#driving mocs

[rahisaurus]

Finally made an actually coherent set of cars that are my original design instead of being remakes of official sets

[petrells]

feeling emotional bc its HSR 1 year anniversary and i didnt think i’d be sticking w/ it for a whole year, yet here I am rediscovering my love for turn based RPGs

[thesaurus]

// had been idly looking for one of these bad boys (there's a reallly cool light blue one they make) but all the vintage stores upsell them for more than I was willing to pay for somethign I couldn't touch and feel... and then the other day, in front of this record store by my house, a guy with 3 racks of vintage sold me this for 40$

// do I need another coat? no comment

// do I need to look like a cool soft-goth dad from vermont in the 90s? obviously

[legoejmgoogoo]

Lego LNER Intercity 225 Train MOC

This is a Lego MOC replica of the LNER Intercity 225 train on my design and theme! And its kinda ugly how I built it so I tore it apart sometime later after building it. Getting the front of train is kinda the hardest since the beak shape was needed to be built and its kinda worked out!

Editing Software/App: Google Photos Extras: sta.sh/0nvg8ep7mxw

[kaleldobrev]

Prologue — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Unnamed Hunter Boyfriend (OC)

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 1.5k

Chapter Warnings: Age Gap (15 years) & Self-Loathing Dean

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | Thoughts are in italics | Switches between reader & Dean's POV but it's still written in the second person | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

Dean sat on the edge of his bed looking at his surroundings that he hadn’t seen in so long. Although it’s only been a few months, it felt like an eternity to him. Everything was still in the exact same place he had left it; and he wasn’t sure if he should be relieved about that or not.

Being in his bedroom back in the Bunker came with a wide variety of emotions. He was happy to be back in a place that he had called home for the past several years, a place where he was finally able to have his own room again since he was four years old. But yet, there was another part of him that wanted to take his keys and drive off somewhere. He loved Sam, he loved Cas but, it was hard to face them again after everything he had done, and after everything he had put them through. Not only during the months he was gone, but during the short amount of time they were trying to cure him of a disease he strangely enjoyed.

“You weren’t you,” Sam had told him repeatedly as if he was a broken record. But Dean didn’t believe his words for a second. He enjoyed being a demon more than he liked to admit. Being able to kill whoever he wanted whenever he wanted without consequence fueled him. Being able to fuel the Mark was easy, being a demon was easy. Being a demon weirdly came natural to him.

Sitting at your desk, you endlessly scrolled through news story after news story, trying to find any excuse to leave your apartment, as it was a place that was currently not giving you the usual sense of peace it tended to provide you. Your apartment was usually your safe space, a place that you could relax and unwind in after a tough hunt. But ever since your boyfriend moved in, it had become a place that you no longer felt safe and calm in.

You and your boyfriend hadn't been together for that long — roughly a year — but during a majority of your relationship, it has been argument after argument, and the arguments were always about the same couple of things. He was either disrespecting you or upset that you didn't bring him along on one of your hunting trips.

He hadn't been a hunter for long — barely two years — and you met him within his first year. You had met him while on a werewolf case, as the two of you found the same lead and decided to work together since he really had no experience with werewolves. For some reason, the two of you clicked, and had been together ever since.

Whenever you and him tended to get into an argument, you wondered why you were still with him, knowing that you could do better. He didn't treat you right, and often undermined you in front of other hunters, sometimes taking credit for your own hunts. You tried to rationalize it, often saying that he was the best you were ever going to do because there was no way you could be with someone that wasn't a hunter, as you felt being with someone that wasn't one would put them in more harm, and you couldn't risk it. But the words of your mother started echoing in your head now, "It's better to be alone than to be with someone who disrespects you." You knew she was right; she was always right.

As you were about to give up, a news story finally jumped out at you, and it screamed poltergeist — your specialty.

Dean stared up at the ceiling, wanting more than anything to fall asleep; but the events of the last few months kept replaying in his head. "You weren't you," Sam's words repeated again and again.

No matter how many times Sam's words repeated, Dean still refused to believe it, as when he was a demon, he felt more like himself than he had been in such a long time; and that scared him.

The things that he did as a demon he would have done regardless; but the only reason he did the things that he did was because he knew there were no consequences, his conscience wasn't trying to stop him. Sam or Cas weren't there to stop him especially.

The Mark started itching again, getting hot with need. I need to kill something, he thought.

Getting off the phone with you, Sam sighed, looking at his slinged arm. There was no way he was going to be able to help you with this case, but it was far too late to call you back now; not after he already agreed to help you. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you, as you were a big help to him while Dean was gone.

Sam was impressed by you to say the least, as despite your age, you were a damn good hunter with a decent amount of experience under your belt. He hadn't known you for very long — meeting you within the last couple of months — but you had quickly become someone he had grown to deeply trust; and he was incredibly thankful for that, and thankful for you.

Placing his phone back into his pocket, he grabbed his duffel bag and started packing some of the essentials. The case you asked him to join you on was one that was pretty straightforward, so he assumed it wouldn't take more than a couple of days. That's when his mind started to wander, wondering why you had asked for his help in the first place, as poltergeists were one of your specialties and it was the type of case that you could do in your sleep, but yet, you asked him for help.

Closing up your laptop, you grabbed it bringing it over to your bed, before going underneath it and grabbing your duffel. You started packing all of the essentials for a case that would only take you a couple of days. The case was an easy one, one that you could easily do in your sleep, but yet, you called Sam Winchester to help you. There was a small twinge of regret after you got off the phone with him, and you debated back and forth as you packed to call him back up again and tell him, 'Never mind, I got this Sammy.' But deep down, you wanted the company; you wanted to be with someone that treated you like an equal unlike your boyfriend.

"Going on a case?" Your boyfriend asked from behind you.

You turned to look at him for a moment, and he was leaning against the doorway, staring at you as you packed. "Yes," you said, plainly. Even if you weren't going on a case, you felt like you didn't need to explain anything to him.

"Where's the case? I can join you," he offered. But his offer wasn't a genuine one, as the only reason he offered to go with you was to try and make up the argument to you in some way. But you weren't in the mood for any of his gestures.

"Tulsa," you said. "I already called another hunter to help me."

"What hunter?" He asked, making his way to the bed so he could sit down on the edge like he usually did whenever you were attempting to pack for a case.

You looked at him again, annoyed that he kept interrupting your packing. He didn't need to know what hunter was going with you, and he didn't know where the case was going to be. But yet, you felt like you needed to tell him in order to get him off your back. "Sam Winchester," you said simply, and you saw his eyes grow wide.

"Sam Winchester?" He questioned. "Really?"

"Yeah, what's wrong with Sam Winchester?" You asked, curious as to what he had to say about him, as you knew he had never met him. But there were times when you and him would be spending time with fellow hunters, and he would claim that he knew Sam; a bold statement that, whenever said, you tried to hold back a laugh.

“Nothing it’s just…the Winchester’s tend to get a lot of their partners killed,” he said. Your brows furrowed, not only because you were confused on where he heard that, but you’ve hunted with Sam a few times already, and your boyfriend never brought that up to you before.

“I’ve hunted with Sam a few times now, and I’m still alive,” you said, zippering up your duffel. “He’s a great hunting partner, very careful.”

“For now, you’re alive and for now he’s being careful. What happens when he bails on you to save himself?” Your boyfriend asked, his tone excitable now.

“I don’t know because I know for a fact that won’t happen,” your tone was serious and stern, defensive. Despite not knowing Sam for a long time, you trusted him more on hunts than your own boyfriend. “I trust Sam.”

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 1

Tag List: | @roseblue373 | @snakebxtez | @deanwanddamons | @missy420-0 | @hannahisthebanana | @madzzz0797 | @livingordeadwhoknows | @grx-deanslovr | @nancymcl | @jacklesbrainworms | @savagemickey03 | @deanbrainrotwritings | @rachiem4-blog | @syrma-sensei | @justletmereadfanfic | @deans-daydream | @midorimachisenpaii | @anamiad00msday | @beansproutmafia | @queenie32 | @deansbbyx | @deans-spinster-witch | @ficmesideways | @frozenhuntress67 | @coldspoons | @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden | @androah | @zulema222 | @k-l-a-w-s | @the-achievementhunter | @k-slla | @mrlonelycat | @dumb-fawkin-bitch | @ladysparkles78 | @jackles010378 | @zepskies | @mrsjenniferwinchester | @globetrotter28 | @missscarlettangel | @foxyjwls007

[shadystranger]

The way dean's love transforms sam, and how it's not always for the better. The shift he forces in sam's ideals, how sam tried so hard to avoid his predetermined fate of leading an apocalypse yet ends up kick-starting it for dean not once but twice with one failed third attempt and another time uncaring to stop it if that meant he loses dean. Sam was in that church and he turned his eye away from the end of the world practically unfolding before him because he heard dean call his name, because he was relieved that maybe after everything dean still loves him. The way he so meticulously nitpicks every wrong choice dean had done and sees the best in it. How he straight up believes and even enables dean to be stripped of guilt for widely immoral ill-thought acts he should be held responsible for.

Just the way sam basically takes this role of a corrupt lawyer defending the worst scum on earth because he sees himself in it. 'he must have had a good reason' demon!dean wrecking havoc and killing people in cold blood 'tell me it was you or them' moc!dean losing his moral compass as he turns into a bloodthirsty maniac 'you did it for me' dean letting au!Michael in their world who everyone and their mother knows will eradicate humanity 'you'll never hear me say that you -the real you- is anything but good' dean summoning sam to kill him but sam seeing it that he summoned him because he wants to be saved and knows sam'll do everything in his power to protect him.

Just the way sam lays his neck under dean's guillotine, the way he drives sam crazy with worry, the way he shatters sam's self in minutes and puts it back together in another, the way sam turns into this lost despondent and desperate man at the end of the world when dean is not there. How he turns a shell of himself forever wandering and waiting for dean to be beside him again before his person gradually ceases to exist.

And worse of it all, the loss of control over his life that he fought so hard for because he has let dean in, sam has changed for dean, but did dean change for him? Dean thought he wanted this, but did he really?

[hellverse]

what really drives me crazy about the moc dean and cas fight is that cas explicitly said “i don’t want to have to hurt you” and then didn’t even try to throw a single punch or nothing. arms up in the air, asking dean to stop, covering his face, his body, all defensive, all pleading. but not a single action made to actually fight back.

[xmimikyuusx]

Breaking my oath to not post myself, because I'm really feeling it lately. But it's frustrating how much of the anti-transmasculinity and anti-transandrophobia arguments hinge on this weird world of exclusivity.

I've been admiring lately how on the positive side of things, the transandrophobia discussion also brings to the table the discussion of other marginalized groups who are often dismissed or actively pushed out of the conversation because it doesn't fit the white cis feminism that people have been clinging to (and reinventing to include Trans women in the most surface level way). Bringing up the issues that cis MOC face, or disabled or intersex men and many others, we are not the pioneers of these conversations whatsoever but the discussion of the marginalization Trans men and mascs face is an open door to these other conversations. (I.e relating across identity lines, seeing other groups and acknowledging their suffering and looking for solidarity)

On the other side of this, denying transndrophobia or even the idea that a Trans man/masc can face marginalization, whether be it even from his masculinity or his transness, is a closed door. No one's suffering matters except their in group. If you're not a woman or woman aligned in some way, you simply cannot be important to the conversation, because you're the bad guy. You're the oppressor. You're too uninformed and stupid to understand what oppression REALLY looks like. You need to shut up, even if it's on your own post, your own blog, words out of your own mouth, because speaking about your experiences, when those experiences don't line up with women being the victim and men being the perpetrators, is just another sign of how evil you are.

Or iterations of this. It hurts me even worse when it comes from another Trans man /masc. I remember a post a while ago in the tag, from a Trans man retelling a story about how a Trans man in his community was brutally murdered, dismembered, and he attended his funeral. And in the same breath, he was telling us how even when this attrocity has happened, we just do not have it as bad as a woman would. We just would not understand.

It boggles my mind. How much worse does it have to be? What does worse look like after sky high rates of murder, sexual assault, abuse, and suicide? And why does it have to be this bad before it's recognized that there's a problem?

Community doesn't come from exclusions. It doesn't put Trans women's oppression in jeopardy if a Trans man is also struggling just as much. Comparing how much one group is struggling, in these abstract ways, to try and prove a point, to try and drive a stake between genders like it'll somehow matter in the end, is pathetic. It's not helpful. Unfortunately, it's some people's outdated, vitriolic version of feminism that is very difficult to distinguish from a terf or a radfem. This unhinged reactionary jump we get from any corner of the community to protect their status as the victim, that someone else's suffering somehow diminishes their own, it's disgusting.

I don't want to rant anymore, but I know the day when we move past this will be amazing. We deserve better than trying to destroy our own community from the inside out.

[angelsdean]

the thing tessa uses to try to sway dean to die and go with her? the fact that if he stays behind as a spirit he'll eventually be driven mad and possibly become a vengeful spirit that could hurt people.

"You'll stay here for years. Disembodied, scared, and over the decades it'll probably drive you mad. Maybe you'll even get violent."

that's the thing that gets him. and it's the thing that almost gets him to leave with her, until john makes his deal at that very moment and suddenly dean is back in his body.

but the thing that appeals to dean is the fact that if he stays he could become something that hurts innocent people. dean's whole thesis for hunting is that they can save people. when he's not battling in clutches of john's monster rhetoric of "a monster is a monster" dean's personal monster code is "a monster is someone who hurts / kills innocent people" and under this code humans very much can be monsters too (like the Benders. the traffickers that moc dean kills. the faith healer's wife. etc)

anyway, dean does not want to become that. the thing that haunts him the most about hell is not the 30 yrs of gruesome torture inflicted on him, it's the ten yrs where he had to do the torturing. he hates himself for it.

and when he's got the MOC he tells cas to promise to kill him if he loses control. and when he's worried he won't be able to contain michael for much longer he makes plans to lock himself away in the ma'lak box. he deeply does not want to become someone who hurts innocent people.

[rahisaurus]

I made Timak a car too

[yet-another-deanw-girl]

Chapter 1: The girl and the werewolves

||The Prophecy Series||

She knew for 15 years that this day would come. She knew her destiny had already been written. That her death had been foretold.

She knew she would have to stop him. She knew she would have to kill him. And she thought she was prepared for all of it. But the day she met him she realized how wrong she was…

Set in Season 10 Pairing: MoC!Dean x Female!OC

Warnings: the usual SPN, language, violence, blood, injuries

Episode mapping: The end of episode 4 of season 10 "Paper Moon"

Note: The events of this story are following season 10 of Supernatural and are taking place between October 2014 and July 2015. I tried to make sure that all the references to weapons, tech, etc. are accurate with the time period.

AN: This is my first time writing a fanfic but the story has been in my head for too long and it just needed to get out. I hope you like it.

AN: English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes.

It's official… I hate the States.  I have been driving for over half an hour and there is nothing around.  NOTHING!  Here you can just disappear and no one will ever know. Long distances, distant people, crappy coffee…  I really miss the coffee…  Well, at least, the food was decent most of the time… I'm impatient to go back home, so I'm overdramatic. Moreover, I haven't really spoken to anyone for more than two weeks… that alone drove me crazy and irritated. Thank God this mission is over now! Take a deep breath and make a plan. That always calms my nerves. First, I have about three or four more hours of driving until I get to the private airstrip where the plane is waiting for me… that's insane… how is everything so far apart here… Deep breaths… Then, about a ten hour flight to Prague.  I'll probably sleep the entire time…  Or I can write my report…  First I’ll write my report, then I’ll sleep. After landing, I'll have my debriefing… and real coffee. Then… go to my apartment… pack a bag… and go to the airport… I have been waiting for this vacation for so long. To see my family…

I'm entering a small town and I see the local diner on my side of the road. Going through my plan in my head has improved my mood significantly. I always function better when I have a detailed plan. But I still need coffee. So with a dream of a latte or cappuccino in my mind, I park the Jeep and walk into the diner to get whatever excuse of a coffee they have. Five minutes later, with a to-go cup in my hand, I'm climbing back in the monstrous car. I really love this car. It's always funny to see the looks I'm receiving. I'm not the shortest woman in the world, but I'm no more than 1.70m (it's about 5 '7) and this Jeep is enormous. But I like driving it. And, I like all the modifications I've done on it over the years. While driving out of the town and the buildings are more and more apart from each other, a cabin catches my attention. Well, not the cabin itself, but the two figures going inside. Just before they went inside, their faces shifted. What day is it? It's not a full moon, right? I count the days in my head. It is a full moon. Great! Werewolves. I hesitate only for a second, before I stop my car down the road so they will not see me coming. Driving a car like this has some disadvantages after all. I push several buttons on the car's dashboard screen, to check my armory and a weapon is produced for me to use. When the central console on my right opens, I reach out to take the gun. I scowl at the Beretta 92 that is inside.

Created with Microsoft Designer

"Of course!" I mutter under my breath. "I can't even use my own guns here!" I remind myself that I'm not supposed to raise any suspicions or to give any clues about who I am and who I'm working for. It's hard when you are a person of details and when you like things in a certain way. Unfortunately, my custom guns are locked in the car safe, until I'm boarding the plane to Europe. I take the standard US law enforcement gun and two spare magazines with silver bullets and I'm on my way to the cabin. "Fuck… I haven't even finished that coffee!" Engaging in those kinds of situations is not really in the scope of my operation here. Actually, it is way out of it. But I can't just walk away, keep driving and pretend I haven't seen anything. Not when there are innocent people in danger here… probably… 'Probably' is the key word… So I decide, I'll just look at what is going on in there and if, indeed, there are lives being threatened, only then I'll get involved.

Of course there are lives in stake. When I look inside the dimly lit building, I see the silhouettes of two men being tied to the pillars. Three werewolves are inside with them, the two men I saw earlier, and a younger blond woman… girl actually... It looks like she is in charge or has some authority over the others. I take in the layout of the place and make a map in my mind, all the people, the exits, the pillars, the piles of junk, the old furniture... Every little crack, every window and every beam…  And I make a plan…  And a backup plan…  And a backup plan.  I have it all laid out in my head, a perfect tactical assault mission.  In reality, this takes only a couple of seconds. My mind works in a strange way, but that's one of the things that makes me good at my job and has helped me climb the ranks quickly. I go in from the back door and immediately shoot down the two men. The girl with the long blond hair is standing in front of one of the hostages tied to the columns and puts her claws to his chest when she sees me.

Created with Microsoft Designer

"Put down the gun, or I will gut him!" - she says to me. Another blond girl barges in and stops abruptly when she realizes the situation. "Tash, what are you doing?" she exclaims, looking at the girl threatening one of the victims. "Kate! Come here and help me!" - the girl says. Now, when I have a better look at her she looks really young, maybe just finished high school. I take advantage of everyone being distracted, and shoot. The girl hits the ground. I turn around, aiming my weapon at the second girl. "No, no, no!" - the two men yell in unison. I lower my gun and the girl runs to the body of her dead sister. At least they look like sisters.

I holster my gun and take the knife from my boot turning around to cut off the ropes of the two men. No, no, no, no…  I definitely fucked up…  What the hell…  I NEVER fuck up!  I was not supposed to make any contact with them. I was here to observe and report. Fuck, fuck, fuck… Shit! Ok… I'll just cut them down and then I'm on my way to the airstrip. I start cutting the rope tying up Dean's hands above his head. I have to stand on my tiptoes and I barely can reach the rope. "Hey, shortstack, do you need a stepping stool or something?" Sam teases and I snort at his comment. "Short or not, I'm not the one tied up by a highschool girl…" Fuck! Those boys are really tall up close!

I'm almost done when Sam yells "Watch out!!!" I press the knife into Dean's hand, so he can finish cutting the rope himself and pull out my gun while turning around.  Sharp pain stings my abdomen before I'm able to pull the trigger.  The gunshot rings in the air of the cabin followed by a heavy thump. I clench my stomach. That's bad.  That's really, really bad.  How did this all happen?  Where did he come from?  How did I miss him?  Maybe he came after the second woman… girl… My mind is racing, trying to analyze every little detail and every possibility. But it doesn't matter right now.  This must be the unluckiest day of my life! First, I stumbled on my targets, and now this!  I know this will not kill me.  This is not the way I'm supposed to go and now is definitely not the time. But it hurts like hell, nonetheless and for a moment, panic sneaks in my mind.  I haven't been in such deep shit in a long long time. I have been in far more dangerous situations, but I hadn't screwed up like this in years. Deep breaths… make a plan… "Hey! Are you ok?" Dean asks me when he is done untying his brother. "Yeah!" I say through my clenched teeth and without even turning to them I start walking to the front door. I'll just have to go to my car, stitch this up, and then…  My head starts spinning.  Shit, I'm losing too much blood. I'm not going to make it to the car…

The woman had barged in, shot all of the rogue werewolves in a matter of seconds and without saying a word was now walking to the front door. "Wait a minute! Where do you think you're going?"  I yell and run after her.  Just when I'm reaching to grab her arm to stop her, she collapses and I manage to catch her at the last moment. "What the hell!"  I mumble but then I see the gash in her stomach. It's deep and she is losing blood too fast. "Sam! Find the first aid kit and get the car! NOW!"

Chapter 2: Protocol EG-64 initiated >>

||The Prophecy Series||

[hitchell-mope]

I’m going to be mean here.

Chuck. Did not. Win. If he had. Then Dean and Sam would’ve been in hell, separated and tortured for eternity. Not in heaven, together and driving around in the impala for eternity. Your bullshit headcanons and moronic theories are nothing. Canon is canon. It’s been nearly four fucking years. For the love of Christ. Get the fuck over it.

If I had been in charge of season ten. Dean would’ve been worse. I would have written him properly. Dean should have be stoic. But detached. The writers wanted to make him worse? I would have fucking committed to it. Dean should’ve killed innocent people under the mark. He should’ve slipped up and called Sam “Collette” at least once. Maybe even fed Sam his blood when he was a demon. I don’t know. I haven’t figured it all out quite yet. But one things for sure. I would have made MOC!Dean worse. As he should have been.

Aside from that I’ll never fucking understand why they made Dean be all buddy-buddy with Bradbury. I didn’t give a fuck about her. In fact. I laughed when she died. But Dean is CLEARLY the type of heterosexual man that sees lesbians as entertainment. Like Stinson and Tribiani before him. And I’ll never understand why they brotp’d them up when Sam was right the fuck there. Make it make sense. That’s all I’m asking really. Just make it make sense.

TL:DR; Chuck didn’t win. Hellers theories are, as always, shit. Dean should’ve been worse under the mark. And I may not give a shit about Bradbury. Sam should’ve been closer to her than Dean was. And as always. These are my opinions. So if you don’t like them. Then please just block me. It’ll save you, and more importantly me, a helluva lot of time.

[kaleldobrev]

Getting Back into the Swing of Things (1) — The 15 Year Problem Series

Pairing: MOC!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Feat. Character(s): Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester & Unnamed Hunter Boyfriend (OC)

Series Summary: Needing help on a poltergeist case, you ask fellow hunter Sam Winchester for help. Despite having a broken arm, Sam agrees to help you. But, just as he’s about to head out and meet you, Dean tells him that he’ll take his place and help instead.

Chapter Word Count: 2.2k

Chapter Warnings: Cursing (4x), Age Gap (15 years) & Minor controlling behavior

Authors Note: A prequel series to the Old Man Universe (OMU) on how Dean and reader met | Takes place a few days after Dean is cured from being a demon in 2016 (please read this post for reasonings why it’s 2016, not 2014) | Don't worry, as Dean and reader meet in the next chapter! | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

⋆ The 15 Year Problem Masterlist ⋆

⇠ Go Back & Read the Prologue

Dean tossed and turned, still unable to fall asleep despite what seemed like hours trying. He smelled blood in his nose, felt it on his lips and tongue; smiling with pure bliss. He could feel his hand gripping the First Blade, and he could hear the heart beats of people fading fast as he looked into their eyes. His throat felt dry all of a sudden. “Fuck,” he mumbled to himself.

Removing the covers from himself, he swung his body, his feet flat on the floor as he rubbed his face. Letting out a huge sigh of frustration, he got up from his bed and made his way to his bedroom door; deciding that maybe a few drinks could make him get a bit sleepy. But he knew deep down that wasn’t going to work — he just needed an excuse to get up and walk around.

As Dean started making his way toward the kitchen, he noticed that Sammy’s door was open halfway, the light of the room still on. A puzzled look appeared on Dean’s face, surprised that Sam was still up. He figured after curing him, he would be knocked out for the next couple of days, or at least taking it easy.

He heard drawers opening and closing, not remotely quietly. Standing in the doorway, he saw Sam packing some clothes into a duffel bag, slightly struggling as he did so, as he was down an arm. “Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked, after knocking on the doorway.

Sam looked up, barely smiling. He looked almost half asleep. “Uh yeah. A hunter friend of mine asked me to help her with a poltergeist case. Should be only a few days.”

“A poltergeist case uh?” Dean questioned, intrigued. “Where at?” He scratched the back of his head as he walked into Sam’s bedroom, trying his best not to sound too excited about the case.

“Tulsa. It’s about a five and a half hour drive from here, and I promised Y/N I’d meet her at the motel in town,” Sam said, zippering up his duffel.

“You sure you’re good to go Sammy? I mean, your arm is still broken,” Dean said, pointing at his arm. “Why don’t I go instead? I could use a nice and easy case to get my sea legs back.”

Sam looked at his brother with a bit of hesitancy. “I don’t know Dean…” his voice trailed off. Even though Sam had talked to you about Dean, he wasn’t sure how you would react to Dean showing up instead of him. Based on the short amount of time he had known you, he feels that you and Dean would get along really well as your hunting styles were scarily similar at times, and your personalities rivaled each other. But yet, you didn’t know Dean, and he knew you’d rather hunt alone than hunt with someone you didn’t know.

“Sammy, your arm is broken. No offense, but how much help are you really going to be to her? She might as well just do it by herself,” Dean said, and Sam knew that his brother had a point. He was right, as much as he hated to admit it.

Sam sighed, almost defeated. “Alright, alright. You’re…you’re right,” he said, slightly swinging his casted arm. “Just let me give her a heads up first okay?”

You looked out straight in front of you as only darkness could be seen for miles and miles. Your hands had a tight grip on the wheel to the point that your knuckles were almost pale and white. The loudness of your windshield wipers drowned out what you were currently listening to — The Clash.

There was no traffic, no cars— just you, the rain, and the complete darkness except for your headlights. You sighed, thinking about your boyfriend, how conflicted you felt about the whole thing. On one end, you were tired of the bullshit and were ready to call it quits with him. Why be with someone who makes you miserable? You heard your mom’s words echoing in your brain, so loud as if she was sitting right next to you. On the other end, you wanted to give him another chance as people who understood the hunting life was few and far between.

You didn’t necessarily want to be alone, but it was something that started to look more and more appealing. You were 22, still young and had time to find someone. But who? Another hunter? A civilian maybe? No, no civilians, you thought. Too risky. You needed someone that knew the life.

As if snapping you out of your current thought, your phone started ringing, the buzz of it slightly vibrating your seat. Since there were no cars on the road, you pulled off to the side, and answered the phone. "Hey Sammy," you said, "where are you?"

"Hey Y/N, I'm uh...still back at the Bunker," his voice sounded so tired and defeated.

You raised a brow in confusion. "What do you mean you're still back at the Bunker? You're not coming to help me?" You would be lying if you weren't disappointed. Although you had only known Sam for a short amount of time, he was someone that you genuinely enjoyed hunting with; not only because he was a legendary Winchester, but because he treated you like his equal, despite your age.

"Remember when Cas helped me on a case a while back and I ended up breaking my arm?" He said, and you nodded, even though you knew he wasn't able to hear you. But he took your lack of an answer to continue speaking. "Well, it's still broken. And I didn't want to say no when you called for help because you were such a big help to Cas and me, especially me, when Dean were gone."

You didn't want to give the impression that you were disappointed, even though you were. But you understood where Sam was coming from; and the last thing you wanted to do was force him to drive all the way to Tulsa just to sit in the motel room. "I really appreciate you saying yes, even though you're kind of out of commission. It...it really means a lot."

"Listen, I know you can pretty much solve this case in your sleep but..." he paused, sighing, almost as if he was afraid to say the next few words. "Dean offered to help you."

You were completely silent, which was a rarity for you. It wasn't like you didn't appreciate the help, but you were iffy about it as you didn't really like working with people that you weren't really familiar with. Yes, you've heard countless stories from Sam about his brother, and knew he was a good hunter; but the thing that scared you was, when it came down to it, would he just leave you for dead to save himself?

"I know you don't usually work with people you aren't really familiar with but," he sighed again, and you knew if he was in front of you right now, the puppy dog eyes would be in full force. "He's a great hunter, Y/N, and he wouldn't let anything happen to you. If something bad happened to you, he would never be able to forgive himself."

How could you possibly say no when Sam was practically telling you how good of a person his brother was? "Sam —"

"You'd be doing me a big favor, Y/N. I think this case would really help him get back into the swing of things," Sam said. Now you definitely couldn't say no.

You took a deep breath, sighing. "Okay," you said simply, giving in to Sam’s plead.

"Thanks Y/N, seriously," his tone sounding a bit happier now that you agreed. "I already gave him the address to the motel we agreed to meet at. He should hopefully be there right around the same time as you are."

"But you guys are almost six hours away," you stated with a raised brow. "Is he teleporting there?"

Sam chuckled at your comment. "No, no. He uh...he's a bit of a speed demon," Kind of like you, he wanted to add.

"Ah, so like me," you said. Sam couldn't help but smile at the comment, finding it funny that you had thought the exact same thing as he had. "Alright. Um, does he need my phone number or?"

"I kind of...already...gave it to him...sorry..." his words trailed off, almost embarrassed, like you had caught him red handed. You sighed, slightly annoyed. You didn't like when others gave out your phone number without asking you first, but then again, your boyfriend — which was soon to be your ex — was something he did quite often behind your back.

"He still driving the impala?" You asked, but before Sam could answer you, you continued with your thought, answering your own question. "Never mind, that was a stupid question," you slightly chuckled to yourself. "Of course he's still driving the impala."

Dean held the steering wheel tightly in his hands, loving the feeling of the leather at his fingertips. It had been far too long since he'd driven Baby, and it was one of the things that he truly missed while he was gone. "It's just a car Sam," his words rang out; and those words gutted him, because Baby wasn't just a car: she was home.

As he drove, his music was low, not loud like he usually preferred it, as he was currently admiring the simplicity of his surroundings. The rain hitting the windshield and being quickly wiped away, the darkness of the road that was only lit up by Baby's headlights. He felt comfortable and at ease; something driving always helped him to feel. He felt at home right now.

You didn't really know what to feel right now as you were debating back and forth on how your first meeting with the infamous Dean Winchester was going to go. According to Sam, the two of you would get along great, as he's made comments along the lines of, "You sometimes scarily remind me of Dean," which you weren't sure if you should take as a compliment or not.

Some of the stories Sam had told you about Dean impressed you, but then there were some where you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the stupidity. With some stories, you wondered how he wasn't dead already, then again, both Winchester's have died and came back countless times as death didn't seem to stick. You couldn't help but wonder what made them so special. Maybe they are God's favorites, you thought; and you couldn't help but chuckle.

Pulling into the motel parking lot, you let out a small laugh, seeing Dean's impala already in the parking lot. He really is a speed demon, you thought. Wonder what time he got here? You wondered.

As soon as you parked your vehicle, your phone began buzzing, and you looked at the name on the caller ID. Your blood started boiling seeing your boyfriend's name. "You have to be fucking kidding me," you mumbled to yourself.

At first, you were going to ignore the call, as maybe he would think you were still driving. But there was no way you would be able to give that illusion as there was no traffic on the road when you left because of the time. With gritted teeth, you answered the call, trying your absolute best to remain calm. "Hey," was all you said.

"You get to the motel yet?" He asked, his tone implying that he already had that knowledge somehow.

"I just pulled in," your answers were short, as you were still mad at him from before. Although driving was one of the things that calmed you down and made you feel at peace, for some reason, this argument in particular really made you angry.

"You said you would call me when you got to the motel," he sounded mildly annoyed, but disappointed at the same time.

You rolled your eyes. "Fucking hell," you mouthed. "I just pulled in. You didn't give me enough time to even call or text you." You took a deep breath, feeling yourself getting ready to boil over. "This is me telling you that I have reached the motel and may not be able to talk to you over the next couple of days, okay?" You weren't asking him; you were telling him; trying to make it clear that you couldn't talk to him. Of course you would be able to, but you didn't want to, as this case was a way for you to get the edge off. It was a way to kill something without killing him.

"I love you," he said, and for some reason him saying those three little words surprised you. He rarely said them to you, even though it was something that you had said to him regularly. The only times he ever seemed to say those three little words to you was during or after sex, or when the two of you had gotten into a rather nasty argument.

You didn't want to say it back to him, as love was the very last thing you felt for him in this moment. But you almost felt like you needed to, so he wouldn't feel like anything was wrong between the two of you. Then again, you didn't want to gaslight him the same way he always seemed to gaslight you. "I'll see you in a few days," was how you decided to answer, as those were the most genuine words you felt you could say to him.

⤑ Move Forward & Read Chapter 2

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[nattarthetimedragon]

Ignika Toa of death (he/him).As he dived into Codrex, Ignika realized it was too late. The mask was already turning black. He Knew his purpose was the end of life in the universe, but with his new found emotions he managed to hold back the blast of energy that would end all life. The drive to end life was too strong he could not fight that programming. So with sorrow he twisted his form, in hopes that people would see the monster he became, to give them a chance to stop him, but none could. All were ended with his executioner axe. Hope you like my Halloween MOC, have a fun spooky season!!!!

[lostgirl677]

Nothing can stop me from loving you part.2

MoC!Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Platonic!Sam Winchester x PlatonicFem!Reader

Established relationship

Masterlist

Part.1

A few weeks had passed, and I could tell Sam was as on edge as I was. He even convinced some douchebag to seal a deal with a crossroad demon to try to catch the red-eyed asshole. But all he managed to get was an arm in a sling. On my side, I contacted every hunter we knew around the country to try to gather information. But it was mostly useless. It was a race against time, and we were obviously losing. We knew that Crowley wasn’t alone in this. He had a whole crew of assholes with him. I  tried to summon Crowley and some of his lackeys, but the assholes never showed up. Even the various tracking spells with Rowena never worked. And to top it all, my dreams were plagued with weird changing images of a bar, cowboy hats and this shitty song “I’m too sexy”. Dean had finally managed to drive me crazy. I was losing my marbles at this point. 

Today wasn’t different from the others. If doing research in the hope of finding something useful could finally lead to something, it was mostly infuriating. I took the computer and a selection of books about demon invocation and went to the library. After many hours of leafing through each book, knowledge seemed to pass over my head without ever getting into it. An exasperated sigh escaped my lips as I dropped my head in my hands. “It’s useless. I won’t find anything useful in there.”, I whispered, completely desperate. I stayed in this position for a few minutes, or maybe hours. I couldn’t tell. But if the roles were reversed, Dean would turn the world upside down to find me. He would never surrender. And I loved him way too much to give up that easily. So I raised my head, wiped some stray tears, and tried to do more research. 

But reading for the hundredth time the same sentence was a signal that I couldn‘t focus anymore. Instead, my mind decided to wander away from the dusty books. And, even though it was too late to think about it, I couldn’t help but torture myself about the what-ifs. If I had stopped Dean altogether from fighting Metatron in the first place with a spell from Rowena, maybe we wouldn’t be in this crap? Perhaps, if I stayed with Dean as intended that night instead of leaving him alone, I could have stopped Crowley before he ran away with Dean. Well, maybe not stopping him, but at least delaying him a little and trying to get some sense in Dean’s mind. But I couldn’t afford to waste my time with the actions I didn’t do. It was a dangerous spiral that should never be explored. So, in order to regain the handle of the situation, I tried to focus on the things I could control. Which means thinking of the various tactics we could use to find Dean. 

After some plotting against Crowley, I decided to phone Cas for the first time since Dean’s death. I was still a bit embarrassed about my cries for help, knowing that I was bothering him with a situation he couldn’t improve. I took a deep breath as I tried to ponder whether I should call him or not. But I already clicked on the phone icon without even thinking. As the phone rang, I secretly hoped to end up on the voicemail. It rang a bit and before I could think of hanging up, I heard his deep voice. “Y/N?” I heard him say, a bit surprised. “Hey, Cas. How are you?” There was a bit of silence before I heard him clear his throat. “It is complicated to manage without my grace. But it is also difficult to repair all the damages Metatron caused but we are working things out. What about you with Dean?” 

I hesitated a bit before replying “ Well, it’s pretty hard. He could be anywhere and doing god knows what at the moment. Plus, Sam is acting recklessly now. I’m scared, Cas. I don’t know what to do. " "We’re going to find him, don’t worry. As soon as I’m done with this celestial issue, I’ll come to help you.” I could hear that he was sincere, that he truly loved Dean as much as we did.” Thank you, Cas. Also, I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry that I haven't called you since his death.” I wanted to add something else but my voice shattered a bit. “I am not mad at you, Y/N. I understand. And you don’t have to be embarrassed about your distress, it is a normal human feeling in these circumstances. Just know that your cries and prayers weren’t ignored, that they broke my heart and shook me to my core. I am sorry that I was not able to do more.” His voice wavered a bit while saying this. “Take care, Y/N. Call me anytime you need.” “Thank you, Cas. Take care too.” And he hung up the phone.

After the phone call, I decided to busy myself with more research. But again, my mind always ended up circling with the worst-case scenarios, this time. Crowley had a precise reason to revive Dean, and it scared me. And since there was no way Dean could have willingly left with Crowley, there had to be some kind of mind control or something. What if Crowley used Dean to be his personal hitman? What if he used him as a bargain with one of our enemies? Hell he could even use him as a male stripper to gain money! It wasn’t even the worst option there, but everything was possible when Crowley was involved. He could have taken him out of the country, for that matter. He could even have killed him if his project were finalized. It made me close my eyes to repress undesirable tears. Slowly, I pushed the computer away. All of this mess was giving me a killer migraine. 

Timeskip 

It was late when I heard the front door of the bunker. Sam was going down the stairs, his arms full of files. I immediately rushed to help him. The bags under his eyes became darker than the day before and his hair was messy. He looked so exhausted, just like me. He glanced at me and gently smiled. “Thanks, Y/N.” I smiled too. “No problem. I won’t let you carry everything in your state. Also, I made dinner. I’ll heat it for you if you want.” A warm smile illuminated his face. “Thank you, I’m starving.” We put all the files on the library’s table and made our way to the kitchen. Once inside the room, Sam began to set the table for the both of us and once dinner was warm, we both ate while making small talk. “I’m sure that's how Dean knew you were the one. Super caring and your cooking is heavenly.” His remark warmed my heart and broke it at the same time. “Thank you. I still remember the first time he tasted my pistachio pasta sauce.” Sam laughed. “I thought that he would propose right away. I must admit that your dish was incredible.” There was a pause before he talked again. “I also remember all the pep talks I gave to him to encourage him to make a move. Strangely enough, he can be super smooth with a random girl. But with you? A complete dork. He looked like a middle schooler trying to ask his crush out.” I laughed a little. “Who would have thought, indeed?” But my smile faltered quickly and I almost dropped my fork, no longer hungry. Sam noticed but didn’t say a word. Instead, he just sent me a reassuring smile and the rest of the meal was silent.

The next day, I woke up with a start after an intense dream of a guy kidnapping Sam. That weird guy wanted to kill Dean. Those strange dreams happened almost every night, and I couldn’t understand why. Was it a sort of trauma? I couldn’t understand what it was, but it was becoming scary. As I took in my surroundings, I realized that I had slept again on the floor in the middle of a stack of books and that someone had wrapped a blanket around me. The pain in my back didn’t go unnoticed by my dazed state. I slowly stretched my limbs, trying to not knock over the piles of books. Getting up was rarely this hard. Well, except for those once in a blue moon lazy mornings with Dean…Once I stood on both my feet, I prepared myself for another day of fruitless research.

It was around 10 AM when Rowena crashed into the bunker. She seemed happy this morning, not phased by my surprised expression at all. “I found another spell”, she said as she put a heavy stack of books on the table with a loud thud. “It’s a very  ancient one that I will adapt to the modern days.” The spells had failed so many times that I was past the excited state. When she saw my lack of reaction, she added, “Well, dear. I have a wee bit of hope that this spell will work.” I raised an eyebrow and replied,  “You said that the last time. And the other times before that one. And I still don’t know where Dean is.” Wow, it came out harsher than I intended to. I knew that she was doing what she could. But I couldn’t help but feel on edge with all the useless magic crap at this point. Even if I knew she was a bit upset, she still had her sassy expression when she replied, “Being a witch is not just looking fabulous and flying on a broomstick, dearie. It’s also doing research and trying spells. That means trials and errors as well.” She was right, of course, but I was desperate for answers. “I’m sorry, Rowena. You’re right. I didn’t have to lash out at you like that.” She just patted my shoulder and threw me a little smile. Unlike the brothers, my relationship with Rowena wasn’t that strained. 

“Are you ready to perform?” she asked. Deep down, I wasn’t ready because the sole thought of failing again drove me crazy. But you can’t know until you try, right? So I just replied, “Yeah. Let’s get ready. What do you need for this one?”  She looked at a list in her hand and enumerated, “I’ll need candles, a map of the country, something of his, a picture of him and the blood of one of his relatives to do this spell. The rest is provided by your fabulous witch.” She said as she designated herself in an elegant move of hand. “But wait, how will it work? And we don’t even know if they’re still in the country or even this realm.” I finally asked. 

She consulted her paper again and told me, “Once everything is in the bowl, I’ll perform the spell. And then, I’ll dip the pendulum in the bowl and place it above the map. The pendulum will find the start of Dean’s journey, which means the location of the bunker and will drip the blood on it. The blood will get absorbed by the map and trace the entire path taken to his final destination. Then you’ll find your loverboy again, dearie.” She then patted my shoulder and added “They’re still in the country, Fergus might be vicious but he sometimes lacks imagination. How can I possibly be related to him?” I looked at her, half hopeful, half desperate and nodded my head. In return, she simply smiled at me. As she began to prepare her improvised altar, I ran as fast as I could in the bunker to find what she needed. I came back with one of his old bracelets, a map, candles and a picture of him next to Baby.

When I arrived, Rowena had set everything and was reading one of the heavy leather-bound books she brought. The moment she noticed me, she lifted her head and sent me a smile. We laid the map on the altar, lit the candles and placed the bracelet and the picture on the large bowl. ”So, everything is in place, I’ll just need...” She didn’t finish her sentence as a loud noise behind us made us jump. Sam just came back. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Rowena. “Hello, Y/N and, uh, Rowena,” he said, visibly surprised. “Well. Hello Samuel. You’re right in time for once.” He seemed a little scared and asked, “Right on time for what?” So I explained, “Rowena found another spell, but to perform it, we’ll need the blood of a relative of Dean.” As he took the information in, he just nodded and asked, “Okay. Do you need just a drop or more?” She gave him an athame and told him. “You’ll have to slice the palm of your left hand and make your blood drip on the bowl. But not until I said the incantation for the third time. It is extremely important. When I use the pendulum, I’ll need you both to chant ‘Orientem Occidentem Septentrionem et Meridiem monstrant viam ab uno absente captam’, okay?” Sam looked at her, then me and nodded again.

Rowena then began the ritual. She breathed deeply before singing her incantation. “Orientem Occidentem Septentrionem et Meridiem monstrant viam ab uno absente captam” she sang in a deep voice. She was moving her hands toward each cardinal point above the bowl. A tingling sensation of electricity in the air made the atmosphere tense. So much so that I could feel the hair at the back of my head rising and goosebumps forming on my arms. I was holding my breath the whole time, anxiety filling my veins. By the way Sam looked everywhere around him, I knew he was as anxious as me. When Rowena reached the third time reciting, Sam sliced his left hand as indicated and as she kept singing. 

The lights of the bunker began to flicker, and the bowl produced the noise of something bubbling and thin steam could be seen. I swiftly approached Sam to wrap his hand in a clean cloth. She then plunged her pendulum into the blood, and it began to rotate in search of the bunker. Sam and I began to sing. After a few rotations above the Kansas area, the pendulum finally stopped and touched the map. “Keep singing!” she ordered as she closed her eyes and began to sing with us. The tension in the air increased, making it hard to breathe. Then, it happened. A faint red line was finally forming itself on the map, beginning at the location of the bunker and continuing. It was the first time I felt this hopeful in weeks.

Suddenly, the thin steam erupting from the bowl became thicker. And some lightbulbs around us exploded in a terrible noise. Sam and I both looked at each other. “Uh, Rowena, is it normal?” asked Sam, coughing a little. Rowena kept her eyes closed, “What is it, Samuel?” But before we could say anything, the smoke became thick black in an explosion sound, and the map began to burn almost instantly on the altar. Sam and I immediately tried to stop it from burning. Rowena opened her eyes, completely startled by the sudden commotion. Her eyes widened when she saw what was happening. “No, no, no! It wasn’t supposed to burn!” she screamed as she tried to help us stop the fire. But it was too late. It was almost in ashes. I barely had time to see the red line stopped dead in its tracks to God knows where. It was merely at the frontier of Kansas. To say that I was devastated was an understatement. We were so close! I could see the deception in Sam’s eyes as well.

Everything happened very fast in a  short period. So fast that I struggled to process it. It gave me the weird sensation that I was in a dream, that it couldn’t be real. Just like Dean’s death. It was pushing me over the edge. All my repressed feelings came to the surface. The sadness, guilt, grief, and anger suddenly blinded me, “Son of a bitch! What the hell had happened?! It wasn’t supposed to end like an election for the new pope!” I screamed. Rowena had a sorry look in her eyes.”I’m sorry, darling. I guess it means he doesn’t want us to find him. But I’ll keep looking for a new spell.”, she said as she tried to arrange the mess with Sam. I heard her mumbling "Sometimes Fergus makes me hate myself for participating in that orgy back then." Sam then spoke in an hopeful tone, “I heard about a series of weird murders before coming here. It could be linked to Dean.” I simply nodded my head, trying to keep my emotions at bay to not lashing out on someone. I was trembling, and my heartbeat was wild and erratic. I wanted to smash everything around me, but this mess wasn’t anyone’s fault but Crowley’s. So I breathed deeply and began to help them. 

Later in the day, I decided to seclude myself in my old room to take a nap. The dream was weird, once again. This time, there was a gorgeous blond woman. She was serving a beer to someone. The next part was Casa Erotica worthy but I couldn’t see who was with her. I woke up instantly. I was going crazy. Somehow, I truly felt like I was spying on her, like it wasn’t a regular dream. I finally fell asleep again but this time, all the dream showed me was the name “Black Spur Bar” and then a map with the name Beulah, North Dakota shining bright. This time, I almost fell off my bed. Maybe it wasn’t just a dream? I had to tell Sam.

I sprinted out of my room, hoping to find Sam in the Bunker. Luckily, I heard him speak to someone in his room. He was at his desk, looking at his computer, taking notes with his phone in hand.” Drew Neely, you say? I’ll check this…” I nearly screamed “Sam, sorry to interrupt you but I think we need to go to Beulah in North Dakota.”  With a surprised expression, Sam looked at me and said “Sorry, Cas. Y/N has something to say. I’ll put you on a loudspeaker so you can interact with us. Now, Y/N, will you explain please.”

Part.3 soon

Taglist

@hobby27 @deans-spinster-witch @muhahaha303 @kazsrm67

[love-yourself-first-tfw]

Hard to Love - Part One

Pairing: MOC!Dean/Demon!Dean x Reader 

Prompt: While dating Dean, he gets more and more reclusive toward you when he is given the Mark of Cain. Unable to handle the behavior, you leave but some part of him isn’t willing to let you go. 

Word Count: 3883 :) 

Warnings: Angst, Break-Up, Violence, Demon!Dean, lots of tears. 

Author’s Note: I had this saved as a draft from the end of 2016, unfinished so I tried to finish it as well as I could. It just came out like word vomit but I’m not sure how much I like it. I tried my best to make it gender neutral so if there are any mistakes, please let me know! 

Part Two 

You noticed that when you were lying in bed, he had his back towards you, almost falling off the bed to get away from your presence. Unable to reach out and touch him in fear of rejection, you continued to stare at his Henley-covered back, watching his steady breaths.

"Dean? Is everything okay with us?" The question sounds weird, a lump pushing into your throat, uncomfortably. He answered with a grunt, nothing else, keeping with his recent code of silence toward you. A dejected hum leaves your lips.

Turning on your back, looking around the room at all the items -- with some of you sprinkled in-- that make it your shared room. Wringing your hands together as you think about where you can go, you can’t stay here anymore, not like this. You want to help him but how can you when he doesn’t even want to be near you?

                                                                              Something had changed in the last few weeks. He wouldn't look at you, let alone talk. He wouldn’t shut up with Sam and Cas, though. 

Maybe the hours of silence with me drove him to talk to them.

Dean is only close to you when you are in Baby, driving to a hunt. Not holding your hand anymore but instead gripping the wheel, knuckles turning white, not sparing a glance at you. You’d gone as far as changing the music, to a pop station nonetheless, in the middle of one of his songs, hopeful of a reaction.  

Yell! Look at me with disgust! Do something, please!

But par for the course, Dean does nothing. He stares at the road, unmoving and silent while Sam and you stare at him in disbelief. The tears well up as you look at the horizon to your right, trying your best to not break in front of either man. Trying to understand what you could do differently. 

You stop sitting up front. You don’t talk to him. You avoid him at the bunker. You respond with little-to-no passive-aggressive comments when Dean talks to you through Sam. You keep your crying to the bathroom and shower, alone. 

You knew the Mark would change him but not like this. 

He kissed you last week after a rough hunt, a close call with a witch causing a teeny moment of intimacy between you two. Both of you pulled away with wide eyes: yours in shock and his in... disappointment? He walked ran away before a talk could be had, disappearing somewhere in the main area, while you went to take a shower; a habit forming. 

No matter what you try he just keeps pulling away.

Do I keep trying? 

I can get my things together and leave by the next hunt. Dean won’t stop me if I want to stay home.

Home. The thought made it so much more real. This is your home; Dean is your home. You take a sharp breath through your nose, trying not to make too much noise as you got up, going somewhere the breakdown won’t bother Dean.

                                                                                When Sam comes up to you in the morning, letting you know that there’s a possible ghost in the next town over, an easy salt and burn. You sniffle for effect as you tell Sam that you’re not feeling the greatest, watching his eyes drop in sympathy. 

He throws his arm around your shoulders, leading you back toward your bedroom.

“You shouldn’t be up then, dude. Go lay down, I’ll bring you some medicine before we leave, and I’ll tell Dean you aren’t coming. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.” 

You don’t need to look at Sam to know he doesn’t believe what he’s saying but you thank him regardless, feeling guilty about what the future will be. A hug in the doorway, tighter on your end than usual, ends when he pulls away and helps you back into bed. 

Sam comes back with some pills and a cup of water, ice clinking against the glass, with each stride. “Do you need anything else?” 

With the blanket tucked under your chin, you shake your head. “No, I’m good. I’m just gonna sleep it off and if it gets worse, I’ll text you, okay?” 

“Okay, I hope you feel better soon, (Y/N/N), and don’t beat yourself up about Dean. He’s not doing well with the Mark; he still loves you.” 

You close your eyes and turn your back to him after you nod to his comment, trying to hint that he’s good to leave and that if he stays, you’d rather not talk.

“Thanks, Sammy. I love ya.” 

“Love you too, (Y/N).” 

The click of the door shutting follows the flick of the light switch. And more tears. Silent and steady as you listen and wait for the departure that begins the end of life as you know it. 

Exhausted from the last few days of one-sided fighting, you try to fight off the sleep that takes over, but you slip under just as the hall light spills in when Dean peaks his head past the door frame. 

                                                                              It’s a few hours later when you wake up to a text from Sam, they’ve made it to the cozy town, and he will let you know when it’s done or if they have any problems. You let him know you feel better before wishing them luck on the hunt, getting up, and beginning the process of mission: Disappearing (Y/N). 

With a sigh, you start going through the knick-knacks that you’ve collected over the years, sighing again when you realize that all things will just remind you of him. Anger flares within you, the white-hot rage of your hand being forced, the whole situation out of your control. 

Leaving the small things and just grabbing your clothes from the closet, looking around the room for anything that could be useful on the trip. No mementos to save. You slam the door on your way out, going to your old room next, going through the same routine as before.

Two filled duffel bags sit in the back seat of your car when you finish, mostly clothes and things you’d brought with you when you moved into the bunker. Not running around anymore, the rush of adrenaline begins to fade turning into more anger. 

“Why!? I don’t understand?!” You hit the steering wheel with your palms, letting out a scream that transforms into an ugly wet, wail. 

A note laying in the war room, on the map table, explains why you left, addressed to Sam, in a last effort to be heard or at the very least get the last word. Your phone is on top of the note, showing the seriousness of your actions.

Sam,

Maybe we will see each other on the road again but I can’t stay somewhere I’m clearly not wanted. I’m sorry for lying to you and not saying goodbye in person. I don’t think I would’ve gone otherwise. Love ya, dude. Tell jerk face that I’ll always love him even if he has that mark on his arm, if he becomes a demon, or if he hates me. Always. 

I hope the best for you in the future. 

Goodbye,

(Y/N)

You wipe your nose with your sleeve, lifting your head from the steering wheel to embark on the journey to a new home. 

                                                                              In just a few months, you are settled in your new apartment in Colorado, taking a break from hunting to get familiar with the area. Neither Dean nor Sam gets into contact with you, whether that’s not wanting to or for lack of trying, you don’t know. 

With a new job in a library in town, you try to get past the guilt that sweeps over you every now and then, reminding yourself of the way you were treated. Of why you left in the first place. 

Unlocking the door after a long Monday of reshelving books, the silence of the apartment is disturbed by your keys going into the bowl next to the coat rack. You slip your shoes off before sliding your jacket off and onto the rack, turning to the living room and shouting in shock at Dean, who is standing, arms crossed, in front of the couch. 

“What the hell? Why are you in my house?” 

“Why do you have a devil’s trap in your living room?” He smirks, a glint in his eyes that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “Seems like you were expecting someone.” 

You put it there when you moved in, taking a page from Bobby’s book by using invisible blacklight paint. Decided that while one is useful in front of the door, the living room was also easy to run through if caught off guard, with no door to slow you down, and no one expects it there. 

Looking him over again before answering his question, his face is thinner than when you last saw him, hair gelled in a way that looks unnatural for him. His dark red button-up hangs loosely on his body. 

“For this reason. Though I can’t say I expected you to be stuck in it. Who killed you?” 

“Metatron. Though to be fair, I did try to kill him first.” You hum as he tries-- and fails-- to sit on the couch. “You couldn’t have made this any smaller, huh?” 

The smirk on his face only grows as he feels irritation roll off of you. “What do you want, Dean?” 

Now it’s his turn to look you up and down, wetting his lips before speaking. “I can think of a couple things.” 

You roll your eyes and make your way to your bedroom. 

“Oh, c’mon. I was just joking, sweetheart!” 

You ignore his words and change into comfortable clothes before dialing Sam’s number, deciding that letting him know was better than waiting for any more of Dean’s antics. 

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s (Y/N). Dean just showed up at my house and got stuck in a devil’s trap.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead.

Another shout from the living room brings tears to your eyes, the love of your life so close but so far at the same time. 

“Just wanted to talk to ya! You gonna leave me out here alone?” 

Sam asks for your address, giving you the details of what had conspired in the last couple of weeks: Dean dying and being turned into a demon, then bolting and teaming up with Crowley-- doing only God knows what around the country-- meanwhile Sam is doing everything he can to find and cure his brother.

“I’m not too far from you but I’ll still be awhile. Like...” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “maybe seven hours. I’m sorry I can’t get there sooner.” 

“It’s okay, I’ll keep him here. I can’t say he’ll be in a happy mood when you get here.” 

“Well, he won’t be happy to see me anyway, so it won’t matter. Thanks for the heads up though. I’ll let you know when I get there.” 

“Okay, see you soon, Sam.” 

With a deep breath, you slid out into the hallway, building up the confidence to make yourself visible to Dean. 

“You can do this. Make your dinner and ignore the living, breathing, talking, statue in the middle of your apartment.” Nodding to yourself, you walk out with your chin up. 

“There you are!” 

Dean’s eyes follow you past him and the couch as you move to the kitchen. Keeping busy with the leftovers, you avoid making eye contact with Dean, brushing his announcement off with silence. When you put the plate of chicken and rice into the microwave, your focus drifts from the timer counting down to those vibrant pools of green, ominous black hiding behind them. 

His eyebrows raise up in amusement, “You lose. Are you going to talk to me now?” 

“How ‘bout no.” You cross your arms, scoffing at the question.

“You just did, baby. Now just hear me out, you said you’d still love me as a demon, but this doesn’t feel like love to me.” 

He chuckles darkly at the end of his words. His demeanor changes: eyebrows pulling down, eyes darkening, and a sneer coming onto his lips. 

The microwave beeps, pulling your attention away, though your words slip out before you can think about it. “I do still love you, jerk face.” 

It’s not a secret or a lie, you just didn’t want to say it aloud. It had been peaceful dissociating from all that and using every waking moment to adjust to the new way of living without him, not knowing if he would ever come back. 

The plate hits the counter harder than you mean for it to, tears stinging your eyes again. “What do you want from me, Dean? I left so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about whatever the fuck you felt guilty about. You didn’t want to explain it to me then, what do you possibly have to say now?” 

A split second of shock passes Dean’s face before it’s back to anger. He opens his mouth, but you cut him off before he can say anything, pulling the silverware drawer open and grabbing a fork. 

“No, seriously. I. Don’t. Care. There really is no fucking excuse for what you put me through. So, unless you want to say sorry-- which I highly doubt, considering the black eyes rolling around back there-- shut up.” You slam the drawer: the loud noise and rattling of metals end your shouting. Taking a deep breath and beginning to eat, your back turned away from him, with a tiny, fragment of hope he actually listens. 

He blows a raspberry, “Well, that’s where you are sorely mistaken. I’m sorry for what the numb nuts did to you. To think, I could’ve had you from the beginning if he’d just said a few words to you now and again.” 

Your chewing stops as the food becomes a rock in your mouth, no longer able to swallow as you listen to him. Staring ahead at the balcony door as he continues spewing words at you. 

“Instead of all the cheap whores in dingy bars, I could’ve had you. Waiting on little ole’ me.” It’s clear from his tone that he is mocking you, taunting your words. Even though the relationship is over, the words make your chest twist uncomfortably, your watery eyes finally spilling over. 

“Whatever, have fun out here by yourself.” You leave the half-eaten meal on the counter, not sparing a glance at the man as you pass him to go to your room, keeping your head down to hide the tears that stream down your face. 

Slamming the door, shoving your face in a pillow, and screaming to relieve the stress of the situation, only helps bring more cries out of you. You know it’s not the Dean you knew talking to you but the twisted and dark version, wanting what he wants with no care about who it may affect. 

The darkness of your eyelids fluttering takes over you as you fall asleep to Dean’s calls to you. A dream of your life from before fills your head, one more moment with Dean that you can hope to forget when you wake.

                                                                            You jerk awake when your phone buzzes from a text, the vibrations magnified by the wood of the side table. Two texts from Sam illuminate the screen. 

From Sam: I just got into town I’ll be there in twenty minutes.

From Sam: Just got to your apartment. You get my first text?

To Sam: Sorry, fell asleep. 2C. Door’s unlocked for you. 

From Sam: I’ll be up there soon. 

When you take a moment to listen, it’s completely silent. Panicking at the thought that Dean was able to get away before Sam and you could cure him, you rush to the living room. Dean stands still, glaring at you as you appear from the hallway.

His lips are drawn into a sneer as he snarls, “how nice of you to come to see your guest.” 

The door opens as he ends, catching his attention, a scoff comes from him when Sam comes around the door. 

“I told you to fuck off, Sam. I don’t want you to be cured.”

Sam just shrugs, putting the duffel bag on the couch, and unloading some tools to get Dean back to the bunker with little to no issues. 

“Dean, you told me that you’d leave (Y/N) alone. So, what’s that about? Tired of the demon life?” 

Sam motions to you, hair crumpled from the impromptu nap, eyes, and nose red from crying. “You’ve been bar hopping for weeks on end, new people in your bed every night. Your freaking wet dream. Why are you here, ripping open an old wound, on someone who clearly doesn’t want shit from you?”  

“I saw you. You were at the bar in town, with some others, didn’t even notice me when I sat down at the bar top-- can’t say your observation skills were ever the best anyway.” Dean eyes you as he speaks, watching your jaw clench at the small dig toward you. 

“And then I get a call from some dude about how he caught Sam and if I wanted him back alive, I’d have to switch places with him, I told him to fuck off and came here instead. Looks like you made it alright, didn’t ya, Sammy?” 

“Yup, just like always.” He puts his good hand on your back, steering you towards the kitchen. 

“What the hell, seriously, Sam? What happened?” 

Sam leans against the countertop, his chin resting on his chest as he takes a deep breath. You reach into the freezer for a bag of peas, wrap it in a towel, and press it to his black eye, letting him hold the makeshift icepack when he winces. 

“He pulled up when I was stranded on the side of the road, I thought he was going to help but he knocked me out and brought me to an old barn, maybe?” 

His head drops, no longer making eye contact with you. 

“He called Dean and then when Dean hung up, he just went off.” Mocking the man who had tortured him only a day before, Sam’s voice lowers comically, “He killed my father in front of me...Two tours in Iraq in Special OPS...blah blah blah. Then he hit me a bunch, trying to get Dean’s location.” 

Two tours in Iraq? Special OPS? 

His pause allows you to ask your next question of many, “how did you get away?” 

“He got a phone call and when he pulled his phone out, his knife fell from his pocket, and I just got out.” 

A twinge of doubt and anxiety spread through you, the words “that seems too easy” on your lips after he explains. He finally looks back at you, seeing the questioning expression on your face.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” He lowers the frozen peas when you make your way to the living room again. 

“You mean to tell me that a solider, not just any ol’ solider at that, special OPS who served two tours in Iraq and he just dropped a knife, that let you get away?” 

As if to emphasize your point, the whole house goes dark. You reach the bookshelf behind Dean, both men watching you. The few beats of silence are broken when the front window breaks, a canister rolling onto the floor behind the couch, spraying a thick, white cloud of smoke. 

It reaches Sam first, harsh coughs coming from him as he yells for you to get to the backyard. Feeling the wall by the bookcase, you find the string taped to the wall that will break the seal when pulled. Feeling your eyes water, nose and throat burning, you tug the string with you as you move toward the back door, breaking the trap’s seal, and releasing Dean.

The smoke impedes your vision, your hip catches on the corner of the couch making you stumble to the floor, and more coughs force their way up through your lips. 

Arms encircle your waist, and harsh whispers come over your shoulder, “Jesus, your life is in danger, and you release the demon, how sickening.” He helps you to the fresh air that burns when you greedily suck it down. 

Dean’s support leaves your body, your knees hitting the moist grass that seeps through your sweatpants. When you open your eyes, you have to blink past the tears to see Sam lying next to you and Dean in front of you.  An unknown voice speaks to Dean, emotional and hate-filled, “You remember me?” 

“Yeah, you’re the guy from that thing.” 

“We talked on the phone. This is payback.”

The two men begin to fight, Dean doesn’t even try to pull punches, continuing to belittle him, yelling coming from Cole with every hit that he takes. Sam moves, waking up from a hit to the head, eyes meeting yours before flitting to Dean. Dean taunts and throws the man’s gun to the side, winking at you before he turns back to the fight.

“...spitballing here, but maybe you’re not as good as you think.” 

A pause from Dean before he laughs. “Ooh,” Dean’s hands go up in a fake surrender wave, “You know kung-fu?”

“I know everything.”

Dean gets into Cole’s face after quoting The Princess Bride, making his first mistake as Cole slices his face with his knife. Going to stab, only angering Dean more when he grabs Cole’s throat.

“You have no idea what you walked into, do you?”

“What are you?” 

Knowing Dean’s eyes are black at the expression on Cole’s face, you close your eyes, hearing the rest of the fight and Cole egging Dean on to kill him. 

“I changed my mind, I guess.” Dean chuckles before he breaks out in a hiss.

“It’s over! Stop.” 

You open your eyes and see that Sam has managed to get the Devil’s trap handcuffs on Dean. A murderous look on Dean’s face, staring up at Sam from his knees. Sam ignores his brother’s glare, looking at you as you sit back on your heels. “You okay, (Y/N/N)?”

You nod, watching Sam force Dean into the back of Baby, unable to take your eyes off Dean, who continues to kill Sam with his unblinking, scowl. 

Sam helps you up, keeping an eye on Dean so he can’t escape. “You can come with us. I’m giving the first blade to Crowley and I’m going to try to cure him. I don’t know if it’ll work but I’m hopeful.” 

You look back to your house; in the scuffle to get Dean, neither you nor Sam see where Cole flees to-- the feeling of safety and home lost, now that the invasion is over. 

Sighing, you wrap your arms around yourself, nodding and speaking softly, “yeah, let me just grab a couple of things and I’ll be down. You might need some help with him.” 

Looking back at Dean, you speak again, unsure how firm the words are. “I’ll stay until he’s cured but after that, I’m gonna go.” 

                                                                          Part Two