#he hates that the other Dean threw everything away and allow the faith of others to go to waste

[chitaquahq]

Biggest difference between Endverse Dean and Dean is that Endverse Dean might have way more experience living on that universe— but if there is one single weapon on the battlefield, you can bet Dean will find it and use it.

When it comes to the heart of it, Endverse Dean needed a weapon, he needed someone to be his weapon or a physical object, he needed an army because he stopped believing in himself. He was defeated, he wanted to go back in time and give himself to Michael, he put all his faith on the Colt.

In contrast, Dean is a weapon. His actions have repercussions that change the story because he has a choice and that choice matters. He trusted his judgement when he said that there must be another way, one that didn't involve saying yes to Michael. When the Colt failed him, when Sam said yes to Lucifer, Dean went to a battlefield without a weapon. Cas and Bobby only gave him time, so Dean could fall on his knees and talk to his brother until it gave Sam the strength to cage Lucifer.

He did that with words alone.

When Cas met Dean, he thought he had no faith. It isn't quite true, it's just that his faith is not on some god or bug plan. Dean's faith is impossible to escape, it's all consuming and empowering, it's a world on its own. Dean believes in Sam, in Cas, in Bobby. Then he arrived to the Endverse and he deployed that faith in Chitaqua and Ichabod.

Incredibly fucking dangerous because he knows he only need one chance and it'll be over. One slip, one opening: that's how he killed Zachariah. Bring a weapon and he'll find it. Give him the 0.0001% chance of winning and he will.

Compared to Endverse Dean (the end of the road and the lost of purpose), Dean is the embodiment of possibilities. Not because those opportunities are granted to him, but because he'd craft them out of thin air if necessary.

[herstarburststories]

Beautiful Ghosts [p1]

A/N: HAPPY BDAY TO ME, YAY! The first chapter of this hopefully mini series is for @alleiradayne 's 1k celebration! Congrats, hon. A mix of angst and two kinds of comfort here. I gotta admit that I started working on this months ago and kept going until I was satisfied with how it was going. Hope you guys like this one! Divider by @talesmaniac89 !

Summary: Something as tribal as death wouldn't keep you away from Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Prompt: I’m not going to leave you. You’re never going to have to suffer by yourself again, I promise.

Characters: Dean and Sam Winchester, you

Rating: PG 13

Word count: 2404

As always, you are in Dean's arms when the two brothers enter the bunker after a hunt. There isn’t any sound to break the silence, no raucous laughter, or even a snarky comment about today’s slain monsters. Their steps are stronger than usual, and one breath is missing.

Of course, it’s different from your usual entrance. Your arms aren't tangled with Dean's and his aren’t wrapped around your waist or shoulders. You are in his arms, yes, but you are lying still in a state of lifeless despondency. To think, he was once hopeful, stupid enough to believe that he'd only be carrying you like this when he was marrying you. 

Sam is awfully quiet. He can think and organize a hundred words into speeches in his mind, but nothing comes out. The younger brother feels like a kid during a class presentation too worried to say the wrong word and receive the wrong reaction. Therefore, he chooses silence, just like the other Winchester. They both make room for the grief that way.

It's a silent agreement that you are gone for good. The spell used to bring Eileen back is no longer available, and there is no devil willing to make a pact — not that one would allow the others to do so, after all.

Dean still considers it. More than once, more than a million times between the drive back home when you laid in the backseat with your guts on the car's floor and putting your body on the couch with more tenderness he’d thought himself capable of. 

He would come back to hell just to save you, even if it meant not staying to see you thrive. The agony would be more bearable if he knew that for each scream of his, there would be a grin of yours.

He has no hope now. All Dean Winchester has is anger and unprocessed grief slowly metamorphosing into sadness, hate, and bloodthirst. Even when he killed the fucking werewolf right after he laid his teeth on you, it wasn’t enough. He needed to make someone hurt as much as he did.

It was supposed to be an easy hunt, but isn’t that life with this job? It's usually supposed to be a quick thing, and then you are choking your own blood like it's tequila.

“She is in a better place now.” Sam is the first to speak, utterly doubting that his brother would make a noise if he didn't first.

Sammy was always full of faith, but this time it made Dean furious. “You don't know that.”

“Dean.”

“Don't, Sammy. Don't even fucking try. You know who we are and what Billie thinks about us. Do you think (Y/N) won't get the same destiny as we will? Alone in the empty, going crazy for years, decades!?”

“We can find a way—“ 

“No, we can't! We all signed her death sentence the minute we asked her to move in. And she—“ Dean cuts himself off with the sharp knife of silence, staving any hope left with harsh thoughts. The living room is maybe the most similar it’s ever been to the old glory days now: men of letters used to get frustrated there all the time, usually with a bottle of whiskey and a dead body on the floor, full of holes from experiments. 

The eldest Winchester wants to scream, throw a chair, break a lamp. He’d do anything to get this heavy sensation out of his veins, as if every single drop of blood weighs 500 pounds.

Still, he doesn't fall on his knees.

An inconsistently wry smirk consumes Dean’s face, warped with grief. “I had to put her guts back in her body, you know? To carry her in the car.”

He lifts his hands. They are stained red. Sam purses his lips together, trying to find something to say that would have helped him when Jess died. Nothing but an annoying little voice saying time comes to mind. It's gonna be hard, but they will make it. They always do.

Sammy doesn't tell that to Dean, though. He isn't ready yet. And neither is Sam to vocalize the words.

We are gonna be okay because we always do. And the dead bodies end up like frightening memories and nothing else.

That would sound too cold, like most truths for hunters. If Sam says those words, it becomes real. Not even the bloodstained picture of murder is stronger than words of farewell. Besides, you were his best friend. He had to recompose and convince himself that everything would be okay before he helped Dean. For once, he had to be the brother who shut all the turmoil in to take care of the other

“I'm sorry, Dean.”

And then, Sam does the only thing that he could think of as useful for making the ache bearable. He hugs his big brother.

Dean struggles to get away from the hold, even with every fiber of his being screaming to remain there. “Let me go! Sam, I'm serious. Fucking let me go!”

“It's gonna be okay, Dean.”

“Let me go, Sammy! Now!”

“You are not alone, Dean. I'm here. She will be okay, too.”

“Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!”

Until he finally gives in, collapsing in Sam's arms like that little kid in Kansas who didn't want to cry in front of his dad after seeing his mom get killed.

There is blood on Sammy’s favorite shirt now, but he doesn’t care. He just tightens his embrace around Dean while his brother is lost into racking sobs. 

His grief is just as expansive as Dean’s, their ragged souls laced with a sickening kind of sweetness that can only show up when someone you love needs help. It squirms and crawls in their guts to make a home that sticks. It’s their tiny comforts— the good feelings always show up in defiance of the ache like a plant growing on concrete. They just have to get the energy to look for them.

Everything is still the way you left it in Dean's bedroom. He didn't put your clothes away. You left your book on the shelf and kept your perfume in the wardrobe. Your pillow is still scrambled as if you had left for a couple of minutes to grab a cup of water and would soon come back to snuggle up to him. Well, it could always be from the fact that he's holding onto that piece of cotton for dear life. If he had long nails, his floor would be a complete mess now.

He's glaring at the wall, mind trying to come up with ways to cope with the growing ache in his whole body. Yes, the books and poets and films speak fondly about heartbreak, but he already threw the last glimpses of his bruised heart on the fire, burning with your body to the point no one could say it was ever in his chest to begin with. What could he do? There's always a way for the Winchesters. If Dean thinks hard enough, maybe he can defeat death. Maybe he can have you back.

Dean puts the pillow away after another sniff. The smell of your pepper shampoo is almost fading — he shouldn't have hugged it. Nonetheless, the green-eyed hunter focuses on coming up with ideas, and it's a stupid, humanly behavior when his mind goes to what desperate people usually seek.

Dean was never a pious man. The fact his mother died while angels were too busy watching over him to help her didn’t do it any good. Yet in stolen moments like these, he, like most humans, would bear his soul in a peace offering to all the holy things he doubted. The Winchester never prayed for himself, though. Who would answer his cry for help? He never deserved to be saved. So, he put his hands together and closed his eyes for who he cared about. As the Layla woman who told him to have faith or Sammy as something scandalous happened. It was rare, but Dean did that sometimes. He used to hope someone was listening. He doesn't pray anymore, not even now. Because he knows someone is listening, and he doesn't care.

Can an empty room seem crowded? Yes, when touch-starving grief is piled inside, begging to be seen. Why can't he allow himself to feel it? Why can't he cry? Why can't he just stop using anger as a comfort? Dean doesn't know. It used to be easier to cry before. He'd say he's lost his emotions, but the all-consuming anger and his ferocious barks to keep the hurt is burning proof he isn't yet.

Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault. Y/N died, and it's his fault.

His nostrils are opening, the wrath that swaths him as comfortable as his own skin. It’s not natural enough that he doesn't feel the burn, and you know he's going to break again. Your Dean doesn't break easily, but when he does, it's in a million little pieces that he wouldn't allow people to help pick them up. He’d rather shove them under the bed with his childhood monsters or bruising his hands as he exasperatedly tries to get them all by himself. You know he's going to shift into a storm and start breaking things. You know it's a temporary morphine, and the sickness will remain in the morning.

That's the incentive you need to try harder, to flash yourself into this plane of existence long enough to be seen. You force every fragment of yourself and light and whatever other pieces you are made of now to appear. To be heard. To show Dean he isn't all by himself again.

An image starts glitching in front of him. It’s rapid enough for Dean's reaction to come as a frown and his hand to snake around to the gun at the hem of his pants. 

And then, he blinks and a heart-stopping joy hits him. He can't believe the unbreakable heaven that he's being blessed with. Every feeling that should be burrowed under his skin is fighting to come to the light, and God, he wants to. For the first time, he doesn't want to hold back because what was trying to come together finally is you.

You. You are standing right before his own green eyes. There is a soft look on your face. It’s laced with that pretty smile that’s always spread happiness to him as well. You are here, standing in his room, clean clothes and blood in your veins. Guts inside your body! He never imagined he'd be happy to think that.

Is this his heart? Oh God, it is. And it's beating. No, no. It's racing. His heart is working again and now he almost falls on his knees. The pain was never able to break him, but he had forgotten how strong happiness could be. He's relieved.

Dean's eyes burn when he looks at you. Maybe it’s because he’s too shocked to even blink or perhaps it is all the tears that were flowing. Who cares? That man would allow his entire body to collapse in flames if the smoke signaled you back home. 

He takes a few steps, having the nerve to touch you — probably the most daring thing he has ever done. He is ready for you to dissipate, for that to be a dream, anything. And you don’t. You remain there. You don’t leave him too. Your usually warm body is gelid, but Dean doesn't care. It's an honest warning, yet he's happy to ignore those for once. You're here. 

“Dean, I—“ Your voice. It's your voice saying his name. He recognizes the importance of a name now. For a brief moment, he's confused. What the fuck is happening? You purse your lips and Dean chortles in dismay, unable to discern his inner state of being. “I don't know what to say.”

“I thought I had lost you. I was so fucking scared, Y/N. I thought you were gone for good.” He's found the words for you, exhibiting his vulnerability so quietly. Your entire soul feels it— it's not true what they say. You don't stop feeling when you are dead. You start to feel everything deeper because after leaving your meatsuit, all that is left is your soul. And what's a soul but the patchwork of emotions? “I thought you'd never come back again. That I'd have to go on without you. I'm so sorry. It was my fault. I should have saved you.”

“No, Dean. Don't start self-loathing and all that. It wasn't your fault. What happened to us could've happened to any hunter. And if it happened to me, there is a reason for it.”

“A reason for you to be ripped apart?” He scoffs at your belief of fate. You always had a graceful heart in you, even after you met Chuck. 

“I'm back, right? I told you I'd always be with you, and I'm here. Always.” You intertwine your fingers, and he watches your hands for a little while. While it’s difficult for him to grasp anything but pain nowadays, he accepts the rush of joy in his chest. Dean looks up, and you're still here, big eyes offering him a loving gaze. “I'm not going to leave you. You're never going to suffer by yourself again. I promise.”

He kisses you, and it feels like your emotions have finally found a perfect body to rest in when yours is a little bit tired — a place to call home. He kisses you, and everything is worth it. Because he kisses you. And you kiss him back.

Dean Winchester is a marvelous hunter. He should know that the cold his tongue experiences in your mouth while you two make out ferociously isn't quite right. You should feel fervid, and you are warm in every way of being but skin. He should pay attention to that. He should stop trying to make you come alive with love. Still, he can't bring his rational side to care. That man was always guided by emotion, anyway. What could matter more than you on his arms? Worries could be postponed because you did what no one else ever could.

You came back to him.

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[deansmultitudes]

I'm a complete masochist so I did dig up more about prequel. JA was given an opportunity to develop more spn projects and his first instinct was to tell J & M story. Coz he's a big j*hn stan and it's personal for him. The prequel got leaked in early stages, ja did some damage control and jp threw a tantrum and ja made up with him and thinks he screwed up by keeping jp in the dark. They're supposedly on the same page now and jp will be involved if the prequel ever gets picked up.

I didn't want dean to die. I didn't care if dean retired from hunting or not, I don't care about ships, I just wanted dean to live. I was so heartbroken over the finale. I sympathized with Jensen. I never expected him to so enthusiastically love the finale you know? Like how can you play this character for 15 years and then accept that disgraceful ending for him? There was nothing salvageable in that mess. Nothing.

The show had 15 seasons to address and resolve Dean's issues. It didn't. They tortured dean for drama, put him through so much trauma and never resolved any of that. I wanted dean away from his toxic family (both blood and non blood related) but the show put him with them for eternity. It's like a slap in your face. It's like he can never escape them.

JA had an opportunity to do justice to dean. He could have opted to tell any other story, including the years dean supposedly spent with sam in bunker but this is what he chose. Like I get that he loves JDM and j*hn but he isn't even telling a D & J story ? He's not allowing dean to confront and resolve his trauma? It's not even set in a time when j*hn was an ahole? He's straight up whitewashing and telling a love story that will make you sympathize with J*hn? I have no words.

It's ok, take your time to reply. I just wanted to rant to someone who cares for dean in the same way I do. I still like Jensen and thank him for giving us dean but I don't trust him to do justice to dean. I've always agreed with Jensen's takes on who dean is what he wants. I didn't invest in destiel or bi dean coz I knew jensen wasn't keen on that. I dared to dream of a better ending for dean cuz Jensen wanted that. Clearly that was a mistake.

I don't understand how any dean fan can call themselves no1 fan of the finale so I don't get Jensen at all. Dabb is a sadist and did everything to destroy dean, there was nothing salvageable in that episode. Dabb could have shown dean living happily for few years before he killed him but he didn't even give us that. He could have killed both brothers if he wanted to sell soulmates angle but he didn't do that. It's hard to see that finale as anything but a hate letter to Dean and his fans. (sorry for being so bitter, it's why I avoid thinking about it).

So ya, dunno what else to say. Completely agree with you on prequel. It'd be about whitewashing J*hn, I mean how could it not be given the time setting? I hope it never sees the light of the day.

Nonnie, I am so so so so soooo sorry taking so long to reply 😢 The last few weeks have not been great and this isn't exactly a light topic.

Yeah, heard about all that, too :/ I truly, truly don't understand JA's thought processes here, both when it comes to loving the finale and loving j*hn. It’s such a repulsive thing for a supposed fan of Dean (if one can even be called that). How, how, just HOW. He's the one who had to act Dean's pain, every time he talked about what john did to him, say those lines, look like that. How can you claim to understand a character you’re playing then do that?

Really I can’t comprehend, I just can’t. Like you said, it won’t even be a D&J show that could show how awful john was. Hell, even if he wanted to show that “John wasn’t all bad”, like his bff j/d/m has been advocating (since I guess he didn’t watch the show while he was still in it, like when Dean was literally DYING in faith and the father of the year didn’t give a fuck). No, JA will straight up wash him clean of all his sins, since he hasn't committed them yet (even though Dean's voice will be right there, a constant reminder that he will, he HAD, that it can't be taken back or changed or washed clean. That Dean still spent his entire life hating himself and believing he was worthless because of j*hn only to die and spend his afterlife with him and tell his story (sorry if I’m repeating myself, it’s what it’s been like inside my head for the last half a year)

But hey, maybe JA is really that good an actor he could play Dean so well without getting him at all.

Yeah I felt bad for him too, I thought he was the one who understood how bad the finale was. I excused his words from March because I thought maybe he had to find a way to accept it so that he could move on, yanno? Even if I absolutely hated that comment, that Dean was too weak to keep living without sam.

But loving it?? Number 1 fan? Calling Dean’s death his favorite scene? When he could have said anything else, the question wasn’t about the finale at all, he was the one who brought it up, there is no way to excuse that.

Yup, not only did season 15 not resolve his trauma (except for slapping a too little too late speech from cass (not supported by a single action in *seasons*) that suddenly healed Dean? Don't get me wrong I'm glad we got to see Dean beginning to love himself, healing from his trauma (and for what??). But it wasn't enough, it was rushed, it wasn't believable and the whole last season just kept piling on, kept giving him extra trauma, revealing one from his childhood and blaming him for lying to his 9yo brother about dead children (???), degraded and humiliated him, showing that he's useless on his own bc without chuck he can't even open a lock, fight, keep Baby working. It gave him an old friend just to make him evil because of course every-fucking-one has to betray, Dean, right? (why? to have him running back to his blood family? to remind him he can only trust Sam (hahaha) and exist for Sam? The whole season berated and humiliated dean, made him grovel, beg for forgiveness, getting blamed for cas's choices (as if he hadn't asked him time and time and time and time again to stay, stay, stay, and gotten ignored at best.) It kept making him worse instead of fixing anything for him, put on an implausible bandaid on and then still made what his trauma and self-loathing has been telling him his entire life: that he’d die young and bloody on a random hunt. That good things DO NOT happen.

The final season could have been a beautiful road of healing and fighting for himself, and learning to love himself, understanding that his trauma was not who he was and that things do get better, that pushing through has a point, that in the end it will be worth it. They could have given the fans hope. Instead they gave us a big old fuck you.

Same, walking away from his toxic family and learning to be his own person and have a life of his own was all I ever wanted for Dean. And now he's stuck with them. Forever. And he was reduced to nothing but a completely sam-obsessed roadblock in sam's happiness, too.

One thing I have to disagree with, I would hate the "missing years" show. Firstly, whatever JA says, there were no years, that is not what the episode showed (or the script). But most of all it would be just awful, it would be a prolonged torture. Because Dean still dies at the end. So what's the point? (obviously still better than what we’re getting but to me utterly awful 😭)

And then he also dared to tease us with that “Dean asks to be put back” revival idea, saying he knows a production company who’d want to do that — he did that while working on the fucking j*hn show instead? It was so incredibly cruel. I have no other word for that. Especially since he could have actually made that happen, but chose the grossest idea possible, chose to whitewash j*hn instead of giving dean his life back. It felt like he was fucking laughing in my face.

There were some things that I didn’t agree with JA on, which is fine. For me Dean is bi, he just is (not for shipping reasons), and I don’t care that JA didn’t think so, and that’f fine, I wouldn’t expect him to. But I trusted him with Dean. He was the only person I trusted with him because I thought he’d always fight for him, love him, care about him. But as you said, a big fucking mistake.

Oh, don’t apologize for being bitter. I’ve been nothing but bitter. Besides, you’re completely right. Dabb has always hated Dean, from his very first episode where he called him a bullying dick and he showed that every chance he got, culminating in the finale (him also being a hack posing as a writer didn’t help either). Writing a good ending for Dean would have been the easiest thing in the world but he hates him too much for that. He treated him like trash, destroyed the entire show making it utterly meaningless (why save people if heaven is the goal and it’s great? Why watch 15 seasons of the show if nothing changes in it?) and sends a dangerously toxic message to the fans, especially those who saw themselves in Dean because of trauma and mental issues they shared.

Lately, I’ve watched a few long-running case of the week type of shows — shows that let you fall in love with characters. All of them had happy, soft, open endings. Some things changed, but the characters you love keep going. I believe that’s how character driven shows would end. I don’t care if it’s been done many times. But no, Dabb was too hateful, too cruel, too edgy and too megalomaniac to give Dean a soft ending and leave the show open because what if someone could pick it up after him? Can’t have that. He knew it was an awful ending and that the majority of fans would hate it and he bragged about it. Can’t believe after that that dude still has a fucking job in the industry.

So yeah, everything is awful 🙃 (Sorry this isn't more coherent, and again, sorry it's so late.)

[all-or-nothing-baby]

Would love to see you do U with Destiel

Mini-fic prompt-fill. The letter U is "Coming Home".

@avidbkwrm For you, Spencer... here you go, my friend <3

_____________________________

The Last Time

Tags: Dean POV, Modern AU, Drug and Alcohol Misuse, Prostitution, Hurt With Comfort, Angst With A Happy Ending.

_____________________________

Getting back to his shitty apartment afterwards was always the worst part.

It wasn't the peeling wallpaper that bothered Dean. He didn't care that there were only bare floorboards splashed with spilled paint in the bathroom. Couldn’t even give a shit that the wet rot, in the corner above the sofa, was probably the cause of his perpetual cough. And yeah, okay, so he knew the fuck-ton of weed he smoked, on top of the booze, didn’t exactly help. And no, it didn’t exactly make him forget, either. But it did help him to give less of a shit about how shitty he felt.

...until the next time.

Cas was a drug. Dean had known it from the start, had known he shouldn’t get involved. Known he’d end up losing people too, if he did. And he had. But fuck, after that first time? He was hooked. A junkie. Now, he was so far fucking gone it was scary because being with Cas was better than anything Dean had ever had. And whenever Dean wasn’t tangled up in sheets and smiles, all sticky, with him? He was in hell. Especially right afterwards… the instant craving was unbearable. Still tasting his sharp citrusy taste; smelling of bubble gum and baby wipes, just like him; running his rough fingertips over the pink and tender places he'd been claimed. Yeah, Cas was the drug Dean didn’t know how to quit. And Jesus, he didn’t want to, which was worse.

Yet still, at first, he'd swear every visit was the last.

…until the next time.

Dean had lived all over, growing up. Cheap hotels and motels, trailer parks. And worse. Never knew what it was to settle and lay roots. Cas told him he'd been raised the polar opposite: huge family, a single home his whole life. Until his folks had found out he liked dicks not chicks and tried to bible-bash it outta him, quite literally. Cas had left and never contacted them again. And it turned out, being where he was now was better than being on the streets.

Really don't know why I'm telling you all this, he'd said to Dean after only the second time. Maybe it's just those kind eyes? he'd smiled. But I'm sorry, you're not paying to hear about my screwed-up life in a sob-story… want me to fuck you now, baby?

Dean had never gone with a sex worker before. Hated the idea—not for him, exactly, but for them. The idea that some people thought they were worth so little that they'd sell themselves? It horrified him. But walking out that bar that night and seeing that dark, unruly hair and those blue, blue eyes heading straight for him, coming for him...

Hey, beautiful, wanna spend the night with an angel?

No such thing, Dean had tried. But it had come out as a question, a challenge. An almost prove me wrong, please—and with a smile he couldn't have helped if he'd tried.

The man—dressed in a long coat, black boots and tight jeans; the crispest of white shirts with a low slung tie; and an eight o'clock shadow Dean instantly craved to leave a tingle on his inside thighs—had smiled back and said, that's your problem, beautiful. You have no faith.

By the time Dean had left the No-Tell room later that night—left Jimmy, as he'd called himself back then—Dean was born again. His belief suddenly so strong, he'd gone back to his apartment and goddammit he'd prayed.

But for the days that followed, the guilt was overwhelming. Dean had hoped beyond hope he'd be strong enough to stay away from the stranger he now wanted to help; to take away from this dangerous life, this mess Jimmy had gotten himself into... No. Dean told himself he wouldn't go back. It was wrong, on so many levels. Shit, he didn't even know the guy from Adam and yet, what, he wanted to save him?

Dean actually did actually managed to keep his distance, for a time. For a little while, he thought sense had won out.

...until the next time.

After that, Dean became fucking devout. Being with Jimmy—with Cas—very quickly became more than a one-sided thing… it became about not just fucking, but enjoying each other. Them tasting and devouring each other. Holding out for one another. Worshipping each other. Had the tables now turned? Was Cas really the angel he'd said he was and Dean, the sinner who needed saving? For the two hours a week that Dean could barely afford, Dean was happy. They'd often spend time just talking, tracing patterns on the others skin. As contradictory and ironic as it was, being with Cas? It honest to God felt holy. Dean was a better man when with him. Wanted to do better because of him. Felt more himself than he ever had before. And soon, inevitably, every time he'd leave Cas, it was ten times harder than the last.

...until the next time.

The night Dean saw the bruises was the night he'd started thinking seriously about it.

Doesn't usually happen, Cas had promised. Like it was nothing. Dean called bullshit, his voice tinged with anger. But he was mostly completely fucking heartbroken. He felt helpless. Dean had kissed each purpling mark with gentle lips and stroked that untamable hair for over his allotted time slot. Paid the extra. Told Cas dumb jokes that Cas laughed at regardless. They watched some TV together on Dean's phone, tied up like a pretzel.

Turned out Cas had... refused to fulfill some specific act and the disgruntled john had complained to Cas' twisted pimp, Naomi, who'd then set her muscle on him. They were supposed to just scare me a little—well, a lot, Cas had smiled sadly. Maybe swirlie me or choke me out, you know? They weren't supposed to beat him. To mark him. He'd admitted, the clients don't like that—well, most of them, anyways. Some were sicker fucks than others. After ten months, Dean knew that by now.

Soon after, Dean had started working longer shifts at the restaurant, always asking for overtime. It meant they sometimes couldn't meet, or maybe only had an hour together instead of two, what with Cas' workload being not exactly flexible. It was tough. And maybe not just on Dean? Cas almost seemed disappointed whenever Dean told him he wouldn't be seeing him as usual. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on Dean's part. He'd thought they'd had a connection but... Dean didn't have the words to ask. So he'd just hoped Cas understood. He seemed to, mostly. But sometimes, he'd get that look in those baby-blues. The one that said, you've lost faith in me Dean. And, at one point, Dean worried this just couldn't work. That maybe he'd lost what little faith he had in himself. That Cas probably had no faith in Dean to begin with.

...until the next time.

Dean wasn't sure if it had been a slip. An accidental admission. He'd been so close, so many times, to uttering the words himself. But he'd never imagined Cas letting his guard down in that way. And honestly? Dean had stopped allowing himself to think about the possibility of it being a reality at all.

I love you Dean, Cas had whispered in a breath. And then Dean found that he couldn't breathe at all, the air in his lungs leaving in a rush. Time stopped and for a moment everything was the way it should be. Just them and this…. and then Dean realised, Cas probably just needed the money. Wanted Dean to start coming back more regularly because he always paid well. Dean treated Cas well, too. And what if the other clients were rougher, meaner? Yeah, these things. Dean knew they were the real reason Cas had said what he'd said. Not some accidental slip.

But it didn't really matter, not to Dean. He'd already made up his mind. So, he'd said nothing. Pretended he hadn't heard.

...until the next time.

Dean packed up the few things he owned. Left all the crappy furniture he'd accumulated in the equally crappy apartment he hated, got in his car and didn't look back.

They made love, because he knew it would probably be the last time. Dean savoured every second with Cas. Hoped his long licks and trembling bites, soft moans and desperate squeezes told Cas everything Dean knew he still had to say, so he wouldn't have to… but, as astute as his angel in a trench coat was, Cas couldn't read minds.

So, Dean dressed. Then, chewing at his bottom lip, emptied the bag he'd brought with him onto the bed. Cas' eyes blew wide at the sight of all the bills that spilled from Dean's largest duffle.

I can't do this, Cas, he blurted. Can't let my decisions be controlled by some high and mighty less-than-human asshole anymore. So I'm... leaving. And I ain't comin' back... and he only stopped to take a breath, steal his courage, because there was more to the speech he'd planned—but Cas cut him off there.

It's okay, I was waiting for this. Knew it was probably coming, Cas said flatly. Then he spat, but, Dean, do you really think I want your fucking money? God, I was so foolish to think that maybe you... Just, please leave, Dean. Leave and let me keep the ounce of dignity I'm managing to hang on to. Cas turned away from Dean now. Wouldn't let him see those pretty blue eyes.

Then Dean said it. Cas, I want you to come with me. Don't know where, but I wanna get you outta this.

Dean knew he had to do more. Say more. Cas needed the words neither had really spoken; had rarely been said to either of them. Hell, Dean needed to say them just as much.

Not able to look directly at the man who meant everything to him—too scared, too cowardly—Dean said, I love you, Cas. Like nothing else. And I know you only said it to me 'cause you thought you had to... but it's okay. I don't mind that you don't. I just wanna… I gotta help you be safe, man. Away from here. Please let me. Then you can go wherever you like, do whatever you wanna and I'll—

A small sob cut Dean's speech short. He looked up at Cas as, terrified his words had maybe had the opposite effect. But Cas flew at Dean, threw arms around Dean's neck and held onto him, speaking quiet yes, yes, yeses, into the shoulder of Dean's leather jacket.

They left via the fire escape.

...it was the last time.

Dean drove them into and through the night, Cas gripping his free hand tightly, not letting go. Not even once.

After two more days on the road, when they were about to leave the state, Dean asked Cas, where to?

Cas said, take me home.

Unsure of what it meant but sure about this—about them—Dean asked, where is home, sweetheart? because he knew he'd do whatever it took to be with this man.

Cas looked out of the window for a moment and smiled. Then, laughing gently, he looked back at Dean and told him, anywhere you take me, baby.

[blackmissfrizzle]

Unveiled

Summary: They boys find out about the reader’s true lineage. Based on episodes 2x21 & 22

Characters: Dean Winchester x black!reader

A/N: So, I’m basically doing a series rewrite of my favorite episodes. This is is based on the the reader’s and Dean’s relationship through the years. Its based on A Match Made in Hell Series.  I’m not doing this in a linear order, but I’ll make a separate masterlist for this series and put the fics in order

One minute you were in a diner with Sam, grabbing Dean a pie and the next you and Sam were in some ghost town with the other psychics like Sam. Most of them were freaking out and getting on your nerves. One even died because of her stupidity. She tried leaving and a demon killed her for it. Now you were stuck with Ava, the girl who had similar powers to Sam and been missing for weeks; Jake, the super strong dude; and Andy, the pothead who could control people with his mind.  

Finally, you were able to find a house and set up camp there. To make it easier, you and Sam decided to switch off on keeping watch. So, while he and Jake were on the lookout, you took a little nap.

“Wake up, sleepy head.” You heard. Opening your eyes, you saw yellow eyes staring back at you. Immediately, you called for Sam, but when he didn’t come running to help.

“This is a dream, isn’t it?” You asked. Your dad would do this all the time with you. He knew if he talked to you in person you would attack him, so visiting you in your dreams was the safest option.

Yellow Eyes or Azazel as you knew him outstretched his hand to help you get up, but you slap it instead and got up on your own. “Oh, look at Ms. Independent.”

“What do you want Azazel?”

“Uncle Azazel,” he corrected you.

“I’m not calling you that.” You brushed past him, going outside for some much-needed air.

Azazel followed you outside mumbling about how disrespectful this new generation is. “How’s our boy, Sammy doing?”

Giving him the evil eye, you replied, “Fine, despite being kidnapped!”

“Kidnapped? Sweetheart, this is a competition!”

“For what?”

Yellow Eyes turned to dramatically and waved some jazz hands. “For the best and brightest soldier!” He continued to tell you that he just needed one of these psychic kids to lead his demon army not multiple like you and the boys thought. And to top it off, he was rooting for Sam. The demon went as far as killing sweet Jessica because Sam was getting soft.

“Okay, only the strongest win. You know if I really wanted to, I could kill all of them, so what am I doing here?” To you it made no sense for you to be there. Sam and the others may have demon blood in them, but you were half-demon and much more powerful.

“My sweet girl, you’re not here to compete. You’ll work with the winner. That’s why I’m going for Sam. You two are a well-oiled machine. Both of you have the brains and the brawn.” In the middle of cussing him out, Sam woke you up, telling you that Ava was missing.

Eventually, her screams alerted you and you and Sam found a dead Andy, but something wasn’t right. Why did Ava go out of the house? Why was the salt line by the window broken?

Ava tried her white woman tears, but they weren’t working on you and Sam. Soon, as she stopped the fake crying, she admitted everything. She wasn’t missing for 5 months; she was here the whole time killing others. What a fucking psycho!

Jake snapped her neck just as she was conjuring a demon to kill you and Sam. But now he was tripping as well. Azazel got to him and told him only one of them could get out and for some strange reason, he believed he was the one.

“Listen dumbass, Yellow Eyes is not to be trusted. Come with me and Sam, and all three of us can kill him!” Behind you Sam put his knife on the ground as a sign of good faith and never in your life had you wanted to slap Sam silly before this. In your gut, you knew you couldn’t trust Jake and here goes Sam being all kind-hearted. “Sam, don’t,” you cautioned him.

“Its all good, Y/N/N. Look,” he pointed to a Jake putting down his own weapon. But as fast as he put down the weapon was as fast as he knocked you and Sam across the yard. Damn, that nigga really was strong.

Luckily, for Sam he wasn’t as hurt as you and was able to fight off Jake. You on the other hand got a piece of the broken fence piercing your side.

The fight didn’t sound like it was going too well. Bones were cracking and they weren’t Sam’s. You got up in time to see Sam standing over a knocked out Jake. He had the crowbar in his hand, ready to deliver a fatal blow, but he decided to let him live.

Sam walked to you and let you lean on him even though he was injured as well. “You good, Y/N.”

You lifted your shirt to show him your wound. “It’ll be a bitch to pull out the splinters and I’ll probably need stiches, but other than that I should be good.”

“Sam!!! Y/N!!!!” Dean’s voice called out to you. Sam and you traded looks, and hobbled towards the sound of Dean’s voice.

There he was with Bobby. Both looked ragged, but happy to see you and Sam. “Dean,” Sam said with a sigh of relief.

“Sam, Y/N, look out!” Dean warned, but it was too late. Jake stabbed Sam in the back and by the sound of it, it was fatal.

Surprisingly, Jake didn’t try to fight you. He threw you over shoulder and ran, and in your state and his super strength you couldn’t fight him off.

The last thing you saw was Bobby running after you and behind him your dead best friend being held by his heartbroken brother.

—

My eyes never left the colt since Azazel gave it to Jake. The very moment he said it could kill him, you had to restrain yourself because Azazel threatened to kill Jake’s family. Even if you hated him, you couldn’t endanger his family.

The whole walk to the middle of cemetery was Jake practicing his powers, which he was picking up incredibly fast. Ava was right the learning curve is insane.

Clicking of guns caught your attention when you and Jake reached the crypt. Finally, the cavalry was here.

“Sam,” you questioned. It was impossible for him to be alive…unless Dean did the unthinkable. One look at him and you knew he made a crossroads deal. Fucking idiot! This family doesn’t know when to stop sacrificing themselves for each other.

Being too focused on Sam’s resurrection left you unaware of the conversation going on around you. Jake was prattling on about how Ava was right, but you couldn’t focus once again because your eyes caught the crypt.

Almost instantly you knew what it was. A damn gate to hell and the colt was the key. Luck wasn’t on your side, but when was it ever? Jake forced Ellen to put the gun to the side of your head while he ran to unlock the gate.

“Forget about me! He’s opening a damn hellgate!” Dean and Bobby wrestled the gun out of Ellen’s hands while Sam went after Jake.

Sam was able to kill Jake, but not before the gate opened. Though with Jake dead, you, Bobby, Ellen, and Sam were able to close it.

—

*Dean’s POV*

He’s here and so is the colt. I may be going to hell but imma take that yellow-eyed some of bitch with me.

“I got to thank you. You see, demons can’t resurrect people unless a deal is made. I know- red tape, it’ll make you nuts. Right, Y/N/N?” With a snap of his fingers, Y/N was beside him.

Thing is she didn’t look even one bit afraid and seemed too familiar with the demon. “Thanks to you Dean, I got the perfect pair.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” I yelled at him. He put his dirty hands on Y/N, who was begging him ‘please don’t.’

“Sweetie, you didn’t tell him?” He asked her, almost as if he cared. “Well, Dean-o, thanks to you I couldn’t have done it without your self-loathing, self-destructive desire to sacrifice yourself for your family! But I also, many years ago I have to thank the beautiful conception of a lovely human woman and one of the best damn demons to make this beauty.” His hands framed a Y/N’s face.

The tears on her face confirmed it was true. “You lying bitch!” I couldn’t believe I trusted her.

My thoughts on how Y/N betrayed us overcame and I didn’t notice that Yellow-Eyes was about to kill me, but Y/N stopped him. He slammed her to the ground, before he could incapacitate her further, a soul from hell grabbed him. Not just any soul, dad.

Dad gave me the jump I needed. Yellow-Eyes was distracted enough for me to put a bullet in him. It was finally over; we got the demon that ruined our family. Now I just gotta deal with one more demon bitch.

—

*Reader’s POV*

You were fucked. Dean had to have told Sam the truth about you. You slipped away while they reveled in killing the monster that took away their family.

“Where you going, bitch?” The rage in Dean’s voice made no effort to hide.

“Dean,” Sam tried to reprimand him. He knew in his hearts of hearts that you had a good explanation. Yeah, it hurt that kept a secret and lied, but none of your behavior ever hinted to you being a danger to the brothers.

Lifting your hands in surrender, you turned around to face the boys. “I know you’re pissed, but this is the last time that I will allow you to call me a bitch.” Dean could be mad all he wanted to, but you refused to be disrespected. Especially, when he didn’t know the whole story.

Sam made an effort to get closer to you, but Dean pulled him back, as if you were a danger to him. “Y/N/N, why? Why lie to us?”

“Doesn’t matter why. She still lied.” You tried pleading to Dean with your eyes, but it wasn’t working. His anger blinding him from listening to you. “The only reason, I’m giving you a head start is because you tried to warn us about the gate and helped with Yellow-Eyes. You got to the count of 3 and if you’re still here I’m putting a bullet through you.”

Dean didn’t give empty threats, but you tested him anyway. Standing there firmly until he pulled the trigger of his gun on 3. In the nick of time, you teleported back home before the bullet could pierce you.

In the comfort of your solitude, you broke down and cried, letting a crowd of emotions run through. In a day, you found your best friend alive only for your other friend to make a deal; the hellgate opened releasing a slew of demons; Azazel revealed your secret and died; and probably the most heartbreaking you lost your best friends.

Tags:  @titty-teetee @cocooned-butterfly @nervouspetsonanime @thefaithfulwriter @meishaabae @dannixchristian @blacknthemix @mml232

[dontshootmespence]

Supernatural AU: Episode 5 - Faith

Part 2 

Her throat went raw as she screamed into her pillow, a sharp pain shooting through her foot when she kicked the door closed. He’d nearly died. Dean and Sam had nearly died because she’d failed.

“You can’t leave them alone!” Her father had screamed.

“I was just trying to perfect my aim!”

“And look what happened!” He roared.

In her attempt to get better at what she was apparently supposed to do for the rest of her life, she’d almost lost the two people she cared about most in the world – her two little brothers.

She hadn’t been gone two hours. But in those two hours Dean managed to get out of the hotel room and run into the very werewolves that John had been hunting. He didn’t get bitten, but the claw marks across his small chest were bad enough.  “Dean, I’m sorry!” She cried.

“Sorry isn’t enough!” Her father yelled. “What if he had died?”

“Dad, I-“

“I don’t want to hear it. You need to pay attention Bobbie. Life isn’t about you anymore. They need you.”

Sterile white floors and harsh fluorescent lights stung at the eyes of the youngest and oldest Winchesters as they approached the nurses’ desk. While the doctors treated Dean, they were supposed to make sure their insurance went through. It seemed so mundane; this was anything but. Fortunately, they had new solid identities so insurance wasn’t the issue. A little insurance fraud was the least of what either of them would do to make sure Dean came back to them. “Mister…Berkowitz,” the nurse said hesitantly, obviously having trouble with putting the name to the face. “We’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”

Sam thanked the nurse for her help and turned to see Bobbie sitting with her head in her hands, silent sobs shaking her body. “He’s gonna be okay,” he said softly. Other people might have been able to take that at face value, but Bobbie could hear the small tears in his voice. “He has to be.”

She wanted to believe – look on the bright side. At least he wasn’t dead yet. But every time she couldn’t get between the boys she loved and the next big danger, she felt the noose becoming tighter and tighter. If she could take on the world’s pain and be ripped limb from limb day after day to keep her brothers safe she would.  

When the doctor emerged a few minutes later, Bobbie’s head popped up from Sam’s shoulder, a single ray of hope driving her toward him. Sam followed close behind.

“How is he?”

“He’s okay for the moment, but-“

“But what?” Bobbie interjected. ‘But’ was a bad word. In their world, ‘but’ meant deep-seated hollowness, a black hole where a heart should be. “What’s wrong?”

The siblings fell into a vacant state as the doctor explained Dean’s situation. The electricity had triggered a massive heart attack, leaving it atrophied beyond repair. “We can make him comfortable, but I suspect he only has a couple of weeks to a month before his heart gives out.”

“No,” Sam whispered, fruitlessly appealing to the doctor. “There has to be something. There-“

“I’m sorry, but keeping him out of pain is all we can do.”

As the doctor gave his condolences and left without another word, Bobbie felt her knees start to shake – that hollowness eating away at her heart.

No. These doctors had no idea of the possibilities out there. She and Sam would find a way to save Dean. They had to. If John wasn’t going to be the father they needed, then she would step, no matter how unfair it was.

Bobbie had always hated hospitals. Sterility smelled like death. When they walked into Dean’s room and pulled the curtain back, Bobbie slapped her hand over her mouth without thinking. The darkness under his eyes was far beyond the normal – not just tired, but sunken and withering. “Geez, both of you look like bigger shit than I do.”

“Doubtful.” Sam smiled to hide the pain. Something he did well.

Despite all their pain, that never worked for Bobbie. She wore her heart on her sleeve. Always. She was an open book.

“We’re gonna find something, Dean,” Bobbie assured him. There was no hint of doubt in her voice anymore and Sam noticed, giving her a supportive nod. No longer could she play the doubtful sister; she had to step into the role of protective mother. It was that or lose half her heart.

As he lay in the bed, practically glued to the crappy daytime television in front of him, he tried to play it all off. He was the tough guy. Nothing got to Dean Winchester. As a strong as a rock he was. But the thing people didn’t realize about him was just how scared and vulnerable he could be if you only knew the signs. Avoidance, quick to respond, eyes darting from the person he was supposed to be convincing of his machismo. Deep down he was petrified; she’d put money on it.  “You have to accept reality.”

“And that is?” Sam’s voice rose with each word, denial begging Dean not to voice the dreaded reality they were supposed to face.

“That I’m going to die.”

No. Bobbie would never allow it. “I’m the older one. I die first.”

An uncomfortable silence hung between them for a moment. “You both better take care of that car or I’ll haunt your asses.”

When he chuckled, Bobbie snapped. “That’s not funny, asshat.”

“I’m being deadly serious.”

“Really?” Sam exclaimed.

Bobbie finally allowed herself to ease into their usual banter because if she didn’t she would sob until there was nothing left to cry and that would be worse on Dean. He’d always hated seeing her cry. “Alright, we’re gonna go,” she said.

Sam finished her thought. “But we’re gonna find something. Promise.”

He wasn’t convinced, but he forced a smile and sent them away. This was the game – one day something was going to take them out. He’d hoped to get a few more years of ganking monsters under his belt before he bit the bullet but such was life. His time had come.

                                                            -------

Back in the room, Bobbie broke down. She couldn’t play protective mom all the time and though she wanted to stay positive for Sam’s sake, she couldn’t hold it back any longer.

Taken aback by her shattering cry, Sam wrapped her in his arms, his right hand cradling her head against his chest as she cried. “We’re going to find something, Bobbie. I swear. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

“That’s supposed to be my job.”

He kissed her forehead, a single tear falling from the corner of his eye and onto her matted brown hair. “We’re family. It’ll never be all on you.”

If only she could force herself to live by his words.

“Why don’t you go shower while I make some calls?”

“I can help. We need to move quickly.”

“I’ll be quick, but you can’t help us if you don’t take care of yourself. After everything that’s happened recently, the baku, Dad – you need to breathe.”

Bobbie sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her jacket, not caring how gross she looked. “I must really smell if you’re trying to push me to shower.”

“You don’t exactly smell pleasant,” He laughed.

It was the first genuine smile she’d had all day. “Bite me, Sammy.”

                                                           -------

While Bobbie washed the days’ old grime off her tired muscles, Sam called every known associate of John’s, Bobby included, to try and figure out something that could help Dean. After convincing Bobby he was of better help where he was, he went down the list of names in John’s journal. He could feel his hope waning with each call – those he talked to leaving him with little to nothing to go on, but he plugged on with increased vigor when he heard Bobbie stifle another cry.  

Minutes later, she dried off and pulled on some comfortable clothes, emerging from the bathroom to see Sam deep in thought. “Anything?”

“Yea,” he replied. “I don’t think either of you are gonna wanna go for it, but it’s what I have.”

It didn’t matter. She’d do anything. “What is it?”

“A faith healer.”

She scoffed and spun around, flopping into the bed and mumbling into her pillow. “That’s what we have? A hokey religious nut that thinks they’ve been endowed with the power of God.”

Before Sam could reply, they heard a knock at the door and were surprised to find Dean, wobbly as all hell, leaning against the doorframe. “What the hell, man? What are you doing here?”

He slapped Sammy on the shoulder and laughed. “I checked myself out. Not about to stay in a hospital with nurses that aren’t even hot when I have precious little time left.”

Bobbie wanted to smack him, but he was already in pain, so she refrained. “Dumb! Dumb! You’re dumb! Why would you do that?”

“I just told you,” he said with that cheeky grin that could either endear someone to him or drive them up a wall.

Gritting her teeth, she threw her pillow at him. “Stop thinking with your dick for like two seconds!”

“Nah. Anything?”

“Uh, yea,” Sam said, eyeing his sister. He was about to withhold valuable information; she could tell. “A friend of Dad’s, Joshua, referred me to a specialist who can see us tomorrow afternoon.”

Dean was less that thrilled with the whole situation, figuring his brother and sister were both just in denial about his eventual downfall, but they wouldn’t let go, so he’d just go along for the ride and get in a little more time with his beloved Baby. “Alright, why don’t we sleep for a few hours then and get going early in the morning.”

It took less than ten minutes for the motel room to fill with the snores of hunters who’d been stretched beyond their limits.

                                                           -------

At five the next morning, they dragged themselves groggily out of bed and into the car. Bobbie wanted nothing more than to sleep for another few years, but Dean was sick and Sam had pulled more than his fair share the night before, so she drove the car out of the motel parking lot while her brothers slept a little bit more. Their destination wasn’t all that far away so before she could fall asleep at the wheel they’d arrived.

It wasn’t even a church. A tent stood in the middle of a field, surrounded by cars on either side with paths of grass and dirt leading toward it like the parting of the seas. The sign read ‘Reverend Roy LeGrange – Faith Healer.’ “Oh hell,” she groaned. She didn’t begrudge anyone with faith, so long as it wasn’t forced on her or used to undermine another, but she just couldn’t understand it herself – not with the life she’d led. This was such a waste, but it was all they had to go on at the moment. “We’re here.” She reached toward both of them and shook them awake.

“A faith healer?” Dean exclaimed, slipping out of the car and slamming the door shut. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie. I stretched the truth,” Sam said. Bobbie smiled to herself as she recalled the night before. Of course Dean was going to hate this. Sam on the other hand was hopeful. Maybe it was the fact that he was so young when it all happened that he didn’t have the memory to become jaded, but whatever it was, Dean and Bobbie didn’t have it.

“You said doctor.”

“I said specialist,” he said. “Dad’s friend assures he’s the real deal.”

As they approached the tent, a man protested with flyers in hand, screaming that LeGrange wasn’t all that he said he was, and while the elder Winchesters were inclined to believe him, they went inside for Sam’s sake. “Maybe it’s time for you to have a little faith.” Dean tried to humor him but he still rolled his eyes. “The good doesn’t exist with the bad and we’ve seen the bad, so how can you believe there isn’t some good out there with what we’ve seen?”

“Exactly,” Dean said, his hands fidgeting in his pockets. He wanted to curl his fingers around a pool cue or the neck of a good beer, not this. “Seen! We’ve seen what evil does to good people.”

Bobbie opened her mouth to speak but was caught off guard when another woman turned, faith dripping from every pore. “Maybe god works in mysterious ways?” Her smile was genuine, her faith undeterred by the skeptics around her. It was actually refreshing to see someone with such strong faith.

Dean scanned the young woman. His mind raced with dirty thoughts that, if God existed, he might not be a fan of. “Maybe he does,” he said assuredly. “I think he might’ve even turned me around on the subject.” As Bobbie walked past him and into the tent, she smacked the back of his head. What a hoe.

If he wasn’t already on the verge of death, she’d kill him.

@remember-me-forever-silent-angel @gaylemonshark  @marveldivergentouatdctvfangirl @lalirang @averagekansan @addsomesalt @stusbunker @sebba-hiddles @fanfictionrecommendations-com @hoppy519 @thatwrestlingfan91 @extremeobsessions101 @spence-imagines @bettercallsabs @whaaatthefuuuuck @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @your-imagination-runs-wild @cryinglots @steggy01 @gigilame @sedulous-mind @a-unique-girls-heaven @just-antiyou @rmmalta @original-criminal-fanfics @ties-n-suits @veroinnumera @eurusholmmes @fanficienjoyedreading @astridstark13​ @ties-n-suits​ @demonlover87​ @kennybud​ @shittyafblogwnopoint​ @pleasantlyfadingpeace​ @bulldozed88 @a-gir1-has-n0-name​ @ocappreciation

[thing-you-do-with-that-thing]

Never Letting Go

Characters: Sam Winchester, Y/N Y/L/N, John Winchester, Dean Winchester, Mary Winchester, Y/N’s parents

Pairing: AU Sam x Reader

Warnings: Character death, mention of alcohol abuse, John being a bad parent, Dean being an awesome brother, mention of domestic abuse, mention of rape, mention of character death - None of it graphic!   

Word Count: 1200ish

A/N: So this turned out way different than I planned. Sorry I didn’t include Destiel after all Beka. I promise I will make a drabble out of that moment we talked about at some point.

This is written for @impala-dreamer One Prompt for All Sam Challenge. The prompt was “I promise I won’t let go”

Also I aimed for fluff which I clearly missed by a mile. Apparently I can’t write Sam without some degree of angst! Sorry!

Thanks to the always amazing @blacktithe7 for betaing this.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Sam Winchester was like a lost kid when he met Y/N. He felt guilty for all the things his brother had sacrificed for his happiness, so much so that he was starting to doubt Stanford Law was really what he wanted. You see, Sam Winchester didn’t come from an ordinary family. He came from a family with a father that blamed him for the death of his mother while he took everything he felt Sam did wrong out on his older brother Dean.

When Sam was 6 months old, his mother had taken the eyes off the road for one brief moment to look back at her crying baby. Just long enough for the car to sway into oncoming traffic before a honking horn made her overcorrect, steering right into a huge oak just a few miles from their home. Sam didn’t remember any of this of course, but his four year old brother did. Before telling the cops, Dean did something no kid should ever have to do. He unfastened his brother’s seat belt and carried him from the wreck before the vehicle caught fire. He saved his brother’s life, but Dean never saw it like that. He remember the smell of burning flesh and his mother’s screams. More than that, he remembered the dead look in his father’s eyes; the hate he looked at his baby brother with, when Dean told the police what had happened.

Sam never blamed Dean for anything. There was nothing to blame him for. Dean never stopped taking care of his little brother. He never stopped saving him, even when it was from their own father. Sam was the one he blamed, but Dean was the one he took all his anger out on. Dean was the one promising he was okay, and Sam didn’t had to worry when blood streamed from his nose or bruises covered his body.

The second Dean had turned 18, he was out of the house, but not without his brother. Dean worked two jobs to support himself and Sam since he never saw a dime of the child support. John kept drinking away. Sam always felt terrible when Dean came home tired, yet still willing to help him with his homework. Sam felt even more awful when he got offered a scholarship to Stanford, and Dean didn’t hesitate uprooting his life to move to California with his baby brother. Dean got the two of them an apartment, working his ass off at the local garage, making sure Sam didn’t have too.

Sam had wanted to become a lawyer for as long as he could remember, but even if he had been offered a full scholarship, living in a college time was expensive, not to mention books. Sam knew Dean was already in debt, and he hated when he joked around saying “Yeah well Sammy, all the more reason for you to become a lawyer. I need you to keep my ass out of jail.”

Had it not been for the Y/H/C haired girl who had spun straight into his arms at the Halloween party his best friends Jess and Brady threw, he might never have gone. For the first time in a long time, Sam smiled, dancing with the laughing carefree girl in his arms. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he made a difference for someone as he held back her hair, waiting for the alcohol to exit her system in a rather unpleasant way.

He had stayed with her on the floor as she whimpered, gently rubbing circles on her back, trying to make her relax, just as his brother had done for him when he had been sick as a child. He knew the importance of that little gesture better than anyone, and he smiled as Y/N laid down on the floor, resting her head in his lap.

“I’m never drinking again,” she sulked, making Sam laugh, giving her hip a small squeeze.

“You want me to remind you of that next party?” Sam grinned down at her, making her pull a face at him.

“Hey! I am not some brainless partygirl you know,” she pushed herself up into a seating position before nearly falling back down, only prevented by Sam’s steady hands.

“I never said you were,” Sam offered apologetically, relieved when she sighed deeply, shaking her head for him to forget it. Somehow Sam managed to get her off the freezing bathroom floor and into bed. He tugged the covers around her, turning around to leave the room when she reached for him.

He hesitated for a moment, not really sure what to do. She was still drunk, and while helping her to her on campus apartment was one thing, crawling into bed with her, even if they were both fully dressed, was another. The look in her eyes was what made him decide. She didn’t look like the happy girl who had been twirling around on the dancefloor earlier with her arms wrapped around Sam’s neck. She looked sad and broken, like someone who just needed to be held. So that was what Sam did. He crawled into her bed, wrapped his arm around her middle, and pulled her back against his chest.

She didn’t look at him as she quietly started talking, confiding her life history to this total stranger. Sharing with Sam how she had been on the run from her father most of her life. She told him how her mom had covered windows, never letting her bring home friends, and never staying in the same place for long, while always looking over her shoulder to make sure the man that beat and raped her wasn’t coming for them. He was, and he did find them. 5 years ago today. 5 years ago, Y/N’s mom had given her life to protect her from the man she had been running from her entire life. Her mother’s killer and Y/N’s biological father had been sentenced to serve life in prison, but that didn’t stop the nightmares from haunting her, especially on this one night of the year.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep,” she confessed, admitting she was scared of what nightmares that would haunt her, and Sam pulled her a little closer.

“Nothing is going to happen to you. I promise I won’t let go,” he whispered softly against her ear, smiling when he felt her shiver slightly, and the hint of a smile on her face when she drifted off to sleep. Sam didn’t let go, and part of him knew he never would again. She was special, and she needed someone, like Dean had always been there for him. Sam could be the rock she needed and the light in her dark. He would never let go of her again for as long as she would allow him to hold on to her.

Sam Tag Team (CLOSED)

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