#grown up jack kline

[soullessjack]

hi im tired and in a teeny bit of pain and I’m fed up with jack being used to fix and absolve dean so heres them mutually getting their shit together like they actually should okay goodnight send tweet

[gh-0-stcup]

They did it in a really messy way, but here's how I see it. From the womb, Jack communicates that he means no harm to Kelly or Castiel. It looks like hypnosis, but that's just a red herring to make viewers nervous about Jack. They were being shown what was in Jack's soul - that he's a good person who wants to use his powers to help the world.

Taking it upon himself to take care of Kelly and her unborn child made Castiel bond with both of them. Promising Kelly he would take care of her child when she's gone and their time together in the cabin caused Castiel's feelings for Jack to deepen, which is how Castiel came to see himself as Jack's father.

I think Jack and Cas are cute sure but my issue with dadstiel is that it just feels unconvincing on a foundational level. Castiel who once believed that nephilim were half-breed abominations who all deserved death becomes hypnotized into tolerance because this specific nephil might be able to perform good services. Relationship is conditional from the get-go, and the hypnosis is never explored in a substantial manner and doesn't shape his relationship with Jack in any way.

[walkinthrudaisies]

Do You Think I’m Weird?

jack kline x fem!reader

2.5k | fluff

summary: you’ve always been a little weird. not thinking anything was wrong with it until dean decided to read your journal. though jack was just as weird as you were, and that makes your quirks a little more better.

fighting evil and the supernatural was not what you had pictured for your life plan, yet here you were.

you had met sam and dean about seven years ago. freshly thirteen, you had been living in an orphanage since the age of five. both of your parents had died in a freak car accident, leaving you in the care of a middle aged woman with ten other girls, far away from home.

the winchester brothers had sniffed out a case in oklahoma. a shifter that was terrorizing homes so they could slaughter everyone present. that was the only reason you’d ran into the infamous sam and dean. the shifter had visited your orphanage, slaughtering everyone there and almost killing you too if it wasn’t for dean killing them at the last moment.

sam was the one who felt obligated to take you in. you were so young, with no where for them to drop you off. dean wasn’t too keen on taking in a random thirteen year old girl. him and sam dealt with enough as is. so tacking on taking care of a fresh teenage girl, while also saving the world, was not something he really wanted to do.

but sam was always so convincing, breaking out his infamous puppy dog eyes to sway dean into saying yes. so for the past couple of years, sam and dean winchester were all you had. they loved you like a sister, and you viewed them as your family.

joining sam and dean on their journey meant you saw a lot of strange things. you were there when leviathans took over, one even killing bobby. you were present when dean went to purgatory, even following sam to texas when he thought dean had died. you watched as an angel took over sam and dean got the mark of cain, inevitably turning him into a demon.

attempting to close the gates of hell, angels falling, god’s freakin sister wanting to take over the world. you where there for it all. beside the two brothers, learning what you could from them and helping the best you could. so of course, you where there when the devil himself took over the president. you stood along slack jawed as castiel realized a nephilim had been born. not any nephilim though, but satan’s fucking offspring.

the poor woman who’d the devil taken advantage of was too kind to have this happen to her. you couldn’t bare be around kelly kline, for you felt a sense of dread any time you looked at her somber and smiling face. realizing she wouldn’t be alive to see her child.

though in the end, everything had happened so fast. kelly’s child was so strong, the unborn baby opened a rift to another world. this rift ended up taking the devil, alongside sam and dean’s mother, (who yes, was back from the dead) before it closed for good. oh no, but that was after lucifer stuck an angel blade in castiel’s back, killing him right in front of you and the brothers.

everyone was gone. kelly was dead, and in all the chaos, you had completely forgotten she’d given birth to a whole damn child. well, it was more like a twenty something year old man. you believed after everything you’ve seen, nothing could shock you. but as you walked into the baby’s nursery, you swore your jaw fell off as you looked past sam’s broad shoulders, eyes falling on a full grown man who was very much kelly’s newborn son.

jack was an interesting guy from the jump. he was a week old baby in a grown man’s body. it was a little weird and hard to get used to. it got easier — well actually exceptionally harder, when jack ended up getting stuck in the other dimension with mary winchester. but they were both back now, and the devil was dead, and everything seemed to be okay.

right now, mary had been gone for a week or so, working on some cases. so now, it was just you, sam, dean, cas, and jack in the bunker.

times like these you enjoyed. with the addition of jack, it was like how things used to be. times when not everything was as complicated as it is now. it was just you and the winchester’s fighting evil, with castiel to give his aid when needed and bobby’s house as a refuge spot.

no big threat was happening at the moment. this allowed for you and everyone else to chill and relax for a bit. you had found some time so get to know jack some more. yes, you’d fought alongside him, but you never knew what his interests were. what he found entertaining and other factors of him were completely unaware to you.

though today, your investigation in the phenomenon that was jack kline was put to a halt. sam basically forced everyone in the bunker to go through a certain chunk of books in the library. his words exactly were ‘these are the only books we haven’t cataloged, and when are we going to find time to do it?’ he wasn’t wrong, yet the task was as boring as watching paint dry.

midway through the highly entertaining book cataloging, you heard a snicker come from across the table. dean winchester was holding a book that looks wise, wasn’t as old as the other men of letter novels. dean reading the contents and silently giggling to himself. you were slightly confused on what he had found so funny, until you spotted a very familiar fiona apple sticker on the front.

oh dear god. dean was reading your journal. your scattered brain had left it on the table alongside all the other books. a late night of jotting down your thoughts and even creating your own poems was cut short as you felt drowsiness take over you. in your sleepy haze, you must’ve forgotten to take it to your room. now because of it, freaking dean, the most immature person you’ve ever met, was reading it’s contents.

you loved the eldest winchester, don’t get it twisted. though like everyone else, he had his flaws, and you couldn’t deny the truth. dean being raised in a not so nice environment by his drill sergeant of a father left him to be a little cruel when it came to certain things. in honesty, he didn’t catch on to social cues well. if he was publicly going to laugh at your journal, then he probably would.

“oh wow, pipsqueak.” dean’s voice came out through chokes of laughter, and you could feel yourself sinking into your own skin as time kept moving foreword. “i knew you were a little weird, but jesus christ.”

in dean’s brain, he was joking around with you. this was something john used to do — mostly to sam. if the older man came across something personal to his youngest son, especially something john didn’t agree with, he would laugh at him. chalking it up to be a joke when sam got upset. dean wholeheartedly believed that this was all joking fun. this was how he grew up, and it wasn’t his fault that his dad was an emotionally unattached man who was stuck in his distorted ways.

eyes downcast towards your lap, you couldn’t bare to look up at any of the four men in the room. the feeling of sam’s pitiful gaze fleeted over the top of your head. he knew what this felt like, and you knew that he felt for you and wanted dean to shut up as much as you did. cas was confused. the man always had a nuance of bewilderment on his face, but this time it was different. he was an angel after all, he could feel your discomfort radiating off of you in waves. his confusion didn’t stem from why you felt this way, but why dean was making you feel like it. he wanted your emotion to stop, wanted you to feel comfortable and not like everyone in the room was judging you.

jack was a different story. he hadn’t been alive for long, but jack was already very well versed. he cared exceedingly for the people he held close in his heart, and he especially had a problem with letting his anger get the best of him.

one thing for certain, jack kline cared for you deeply, more than anyone truly knew about. he thought you were ethereal, everything he believed a person should be. seeing dean treat you so blatantly terrible made the swell of anger in jack’s chest rise. without even lifting your head you could feel it coming off of the young nephilim in waves.

before jack could explode, or god forbid dean read an excerpt out loud, you got up from your chair and in a fast pace walked to your room. you could hear sam start scolding dean but you didn’t make a move to turn around and tune in. the embarrassment was rolling off of you in waves, and you could already feeling the tears forming at your lash line.

you’d always been a little different than other people. your interests sometimes weirded people out, starting from when you were in the foster home. some of the girls would make fun of you, and it would make you feel even more alone then you already were at the time.

there was just some things you wanted to keep to yourself. your journal was the number one thing of that. yeah, sam and dean knew how you were and even mentioned multiple times that you were pretty strange at some times. you knew they were just joking around. but with what dean was doing with your journal, you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t all a joke.

closing the door to your room, you stood by the wooden threshold and looked around at everything you did to change the space. all of the pictures and designs you put on the wall felt silly now. you didn’t know what dean, cas, or even sam was thinking when they came in. you felt so stupid, so embarrassed that your brain couldn’t properly function.

staring at your walls, trinkets on your desk. hell, even the new bed spread you got to replace to old, thin one the men of letters probably had since the 1950’s made you feel so exposed. everyone was secretly making fun of you, like they used to at the orphanage, and you couldn’t go through that pain not again.

you were a freak. so off putting that even sam and dean noticed it. noticed it not in a good way, but in a way where they were judging you without you knowing. with eyes blinded by embarrassed sadness, you ripped the comforter off of your bed, throwing each stupid plushie at the wall. every trinket or item on your desk was thrown off in a massive sweep, leaving a loud clatter in it’s wake.

as you were about to rip all the posters off of your wall, you felt two arms wrap around you, pulling you away from the destruction. some part of you wanted to fight back, wanted to believe that changing who you were was the best thing you could do. but you were so tired. tired of forcing yourself to pretend you were something you weren’t. so melting into the arms of the person who you still haven’t identified, the tears started to freely fall from your eyelids.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” the sound of jack’s voice right by your left ear shocked you a little. turning around in his arms, you looked at the man’s face to see nothing but hurt and confusion plaguing his stare. he held such care in his eyes. this moment made you realize how much jack truly cared for you, and that led to you falling limp into his arms and breaking down into uncontrollable sobs.

jack stilled, not knowing what to do in this certain situation. like a lightbulb going off in his head, he remembered what sam always did when a victim was crying. wrapping his arms tighter around your body, jack placed his head on top of yours, letting you cry into his shoulder and soothing you the best he could.

voice muffled by jack’s sweater, you spoke with a small voice. worried that jack would judge you. “do you think i’m weird?” the question caught the young nephilim by surprise. why would you think that? to jack, you were so creative and intelligent. yeah, you had your quirks, but that made you who you are in jack’s eyes. anyone who thought you were weird in a bad sense was just plain old stupid.

moving his head from yours, allowing you to look up into jack’s eyes, you watched as he softly smiled at you, contemplating what to say next. “yeah. you’re pretty weird.” his words made your heart drop to your stomach. eyes widening in fear before he continued. “but that’s what makes you, well, you! and i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

mouth agape in shock, you shook your head as if to disagree with him. “but, what about what dean-“

“sam and cas are giving dean a pretty heated lecture as we speak. i don’t think he realized how much that hurt you.” the thought of sam and cas sticking up for you made a smile light up your face. you loved dean, yet jack was right. he probably didn’t know that his words were hurtful, and you knew that a heartfelt apology and a lot of pie would come in it’s wake.

turning your head away from jack, you looked around your room at all the destruction you had made. thank god you didn’t tear your posters down, for the mess of blankets, papers and small trinkets was already bad enough as is. the man immediately perked up, moving away from you and rummaging around your things in a way to clean them up.

a soft gasp was heard from where jack was knelt on the ground. turning around, he lifted up a medium sized glass cat figurine that he’d gotten you at at farmers market. “thank goodness skittles didn’t break. the lady at the stall was staring at me funny and i really don’t want to see her again.” the thought that jack didn’t care about the destruction of your belongings but how he was going to reattain them for you put a smile on your face. he really did care, and that warm fuzzy feeling in your chest was starting to grow bigger and bigger.

leaning down so you could place a soft kiss on the crown of jack’s head, you moved to sit beside him on the floor, helping with the clean up of all the items strewn around the room. a light squeeze to your hand had you understanding that even with everything going on, you still had someone who didn’t care for what you liked. jack was right there beside you. reading the books you liked, watching your favourite movies, listening to your rants on anything you found interesting.

jack kline was someone you could always count on to be your true self around, and that was something that made you realize that enormous crush you had on the half angel.

[artyandink]

amoralism | eleven

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Agent Dean Winchester (yes, he’s a warning in itself), mention of murder, murder, Knights of Hell but they’re just murderous humans, making out, SA (I think) but it’s not real, nightmares, Jack Kline, Crowley and Rowena, choking and not in the sexy way

A/N - I might have cooked with this chapter, who knows :)

Song Inspo: Tattoo - Loreen

SERIES MASTERLIST

bestialism

You drove in silence, the weight of the world pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe. The city lights blurred past you, each one a reminder of how everything had just shattered. The news had hit you like a freight train, leaving you numb, your thoughts spiraling in a thousand different directions. Dean Winchester, the man you trusted, the man you… No, you couldn’t even finish the thought. It was too painful, too raw.

Your hands gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles white as you navigated through the familiar streets leading to your dad’s house. Rick had always been your rock, a steady presence through every storm. And now, as the world crumbled around you, he was the only place you could think to go. You needed something solid to hold onto, something that hadn’t been tainted by betrayal.

The car’s engine hummed softly as you pulled into the driveway. The porch light was on, casting a warm, welcoming glow over the front yard. You sat there for a moment, staring at the house where you’d grown up, trying to gather the strength to face your father. He’d always been able to read you like an open book, and tonight would be no different. But how could you explain this? How could you even begin to put it into words?

With a deep breath, you turned off the ignition and stepped out into the cool night air. The chill cut through your jacket, but you barely noticed. You walked up the steps slowly, each one feeling like a mile, and then you were at the door, hand raised to knock. But before your knuckles could meet the wood, the door swung open.

Rick stood there, his broad frame filling the doorway, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—those familiar, steady eyes—held a softness, an understanding that broke something deep inside you. He didn’t say a word, just stepped aside to let you in. The warmth of the house enveloped you as you crossed the threshold, the familiar scents of home filling your senses. It was as if the very walls were trying to comfort you, to shield you from the harsh reality waiting outside.

You walked into the living room, your movements mechanical, and dropped your bag by the couch. Rick followed you, his footsteps quiet, careful. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat. How could you tell him? How could you say the words that would make all of this real?

But before you could speak, before you could even begin to form a coherent thought, Rick closed the distance between you and pulled you into his arms. The embrace was firm, solid, and you collapsed into it, all the strength you’d been clinging to evaporating in an instant. The tears came then, hot and relentless, as you buried your face against his chest. He held you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back, his presence a balm to the open wound inside you.

“Dad…” Your voice was barely a whisper, choked with emotion, and you couldn’t find the words to continue.

Rick didn’t push, didn’t ask for explanations. He just held you, letting you cry, letting you pour out all the pain and confusion and betrayal. He knew. Somehow, he knew. Maybe it was the way you’d come straight here, or the look in your eyes when you walked through the door. Maybe he’d seen the signs before you had, pieces of a puzzle you’d been too close to see. Whatever it was, he understood without you needing to say a word.

When the sobs finally subsided, leaving you feeling hollow and exhausted, you pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face. Rick’s hands rested on your shoulders, grounding you, giving you the strength you so desperately needed.

“I just… I need a place to stay,” you said, your voice rough from crying.

Rick nodded, his expression gentle. “Of course. You know you’re always welcome here.”

You managed a small, shaky smile, grateful beyond words for his unconditional support. It was exactly what you needed right now—no questions, no judgment, just a safe place to fall apart.

“Cassie’s already in bed,” Rick added, his voice low and soothing. “But she’ll be happy to see you in the morning.”

The thought of your little sister, her innocent smile, brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes. You blinked them back, trying to hold yourself together. You didn’t want to break down again, not when you’d finally found a semblance of calm. But Rick noticed, of course he did. He always noticed.

“Hey,” he said softly, guiding you to the couch. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you something warm to drink.”

You nodded, letting him lead you to the couch. The cushions were soft, familiar, and you sank into them gratefully. As Rick moved toward the kitchen, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the lingering chill that had settled in your bones.

The house was quiet, the only sounds the distant hum of the refrigerator and the soft clinking of dishes as your dad prepared something in the kitchen. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on those simple, comforting noises instead of the storm raging inside you. Dean’s face flashed in your mind, the way he’d looked at you just that morning, his smile warm and genuine. How could he have hidden so much? How could he have deceived you so completely?

The betrayal cut deep, deeper than you’d thought possible. You’d trusted him, relied on him, and now… Now everything was in ruins. You’d have to face the consequences of this, both professionally and personally. But not tonight. Tonight, you just needed to survive.

Rick returned a few minutes later, a steaming mug in his hand. He handed it to you with a small, encouraging smile. “Chamomile,” he said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

You took the mug, the warmth seeping into your hands, and murmured a quiet thank you. The tea smelled faintly floral, a scent that reminded you of simpler times, when your biggest worry had been a school project or a crush. You took a sip, the hot liquid soothing your raw throat.

Rick sat down beside you, not too close, giving you space but still close enough to remind you that you weren’t alone. The silence stretched between you, comfortable and familiar, the way it always was with him. He didn’t push you to talk, didn’t ask for details. He just let you be, which was exactly what you needed.

After a few more sips of tea, you set the mug down on the coffee table, your hands trembling slightly. The weight of everything pressed down on you again, but somehow, it felt more bearable here, in the safety of your father’s home.

“Dad…” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to deal with this.”

Rick turned to you, his expression filled with quiet understanding. “You don’t have to deal with it all at once,” he said gently. “Just take it one step at a time. And remember, you’re not alone in this. We’ll figure it out together.”

His words were a lifeline, something solid to cling to in the midst of the chaos. You nodded, feeling a tiny bit of the weight lift off your shoulders. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to remind you that you could get through this. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dad,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Rick smiled, reaching out to gently squeeze your hand. “You’ll never have to find out.”

The tears came again, softer this time, more manageable. You leaned into your father, resting your head on his shoulder, and let yourself find comfort in the one place that had always been safe. No matter what happened next, you knew you had your family to fall back on. And right now, that was all you needed.

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a pale light over the walls covered in faded posters and memories. You hadn't slept much, the weight of yesterday's revelations pressing down on you like a ton of bricks. Your mind kept replaying the events, the shock, the betrayal, and the gnawing pain that refused to leave. Dean—your partner, the man you'd trusted, the man you'd loved—was the mole. The thought alone was enough to make your stomach churn.

But you were here, in the safety of your father's home, trying to make sense of it all. The familiar creak of the floorboards outside your door brought you back to the present. You took a deep breath, willing yourself to get up, to face whatever the day would bring. You knew your dad and Cassie were both awake, and the thought of their concerned faces made your heart ache even more. They’d been your rock through this, especially last night, when you felt like you might fall apart.

As you shuffled down the stairs, the smell of coffee hit you, a small comfort in the midst of the chaos. Your dad was at the kitchen table, a steaming mug in hand, and Cassie was perched on the counter, swinging her legs as she bit into a piece of toast. The moment they saw you, their faces softened with concern.

“Morning,” you murmured, forcing a small smile.

“Morning, sweetheart,” your dad replied, his voice gentle. “How’re you holding up?”

You shrugged, not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down again. Cassie slid off the counter and wrapped you in a hug, her warmth seeping into you, offering a brief moment of peace.

Before you could sink into the comfort of your family, there was a knock at the front door. Your dad exchanged a glance with you, a silent question in his eyes. You nodded, and he went to answer it.

When the door opened, you heard a familiar voice. Sam.

You felt your stomach drop. Of course, he would come. He was Dean’s brother, after all, and probably had questions of his own. Questions you weren’t sure you could answer. But as much as you wanted to hide away and pretend none of this was happening, you couldn’t avoid this conversation forever.

Sam walked into the kitchen, his tall frame taking up too much space in the small room. His face was drawn, concern etched into every line. When his eyes landed on you, they softened, but you could still see the turmoil behind them.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low.

“Hey,” you replied, wrapping your arms around yourself defensively.

“Mind if we talk?” he asked, glancing at your dad and Cassie, who both took the hint and quietly left the room.

Once they were gone, Sam turned back to you, his expression serious. “I’ve been going over everything that happened, and… I don’t know, something doesn’t feel right about Dean being the mole.”

You stiffened, your defenses going up immediately. “Sam, I was there. He confessed. He told me how he manipulated me, how he used me to get information. And then… then he fought his way out of custody.” The memory was sharp, cutting deep, and you had to take a steadying breath before continuing. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking as he absorbed your words. But he didn’t back down. “I hear you. I do. But this doesn’t add up. Dean’s not the kind of guy who’d sell out his team, let alone his country. He’s been through hell and back, and he’s always done what’s right, no matter the cost. There has to be more to this.”

“Sam…” you started, shaking your head. “I know you want to believe that. I wanted to believe it too. But I saw the look in his eyes. He’s not the same person we thought he was.”

“He’s my brother,” Sam insisted, his voice rising slightly. “I know him better than anyone. There’s no way he’d do something like this without a damn good reason. And I’m not saying he didn’t do something, but maybe it’s not what it looks like. Maybe he’s being framed or forced into this.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “Framed? Sam, he confessed. He admitted everything. How do you explain that?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. “I don’t know. But I can’t just sit back and accept that Dean’s suddenly a traitor. It doesn’t make sense. Think about it—he’s been risking his life for years, putting everything on the line. Why would he turn now? Something else has to be going on, and I need your help to figure it out.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that he was grasping at straws, but deep down, a part of you didn’t want to believe it either. The Dean you knew, the one you’d fallen for, wouldn’t do this. But the evidence was damning, and you had to protect yourself from getting hurt even more.

“Even if you’re right,” you said quietly, “I can’t… I can’t go after him. Not after everything that’s happened. I need to distance myself from this, from him.”

Sam looked at you, his eyes pleading. “I get it. I do. But we’re running out of time. If Dean’s in trouble, we need to help him. And nobody can solve a Major Crimes case better than you can. You’re the best we have. You can see things others miss. Please, help me find out the truth.”

You hesitated, the conflict tearing you apart. You wanted to help Sam, to find out what really happened, but the thought of getting involved again, of possibly facing Dean after everything, was too much to bear.

Seeing your reluctance, Sam softened his tone. “Look, I know this isn’t easy. But you don’t have to do this alone. I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll figure this out together.”

His words stirred something inside you, a small spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was more to the story. But that hope was dangerous, and you weren’t sure you could afford to cling to it. Still, you couldn’t deny the pull to uncover the truth, to understand why Dean had done what he’d done.

You took a deep breath, weighing your options. “If I agree to help, we do it my way. No half-cocked plans, no rushing in without a solid lead. We gather all the evidence first, and we do this by the book.”

Sam nodded, relief washing over his features. “Absolutely. We’ll do it right.”

“And if we find out that Dean really is guilty…” You couldn’t finish the sentence, but Sam understood.

“If he’s guilty, we’ll deal with it,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with sadness.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your decision settle over you. “Okay. I’ll help. But I need to know you’re ready for whatever we find.”

Sam met your gaze, his expression resolute. “I am. And thank you.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, both of you absorbing the gravity of what lay ahead. You weren’t sure if you were making the right choice, but it was the only choice that felt even remotely right. Dean had been a part of your life for so long, and if there was a chance that he wasn’t the monster he seemed to be, you had to know. You owed that much to yourself, and maybe even to him.

After a few moments, you stood up, feeling a new resolve settle in your bones. “We should start by reviewing the evidence. Every report, every detail that led us to this point. If there’s something off, we’ll find it.”

Sam followed your lead, a determined look in his eyes. “Agreed. Let’s head to the office and get to work.”

As you grabbed your coat and prepared to leave, your dad appeared in the doorway, concern etched into his face. “You okay, kiddo?”

You forced a smile, trying to reassure him. “Yeah, Dad. I’m okay. I just… I need to look into something.”

Rick studied you for a moment, then nodded, trusting you to do what needed to be done. “Be careful.”

“I will,” you promised, and then you were out the door, Sam at your side.

The drive to the office was quiet, both of you lost in thought. The gravity of the situation hung over you, but there was also a sense of purpose, a small sliver of hope that maybe things weren’t as black and white as they seemed. You clung to that hope, even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

When you arrived at the office, it was eerily quiet, the usual buzz of activity muted. The case had shaken everyone, and the tension was palpable. You and Sam made your way to the records room, where every piece of evidence on Dean’s case was stored.

As you started sorting through the files, you found yourself slipping into work mode, the familiar routine bringing a strange sense of comfort. You knew how to do this, how to piece together a puzzle, even one as twisted as this.

Sam worked beside you, his focus intense. “We need to find the point where everything changed,” he said, more to himself than to you. “The moment Dean stopped being our guy and became… whatever this is.”

You nodded, flipping through reports, surveillance footage, anything that might give you a clue. But the deeper you dug, the more confusing it became. Dean’s actions were erratic, inconsistent. Some of his moves didn’t make sense if he was really working against the FBI. And yet, the evidence was there, staring you in the face.

Hours passed, the sun dipping lower in the sky, and still, nothing definitive emerged. Frustration gnawed at you, but you couldn’t give up. Not yet.

Sam suddenly paused, his eyes narrowing as he focused on a particular report. “Wait… look at this.”

You moved closer, peering over his shoulder. The report detailed a meeting Dean had with a known informant, one that had supposedly gone south, leading to his capture. But something about the timeline didn’t add up.

“This meeting,” Sam said, pointing to the date and time, “Dean was supposed to be on a surveillance run across town at the same time. I remember because I was covering his backup that day.”

You frowned, the pieces not fitting together. “But if he was on surveillance, how could he have been at this meeting?”

“That’s the thing,” Sam said, his voice tense. “He couldn’t have been. Which means this report was either faked, or someone was posing as Dean.”

The atmosphere in the Bureau was thick with tension, the kind that seeped into your bones and made your every nerve hum with anxiety. You and Sam had been working tirelessly to uncover the truth behind the mole and Dean’s involvement, piecing together fragments of a puzzle that seemed impossible to solve. Every lead, every scrap of information, led you deeper into a web of corruption that stretched far beyond anything you’d ever imagined.

The coffee in your cup had long gone cold, but you barely noticed, too engrossed in the case files sprawled out before you. Sam sat across from you, equally absorbed, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence between you was comfortable, both of you working in sync, even as the world outside the Bureau continued to spin out of control.

The knock on the door was so quiet you almost missed it, but Sam looked up, and you followed his gaze to see a young agent standing in the doorway. Jack Kline. You recognized him immediately—one of the newer recruits, barely out of training but with a reputation for being sharp and dedicated. His eyes, usually bright with youthful energy, were clouded with something darker today. Determination. Grief.

“Agent Kline,” Sam greeted him, his tone neutral but curious. “What brings you here?”

Jack stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. His movements were deliberate, almost hesitant, as if he was still gathering the courage to speak. “I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with emotion. “Both of you.”

You exchanged a glance with Sam, then gestured for Jack to take a seat. He did, folding his hands in his lap as if to keep them from shaking.

“What’s on your mind, Jack?” you asked gently, sensing that whatever he had to say was important.

Jack took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the table between you. “I want to help with the case. The one involving Lucifer.”

The mention of Lucifer’s name made your stomach twist. Lucifer, the leader of the syndicate—the man who had been pulling the strings behind so much of the chaos you’d been dealing with. He was a ghost, a shadow, never directly involved but always there, lurking just out of reach.

“Jack,” Sam started, his voice cautious, “this case is dangerous. Lucifer’s not just some criminal mastermind; he’s a monster. We can’t ask you to get involved in this.”

“I know,” Jack interrupted, his voice firm. “But I’m not asking for permission. I’m telling you I need to be involved. You see, he killed my mom. Kelly Kline. She was… everything to me. And he took her away.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and you felt a pang of sympathy for him. Kelly Kline had been a respected agent, someone who had left a mark on the Bureau, and her death had been a devastating blow, especially for her son.

Sam leaned back in his chair, his expression softening. “Jack, I get it. I really do. But this isn’t something you should take on alone. Lucifer is—”

“I’m not asking to do it alone,” Jack cut in again, his tone more urgent now. “I’m asking to work with you, with both of you. I have information, things I’ve been looking into on my own. I know I’m young, but I’m not a kid. I can handle this.”

You studied him, the resolve in his eyes clear. He wasn’t going to back down from this, and you couldn’t blame him. If someone had taken your mother away, you’d want justice too. But this wasn’t just about revenge; it was about stopping Lucifer before he could cause more harm.

“What kind of information?” you asked, leaning forward slightly.

Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound notebook. He flipped it open to a page marked with hastily scribbled notes. “I’ve been tracking some of Lucifer’s movements, cross-referencing data from various sources. He’s been meeting with some pretty powerful people, both in the criminal world and legitimate business. But the most interesting thing I found was about Crowley and Rowena.”

“Crowley and Rowena?” Sam echoed, surprise flickering in his eyes. The names were familiar—two influential CEOs who operated in both the legal and illegal worlds. They were known for their cunning and for always having their fingers in various pies, including dealings with the FBI.

“Yeah,” Jack confirmed. “They’re tied to Lucifer in ways that aren’t obvious at first. I think they’re working with him, but they’re also playing both sides, keeping ties with the Bureau to cover their tracks. If we can get to them, we might be able to find out what Lucifer’s planning next.”

You exchanged another glance with Sam, the implications of Jack’s findings sinking in. Crowley and Rowena were notoriously difficult to pin down, slippery as snakes, but if they had information on Lucifer’s next move, it was a lead you couldn’t afford to ignore.

“Alright,” Sam said after a moment, his voice steady. “We’ll bring you in on this. But you need to understand that this isn’t just about finding Lucifer. We need to be smart, and we need to protect you. If things get too dangerous, you pull back. No arguments.”

Jack nodded, relief washing over his features. “I understand. Thank you.”

You felt a surge of determination, the pieces of the puzzle starting to come together in your mind. If Crowley and Rowena were involved, you had a chance to get ahead of Lucifer, to stop whatever plan he was putting into motion before it could reach fruition. But it would take careful planning and a willingness to dive deep into the murky waters of crime and corruption.

“First things first,” you said, your tone all business. “We need to arrange a meeting with Crowley and Rowena. They’re not going to give us anything willingly, so we’ll have to convince them it’s in their best interest to cooperate.”

“I can set that up,” Sam offered, already reaching for his phone. “They owe me a favor or two.”

Jack watched you both, a fire of determination in his eyes. You could see the raw emotion behind his resolve, the need for justice that mirrored your own, and you knew you’d made the right decision in bringing him on board.

As Sam dialed, you turned to Jack. “This isn’t going to be easy. Crowley and Rowena are smart, and they’ll try to outmaneuver us. But if we stick together, we can do this.”

Jack nodded, his jaw set in determination. “I’m ready.”

The call was brief, Sam’s tone clipped and professional as he spoke to someone on the other end. When he hung up, he looked at both of you. “They’ll meet us, but they’re expecting us to bring something to the table. We need to make it clear that we’re not just fishing for information.”

“We’ll have to play our cards carefully,” you agreed. “Let’s gather what we know and make sure we’re prepared for whatever they throw at us.”

With a plan in motion, the three of you got to work, pooling your knowledge and resources. The minutes ticked by as you strategized, fine-tuning your approach to the meeting. Crowley and Rowena were unpredictable, and you knew that this would be as much a game of wits as it would be a negotiation.

When the time finally came to meet with them, you felt the familiar buzz of adrenaline in your veins. You, Sam, and Jack made your way to a sleek, upscale restaurant in the city—a place where deals were made behind closed doors and secrets were traded over expensive wine.

Crowley and Rowena were already there, seated in a private booth near the back, their expressions unreadable as you approached. Crowley was the first to stand, his smile sharp as a blade, while Rowena remained seated, her eyes assessing you with cool detachment.

“Agent,” Crowley greeted Sam with a nod, then turned to you. “Other Agent.”

You forced a polite smile, not missing the way his gaze flicked over to Jack, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “We appreciate you taking the time to meet with us,” you said, keeping your tone neutral. “We’re hoping you might be able to shed some light on a situation we’re dealing with.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are,” Rowena interjected smoothly, her voice lilting with a touch of amusement. “But we don’t give out information for free, darling. What’s in it for us?”

Sam didn’t miss a beat. “Protection. You help us, and we make sure the FBI’s spotlight stays off of you. We all know you’ve got your hands in more than a few pies, Rowena. It would be a shame if those activities came under scrutiny.”

Crowley chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange. “Straight to the point, as always. But you’ve piqued our interest. What exactly are you after?”

“Lucifer,” you said bluntly, watching their reactions closely.

Crowley’s smile faltered ever so slightly, and Rowena’s eyes narrowed. “Lucifer’s not a man you want to cross,” Crowley warned. “Even we keep our distance from that one.”

“That may be,” Sam said, leaning forward slightly, “but we have reason to believe he’s planning something big, something that could destabilize more than just the Bureau. If you know anything—anything at all—it could help prevent a lot of bloodshed.”

There was a tense silence as Crowley and Rowena exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Rowena sighed, a gesture of reluctant agreement.

“Fine,” she said, her tone resigned but tinged with curiosity. “But if we do this, you’ll owe us. And believe me, we always collect.”

Crowley’s grin returned, and he leaned back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap. “We’ve heard whispers, nothing concrete, but enough to suggest Lucifer’s gathering allies. Not just within the syndicate, but from outside forces as well. He’s planning a strike against the Bureau, a way to cripple your operations and take control of the city’s underground.”

Sam’s expression darkened, and you felt a cold chill run down your spine. This was worse than you’d thought. Lucifer wasn’t just after revenge or power—he wanted to dismantle the very foundation of law and order.

“We need specifics,” Sam pressed, his voice hard. “Names, locations, anything you can give us.”

Crowley shrugged, a lazy gesture that belied the gravity of the situation. “We’re working on that. But we’ll keep you in the loop—provided you keep your end of the bargain.”

You nodded, knowing there was no other choice. “We’ll be in touch.”

With that, you all stood, the meeting concluded, but the weight of what you’d learned settling heavily on your shoulders. As you left the restaurant, you knew the road ahead would be treacherous, but with Jack now part of your team, you had another valuable ally in the fight against Lucifer.

You only hoped it would be enough.

The night was still, and the room was quiet, save for the distant hum of the city outside. The soft glow from the streetlights filtered through the blinds, casting gentle patterns on the walls. You were lying on the bed, your body relaxed against the cool sheets, but your mind was restless, thoughts spinning in a hundred different directions.

It had been a long day—too long, really. Everything was starting to blur together: the endless investigation, the shocking revelations, and the gnawing ache in your chest.

But then Dean was there, appearing in the doorway of the bedroom, his familiar silhouette a comforting sight. He didn’t say anything as he walked over, his expression soft, a small smile playing on his lips. The tension in your shoulders eased a little at the sight of him, and you found yourself smiling back, despite the weight on your heart.

“Hey,” he said quietly, his voice like a balm to your frazzled nerves.

“Hey,” you replied, shifting to make room for him on the bed.

He kicked off his boots and slid under the covers beside you, his warmth immediately seeping into your skin as he pulled you into his arms. You nestled closer to him, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and whiskey that clung to him, letting it ground you.

“It’s been a hell of a day,” you murmured, closing your eyes as you rested your head against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a comforting rhythm that you could almost sync your own breath to.

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice rumbling through his chest. “But it’s over now. Just you and me.”

His hand found its way to your back, tracing soothing circles against your spine, and you sighed contentedly, feeling the last of the day’s tension start to melt away. With Dean beside you, it was easy to forget the troubles that weighed so heavily on your mind. He had always had that effect on you—this uncanny ability to make everything else disappear, if only for a little while.

You tilted your head up to look at him, catching the way his green eyes sparkled in the dim light. They were always so full of life, so full of mischief and warmth, and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection for the man lying beside you.

“What?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth when he caught you staring.

“Nothing,” you said with a small smile, though your heart ached. “Just… I’m glad you’re here.”

Dean’s grin softened into something more tender, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.”

His lips moved down to your cheek, then to the corner of your mouth, and you sighed, tilting your face up to meet him. The kiss was soft, a gentle meeting of lips that was more about comfort than passion, but it still sent a shiver down your spine. You leaned into him, threading your fingers through his hair, losing yourself in the sensation of his mouth against yours.

His kisses grew a little more insistent, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. You let yourself sink into the moment, focusing on the warmth of his body, the feel of his hand on your face, the way his lips tasted of bourbon. It was so easy to forget everything else when you were wrapped up in him like this, his presence a balm to the turmoil in your mind.

But then something shifted. His grip on your face tightened, just a fraction too much, and the kiss grew harder, more forceful. You hesitated, a flicker of unease sparking in your chest, but Dean didn’t seem to notice. He kept kissing you, his mouth pressing insistently against yours, and you felt your heart start to race—not with excitement, but with something darker.

“Dean,” you mumbled against his lips, pulling back slightly, but his other hand came up to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low, but there was an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. “Just relax.”

But you couldn’t relax. There was something off, something wrong, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You tried to pull back again, but he wouldn’t let you, his grip on your neck tightening to the point of pain.

“Dean,” you tried again, your voice trembling now, but he didn’t respond, his eyes darkening as he looked down at you.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, his tone almost threatening, and your stomach twisted with fear. This wasn’t right. Dean wasn’t like this. He wouldn’t—he couldn’t—

But the hands on you weren’t Dean’s anymore. They were cold, clammy, and the grip was too strong, too cruel. You looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest, and what you saw made your blood run cold.

His eyes—those warm, green eyes you knew so well—were gone, replaced with something dark, something inhuman. His face twisted into a cruel smile, and your breath caught in your throat.

“No,” you whispered, trying to pull away, but he held you tight, his fingers digging painfully into your skin.

“Don’t be scared,” he crooned, his voice a horrible mockery of the man you loved. “It’ll all be over soon.”

You struggled against him, panic setting in as his grip tightened even more. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, your heart hammering in your chest as you fought to get away. But he was too strong, too powerful, and there was nothing you could do to stop him.

“Dean, please,” you begged, tears stinging your eyes, but he just laughed—a cold, heartless sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Sweetheart, it’s me,” he said, but the voice was wrong, distorted, like a cruel echo of the man you knew.

And then, without warning, he moved, his hand suddenly around your throat, squeezing tight. You gasped, clawing at his hand, trying to pry his fingers off, but it was no use. The pressure on your neck increased, and you could feel your airways closing, the panic turning into sheer terror.

“No!” you screamed, but it came out as a strangled gasp, your vision starting to blur around the edges as the world began to darken. “Please, Dean, don’t—”

But he wasn’t listening, his eyes dark and unfeeling as he squeezed harder, his smile widening as he watched you struggle. It felt like hours, an eternity of pain and terror, until finally—

You jerked awake, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps as you bolted upright in bed. The room was dark, the only sound the rapid thumping of your own heart in your ears. You reached up, clutching your throat, half-expecting to feel the crushing grip of Dean’s hand still there.

But there was nothing. Just your own skin, slick with cold sweat. The sheets were tangled around you, the pillow soaked with tears you hadn’t realized you’d shed.

You were alone. Dean wasn’t there. The realization hit you like a punch to the gut, and you doubled over, wrapping your arms around yourself as you struggled to calm down, to slow your racing heart.

It had been a dream—a nightmare. Just a nightmare. But it had felt so real, so vivid, that you could still feel the phantom pressure of Dean’s hands on your throat, could still hear his voice, twisted and wrong, echoing in your ears.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to banish the images from your mind, but they clung to you like a dark cloud, refusing to leave. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him again—his face twisted with cruelty, his eyes empty of the warmth you knew so well.

Your chest ached with a deep, hollow pain, the kind that felt like it would never go away. Dean had been your rock, your safe place, the one person you could always count on. And now… now you didn’t know what to believe. The man you loved was a stranger, and the thought of it made you feel like you were losing your mind.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, curled up in the darkness, before you finally found the strength to move. The clock on the bedside table told you it was still early, but you knew you wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight. Not with the images of that nightmare still fresh in your mind.

With a heavy sigh, you slid out of bed, your legs shaky as you stood. The room was cold, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you made your way to the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face in a futile attempt to wash away the lingering dread.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror, you barely recognized the person staring back at you. Your eyes were red and puffy, your skin pale and clammy, and there was a hollowness in your expression that made you look like a ghost.

You turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight, and made your way back to the bedroom. The bed was uninviting, the sheets still twisted and damp with sweat, so you grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around yourself, sinking into the armchair by the window instead.

You sat there for what felt like hours, staring out at the city beyond the glass, your mind a jumbled mess of fear, confusion, and heartache. You couldn’t stop thinking about Dean, about the way he had looked at you in that dream, about the things he had said.

Even though you knew it was just a nightmare, it still left you shaken to your core. Because deep down, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was some truth to it. If the Dean you knew, the man you loved, was really gone.

Or worse—if he had never existed in the first place.

TAGLIST:

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[miss-madness67]

Mistakes (Jack Kline)

The mistakes that brought you closer to him.

The first mistake you made was to accept working with the Winchester brothers. You should have never broken your habit of working alone. The second mistake you made was turning your back on that witch bitch. She sent your way a curse that was powerful enough to knock you off your feet. The third mistake you made was opening your eyes after you fainted. You should have known better than to believe the spell was purely physical. So when you stared up into the blue eyes of the Nephilim, you know you’re fucked, and you don’t care.

“God, you are beautiful.” You emphasize each word, your gaze remains locked, not caring about the rest of the world. Jack looks positively puzzled by your statement, but it is not him who speaks.

“You must’ve hit your head harder than we thought.” Dean’s voice comes from your right, and it’s only then that you realize you’re no longer in the witch’s hut where the battle went down. Instead, you’re back at the Winchesters’ motel room.

“What?” You wonder out loud, your eyes shifting to Dean for a second, before looking at Jack again. “It’s not my head hurting, but my heart.” Your following words are dramatic, “Jack, I’m sorry I didn’t notice before. You are the most beautiful Nephilim I have ever seen.” If heart eyes were a thing of reality, you’re pretty sure you would have them now.

“Thank you?” Says Jack, and although he put space between you to move further back, your grin doesn’t falter.

Sam murmurs your name softly, “are you sure you’re ok?” He inspects back and forth between you and Jack. Maybe it’s the way you’re staring at the Nephilim, or maybe the fact that a witch did throw a spell at you, realization quickly dawns on his face. “A love spell?” He chuckles, “I was worried about that bright red light she cast on you, but it’s just a love spell.”

For the first time since you woke up, you pay attention to Sam. “Love spell? What are you talking about?”

It’s the eldest brother who answers this time. “Right, the witch put a love curse on you and that’s why you’re looking at Jack as if you wanna take a bite out of him.” The smirk on his face is all too know-it-all as if he had solved the mystery by himself.

“Curse?” your voice is low, threatening, all directed at Dean. “You think my love for Jack is a curse?” You stand from the bed, being mindful of pushing Jack back gently. Fortunately for Dean, your gun is far away from your reach. “I might have met Jack just a handful of times, but my feelings for him have grown stronger by the second.” Your next words are for Jack, “There’s a part of me that has known you my whole life, Jack. Can’t you feel it too?”  Your smile is all too bright as you place a hand on the Nephilim’s chest, right above his heart.

As it turned out, your confession only further convinced the siblings that you had been hit with a love spell. They decided that the only answer was to kill the witch -who got away earlier- for the curse to lift. Of course, with your hazed thoughts, you were no use. So, to prevent you from doing anything reckless to stop them, they all agreed to leave you in the motel with Jack.

Leaving you alone with Jack was both a good and a bad idea. It prevented you from screwing up in the field, but it also gave you what -who- you desired most: Jack. “Don’t worry,” you tell him as you sit across from him on the small table. He has been tense ever since the brothers left. “Even if they kill the witch, my love for you will remain the same.” Jack smiles awkwardly across from you. “You don’t believe me?” You challenge.

“I- you don’t really know me.” He whispers softly, but still, there’s a blush on his cheeks that spurs you on.

“And I told you that doesn’t matter.” You grin at him. “I’ll prove it to you!” You stand up from your chair and walk his way with determination.

Instantly, he jumps from his chair. “Wow, what are you doing?”

You continue walking his way until his back collides with the wall. “I’m proving to you that our feelings are real.” You place your hands on his chest once again, the crazy beating of his heart brings a smile to your face. “If you didn’t feel at least something, I’m sure you would control yourself better.” Despite his lack of encouragement, Jack doesn’t push you away. “I mean, you’re Nephilim, you could overpower me easily.”

Jack seems to be considering his options, and for a moment, you believe that he might actually push you away. Instead, he grabs your hands to hold them in his. “I think you’re very attractive, and I would love to get to know you… but maybe we should wait until the witch is dead, don’t you think?”

Rationally, you should accept what Jack is suggesting. You should step away and give the boy some space. It’s safe to say that you’re not very rational right now. With an angelic grin adorning your face, you pull Jack by the hands and closer to you, your faces only inches away. He is too stunned to do anything when you close the distance between the two of you.

Your lips touch his experimentally, first. The contact is almost delicate, timid, and innocent. Nothing too passionate, unlike the words you uttered before. Perhaps you’re afraid he’ll run away. Once you’re sure that he won’t, your body relaxes. Your hands let go of his and travel all the way to the nape of his neck. The Nephilim’s hands fall by the sides of his body. He doesn’t know what to do with them. It is then that you start to move your mouth on his. Jack’s follows your rhythm insecurely, almost as if it were his first kiss. He sighs and doesn’t step away, your chests pressed together, molding perfectly. You melt into the feeling of him, but you don’t dare to push further. You want to eat him whole and more, just like Dean said. But Jack is too sweet for that, so you control yourself. What you have right now is too good to be true. It is definitely worth pretending you are hexed by a witch. The last mistake you made, was falling in love with Jack Kline for real.

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Ungod

Author: AmberXBoone

Artist: Rezal

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Castiel, Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden (past-mentioned), Castiel/Kelly Kline (past-mentioned), Sam Winchester/Eileen Leahy

Length: 40000

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply; Minor Character Death

Tags: Lawyer Dean Winchester; Priest Castiel; Explicit Sexual Content; Castiel is Jack Kline's Father; Religious Rebellion; Church Corruption; Alternative Universe; John & Mary are alive; Lawyer Sam Winchester; Sexual Content in public/semi-public places

Posting Date: November 6, 2023

Summary: Dean Winchester, Esq. never really wanted to be part of the family business. But, here he is, working at his father's NYC law firm, being told to represent some church whose head priest allegedly stole thousands of donated dollars from parishioners. One day, lost and confused, Dean wanders into the church confessional, finding solace in a faceless voice. Later that night, Dean wanders out of a bar with a lonely stranger - only to wake up and realize that the body that spent the night in his bed was the same shadowy figure behind the confessional screen. Dean soon learns that Father Castiel Novak knows all the church’s secrets and wants to expose Father Chuck Shurley and everyone else there – but after one of the nuns, Sister Isabella, is found dead after knowing too much, Castiel and Dean have to figure out how to lose this case for the church while making sure Castiel isn’t the next victim of the truth.

Excerpt: To the shadow on the other side of the hazy screen, Dean says, “Bless me father, for I have sinned.” There’s nothing but silence at first, but it’s followed by the sound of a body shifting on the other side of the divider, of breathing that’s unsure and unsteady. “Tell me—” Castiel’s voice is low, breaking as he speaks. Dean moves closer to the screen, pressing his fingers against it. “Last night, I was with someone I wasn’t supposed to be with. Or more like, someone who wasn’t supposed to be with me.” “And you feel—guilt because of this?” Castiel is still just an outline in the barely-there light. “Guilt?” Dean leans forward now, pressing his forehead into the screen. “No. I don’t know what I feel, but it isn’t guilt. Maybe regret.” “You regret being with this person?” Castiel’s shadow has grown closer now, and just the presence of his body reminds Dean of last night, of the way Castiel was all over him. “No.” Dean can feel Castiel’s fingertips press against his own, through aluminum mesh that separates them. “I regret that I’m not someone else. I regret that he left because of who I am. Because he found how who I am.” “Why?” Castiel sighs against the screen, and Dean closes his eyes, remembers the way it felt when Castiel exhaled into his mouth last night, the way it felt when Castiel kissed him. Dean isn’t sure how to answer that question. He isn’t sure he really wants to admit to last night being something different, something more than what he was used to lately. “I just wanted him to stay—or come back—I don’t know.” Castiel leans into the mesh, fingers still running along Dean’s. “I panicked. I realized who you are—and I didn’t know what to do, or what to say. I told you that you didn’t do anything wrong.” “I mean, I did, right? At least, you believe we did something wrong? You ran out on me.” Dean doesn’t even know what he’s saying. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing any of this. But, right now, he can’t bring himself to care. “No. Nothing you did was wrong. You were—perfect.” Castiel’s words trail off. “And I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I walked out of your apartment.” Dean knows that’s a lie. No one has ever told him he’s perfect. Maybe his mother, once or twice. “Did you make up all that stuff about having a kid? About it being his birthday? Didn’t you take a vow of celibacy, or whatever it’s called?” “No, that was the truth. I have a son. You aren’t my first indiscretion,” Castiel says. “That’s all I am.” Dean backs up in the darkness, further from Castiel. So many times, he’s been the drunken lapse in judgment, the starting point of a long walk of shame. But he’s never felt like a sin until now.

DCBB 2023 Posting Schedule

[jellybracelet]

Jack Kline is, for all intents and purposes, a grown-up, and he can fuck!

[ladylilithprime]

Where Many Paths And Errands Meet

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Preslash Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Selkie Jack Kline, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Ableist Language (Lucas Novak), Misogynistic Language (also Lucas Novak), Dragon Kevin Tran, Faerie Princess Mary Winchester, Faerie Bargains

Summary: John Castiel and James Constantine Novak were twins. This was not always the case, and this point of contention caused some resentment and ill-feeling on the part of their less supportive family members. When their least supportive uncle drunkenly suggested finding a faerie to turn them back into one boy so they'd only be half the disappointment, Cas and Jimmy decided that, for their own aafety and continued survival, they needed to find a faerie first. This was easier said than done.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 11: Quest

Read on AO3

-Chapter One-

THE GLOW FROM the dashboard illuminated the sleeping face of John Castiel Novak, casting the exhausted shadows under his eyes in stark relief. Beside him in the driver's seat, James Constantine Novak tried to avoid shooting worried looks in his brother's direction too often given the need to keep his eyes on the road when he wasn't checking the printout for directions. Neither of them had been able to sleep much the last few days, what with the scratchy sheets and overwhelming levels of unfamiliar noises at every motel they could afford. Jimmy was slightly better off, finding it easier to drop off to sleep in the moving car than Cas could, but it seemed exhaustion had finally won out above overstimulation.

It had been three years since graduating college with their respective Bachelor's degrees, Jimmy's in Communications and Cas's in Technical Writing. Degrees in hand, they had had to face the reality of limited jobs for those fields, which stuck them mostly working retail and food service for as long as they could stand. None of those jobs lasted very long, as people tended to be people no matter what and customers ran the spectrum of "polite and appreciative" to "bitchy Karen finding fault with everything". For every kind and understanding manager they had who was willing to work with their necessary accommodations due to their autism, there was always at least one bigoted, ableist asshole who was just looking for an excuse to toss the "retarded deadweight" to the curb.

Three months ago, their uncle, Lucas Novak, got drunk enough to mouth off at Thanksgiving dinner about "finding one of those fairies running around and getting them to zap those two defective idiots back into one so they'll stop being twice the disappointment." Their mother, Charlene, had immediately snapped at him to watch his mouth, which caused Lucas to tell her to shut her mouth since "it's your damn fault there's two of 'em in the first place, you superstitious cunt!" That proved too much for Michael Novak, who might well have agreed with his brother up until the insult to his wife, and he had punched Uncle Lucas while Jimmy had grabbed a nonverbal Cas and pulled him out of the dining room and up to the attic loft where they couldn't hear the full force of the brawling and shouting that became of dinner. Safe in the attic, the twins had huddled under the soft blanket that was too threadbare and worn to be kept in the main part of the house and clung to each other. When things calmed down enough after their father kicked Uncle Lucas out, their mother had come up to check on them.

"Could a faerie do that to us?" Jimmy had asked in a small voice, saying the words both he and Cas were thinking. "Just... zap us back into one?"

"I don't know, baby," Charlene had whispered, forgetting for the moment that her boys were technically fully grown adults in her need to comfort them. "All the stories I was ever told say faeries have great power. I don't know if it would be stronger than the power of the angel who gave you both to me."

Later that night, in the dark of their room, Cas had whispered to Jimmy, "Maybe we should find a faerie first, before Uncle Lucas can."

Three weeks ago, after quitting their latest shitty jobs at the Gas'n'Sip, Jimmy and Cas had bought a cheap Lincoln Continental off the local lemon lot, packed a week's worth of clothes and toiletries that were the least offensive to their sensory issues within their limited budget, and hit the road. The twins had spent hours every day getting in touch with as many of their old college friends with magical heritage as they had working numbers and then waiting as those friends played telephone with other friends and family members around the country and finally Kevin Tran, one of their former dormmates who had been reasonably close to them, had come through with a solid lead.

"My girlfriend Channing had an Introduction to Magical History course at the College of William and Mary," he told them. "She was mostly just sitting in to see how wrong the human professor would get everything, but the guy brought in a guest lecturer he introduced as 'Dr Cerise Prince' who admitted to being a faerie. She's probably not still there, but the professor, Asa Fox, would probably know how to contact her."

Mr Fox had not known how to contact Dr Prince, which he ruefully admitted probably wasn't even close to her real name.

"Faeries that old would have a few dozen aliases and nicknames, and they don't ever give out their true names to anybody," he told them apologetically. "Not even the university board knows how to contact her directly, just a series of relay numbers for leaving messages which she'll check and get back to eventually. They're also bound under oath not to hand out any of those numbers, even more strictly than the usual privacy protections. I'm sorry."

They had still asked, going to as many board and faculty members as would give them appointments, and getting the same answer each time until the textile arts professor overheard them as they left the latest disappointment and gave them a card.

"Kate Summers is probably your best bet for finding Dr Prince," she told them. "If not Dr Prince herself, then at least a suitably knowledgeable member of her family. Whatever it is you're looking for in her, if you can convince Kate, she'll help you."

The drive was only about two hours, but Ms Summers was apparently out of town for a convention and her husband wasn't keen to tell them anything. It was pure chance that the phone rang while Jimmy and Cas were there and, five minutes later, Jimmy was handed the phone to talk to Ms Summers herself.

"Why are you looking for Dr Prince?" she asked sharply.

"It's personal," Jimmy admitted. "My brother and I have a problem, a question, that only a powerful faerie can help with."

She was silent for a long moment, and then she sighed. "I can't tell you how to find Mary. She's not even in the mortal realms this month. However, if you swear on your life that you are not a hunter... I know someone who can help you."

Jimmy swore readily, and Cas echoed him, and Ms Summers told them to give the phone back to her husband. An hour later and a repeat of their oaths with specific wording under the watchful eye of Ms Summers's husband, and they had the printed out directions to a cafe on Seven Mile Island in New Jersey. Despite their exhaustion and painfully dwindling funds, Jimmy and Cas piled back into the Lincoln and turned its nose northwards again. Traveling in February meant the sun went down well before the cafe hours hastily scribbled on the directions indicated closing time, leaving Jimmy to drive them through the gloom while Cas attempted to sleep.

Jimmy didn't really want to wake him if he didn't have to, at least not until they were closer to their destination. It wasn't just the shitty motel rooms that disturbed his brother's rest night after night. The same fear that haunted Jimmy dogged Cas as well: that their uncle's drunken vitriol would bear out action. Not from their mother, never her - Charlene was sharp and vicious in putting a stop to any and all talk of changelings and magical children - but the twins knew their father's displeasure at suddenly finding two young and picky mouths to feed where before there had been just one and neither of them was "normal". The fear that any one of their father's side of the family might just decide that one "freak son" was enough. That they could be changed again, against their will, because they were too disappointing, too much trouble, too weird for the people who were blood kin to them but barely counted as family.

The pervasive, niggling doubt in the back of each of their minds that the other one was the real child and they were the magically created mirror, created with a snap and just as easily unmade.

The sign for Lighthouse CommodiTeas was so small that Jimmy almost missed it. Just a plain, weathered, whitewashed wooden sign with black lettering, illuminated by two strategically placed fluorescent lights designed to look like old-fashioned lanterns. The cafe itself was tucked into a strip of shops, sandwiched between a smoke shop and a hair salon. There was one parking space available in front of the strip on the far side of the hair salon nearly in front of the tattoo parlor on its other side, and Jimmy tried not to feel self-conscious about turning directly into that empty parking spot.

Cas was grumpy when Jimmy gently shook him awake, but climbed out of the car without protest, stretching while Jimmy got out and locked the car and then claiming Jimmy's left hand. His thumb went immediately to the silver ring on Jimmy's thumb, a gift from Kevin to Cas for use as a stimming device with its two raised Asian dragons chasing each other around the free-spinning circle of metal. Cas couldn't bear to wear rings or have anything constricting on his hands below his wrists, so Jimmy wore it for him and it was a familiar ritual now for Cas to hold Jimmy's hand to have access to the ring as much as to hold his hand, and they had long since resigned themselves to drawing odd looks from strangers over the two of them holding hands and other such "girly" behavior if it meant they could anchor themselves and each other.

They did draw attention entering the cafe, the jingling chimes attached to the door drawing several eyes their way. Most of them promptly looked away again to attend to their own business, but the willowy redhead standing behind the counter in a dark blue apron called out a cheerful greeting. Her coworker, a tall man with chestnut brown hair that fell several inches past his shoulders, was busy mixing a complicated-looking drink and didn't bother even glancing up. Jimmy got the impression that they weren't being ignored at all, though, a weighted feeling of attention settling on them. His grip on Cas's hand tightened nervously.

"Large Hellfire Mocha with a drop of demon blood!" the man called out as he set the cup on the counter. One of the customers lounging in an armchair rolled to his feet and picked up the mug, saluting the man with a sardonic little smirk.

"Ta, Moose," he said, taking a sip and licking his lips obnoxiously. "Always glad t'know you're putting my produce to good use."

"Always glad to make a nuisance of yourself, you mean," the barista retorted with a roll of his eyes that was almost belied by a fond sort of smile. "See you for next month's delivery, Crowley."

Jimmy and Cas stepped sideways out of the path of the door and further into the cafe as the man-shaped being of suddenly questionable origin called Crowley sauntered out, leaving a scent of sulfur in his wake that made Jimmy's nose twitch with the desire to sneeze. With both baristas' attention on them now, the twins exchanged glances and then shuffled forward towards the register.

"Welcome to Lighthouse CommodiTeas," the redhead said cheerfully as they approached. "Our special today is our Dragon's Breath Chai, a Lapsang Souchong tea base with almond and dragon's milk and a blend of six aromatic spices."

Two taps from Castiel's thumb against his prompted Jimmy to say, "That sounds interesting, we'll try it."

"One or two, and what size?"

Another single tap, a pause, two taps. "Just one, please, medium."

The redhead gave him a narrow look that Jimmy wasn't sure how to interpret. It wasn't the same sort of "why are you so weird" look that he and Cas had gotten used to receiving, but he couldn't help feeling judged for some reason he couldn't parse. Still, she rang up the order, and then turned to look directly at Cas and said, "And for you, sir?"

Oh.

"That is for both of us, ma'am," Jimmy said with an awkward smile, fighting back a wince as the grip Cas had on his hand tightened sharply and he pressed closer to Jimmy's side. "We both have sensory issues that fortunately don't overlap much. We know we like chai, but goat milk is unfamiliar. If one of us can't manage it, the other usually can, reducing the chance that the drink might go to waste, and if we both like it then we'll know for the future."

"Do you always speak for your friend?" the barista asked with a sharper tone. Cas practically plastered himself to Jimmy's side. Jimmy's smile got even more stiff.

"When he's nonverbal and someone is being pushy about eye contact, it is absolutely my job to protect my brother," he said, forcibly holding himself back from matching her tone. It still came out sharper than he meant, and he saw her jerk back as if he had slapped her. He braced himself, gripping Cas's hand.

"Charlie," the other barista broke in, surprisingly gentle. "Ease up. Not everyone who speaks for others is doing it to be controlling."

"He didn't even check, boss!" the redhead, Charlie, protested.

"They're holding hands," her boss said patiently. "If it was me and Dean, we would have a system of communication set up between us that wouldn't be intelligible to anyone else. Do, actually. You've seen us in action."

"Yeah, well, you two are you two," Charlie grumbled, which must have made some sort of sense because the man laughed.

"We also aren't unique," he pointed out. Then he turned his gaze thoughtfully towards Jimmy, absently reaching up to tuck his hair behind his...

...pointed ear.

"We're used to people making assumptions about us," Jimmy found himself saying, more on autopilot than anything, mind racing. "Might be the first time someone's assumed I was his controlling boyfriend, though."

"Sorry," Charlie said, ducking her head. "I know I shouldn't assume, I just... had some bad experiences with people."

"We've worked retail," Jimmy said dryly. "We get it. How much for the Dragon's Breath Chai?"

"Six dollars," Charlie said, and seemed to visibly shake herself. "Anything else for you?"

"Kate Summers sent us," Cas whispered, fiddling with the ring with very slow, deliberate movements as he pulled the words up and forced them out into the sudden stillness. "She said you could help."

Charlie's mouth formed an O of surprise below her now very wide eyes. Jimmy gave Cas's hand a reassuring squeeze and tried to pretend that he wasn't keenly aware of the other six customers in the cafe, all of whom were pretending a little too hard not to listen in. The faerie didn't even blink, merely continued to study them both.

"Go have a seat at the corner table," he said at length. "I'll bring your drink out to you and we can talk."

Jimmy wordlessly dug his wallet out of his back pocket and fished a five and a one out of it one-handed. Charlie took the bills from him and tucked them into the register, then handed him back the receipt by what Jimmy suspected was rote muscle memory. The faerie, who apparently had a brother called "Dean" but whose name or even alias Jimmy still didn't know, stepped back to the line and began doing strange things with cups and pitchers and powders that would no doubt turn into a fantastic drink in the very literal sense without another word.

Cas gave a slight tug on Jimmy's hand and they moved over to the vacant table in the far corner that was more of a diner booth with plush padded seats. They slid into one side of the booth side by side, Cas moving in first and down to give Jimmy room to get settled before immediately plastering himself to Jimmy's side again. Jimmy shifted and shuffled until his brother was tucked under the curve of his arm, then tilted his head back and tried to just breathe.

They had found a faerie. What's more, he was willing to hear them out. Now all they could do was hope he would be willing to help them.

Read Chapter Two on AO3

[spn-mediabigbang]

One Night at Freddy’s || Teen and Up || 28115 Author: Trenchcoat_Paradigm (@GeekSheek89) Artist: PetraAmia (@deancodedcastielenby)

“Welcome to Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. A magical place for kids and grown-ups alike, where fantasy and fun come to life!”

Freddy’s Fazbear Pizzeria has been entertaining families for generations. But behind the bright colours and mountains of cheese, something more sinister hides.

Normally, a missing kid case isn’t something the Winchesters would even look into, but a total of 4 children have all mysteriously vanished with the only connection being this restaurant. A restaurant owned by a franchise that is steeped in strange circumstances dating back decades. It wouldn’t hurt the boys to at least check it out. After all, what’s the worst that could happen at a restaurant that has a giant bear singing teddy bear as its mascot?

A singing teddy bear mascot that Jack has suddenly become incredibly attached to.

When the youngest member of Team Free Will goes missing, the boys spring into action. Traversing down that rabbit hole and hoping they find the kid before it’s too late.

Source Material: Five Nights at Freddy’s

Link to fic Link to art

Pairings: None

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Tags: Case Fic, Team Free Will 2.0, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, The Missing Children Incident, Possessed Animatronics, Killer Animatronics, POV Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline’s Parents

[the-flaming-nightmare]

Seven Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tag @anewkindofme! The snippet you gave for the next chapter of "The Little Monkey" was super freaking cute, and I'm so pysched for the full chapter! 🧡❤

I've been working on Regressuary in advance, and today I started working on day 9, so here's a snippet from that:

Sam made his way down to the hospital's emergency center. He'd been paged to reset the ankle of a Little who supposedly broke it from a nasty fall he took running around in the house. He hated having to reset broken bones on Littles. To see their innocent little faces contort with fear when he brought the needle out to numb them, never failed to break his heart in two. It was just another aspect of the job, though. He just had to suck up his feelings and get it done.

As the doctor drew closer to the closed curtain hanging from the ceiling that shielded his patient from prying eyes, he slowed his pace when he heard the conversation happening from behind it.

"What did I tell you about this, Jack?"

"Uh... um, th-that m'too old for baby things l-like lovies, stuffies and blankies."

"Stuffed animals and blankets, Jack."

"R-right. Stuffed animals and blankets. Sorry, Mr. Alter."

Stopping just a couple feet away from the curtain, Sam's brows furrowed in a mixture of unease and confusion as he listened.

That... wasn't a normal conversation between a Caregiver and Little. Like, at all.

Deciding to file that away for later, the doctor smoothed out his features into a casual smile. He grabbed the curtain and pulled it aside, revealing the two occupants. A little boy with short sandy blond hair sat on the examination bed with his legs hanging over the side, still dressed in his pajamas, ankle visible and bruised all to Hell. Standing next to him was a stern looking man just a couple inches shorter than Sam with short dark hair, brown eyes and a beard.

"Hello! I'm Dr. Winchester. I assume you're the Caregiver?" Sam asked, directing the question to the other man.

"Foster Caregiver. Michael Alter," he responded, reaching out and shaking the doctor's hand. "And this is Jack. Introduce yourself, Jack."

Jack met Sam's gaze with a timid smile. "Hi, Dr. Winchester. My name is Jack Kline."

"Hi there, Jack. It's very nice to meet you. Though, I am sorry it's only because you're hurt."

Jack shrugged. "It's okay. It's all my fault, anyway."

Sam just barely managed to keep the smile on his face. Something about the boy's response made that uneasy feeling in his gut heighten.

"Well, I'm sure it was just an accident, peanut. Accidents happen all the time. Right, Mr. Alter?" Sam looked over at the man with an expectant look.

Mr. Alter gave a tight smile. "Yes. Although, maybe next time we'll listen to the grown-up in charge when they tell you not to do something. Hm, Jack?"

A flinch. It was barely noticeable, but being a doctor for almost two decades, meant developing a keen eye when speaking and looking over patients. Maybe Sam was being overanalytical, but he didn't think so. There was just something about this guy and the dynamic he had with this kid that didn't feel quite right.

If y'all wanna do it too, I tag @angelique-of-the-volturi-guard and @thegoeticcleric

[caranfindel]

Fic: Meet you up there where the path runs straight and high

gen-ish but wincest-compliant | about 7000 words | pg for language | characters: sam winchester, dean winchester, bobby singer, jessica moore, jack kline | synopsis: this is sam, learning how heaven works

Also on AO3. Written for Now It's Perfect 2022 -go read the whole collection!

With beautiful art by Amberdreams

Title from Going to California by Led Zeppelin.

.

1: This is Heaven

.

They’re standing on a bridge and it’s real, everything is real, not little boxes of memories but his real brother, and it’s all a little too much for Sam to take in. He can’t keep looking at Dean. It’s like staring into the sun. He looks away, looks at trees and sky instead, and the Impala, Christ, even the Impala is here. But of course she is. It wouldn’t be Dean’s Heaven without her.

When he turns back, Dean is still smiling, practically radiating joy, but then his eyes narrow and his smile falters.

“What?” Sam asks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just… I thought you’d last longer than this.”

“Longer than what?”

“Come on, man. I’ve been here for, like, an afternoon. Did you even have time to torch my corpse?”

“What? An afternoon? Dean, you’ve been gone…” So long. Sam can’t even say it, can’t think of the years, the decades that have passed since he last saw his brother. He clears his throat. “A long time, man. You’ve been gone a long time.”

“Couldn’t have been that long,” Dean says. “Look at you. It hasn’t even been a year, has it?”

Sam looks down at his steady hands, free of wrinkles and age spots. “Oh.”

“Seriously. How much time did you have, after me? What took you out?” Dean suddenly looks stricken. “You didn’t… I mean, I knew you’d be messed up, but I didn’t think…”

It takes Sam a moment to catch on. “No! No. I mean, there were times I wanted to, but no. I kept going. I stopped hunting, and I just…” He laughs. “Jesus, Dean, I don’t know why I look young. I got old. I got married and I had a kid and I got old.”

Dean’s face is alight with joy again. “You’ve got a wife? And a kid?”

“Well, the wife, ah, that wasn’t, that didn’t last very long. But the kid. He’s amazing. Not a kid any more, though. All grown up, and smart, and funny, and kind…”

But it’s so wrong. Dean died and Sam lived, lived an entire life without his brother’s physical presence in it, and it’s wrong to take pleasure in his life, in the child that he never would have had if his brother hadn’t died. And Dean needs to understand. He needs to know how much he still mattered.

“I didn’t just run off and start enjoying life, you know. It took a long time. But I finally realized that it wasn’t fair to you, and to everyone we lost, to waste the life I had. I had to go out and start living it.”

Dean puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “Stop it, Sam. Stop apologizing for living. I hoped that’s what you would do. You think you should have spent the rest of your life moping around, mourning me? You think that’s what I wanted? That ain’t the life I would have picked out for you.” He grins. “Now get in the car and tell me about this kid of yours. Smart and funny? Takes after his dad and his Uncle Dean.”

They drive. It’s almost overwhelming after so many years. The old car, his old (young) body, the sight and sound of his brother in the driver’s seat… these should all be unfamiliar, but they’re immediately comfortable. This is where he should be.

As he drives, Dean explains that Jack fixed Heaven for everyone. It’s not tiny cells full of memories any more, and Sam finds that almost too much to think about right now. Sam tells Dean about DJ — Dean Jonathan, because his other grandfather’s name was John too, and how weird is that — and about his marriage.

“It started as, well, I guess you’d call it friends with benefits. When we found out she was pregnant we got married so she could be on my health insurance.”

“Because you were the one with a real job and health insurance?” Dean says, slightly incredulous.

“Yeah, I know. Who would have thought?” Sam laughs. “I thought we might actually make it, at first. We might be that rom-com couple who gets fake married and then falls in love. And then one day she said I know you love me as much as you can, and I was willing to accept that until I saw how much you loved our son, and I realized I deserve that too, and I’m afraid I’ll resent you if I don’t go after it.”

“Damn.”

Sam glances down at his ring finger, now bare. He’d kept wearing his ring after the divorce, partly because it helped keep women away and partly because it reminded him of his son, reminded him that he had someone he needed to stay alive for. It was a reminder he still needed, occasionally, in the years after Dean’s death. “No, no, she was right. I didn’t… I couldn’t… anyway. It wasn’t her, it was me. She was loveable. I just didn’t have it in me any more, I guess. She deserved better.”

“Deserved better,” Dean huffs skeptically. “She find it?”

“I think so. I hope so. She did get married again. He was a good guy, a good stepfather. He died a few years before I did.” And that’s weird, too, thinking about his own death in the past tense. It shouldn’t be so unfamiliar. After Cold Oak he’d often thought about his life in terms of before I died and after I died. Then it was before the cage and after the cage, until all of that was eclipsed by before Dean died and after Dean died.

Sam shakes his head. This is a train of thought he doesn’t need to follow. Dean is sitting next to him, smiling in the warm sunlight, and that’s what matters.

“A good guy?” Dean says. “Maybe we’ll go visit him someday.”

If that’s possible, it confirms that everything Sam thought he knew about Heaven, the individual Heavens Ash told them about, was wrong.

“You can really do that? Anyone can go to anyone’s Heaven? How does that even work?”

Dean grins. “I haven’t really figured it out yet. All I know is, everything’s different now. I’m gonna take you to Bobby Singer himself and let him explain it.”

.

2: This is how Heaven works, according to Bobby

.

"You think about someone you want to see," Bobby says, "and you just start moving. Walk, drive, swim, whatever. And before too long, you find 'em."

"Anyone?" says Dean. "You mean, I could think about Miss October and just start driving and end up at her house?"

"Hell if I know. I didn't go looking for anyone." Bobby turns to smile at Karen. "I found who I wanted to find and then I stopped." He found Karen, all right. Waiting for him in the clean and cozy version of their old house. There are no dusty books on demons and monsters, no sigils carved into the lintels or devil’s trap painted on the ceiling. It’s like a funhouse mirror version of Bobby’s place, familiar but not.

"Okay, but does it have to be a person?” Dean asks. “What about a place? Like, remember that diner in Tucumcari, Sam? With the pie?"

"Why are you just now learning how this works?" Sam asks. "It's been forty years. I can't believe you've been here forty years and you haven't seen Mom and Dad yet."

Dean rolls his eyes, exasperated. "I told you, I got here, I went for a drive, and then you showed up. It was like, a few hours, tops. Honestly, you were here so fast, I was afraid the goddamn vampires got you right after they got me."

Sam looks to Bobby, who shrugs. "Felt like longer to me, but time's weird up here."

~ ~ ~

They visit Mom and Dad, who are young, and then aren't. Even when their parents look like their older selves, they seem lighter somehow, like they're just setting out and haven't lived through years of separation and trauma.

When they get back in the Impala, Sam says "That was weird."

"But good," Dean says.

"Yes, good. But weird. They were more like when they first got married. You know, when we went back in time and tried to convince Mom not to have us. They were like that John and Mary."

"Holy crap," Dean laughs, "our lives are weird.”

“Our lives were weird,” Sam says. “We don't really have lives any more, do we? What do we call this? The afterlife?"

Dean shrugs. "Whatever we wanna call it, I guess. Anyway, I think it's time to find that diner in Tucumcari now."

"How can you even remember a specific diner?"

"Oh, you'd remember a diner if they had the best salad you'd ever had, or the best organic goat cheese, or whatever."

Maybe. Maybe not. Sam's got more memories to sift through than Dean does. An extra forty years' worth.

(An extra forty years on earth plus a millennia in Hell. They don't really talk about that part. Dean asks, once, do you still remember... everything? Sam says I do, but it doesn't bother me; it's almost like it happened to someone else, or I saw it in a movie. Dean nods and says yeah, me too. They don't talk about it again. But all of Sam's bad memories — not just lifetimes of torture in Hell, but topside too, everyone he loved dying and dying and dying — they're all still there. They just don't hurt any more.)

They explore. They find the diner in Tucumcari, and pie served by a strawberry blonde waitress in her fifties. Dean flirts with her relentlessly. It’s not until they’re finishing their pie that Sam realizes half the people in the diner are good looking men, and they’re all flirting with the waitress. Is she a memory or a prop in their Heaven? Or are they part of hers?

But Dean was right, the pie is amazing. Sam points that probably all the pie in Heaven is amazing. Dean takes this as a challenge and insists they search for more memorable pies. So far, the only complaint he has about Heaven is that this version of Karen Singer isn't a pie-baking machine like zombie Karen was.

They find more memorable pies, and burgers, and the coldest beer in the lower 48 states. They find lost friends too. Sometimes they go together. Sometimes they go separately. Sam's careful to only look for people who would likely want to see him again. He wonders if Lisa is here, and if Cas's memory wipe still works in Heaven. He doesn't ask, and Dean doesn't offer. And Dean doesn't ask who Sam's looking for when he wanders off on his own, but always seems a little relieved when he comes back. They don't talk about it.

.

3: This is how Heaven works, according to Dean

.

Okay, so once, Dean does talk about it.

They visit the Grand Canyon. It takes a few days to get there — whatever “days” are in Heaven — but Dean insists on driving for hours, even though it’s not necessary. “The journey is as important as the destination,” he says. And there’s always a good song on the radio, a shady spot to pull off the road when they need a nap, a cold beer in the cooler, and a taco truck parked at a scenic turnoff when they get hungry. So. It’s good.

The sun is just beginning to set when they finally reach the canyon. They sit on the hood of the Impala and quietly watch the sky fade from brilliant orange to deep purple. As always, the beer stays cold and there are fireflies but no mosquitos.

Dean is the one who eventually breaks the silence.

“You know, I did try to visit Miss October.”

Sam knows exactly who he’s talking about. They’d found the magazine in their crappy trailer when Dean was 13 or 14. Miss October had smooth tan skin, dark hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, and those soft brown eyes like Cassie and Lisa and oh, wait. Was Miss October a favorite because Dean already had a type? Or was Miss October the reason Dean had a type? That’s an interesting question, but Sam decides not to pursue it right now. He’s got plenty of time.

“Try?” he asks. “Meaning it didn’t work?”

“Kind of, but not really. I mean, I ended up in that trailer, you know, where we were living when I found that magazine. So I got into the memory, but I didn’t ever make it to her personally. It could be that I just didn’t remember her right, but I don’t think that’s it.”

“It does seem unlikely,” Sam laughs. “You spent a lot of time with her, as I recall.”

“Shut up.” Dean shifts uncomfortably. “What I’m thinking is, it shows you can’t just visit anybody. It has to be someone you know, and someone who’s willing to see you. Which is good, because it would mean not everybody could just pop in and see us. It’s like Jack’s new system keeps them away if we wouldn’t put out the welcome mat for them.”

That’s actually a relief. “I guess that explains why Grandpa Campbell hasn’t come to see us,” Sam says.

Dean laughs. “Oh, Jesus. That would be awkward. Or Roy and Walt. I can’t believe we forgave those assholes. Or shit, what about Nick?”

“Nick? You think that guy’s in Heaven?”

“With any luck, we’ll never know. Oh, hey, what about your first wife, Becky?”

“Dude. Becky was not nearly as bad as Samuel or Roy or Walt.”

“But do you want to see her?”

“Absolutely not.”

They’re quiet for a while. Sam tries not to make a list of the people who wouldn’t welcome him into their Heaven. Or the people he wouldn’t invite into his.

Again, Dean is the one who speaks. "You seen her yet?" he asks. He keeps his gaze focused on the stars above them and not on Sam.

"Her who?"

"You know who."

Yes, Sam knows. And yes, he's thought about it, thought about walking into Jessica's Heaven, thought about how she'd react. Would she gasp in horror? Would she look at him, cold and distant, say my version of Heaven doesn't include Sam Winchester, and turn away?

"I don't know if she'd want to see me."

"Of course she'd want to see you."

"Even though I killed her?"

Now Dean turns to look at him. "The fuck? You didn’t kill her."

"She died because of me. She was murdered because I loved her."

"But that doesn't mean —"

"It does, Dean. It means exactly that. She was 22 years old and she should have had her entire life ahead of her and she died because of me."

Dean turns back to the stars and finishes his beer before speaking again.

"You know, when Cas broke your wall, the one keeping Hell out of your head… you remember why he did that? Because he wanted to distract me. We were trying to stop him from opening Purgatory, and he wanted to keep me occupied. Do you blame me for that?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, it's the same thing."

"It's not."

"It is, man. Look. You and I are responsible for a lot of fucked-up things —"

Sam laughs. "If that isn't the most Winchester pep talk ever."

"Shut up. You know what I mean. Yes, some bad things happened because of shit we did. But Jessica's death is not one of them. That's on demons, and — and fucking Chuck. Not you." It's the first time either of them has said Chuck's name in Heaven. Dean says it like he's spitting something foul out of his mouth.

"But what if she doesn't think so? What if I go find her and she blames me anyway?"

Dean shrugs up at the stars. "If I’m right, you can’t find her if she doesn’t want to be found.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“Then you would have a chance to tell her you're sorry."

.

4: This is how Heaven works, according to Jessica

.

Sam doesn't do it that day, or the next. But eventually he stands on the porch of the house he shares with Dean, watching a cloud of butterflies dance in the midday sun, and something deep inside says it's time. He holds her in his mind, blonde curls and blue eyes, brilliant smile and infectious laugh, smart and feisty and passionate, and he starts walking.

He might never make it to her. He might simply walk into a memory instead; Heaven’s way of letting him know he’s not on the VIP list.

The wooded path behind their little house usually goes up into the mountains, but now it starts to slope downhill after he's walked for a few minutes. After a few more minutes the trees thin out and Sam emerges onto a wide expanse of beach. He recognizes the lone structure on the shore almost immediately — it's the beach house Jess's parents used to rent every summer. He stayed with them there for a week once. It would be their last summer together, although neither of them knew it at the time. The actual house was one of a string of beachfront homes, but this version of it sits alone on hundreds of yards of sun-warmed sand. He can see a family playing in the surf just a few yards past the house. A man, a woman, and a slender teenage girl. When Sam steps out of the trees the girl looks up, sweeps her wet hair out of her eyes, and runs toward him.

She's so young. Twelve or thirteen, maybe, with shorter hair and more freckles. As she gets closer her hair grows longer, her face matures, and she gets taller. By the time she reaches him she is the same tall, golden girl he barely kissed goodbye in Palo Alto.

"Hey, Sam."

Sam's throat is too dry to speak. He stands there blinking at her until she finally says "come here, you." Then he closes the few steps between them and wraps her in his arms. She puts her arms around him, settles her cheek into his shoulder, and sighs.

They stand that way for a long time, but eventually Sam pulls back. Jessica clasps his hands as if she needs to stop him from leaving. “No,” he says. “I just want to get a look at you. You’re so beautiful.” She smiles at him, glowing in the late afternoon sunlight, and pulls him in for a kiss.

There’s a fallen log on the beach that’s just the right size (of course it is… at some point Sam will get used to everything in Heaven being just right) and they sit on it, still holding hands. A strand of hair drifts into Jessica’s face, and Sam reaches out to tuck it behind her ear. She smiles up at him the way she always did, like she’s been sealed in amber, unchanged for decades. But no, she was different when he first saw her playing in the water.

“You looked so young when I first got here,” he says. “Like a teenager.”

Jess shrugs and gazes out at her parents still splashing just off the shore. They look young, too. Too young to be the parents of a college student. Young enough to be the parents of a beautiful, free-spirited teenager who hasn’t yet left home to meet the man who will cause her death.

"I think in Heaven, you're the age you need to be. Or the age you want to be, I guess, depending on the circumstances. I mean, when I’m here with my parents, I'm almost always thirteen years old. That was a really good time for me and my family. But sometimes I'm younger. And then sometimes I visit friends, or places I knew in college, and I'm older. You're the same way, even if you don't feel it happening. Right now you look exactly like you did the last time I saw you." She reaches up to touch his face. "But when you first got here, you looked older. Maybe in your thirties? Is that how old you were when…?"

"When I died? No." But it's halfway true. Part of him died, and part of him had to carry on. Sam runs a hand through his hair, ruffling the bangs that cover his forehead the way they haven’t in decades. The scar on his palm (stone number one, make me your stone number one) is missing. "I actually… dammit, Jess. I lived a long time. I had a child. I got old. I had everything you should have had. I'd trade it all if I could. I'd give you that life instead of me, if there was a way. I'm so sorry."

She puts a gentle hand on his arm. "It's not your fault, Sam."

"Yes it is. You don't understand, you don't know what happened."

"I do, actually. Well. Some of it. Brady's been here."

Oh, fuck, Brady. Sam hasn’t really allowed himself to think about Brady the person. His fury at the demon who possessed Brady, who used his body to kill Jessica, completely blinded him to the trauma his friend endured. Was he alive when the demon he was housing set Jess alight? When Sam shoved the demon knife between his ribs? Did he feel it? Did he know?

"What did he tell you?"

"He didn't know everything, but you know he wasn't really himself at the end, right?"

"So he told you about…?"

"About demons.”

"Oh, God, Jess. I'm so sorry. I didn't know. I never would have ever spoken the first word to you if I'd known I was putting you in harm's way. I went to Stanford because I wanted to leave all of that evil behind, and it followed me there and I led it right to you. None of this was supposed to happen to you."

"Don’t blame yourself, Sam. It’s not your fault."

But she has no idea just how much her death was Sam’s fault. And he owes her the truth.

(What if he had gone to a different school? Would she have gone to Stanford and lived out her life? Would her Heaven include a husband? Would children and grandchildren meet her there one day? And if Jessica had been spared, who would have taken her place in the story? Wouldn’t Chuck have placed some poor innocent girl in Sam’s path no matter which direction he took?)

“There’s a lot you still don’t know.”

"And I do want you to tell me someday,” Jess says. “I want to know your side, and I want to hear about the rest of your life. All of it. But right now I want to sit in the sand with you and watch the sunset." She slides off the log and settles between his knees, leaning against him as her toes dig into the warm sand. The sun sinks lower in the sky, as if on her command.

Out in the glistening surf, Jess’s parents are in their 20s. Her father lifts her mother with young, strong arms and tosses her into the water. She shrieks with laughter and reaches out to grab his leg, pulling him in with her.

Jess shivers and Sam drapes his jacket around her. If she were wearing rolled-up jeans and a t-shirt instead of board shorts and a bikini top, if there were a bonfire a few feet away, if Luis and his girlfriend (what was her name… Brittany? Bethany?) were sitting next to them, passing a bottle of too-sweet strawberry wine back and forth, he would be sure this was a memory. But they never did this, never came to the beach by themselves. It’s just one small item on the long list of things they never did.

Suddenly there’s a slice of light cutting through the dusk as a door opens at the beach house. "Jessica! It's getting dark! Time to come inside!"

Jess springs into action at her mother’s voice. She pulls Sam’s jacket off her shoulders and plants a soft kiss on his lips. “Come back soon?” she says. She already looks younger. Before he can respond, she turns and runs toward the house. Sam watches her turn back into a teenager right as she slips inside, and then she’s gone. He can see her mother’s silhouette in the window, and he considers knocking on their door to apologize for plunging them into the agonizing pain of a parent who has lost a child. But no. The last thing they need is another intrusion into their lives by Sam Winchester.

Sam heads back up the path. It’s almost fully dark now, but a cloud of fireflies lights his way. If he wants a flashlight, he knows he could reach into his pocket and find one. But it’s nice walking in the dark.

When he gets back home, Dean is in the kitchen cooking dinner. Sam can tell from the way his brother looks at him that he still appears to be the 22-year-old who just said goodbye to his girlfriend. He waits a second to settle into the face he usually wears, the last face Dean saw before he died.

“You good?” Dean says. He looks anxious.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

"Um. Staying for dinner?"

Sam frowns. "Of course I'm staying for dinner. Why wouldn't I?"

Dean quickly replaces the anxious look with a smile. "Yeah. No reason. Just asking."

.

5: This is how Heaven works, according to Jack

.

The problem with being able to go anywhere is that sometimes Sam goes for a walk, loses himself in thought, and ends up walking into a memory. Which is why he finds himself in front of a bus station in downtown Indianapolis. He stops in his tracks and is about to head somewhere else, anywhere else, when he sees a familiar face, with a grin and an awkward little wave he hasn’t seen in a lifetime.

“Jack! Is it really you?” Sam greets him with a hug and Jack squeezes him tight and it’s just like it was back before… before everything.

“You look good, Jack.” And he does, but he also looks like something more than Jack.

“So do you, Sam. It’s good to see you,” Jack says solemnly. “And I’m sorry. I should have come to visit you sooner. I just wasn’t sure you’d want to see me.”

“Why?”

“I heard you. After Dean died.”

Oh. That. Yes, there had been begging, pleading, and then angry cursing.

“You understand why I couldn’t bring him back, don’t you?” Jack says.

It had taken a while. Sam had been lost in grief and despair for a long time, furious that Jack would abandon him when he needed him most. But eventually he understood. Bringing Dean back would have made Jack just another version of Chuck, directing their lives.

“Yes, I do,” he says. “I get it. But Jack, if you heard me then, you also must have heard me other times. There were good times too. And I never stopped talking to you. Praying to you.”

Jack smiles. “I know. And I was glad to hear it. It’s just that the most emotional prayers are the loudest.”

They sit together on a worn wooden bench. Sam has questions, so many questions, but he doesn’t know where to start. Finally he says “How is Cas? Dean said you pulled him out of the Empty.”

“I did. He's well. Right now he's helping me remodel Purgatory.”

“Really? How do you have control over Purgatory?”

Jack shrugs. “There was a power vacuum, and Rowena and I decided to share it.”

“Rowena! How is she?”

“She seems good. She had a message for you, actually.” Jack closes his eyes for a second and then says, in a perfect imitation of Rowena’s brogue, “And what’s the purpose of this tattoo on wee Dean’s arm? I’m disappointed, Samuel. Did you truly believe I’d let any of my demons harm a single hair on your boy’s precious little head?”

Sam throws his head back and laughs, and Jack dissolves into giggles. Right here, right now, it’s so much like Sam and his kid. Not a nephilim, not a god, just a kid that Sam loved. Loves.

“Tell her it’s just a family tradition, and she shouldn’t take it personally. And tell her… tell her I hope she’s happy.”

“I will. I think she misses you. She used to keep an eye on you, you know. Before you came here.” Sam considers being under the watchful eye of the Queen of Hell and has to admit he doesn’t hate it. And the thought of her watching his son as well is oddly comforting.

“So, you two are remodeling Purgatory? What does that mean?”

“We’re adding civilization. Settlements. Little towns, actually. Residents who don’t want to run wild don’t have to. They can just exist peacefully, with families and homes. And since they don’t need to eat, there’s no need to kill. Of course, some residents still want that wild life, and they stay out in the wilderness. But they have a choice now. Most of the ones who pick towns are the ones who were born human.”

“Like Garth?”

“Yes; your friend Garth and his family will be able to spend the afterlife living as they do now. Peacefully, among family and friends.”

“That’s… that’s amazing, Jack.” Not just Garth, but Benny and Madison and Amy and every creature turned against their will, or born into a life that forced them to hunt humans.

Jack smiles. “I’m glad you like it. Castiel thought you would. He said you were always conscious of the fact that not all monsters are monstrous.” He turns to view the bus station as if noticing it for the first time. “Why are you here, Sam? What is this place to you?"

That’s a question with a complicated answer. It’s the beginning of one life and the end of another. Or at least it seemed to be at the time.

“It’s a bus station. The one I hitchhiked to, the night I told Dad and Dean I was going to Stanford. This is where I was when I realized no one was coming after me. No one was going to drag me back into the life.”

Sam had sat there for hours, nursing a cup of coffee, toe-tapping with anxious energy but also exhausted and terrified he would fall asleep and miss his bus. Listening for a familiar rumble, the Impala or his dad’s voice. He was truly relieved they didn’t chase after him. He knew they could find him, could track him as easily as they’d track a monster; catch up with the bus and drag him back down. He was relieved it didn’t happen. But a small part of him kept playing little scenes where Dean said we can’t let him leave, Dad, we’ve gotta go after him, or Dad said come on, son, let’s go find your brother, we’re not gonna leave him alone out there. And he hated how much he wanted that. Even though he would have resisted them, would have done anything he could to escape their grasp, part of him still wanted them to try. Wanted them to fight for him. And they hadn’t.

“I don’t regret leaving,” Sam says. “I don’t regret what I did. But all I ever wanted was a choice. And sometimes I wonder what I would have done if they’d given me one. If Dad hadn’t tried so hard to keep me chained up, I wonder if I would have tried so hard to break free.”

Jack is still watching him. Thoughtfully, silently..

“Would you like to find out?”

“Little late for that,” Sam laughs.

“Not really. I can give you that chance. Or something like it, to be exact. This is something I don’t offer everyone, but I can give you the opportunity to relive your life. You can live a life where your mother doesn’t die, or where your father doesn’t force you to hunt. You can go to Stanford, become a lawyer, get married, live the life you would have lived.”

“What, you’d bring me back to life? Put me back on Earth? Send me back in time?”

“No, no. It wouldn’t be real. But it would feel real while you were living it. And then, when it was over, it would just feel like a beautiful dream. You’d be back where you are now, in Heaven, with Dean. And Dean wouldn’t even notice you were gone. I’d make the whole experience feel no longer than an afternoon for him. Like I did when he first got here, when he was waiting for you.”

“So you didn’t give him this option?”

“I did. He wasn’t interested. I did offer it to your parents, though, and they accepted. That’s the life they’re experiencing right now. They’re raising their two young boys.”

“But Dean and I visit them.”

“Yes, and when you’re there, the dream life feels just like that — a dream. When you and Dean leave, their adult children are the dream and their young children are their real lives.”

Well, that explains the odd feeling that John and Mary are like their younger selves. They’re actually living that life. And Sam is happy for them, that they get to have that experience after all, but it’s nothing he’s interested in.

“I don’t think I want to do that,” he says. “I appreciate the offer, but, you know. I’m done. I’m happy not knowing what might have happened. But Jessica. My old girlfriend. She was a victim as much as I was. Even more than I was, really. If you could give her that choice, if you could let her live out the life she was supposed to live, if she wants to — that would be amazing, Jack.”

Jack nods solemnly. “I will. And now I need to be going. I’ll see you soon, Sam.” Before Sam can hug him goodbye, he fades into a patch of warm, shimmering light.

“Thank you, Jack.” Sam is speaking to empty air, but he’s pretty sure Jack will hear.

.

6: This is how Heaven works, according to Sam

.

When Sam reaches the house, there are two new Adirondack chairs on the porch. Dean is already sitting in one, and Sam settles into the other one. Dean reaches between them and pulls a beer out of a bucket of ice, nudging it at Sam.

As he reaches for the beer, Sam runs his hand over the smooth, sanded wood of the chair. It’s beautifully constructed, and just the right size, with the back firmly supporting his entire torso and the seat long enough for his legs. As if it were custom-made for him.

“You did this?” he asks.

Dean pats the arm of his own chair proudly. “You want something done right, you gotta do it yourself.”

Which probably isn’t true in Heaven, but Sam’s not going to argue with him. “They’re really nice. Looks like you put a lot of time into it.”

“Well, you were gone for a while. I needed something to do.”

“Shit, Dean. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I just lost track of time…”

“It’s cool,” Dean says. “I know you’re not gonna be happy hanging out here with me all the damn time. I know there’s other things out there for you…” He trails off unhappily.

Dean got the same offer Sam did. Why didn’t he bring it up?

“So. I saw Jack.”

“Yeah?” Dean’s reaction is almost imperceptible. A quick downward glance, a disappointed twist to his mouth. “I wondered what was taking him so long. I guess he made you the offer. When are you leaving?”

“Leaving?”

“You know. Life 2.0. The do-over” He drains his beer and gives Sam a bitter fake smile. “I figured this was coming.”

“Dean. I’m not doing it. I said no.”

Dean’s stares at him in confusion. “You mean all this time I’ve been waiting for you to go all Sliding Doors, and you just… said no? Why?”

Sam shrugs. “Same reason you didn’t, I imagine. I just didn’t need it. I mean, sure, I’m curious. I wonder how everything would have gone if it hadn’t been for, you know. Everything. But I don’t need to actually find out. I lived my life. It was a good life. And now it’s done, and I’m ready for what we have now.”

“This. You’re ready for this, forever.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but I had the life I expected. Go out on a hunt. Die young, stay pretty. But you? You always wanted something more. Something different.”

“Not always.” Sam remembers their years in the bunker after Jack, after everything, and the unfamiliar sweetness of simply being satisfied with his life. “And I ended up getting a lot of that anyway. I’m happy, man.”

“With this.” Dean gestures at their porch, their Adirondack chairs, the pines and blooming dogwood trees, the Canada geese gliding low to land in the pond behind their house. “You’re happy with this.”

“Yeah. With us. I mean, I’m not gonna sit on this porch for eternity. I’m going to go explore. I want to spend some time with Jess, see some old friends. And I want to explore more with you too,” he adds quickly.

But Dean’s not sad or angry, not glaring at him, not looking away to try to hide his wounds. He’s just running his hand over the wood of his chair. “Dude,” he laughs. “It’s fine. I know you’re gonna go off on your own sometimes. You got people to see. And at some point your kid’s gonna be here and I know you’ll want to go spend time together. It’s fine. Really.”

It is.

”This is home,” Sam says. “You know I’m always going to come back, don’t you? You know that no matter where I go, no matter how long I’m gone, I’ll always be back. You get that now, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiles. It’s warm and open and not hiding anything at all. “Yeah, Sam, I get it.”

This is how Heaven works.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Days of Summer

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OMQ2Bn3 by BexTra The guy turns around, eyes wide and suddenly Dean feels like someone hit him over the head with a baseball bat. His heart stops for a second before it jumpstarts again, his mouth dropping open when he stares back into blue eyes he thought he’d never see again in his life. The world stops. “Cas?”, Dean whispers. --- After spending year after year of his childhood in Camp Harvelle, Dean finally returns to it as a grown up, this time to watch after a bunch of kids as a camp counselor. He's looking forward to a fun, nostalgic summer, but what he didn't expect is the return of his childhood friend Cas. Or better known as: The guy who suddenly left camp when they were 15 without a word and ghosted Dean since then. Now Dean has to figure out how to deal with the backlash of whatever drove him and Cas apart and also how to keep the kids from trying to constantly get in trouble. Words: 2628, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Ellen Harvelle, Jo Harvelle, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), John Winchester, Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore (Supernatural), Charlie Bradbury, Claire Novak, Jimmy Novak (Supernatural), Amelia Novak, Gabriel (Supernatural), Naomi (Supernatural), Chuck Shurley, Kaia Nieves, Jack Kline, Lisa Braeden, Ben Braeden, Cole Trenton, Gordon Walker, Lee Webb, Jody Mills, Donna Hanscum, Ash (Supernatural), Garth Fitzgerald IV, Pamela Barnes (Supernatural), Meg Masters, Krissy Chambers, Kevin Tran, Alex Jones Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, past Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Childhood Friends, Fallout, Summer Camp, different timelines, Best Friends, First Love, Gay Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Childhood friends to enemies to lovers, enemies is a hard word here but yeah, Closeted Castiel (Supernatural), Deeply Closeted Dean Winchester, But also, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Fighting, Communication Failure, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), john winchesters A+ parenting, Mentions of Cancer, Secrets, Mentions of dead parents, Homophobic Language, everyone is tired of their shit, Idiots in Love, Bullying, Eventual Smut, Don't let the kids know you had a crush on each other or they WILL parent trap you, also good vibes, fun summer camp stuff, Mild Angst, Fluff, Humor, Happy Ending read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/OMQ2Bn3

[angelsdean]

#you know those human AUs where Cas has grown up in a fundamentalist christian household? #that's what Jack's life would have been if Kelly had survived to raise him on her own via @destielrotsmybrain

#her boss who was also her boyfriend was literally This Is Definitely Not Mitt Romney #that's the kind of person Kelly Kline adores and wants in her life. Mitt Romney. #she absolutely would be fucking appalled by knowing she left her kid to be raised by two homosexuals and a weird kinky serial killer like??? #you're right and you should say it via @ilarual

🗣 SAY THAT THE BOTH OF YOU !!!!!!

me: i think conservative republican presidential aide kelly kline would've been horrified to realize she left her messiah baby in the care of two queers and a sexual behemoth deviant demon-bloodkink enthusiast

someone: stop villainizing mothers!

[casmybelovedass]

Future Jack Kline shenanigans - Help them

BONUS:

Jack, sweetie, no

Tag list under the cut

@iamnotmereally @carryonwaywardsquirrel @exmintha @stillwinchester @brattyangel69 @spnjohnlocked @pineapplecrispy @judicorn001 @pinguslefttesticle @consultingcriminal @daughter-of-the-rain-and-snow @destiel-client @oddlyspecifictshirts @jensenswvnchester @awesomeavengingangel @thistle-and-rain-castiel @y-yo-a-ti-cas67 @id-rather-be-in-the-tardis @tombdean @kacievvbbbb @royalty-purple555 @celestialcastiel @jemariel @anupalya @dragonsareattackinghogwarts @agayblur @spokir @oldfandomlady @nightofheart @make-up-ya-mind @aimless--photography @aimless--jack @pointlesstrashyexistence @ravensofthewood @i-am-an-atomic-bomb @a-ghastly-sight @mzwraum @gallifreyclaras @paranormal-potatoes

[sailorsallyart]

Time to belt out to some pop girlies while human dad dozes off and angel dad is just content seeing his kids happy <3

yes jack's wearing camp half-blood t-shirt because i will abuse my creator powers like that

details & tag list under the cut; ask to be added/removed

tags:

@universalcas @aheartbeatoftheuniverse @lateral-org @cascats @icantleave @hellericarus @blue-eyed-cutiepatootie @justcastiel @citruscas@deancrowleycas @bee-in-a-trench-coat @justgayangelthingz@magnificent-winged-beast @casriel @all-or-nothing-baby @13x14 @sansasworld @feraladoration @pityboy @blue-moon-elf @lovelybydecay

[incorrectspnforfun]

Dean: I’m going to need you to swear-- Jack: Fuck. Dean: … Dean: Swear as in promise. Jack: …oh.