share the bed if you’re comfortable with that.”

Dean cracks his eyes open. “Yeah, okay.” He ignores how his heart jumps in excitement. They’re not even going to do anything, and he’s elated. Dean kicks off his shoes and automatically starts unbuckling his pants and freezes. “Is it okay if I don’t have pants on?” He glances at Cas.

Cas is already halfway under the covers. His eyes flick over Dean’s body. It’s so fast that Dean thinks he makes it up. “Yes, that’s fine,” Cas answers.

The mental image of Cas checking him out—real or not—makes Dean blush, and he quickly looks away and finishes taking his pants off. He shuts down every dirty thought he gets in the process; it’s easier than it usually is since he’s so damn tired.

Dean turns to Cas, and Cas is definitely staring at his bare legs this time. “Can I turn the light off?” Dean asks.

Cas’ eyes snap up to meet Dean’s. “Um, yes.” His cheeks turn pink.

Dean stares for a second and then realizes he’s probably making things worse by staring and quickly looks away at the lamp on his bedside table. He hits the switch and slides underneath the covers. He can feel Cas’ body heat next to him and forgets how to breathe. The temptation of having the one thing he wants most in the universe right next to him is too much. He’s tense and as close to the edge of the bed as he can be without falling off. Dean is wide awake now. He doubts he’ll get a wink of sleep.

Cas shifts beside him, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. Thankfully, Cas doesn’t seem to notice. Cas’ breathing evens out. Dean closes his eyes and focuses on the sound. He wants this so fucking bad it hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut harder when he feels the pin-prickle of tears forming. He won’t cry. Not on a good day like today. He spent way too many nights drinking and crying himself to sleep when he thought Cas was dead forever. He won’t do that when he has Cas literally right next to him. Dean swallows down the lump forming in his throat. As sleep tugs at his mind and consciousness begins to fade, he can’t help but think, I love you. I love you so fucking much. I think it’s killing me.

----

Dean wakes up, and he can’t remember where he is. He knows it isn’t the bunker. He feels a body next to him. He’s not even fully awake, and he can’t bring himself to remember who he’s in bed with. Damn. It’s been a while since he’s had a one-night stand. Loneliness stabs him in the chest, and he shifts towards the warmth of the person beside him. He reaches on arm out, and touches their back. He snakes a hand around their waist and pulls himself against them. Dean feels them begin to stir.

“Shh, go to sleep,” he murmurs.

That seems satisfactory, and they relax. They interlace their fingers with the hand Dean has draped over their waist. Dean pulls them closer. He’s so fucking needy and lonely. He wishes he was holding Cas. He pretends he is.

----

Dean’s pillow feels weird. It’s lumpy but soft. It’s very warm. It also smells like Cas. Which is also weird. Why does his pillow smell like Cas? Cas is dead. But, no. No. Cas is alive. He has been for months now. Dean just forgets when he wakes up sometimes.

Dean keeps his eyes closed as he rests. Any second he’s not fully awake is a good one. Dean then realizes his pillow has a heartbeat. Dean’s pillow might not be a pillow. He’s lying on someone. Someone who smells like Cas.

Dean’s heartrate spikes, and he jerks his head up.

Cas blinks up at him. “Are you alright?” Cas asks, his voice deep with sleep. Well, deeper than usual.

“Yes,” Dean says. “I just forgot you’re alive.”

Cas blinks again. “Oh.” He reaches up with one hand and cups Dean’s face. “Well, I’m alive.”

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Cas smiles back. It’s the brightest smile Dean’s seen on him since he’s been back. But then it turns sad. Like it always does. Cas starts to pull his hand away, but Dean quickly grabs it. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing; he’s still not even fully awake. Dean closes his eyes and leans further into Cas’ touch, keeping his hand on Cas’. He doesn’t want Cas to move away.

Cas’ breath hitches. “Dean,” he begins.

And Dean can tell by Cas’ tone that he is going to tell Dean to let go or something. Dean doesn’t want that. “Shh,” Dean says.

“Dean,” Cas says more firmly and tugs on his hand. Dean doesn’t let go. “Don’t do this.”

Dean opens his eyes. Cas’ smile is gone, and all the sadness has moved to his eyes. “Do what?” Dean asks.

“I know you’re doing this just because of what I told you before the Empty took me.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t feel obligated to…to sleep in the same bed as me or hold my hand like this just because I love you.”

“What?”

The hurt in Cas’ eyes throws Dean off so much that Cas manages to snatch his hand back.

Dean stares. Then swallows. “I thought I made that up,” Dean whispers.

“Made what up?”

“That you—that you…” Dean swallows again. Why is his mouth so dry? “That you lo—” His voice cracks. He furiously blinks back tears. “You said that, right?”

“You don’t remember?”

Dean shakes his head. “No, I do, I just…I thought I made that up. Because I—I want…” He licks his lips. “I want you.”

Cas stares at him with wide eyes.

Dean’s blood runs cold. “Wait, am I completely misinterpreting this, oh my god, Cas, I’m so sor—”

“You want me?” Cas is still staring. His eyes still wide with disbelief.

Dean’s already gone this far. There’s no turning back now. Might as well tell Cas everything. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

Cas shakes his head. “You’re just saying that.”

“Absolutely not!” Dean is just as surprised at his outburst as Cas is. He takes a deep breath before continuing, much calmer this time, “Cas, I have a hard time saying, ‘I love you’ to Sam. Why would I ever say that to you unless I completely mean it?”

“You didn’t say, ‘I love you,’” Cas tells him. “You said, ‘I want you.’ There’s a difference.”

That stubborn motherfucker. But Dean can be stubborn right back. This will show him! “Well, I love you. So there,” Dean states, staring at Cas to challenge him on that.

“Oh…” Cas’ gaze becomes distant.

“Yeah, not so fun being on the receiving end of a love confession, is it?”

Cas is unresponsive.

Uh, oh. Dean cups his face with one of his hands. “Cas, buddy, look at me.”

Cas’ eyes finally focus on Dean. “Y-yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Yes,” Cas repeats.

Dean leans in and gently presses his lips against Cas’. There’s a moment where neither of them move, as if what they’re doing isn’t real, but then Cas’ mouth opens up under Dean’s, and Dean moves in closer. He still has one hand on Cas’ face and moves it back to tangle in his hair. Dean allows himself to get lost in the kiss. It’s slow and gentle and even better than anything he dreamed a kiss could ever be. It’s all Cas, Cas, and more Cas, and Dean’s heart is soaring. He pulls back just far enough to whisper, “I love you so much.” before kissing Cas again, a little more desperately this time.

Dean isn’t quite sure how long they do this; kiss each other stupid with their bodies pressed into each other, but he treasures every second of it.

This day is somehow even better than yesterday. And, who knows? Tomorrow might even be better than today. But one thing Dean knows for sure is that they have all the time in the world, and he’s not going to waste a single minute.

[cooloddball]

After thinking for a while I have realized what's truly bothering me about everybody promoting these other ships for Dean and Cas. It's not that they exist, it's when people say Mick is better for Cas than Dean and I don't want Cas to be happy if I disagree. Same with Meg, or Benny for Dean. I keep hearing "he'd treat him right!" even from destiel fans. I just feel like everyone is trying to downplay what Dean and Cas mean to each other since the finale and that is why I feel so alone lately.

Another similar ask

I'm sorry to keep coming to your inbox with this but like I said you've always been such a happy place for me. Destiel's always been so important to me especially in the last couple of years for some very personal reasons. But these last few months I keep feeling like I'm the only one in the world who wants them to be happy together anymore. They're really canon now and everybody just keeps telling me I'm wrong for not shipping casmick or deanbenny or megstiel and now I'm literally crying again.

I don't know if these two asks are from the same anon but I will answer them together and then we can move on from it because I feel like we have been going around in circles.

The thing is—and I addressed this a few times yesterday—I believe just because two people are endgame doesn't mean they can't be with other people in the meantime because maybe their time to be together hasn't come yet. We experience life and see things differently when we are with different people.

Yes, Destiel is canon.

However, it doesn't mean that through all the turmoil of 12 years of pining they weren't supposed to be with other people. I don't understand why it's an issue for them to be with other men while they have already been with other women? Like Dean had a whole ass family with Lisa. Cas was with Daphne for Jack knows how long. Like would it have been a better option to watch them moping around, pining, being miserable for 12 years and when they could finally be together they both die without actually being together? Honestly, I think that would have been a worse fate than they got in the end. At least them being with other people they got to experience life, love and sex with other people. I may not ship Dean with other people but I have no issue with it either because also through those relationships, they learned more about themselves. Did it suck that they didn't get their time to be together and experience their relationship before they died? Yes. But also please note that there's a reason why it never worked with anyone else. All those other people they were with never lasted long and they ultimately came back together.

On the issue of anyone was better for Cas than Dean. Dean is my freaking baby, okay? Please let no one talk about him like that. Did Dean have major issues? yes. Was he a jerk to Cas sometimes? yes but the same can be said for Cas, he has done various things that have hurt Dean as well to the point where Dean cried or drunk himself to almost death. That's life. That's human relationships for you. Well, yeah maybe Cas wasn't exactly human but he mostly was. And tell you what, of all the people in the multiverse, Cas chose this Dean to love. He followed him and loved him through everything. And so did Dean. Of all the angels, he chose Cas as his best friend —a freaking angel of the Lord, a killing machine, a soldier— and they watched old movies and he made Cas wear that absurd hat so they could play cowboys. He even chose to love Jack because to him, he was no longer Lucifer's spawn but Cas'. So c'mon Dean is love and Cas said it best in 15x18. Dean was a flawed human being like we all are, and Cas saw all that and he chose him. They chose each other even when Chuck was pulling the strings. Even when Naomi lobotomized Cas and made him re-live killing thousands of Deans, Cas still chose this Dean. Cas died—gave his fucking life, his essence —to save Dean so that Dean and Sam could save the world and defeat Chuck. So tell me, how is Dean not good enough for Cas or vice versa? They are perfect for each other because they weren't forced together, they chose each other and that's what spn was about, free will.

I honestly don't know what more to say because I feel like I've explained this the best that I can. I don't write meta or anything like that. This is merely based on my experience and observations as a fan of the show and the ultimate Dean girl who loves Cas to death (pun intended).

Ps. Stop listening to anyone who downplays their relationship. Everyone is entitled to their opinion but at the end of the day, just engage with content that makes you happy. The rest should just be background noise.

[ejlovespie]

I know You

(Part 2 of 2)

Fandom: Supernatural - Author: EJ (@ejlovespie)

Summary: The reader was attacked and stabbed by a shapeshifter disguised as the man she loves. Will she be able to face her trauma and finally tell him how she feels? Read Part 1. 

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1726

Warnings: Graphic Violence/Near Death/Fear/Angst/Insecurity/Suicidal thoughts and descriptions/Eventual Fluff

***Part 1 has GRAPHIC details of being stabbed and assaulted. Do NOT read if violence and descriptions of assault (sexual comments and being thrown onto a bed) are a trigger for you. Part 2 has suicidal thoughts and descriptions. Please do NOT read if suicide is a trigger for you. ***

Reader’s Request: Can you pleaaase write a dean x reader angst+fluff+near death one shot where they have feelings for each other but they're too insecure to say anything about it, and then one day the reader is in a motel room alone waiting for dean and Sam to come back from somewhere, and suddenly shapeshifter dean comes in and stabs her multiple times and leaves her bleeding on the floor until real Dean and Sam come back.

A/N: Thank you for the request Anon!! This one was tough to write but I really hope you enjoy it. I am SO SORRY it took so long. Any feedback is greatly appreciated and any mistakes are mine. Thank you for reading! :) 

You were used to Dean Winchester being a constant in your dreams. That was what happened when you were in love with someone. You used to eagerly await sleep and the gift your mind would give you at night. Dreaming of Dean had been the only form of intimacy you were allowed...Until now. You still dreamt of him but your dreams had turned into nightmares. Images of being thrown on the bed, those dark, hate filled eyes staring into you, a knife plugging into your body. Every night you woke up screaming in terror. Sam would run to your room and turn on the lights before hugging and comforting you but his kindness had made you feel worse. The truth was you hated yourself. Dean was gone because of you, apart from his brother because of you.    

It had been two months since the attack. You spent four weeks in the hospital before being discharged and given a hundred pamphlets on trauma. Dean had come by a few times but stopped trying when you would see him and immediately have a major panic attack. Eventually, he left and never came back. Sam had told you he was hunting the shifter and giving you space to heal and that had made you feel worse. Knowing you pushed him away made your chest ache. You LOVED Dean Winchester and your heart broke knowing he had found you and rushed you to the hospital. He had saved your life and stayed by your side every day and you repaid him by losing your shit whenever he walked in the room. Logically you knew what happened wasn’t Dean’s fault. You KNEW He didn’t do anything wrong but your reaction to seeing him was always the same. You didn’t see the man you loved when you looked into his eyes, only the nightmare you had lived through. 

You and Sam had been staying at Bobby’s for the last month and every time you glanced at the single framed photo of the boys on the desk you broke out into a sweat. Eventually, the photo had disappeared and you hated the relief you had felt. There were days you were so miserable and you hated yourself so much that you wondered why you had survived the attack in the first place. You would have been better off dead. At first you tried to read through the information from the hospital’s psychiatrist but you ended up throwing all the pamphlets away. You had taken her advice and tried going out and for a walk but anxiety had forced you back inside, tears streaming down your face. Sam would try to talk to you, had even tried getting you out of the house to hit the library with him but you couldn’t do it. Every day, the grief you felt grew until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

Waking up from yet another night terror, you grabbed the knife you had been hiding in your bedside table. Pulling it out, you stared at the blade for a long time while silent tears ran down your face. You clutched the knife in your hands and let yourself feel all of the pain, all of the grief and self-hatred you had been carrying. It washed over you until numbness took its place. You couldn’t live like this. You thought about Sam and Bobby and all of the people you had helped over the years. Would they forgive you? You thought about Dean, the man you loved; the man you missed more than anything and fought against the fear you now associated with him. Suddenly, a memory flooded your thoughts.

You were driving down a long country road in the Impala. Dean was driving and blaring one of his tapes, singing along to it like he didn’t have a care in the world. You were surrounded by green fields and you smiled at the cows and horses grazing lazily. Your hair whipped around your face and you smiled when you breathed in deeply. You smelled the grass and wet pavement outside but even more strongly you could smell Dean’s cologne and the familiar leather and gasoline smell of the car. It was your favorite smell in the world. You looked at Dean when he turned the music down. With his familiar grin he asked, “What are you smiling about?” 

You looked at him then, into his gorgeous green eyes, and you studied his face. His full lips and perfect smile, straight nose, and strong jaw. He was so handsome and his focused gaze made you blush. That was the moment you realized you had fallen in love with the older Winchester. It washed over you, a feeling of pure happiness and comfort. Dean was smiling at you and he poked you in the side before asking, “C’mon Y/N. What are you so happy about?”   

Turning away from him, you swatted his hand away playfully. “Keep your eyes on the road Winchester. I don’t feel like dying today.”

Chuckling, Dean complied, placing his hand back on the wheel and looking back at the open road. He continued, “You look happy is all..you’re smiling bigger than I have seen before. So, what’s up?”  

I love you, you thought to yourself. Instead of answering him you asked a question of your own. “Why are you so happy? I know you and you aren’t this happy unless you’re eating pie.” Laughing again, Dean shrugged before turning the music up and singing along loudly with the song. You laughed too and started to sing along with him, content and happy living in the moment.      

The memory faded. Looking down at the knife in your arms, you threw it on the ground and forced yourself to settle your breathing. ‘I know you.’ You said it out loud to yourself and forced yourself to think about your Dean. His smile. His laugh. His eyes. ‘I know you.’ Him singing along to the music in his car. ‘I know you.’ Him hugging you to him whenever one of you was sad. ‘I know you.’ Him fixing up his beloved car at Bobby’s. ‘I know you.’ The two of you drinking together and his goofy grin as he teased you about the faces you made. ‘I know you.’ His fierce love and protectiveness for his family. ‘I know you.’ All of the memories had your eyes welling up again and you quickly got up and slid out the front door so you didn’t wake Sam or Bobby. Running down the drive, you collapsed in the garage and began to sob. When your tears finally began to run out you gasped out the truth you had never said out loud before.

“I am so fucking sorry Dean..I love you so fucking much and I..I miss you..I..I can’t do this without you because my life isn’t worth living without you in it. You’re my best friend and loving you has made me stronger. It has made me feel truly alive and I..I am so sorry...I know you. I fucking know you and I know that thing wasn’t you! Please come back.”

You jumped at a sound behind you and whipped your head around to see Dean. He stood a few yards away with unshed tears in his eyes. Relief filled you when you realized you didn’t feel panic rising up inside you. For the first time in two months you were only seeing your Dean. A smile spread across your face before falling. “..You heard what I said, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. You could tell by the look on his face he had. Dean slowly walked toward you, pausing a few feet away and crouching down. “I love you too, Y/N. I..I didn’t know it until I almost lost you but I do. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me..You made me feel again and if you had died, you would have taken a piece of me with you.” 

Gasping, you flung yourself to him and let Dean wrap his arms around you. You buried your face in his chest and clung to him, inhaling his cologne. You felt his hands on your back, rubbing small, calming circles. With a watery smile, you reached up and fingered the pendant on his necklace. It brought you instant comfort and you repeated your new mantra silently in your head. ‘I know you.’ This was your Dean. You would always know the difference. You both stayed like that for a long time, embracing each other. Neither of you even noticed when Sam walked up, looking for Y/N, and then backing away as to not ruin the moment. Eventually, you pulled apart and just looked at each other. Tentatively, Dean placed a hand on your cheek, pausing to study your face for approval. You nodded and he rubbed his thumb over your skin. 

His eyes were so soft and he was looking at you with so much love and tenderness it made you self conscious for the first time in months. Glancing away in embarrassment you wished you were wearing something other than a baggy, stained shirt and sweatpants. You knew how you looked and were all too conscious of the fact that you were an absolute mess. Thinking about your puffy red eyes and matted hair had you cringing. How could this gorgeous man love you in the same way you loved him. You were so far out of his league. Dean’s fingers gently lifted your chin to look up at him before brushing some hair out of your face. “Please don’t hide from me, beautiful. I have missed you so much. I know it's going to take some time but I want you to know I found the son of a bitch. He’s dead..And I promise I will NEVER let anyone touch you again. I will keep you safe. I hope that helps..” 

Not sure what to say you just nodded and hugged him again. You would analyze that information and how you felt about it later. For now, you were going to let yourself be held by the man you loved, a man who apparently loved you back, and be grateful for the fact that you were alive and finally together.

Tags:

@akshi8278

@wellfuckmyexistence

@beabutterfly987

@deandaydreaming

@slamminmine

@deandreamernp

@the-white-shadow-of-hydra

@lyarr24

@the-mystery-spot

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

He Obviously Cares

Pairing: Dean x Reader; OFC!Male!Character (James) x Reader (formally)

Warnings: Mild Angst, break ups, depression mentioned, Depressed vibes in the beginning, Team Free Will being sweet, Dean being sweet, Fluffy

Word Count: 2.4k

a/n: I did recently broke up with my boyfriend, and this is loosely what happened between us. And I do have these worries about him. But I hope you enjoy this; this is my first fic since being on hiatus.

Main Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

~

She packed her bags; she was making her move.

She loaded up her car, now her boyfriends house is void of her items and belongings. She had thought moving in with him would help him with whatever he was going through but it did not. He was insecure, worried she was going to find another guy. Kept saying she didn’t like him, after every time she said she liked him. Saying he’s not sweet, when he was being sweet towards her. Kept referring himself as “The Bad Guy”. She could feel this was going to be hard to constantly reassure him that he’s wrong.

Until one night, where she stayed at one of the many hunter’s cabins, she wanted to alone time after a hard day. He respected her, understood her. Until she was getting ready for bed. A text came through as she was brushing her teeth.

“You don’t have Feelings for me.”

“Just tell me.”

Her heart pounded in her chest.

I constantly say I love you; I constantly reassure you, and reassure you and you still feel like this towards me. She thought.

Picking up her phone.

This is it. I’m ending this. I can’t do this anymore.

“Ugh, apparently I’m not good enough for you or your insecurities. Insecurities is a trust issue type of thing. And clearly you just don’t trust me.”

“OMG, No that’s not it.”

“It is it. I can’t do this anymore. It’s exhausting to constantly reassure you that you’re okay. That we’re okay. And clearly it’s not getting through to you.”

“Please stop.”

“No, it’s done. We’re done. Clearly “I don’t have feelings for you.” It’s what you told me!”

“It’s over. We’re done. Goodbye James.”

She could see him working to text her back. But stopped.

She was shaking, the nerves were running high. She took her anti-anxiety meds, some melatonin to help her relax enough to go to bed.

Now here she was, at his place while he was at work. To get her stuff and return her key to him.

She drove down the long highway, heading to the one place she knew she would be welcomed back. The one place she remained family.

She entered Lebanon Kansas around midnight. She entered the bunkers garage just shortly after one in the morning. She still remembered the key to get in, where Sam and Dean always stashed it. She parked her car next to Baby. Killing the engine she leaves her belongings in her car, very exhausted. Both emotionally, mentally, and physically.

She walks the halls slowly; nothing has changed much since she left.

She found her way to the library. Sam and Dean weren’t up, they were in bed. She sat at one of the tables. Making herself comfortable.

Her eyes began to feel warm; tears began to surface.

He had crippling depression; he will more likely kill himself over this.

Just you wait, you’ll see his obituary that he died by suicide and there will be a note blaming you.

If he dies, it will be your fault. Sure he hurt you, but you hurt him far worse.

Her hands came up to her ears, and she let the tears fall.

 Dean was one of the first to wake up. He walked up to the kitchen, doing his usual routine. Getting coffee brewed and ready for him and Sam.

Once done, he got himself a cup of coffee and walked down to the library to check if there were any new cases they could take.

Walking through the war room, he saw someone sitting in their chair, knees to her chest. Her head on her knees. He knew her from anywhere.

“Y/N?” He says, trying to wake her up.

She began to stir.

She looked up at Dean with a lifeless look in her eyes.

“I’m gonna kill him.” He says with a hard look on his face.

“No don’t, he’s not worth it.” she says, her voice void of life.

“Sweetheart, what happened, I thought you loved him.”

“Apparently “I don’t have feelings for him.’”

“He got insecure again, huh?”

She nodded.

“Why was I not good enough for him?”

“He was just insecure; it wasn’t you sweetheart. It was him, not you.”

“He has crippling depression; I just have a bad feeling I hurt him so much he’d kill himself.”

“He’s a dad, he’s not going to kill himself. He’s got a reason to live.”

True. She thought.

“When’d you get in?”

“I got here around one…maybe two in the morning.”

“Should have called or texted me before you left wherever it was you were leaving. I would have had a room ready for you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, now let’s work on you. Come on sweetheart, you can sleep in my room.”

“I still have my stuff in my car.”

“We’ll worry about those later, now, you need proper sleep.”

She got up, her shoulders slumped, her expression even told him she was overly exhausted.

She, without thinking, walked right up to Dean. His arms wrapped around her, hugging her close and tight to him.

“It’s going to be okay sweetheart.” He says softly.

She took a deep breath, taking in his scent. His body wash, shampoo, his particular smell always calmed her down.

He could feel her relax in his hold; he even knew she had no intentions of moving anytime soon. And knowing how exhausted she was, he worked her into his arms to carry her to his room.

He laid her down on his bed. Covering her up under his covers, she snuggled more into his covers.

He walked back into the kitchen to make breakfast. Seeing Sam up.

“Morning.” Sam says.

“Hey.”

“Was that Y/N I saw you carrying?”

“Yep.”

“What’s she doing back?”

“She broke up with James. Apparently he got insecure again, saying she didn’t have feelings for him.”

“Sounds like he didn’t allow himself to trust her.”

“Sounds like that to  me too. But she’s exhausted, not herself either. She got worried about him and his depression getting bad.”

“Do you think, Cas could wipe his memory. Wipe her from his memory so he wouldn’t hurt as much?”

“Possibly, we could do that for her.”

“Already done.” Cas says walking into the kitchen. Making Dean and Sam jump.

“You need a damn bell or something on you Cas, quit sneaking up on us.”

“Apologies Dean.”

“I see that Y/N has returned to us, but I can sense she is drained.”

“She is. And we’re taking a break from hunting to take care of her.” Dean says.

“Where do we start?” Sam asks.

“Her stuff is in her car; I’m making her breakfast. Wash her clothes, get her old room set up. Cas, you are going to get her favorite foods, snacks, and movies. And get the Dean cave set up for a movie night tonight.”

“Alright Dean.” Cas says, turning to leave.

“I’ll get her stuff and start laundry.” Sam says, taking his mug of coffee with him.

Dean turned to the fridge, finding bacon, eggs, and milk. Making pancakes, bacon, and eggs. A hefty, hearty breakfast.

 She woke up to the smell of bacon. She stirred awake at the moment Dean walked in with a tray full of food. A mug of coffee. A glass of cold orange juice.

“What is this?”

“Just taking care of my girl is all.”

“You’re girl?”

“Yeah, you’re my girl. Remember?”

“Dean, I just broke up from an exhausting relationship.”

“Just as friends sweetheart, I’m not trying anything honest.”

“Thanks Dean, that’s really sweet of you.” She says with a soft smile.

He returned her a kind and soft smile. Walking in more and sat the tray on her lap.

“You cooked enough food, that’s for sure.”

“I only assume you didn’t eat anything yesterday or on your trip here.”

“You assumed right.” She says.

“We’re not hunting today, we told Garth to let some hunters in on some cases we find.”

She nodded, grabbing her fork, and digging in.

“Why don’t you eat something Dean?” she asks, mouth full of food. Making Dean chuckle.

“I ate already, I’m good. Besides, we’re getting your room set up, and among other things. So you just relax while we do that.”

“Thank you Dean, that’s sweet of you guys.”

“Anything to help you sweetheart. Eat up, relax and I’ll stop by again soon.” He says, turning to leave. Taking the keys to the Impala.

 She finished her plate, only being able to eat half of what he made her. She gets up to clean off her plate. Finding Sam in the kitchen.

“Hey Y/N, it’s good to see you.” He says, with a kind smile.

“It’s good to be back with you guys.” She says returning a sure and kind smile.

“Here, let me, I’ll wash those for you.” He says, holding out his hands.

She gives him her tray. “Thanks Sammy.”

“Anything to help you sweety, why don’t you go take a shower or something, relax, get cleaned up. I bet you feel gross.”

“I do. That sounds good right now.” She says turning to head to the shower room.

She heads to her old room, finding her bags on the bed, the room in the midst of a makeover. Clearly not done. She finds a note on her duffle bag.

Seeing it was written by Dean.

‘Hey sweetheart, I’m betting you are wanting a shower or something to get cleaned up and relax. Knowing you’re not a fan of baths, I bought you some shampoo and body wash that would help you relax. I’ve heard lavender scented anything helps relax you. Go check the shower room, I want you wearing my clothes, use the shampoo and body wash I got you. Take as long as you need to. Freshen up, and I’ll see you soon. ­– Dean’

She smiled at the note, turned out of her room and she made her way to the shower room finding Dean’s Henley, sweats, a pair of her clean underwear, and his flannel. She even seen the lavender scented body wash and shampoo.

She got the water set at the perfect temperature and stood under the steamy stream of water.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Content to starting over. Pretending those few months didn’t exist. Sure she can’t get that time back. But at least she ended it before it got worse.

 The scent of lavender filled the shower room when she finished. She even felt even more relaxed as she wore Dean’s clothes, smelling his scent in his clothes.

She walked around the bunker in stockinged feet. She walked past the Dean cave seeing Cas in there, rearranging the room.

“Cas?”

“Y/N, Glad to see you’re doing well. How are you feeling?”

“Better, what’s this?”

“Dean, Sam and I think a movie night will help further. So I bought all of your favorites, your favorite movies and snacks.”

“That’s sweet of you guys.”

“Anything for a friend.”

She smiles at her angel friend.

They all said the same thing to me, anything for you, anything for a friend, anything for my girl. I like this. I feel valued. She thought.

“Of course we value you Y/N, you matter to us.” Cas says.

“I keep forgetting you can read my mind.”

Cas tilted his head, confused.

“Nothing, just…thanks Cas.” She says, smiling and continuing down the hall.

She got closer to her room. Seeing Sam walking out of her room.

“Hey, Y/N, come check this out. Tell me what you think.” He says.

She quickens her pace a tad, she peers into her room, seeing a string of star lights hanging on her ceiling. Her pictures on her new wall shelves. Pictures of her with Dean, Sam, and Cas.

Her bed, looking new with new covers that fit her personality with her favorite color. She had a smile plastered on her face.

She had a small bookshelf with all of her old books she had. Her desk with her laptop. Her TV in the corner of her room, perfect view from her bed. Her Xbox console, DVD player and Apple TV. She felt like she was at home.

“I love this, thank you guys so much.”

“I’m glad you like it. Dean’s getting pizza, and we’re close to watching a marathon of movies that Cas bought.”

“How many did he buy?”

“Just…a lot.”

Oh god. She thought while stifling a laugh with a snort.

The bunker doors opened and shut.

“Dinner’s on!” Dean shouted.

“Dean it’s almost 2 in the afternoon!” Y/N giggled.

She seen him walk around the corner of the hall seeing him walking with a tall stack of pizza.

“Holy shit, what!?”

“Okay, Dean, that’s too much food.” Sam says.

“Think about leftovers dude.”

They shrugged, eh, true.

“Alright, to the Dean cave, lets get this party started.”

Y/N giggled. She felt fuzzy inside, whatever they’re doing. It’s working.

Dean sat the pizzas along the bar. Y/N even noticed some added furniture. Some adult sized bean bag chairs.

Dean had paper plates ready, sodas, beer, and another table with snacks and more sodas ready for after their lunch slash supper.

She picked the adult sized bean bag chair, Sam and Cas had the two lazy boy recliners; Dean picked the other bean bag chair. The movie Cas popped in, one of her personal favorites. Thor Ragnarök.

But once she saw Loki, her chest felt heavy. He looked like her ex. Dean saw her face drop.

Getting up with his plate, he joined her. She snuggled against him.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Wasn’t this your favorite movie?”

“It is, it’s just. Loki looks like him.”

“But is Loki him?”

“Well, no.”

“There you have it. Loki is not him. Loki is Loki. Not James.”

She nodded, continued to eat, and watch the movie.

“Anyone want seconds?” Sam asked.

Everyone practically held their plates up. Sam chuckling.

She felt tons better than she did when she first got here.

She doesn’t miss him. She only wishes him well. She does hope that one day she’ll be ready to try again but maybe hopefully she finds someone who is more willing to trust her.

She snuggles against Dean, his arm around her, holding her close. Making her feel safe. Making her feel okay.

She felt him kiss atop her head.

Maybe there is still hope. Maybe she should go for the obvious.

~

A/N: Kind of back, still on hiatus but how’d you like it? It is loosely based on my actual break up, the texts were the actual texts I received and sent to him. But please be patient with me, I’m still feeling a tad off. I’m sure I’ll post spastically when I’m okay again.

~

Dean Tags:

@pandazombie69, @akshi8278, @luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @mlovesstories, @jankles-blog, @flamencodiva, @anotherspnfanfic, @megzdoodle, @misfit0118, @shawnie74, @lyarr24, @missmemoire09, @racetrackheart, @spnbaby-67​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 5/31/2021